January 22, 1907.
NATURALLY, in the Congo there is little need of dress. Before the
white man’s influence most native men wore nothing but a breech-clout—a
long strip of cloth passed between the legs and fastened as a belt
around the waist—or else a piece of native cloth made from palm fiber,
perhaps a yard in width and long enough to go around the body. This
latter garment, technically called a cloth, is still the dress of almost
all the workmen and workwomen on white men’s places, but European stuff
has replaced the old palm cloth.
The women were usually much less clad than the men, but the style of
dress varied from tribe to tribe. The Bangala woman wore, and still
wears, a girdle at the waist, from which hung a fringe of grass or
vegetable fiber reaching to the knees. The women of some Aruwimi tribes
wear a simple cord, from which hangs in front a bit of grass cloth no
more than three or four inches square. On occasion, the Bakuba woman
wears nothing but one string of beads around her waist, from which hang
in front several large brass or copper rings. The Ngombe women regularly
go naked.
Where white influence has become pronounced every one wears white man’s
cloth, and many have this cloth made up in form similar to those of the
Europeans. After a Bantu has begun to be imbued with white man’s ideas
he is unhappy until he has a jacket, trousers, and hat. In form and
material these are frequently so startling as to cause surprise to the
person really accustomed to white men’s clothes. Thus, a man may be
dressed in loose and flowing trousers made of the most brilliant
calicoes in gaudy pattern. He may have a jacket made of a strip of
handkerchiefing which never was meant to be used as material for
clothes, but to be cut or torn into kerchiefs.
But happiness is not complete for the Bantu in transformation until he
has a white man’s umbrella. Not that he needs it for rain, because when
it rains the Bantu always goes into his house and at once falls into a
profound slumber which lasts until the rain is over. It is merely
fashion, or for protection against the sun, a thing of which the Bantu
really has no need. Two boys who were in our employ at Ndombe
accompanied us afterwards as personal servants on our long journey up
and down the Congo. When the time came to leave them at Leopoldville we
took them to the white man’s store and asked them what they wanted as a
parting gift. Their selections were eminently characteristic. My
companion’s boy at once declared his wish for an umbrella, while my own,
of a far livelier and more sportive disposition, wished an accordion.
It is a common complaint among the white men that the native is
ungrateful. Many and many a time have we listened to such tirades. You
will hear them from everybody who has had dealings with the Bantu. The
missionary complains of it as bitterly as does the trader or the state
official. All of them unite in declaring that gratitude does not exist
in native character. This seems to us a baseless claim. The African is
the shrewdest of traders. It is true that frequently he lets things go
to white men for what seems to us a mere nothing. But he gets what he
wants in return for his goods. He enjoys bickering. His first price is
always greatly in excess of what he actually expects to receive. He will
spend hours in debating the value of his wares.
No one need seriously fear for the outcome to the black man in open
trade with whites. The purpose of the white man in visiting him and
dealing with him is a mystery to the native mind. He can understand the
value of palm oil and ivory, for palm oil and ivory he uses himself. Why
rubber and copal should be so precious is beyond his understanding. He
but dimly grasps the purpose of the state and of the missionary. On the
whole, he lends himself to all alike, and being naturally kind, tries to
please all and do what is expected of him. Still, he knows that he is
being exploited by the foreigner, and it is but fair that he should
exploit in return—a thing at which he is an adept. Why, then, should he
be grateful for what is done for him? He naturally believes that
missionaries, government officials, and traders all gain some advantage
from their dealings with him; it is his duty to gain all he can in
return in his dealings with them. And there is no especial ground for
thanks. There is no reason for gratitude.
I presume it is true that on one occasion—perhaps it has been true on
many—a native who had been carefully and lovingly cared for through a
long and trying sickness, when restored wished to know what the
missionary was going to give him. He had taken all the bad medicines and
all the invalid’s slops without complaint, but naturally he expected
some sort of compensation at the end. Yet the missionary would quote the
incident as an example of ingratitude.
It is common to call black Africans dishonest. Here, again, the judgment
is undeserved and arises from miscomprehension. The African knows, as
well as we do, what constitutes truth, yet he lies, especially to white
folk. He has as clear a knowledge of mine and thine as we, and yet he
steals from his employer. The explanation lies in the same idea
precisely. He thinks we are constantly getting something from him; he in
turn must exploit us. The white man is a stranger. Throughout tribal
life the stranger is a menace; he is a being to be plundered because he
is a being who plunders.
Among themselves, lying is not commended and truth is appreciated; but
to deceive a stranger or a white man is commendable. Native houses are
often left for days or weeks, and it would be easy for any one to enter
and rob them. Yet robbery among themselves is not common. To steal,
however, from a white employer—upon whom the native looks as a being of
unlimited and incomprehensible wealth—is no sin. It is unfair to stamp
the native either as a liar or a thief because he lies to white men and
steals from his employer.
Among the Congo natives wealth has weight. The rich man has authority
and power and influence because he is rich. There is a servile,
cringing, element in the Bantu character which showed itself as plainly
in the old days before the white men came as it does to-day. Cringing,
toadying, scheming, marked the daily life. While a man was rich he had
respect and friends and power. If reverses came he lost them all. None
was so poor to do him reverence. Arrogance was the chief element of the
chieftain’s stock in trade; servility the chief mark of the slave and
poor man. White men who have to do with natives are forced to act
decisively. They must inspire fear and respect; kindness is weakness. To
permit discourtesy or insolence invites contempt. Perfect justice,
firmness, and consistency will give the white men who must deal with
natives a respected position which vacillation or mistaken friendliness
will never gain.
Emotional to a high degree, the native often passes for affectionate.
Affection of a certain kind he no doubt has; many examples come to the
mind of personal servants who have almost shown devotion to white
masters. On the whole, true affection as we know it, unvarying,
consistent, which stands the test of varying circumstances, occurs but
seldom. Extremely beautiful and touching, however, is the love which
every Bantu has for his mother—a love undoubtedly encouraged and
strengthened by the polygamous life. A boy’s relation to his father is
nothing; his relation to his mother is the closest tie in human life. He
is of her blood. Her relatives are his. The nearest male connection
which he has is her brother. Toward him the boy shows particular
respect, but toward his mother true love. She is far nearer and dearer
to him than wife or slaves. Through his boyhood she is his refuge in
every kind of trouble; in young manhood she is his adviser and
confidant; in manhood he still goes to her in every trouble and with
every question. There is but one person in his whole lifetime whom he
trusts. She is ever sure to be his friend; she never betrays his
interest.
All early white visitors to dark African populations were profoundly
impressed with the respect shown to the aged. This was genuine. The old
man or woman was the repository of wisdom. The experiences through which
they had passed made them wise counselors. Tribal affairs were decided
by the old. This trait of native character, constantly mentioned by all
the early writers, tends to disappear in all those districts where the
white man’s influence has spread. Such is ever the case. And it is
natural.
The white man’s wisdom is a different thing from that of the native.
Contact with the white man causes contempt and despisal of the wisdom of
the ancients. It is the children who always gain this new wisdom from
the whites, and with their eating of the tree of knowledge there comes a
loss of all respect for older people. Missionaries in vain will preach
the fifth commandment to the children in their schools. The reading,
writing, and arithmetic which they learn from books, the new ways and
manners and points of view which they gain from contact with their
teachers, render all such teaching mere platitudes without vital force.
The children educated by white men, must always lose respect and
admiration for their parents and the elders of their tribes.
Mentally, the native of the Congo is quick and bright. We have already
spoken of his ability in languages and his facility in oratory. He
delights in saws and proverbs—condensed wisdom. Hundreds and thousands
of such proverbs, often showing great keenness and shrewdness, deep
observation and insight, might be quoted. No people with a mass of
proverbial philosophy, such as the Bantu and the true negroes have,
could be considered stupid. In learning new ways and customs and in
imitation of others they are extremely quick and apt. Every white
settlement in the Congo has introduced new ways of living, and the black
boys who can cook well, do fair tailoring, good laundry work, and
personal service of other kinds are surprisingly numerous. Under
direction they frequently develop great excellence in work.
In a few years after the establishment of the Free State, the caravan
service for transporting freight of every kind from the head of
navigation at Matadi to Leopoldville, above the rapids, was admirably
developed. The men carried their burdens willingly and uncomplainingly;
it was extremely rare that anything was lost or stolen. So, too, they
have rapidly adopted military life, and the native soldiers under
Belgian training present as great precision, promptness, and grace in
executing their maneuvers as many white troops would do.
With both the true negroes and the Bantu, belief in witchcraft was
prevalent. Sickness, disease, and death were not natural events. That a
man should die in battle or from wounds was understood, but that
sickness should cause death was not grasped by the native mind. Sickness
and death from sickness were regularly attributed to the evil practices
of witches. If a man suffered pains in the head or body, it was because
some enemy was introducing a mysterious and harmful object into his
system. It was necessary, therefore, to adopt some method of undoing the
harm. There were men and women whose business it was to detect the
author of witchcraft and to recommend means for saving the victim from
his operations. Nothing more serious could happen to a man than to be
accused of witchcraft. No matter how rich he was; how high his station;
how many or how strong his friends—the accusation of witchcraft was
dangerous.
A person accused of witchcraft was usually subjected to an ordeal of
poison. It was generally the drinking of a poisoned brew produced by
steeping leaves, or barks, or roots in water. If the accused vomited the
drink and suffered no serious results, his innocence was demonstrated.
If, however, the draft proved fatal, his guilt was clear. It is true
that sometimes the witch doctor played false, and, in administering the
ordeal, might be influenced by bribes.
This whole matter of witchcraft and the ordeal has been magnified by
many writers. It is true that there was constant danger for a
progressive man, a rich man, or a great chief. Such men would naturally
arouse jealousy and envy, and no doubt accusations were frequently made
against them without cause. For my own part, however, I have long
believed that the ordeal for witchcraft was not an unmixed evil, and I
was more than pleased at hearing a missionary, who has been many years
in the Congo, state that, after all, while it was subject to occasional
abuse, it tended toward wholesome control of conditions in a community.
It is much the custom for white men to speak of Congo natives as big
children. Whenever some custom is particularly unlike our own, they will
shrug their shoulders and say: “You see, they are only children.” I
believe as much in the theory of recapitulation as any one. I believe
that the life history of the individual repeats the life history of the
race.
I believe that one may truly say that children among ourselves represent
the stage of savagery; that youth is barbarous; that adult age is
civilization. It is true that children among ourselves present many
interesting survivals of the savage attitude. In a certain sense savages
are children. I think, however, from the points in native character
which I here have touched, that my readers will agree with me that the
adult native of the Congo is no child. He is a man, but a man different
from ourselves. He represents the end of a development, not the
beginning.