The Country
Toro is one of the four Kingdoms that comprise the Uganda Protectorate
and lies on the North-west boundary. The present outlook would lead one
to think that it will remain unaffected longer than the other three
neighbouring States by the inroads that civilization is making in Uganda,
which the railway has brought into such close proximity to the outside
world, while traders pass along the splendid caravan roads through
Bunyoro up to the Nile, and to the Southern cattle-rearing Kingdom of
Ankole. There is nothing to attract them to Toro, as the journey is a
real physical effort, and there is no commercial prospect of mineral
wealth or remunerative industry to justify the long journey. The ivory
that formerly brought the Arab traders into the country is now almost
entirely preserved by the British Government. So, unless Toro is visited
by more successful prospectors than those who have already casually
looked round, who shall discover some hidden mine of wealth, in all
probability it will remain undisturbed in its present state of rusticity.
But it is a wonderful country, and one that must ever fascinate a lover
of nature and its freaks. The mountains are in themselves a unique
feature. One can scarcely reconcile the co-existence of an equatorial
sun and eternal snows, yet so it is. Strange mountain tribes in quite
primeval state live among its forests and creeks, while just on its other
side extends Stanley’s Great Forest with its pigmy inhabitants.
On all sides one sees the results of the operation of mighty unseen
forces. Numbers of extinct volcanoes are visible from our hill, the
craters of which form the beds of lakes now, with vegetation and forest
growth stretching down their sides to the water’s edge.
They must have enjoyed a good long sleep, as no hints of their activity
are traced in the native traditions, which go back to a corresponding
Adamic period. There are quite a number of legends, however, which
invariably associate them with evil spirits that are supposed to live in
the craters. This is believed even still by some of the raw peasants.
One day a woman told me that her two little boys had been playing in the
courtyard while she was at work, and the “Muchwezi” (evil spirit) from
the Crater hill two miles away had come and run off with her elder child.
For two years he had remained lost to them, when suddenly he returned
clothed in a strip of bark-cloth and a charm round his neck peculiar to
that evil spirit. He was sworn to divulge nothing of what had happened to
him while being with the evil spirits in the crater, under the penalty of
being caught away again by them.
[Illustration: THE MARKET PLACE.
_Photo by D. V. F. Figueira, Mombasa._]
Here let me recount a rather unique picnic we had at one of these crater
lakes three miles away. It happened on a Monday—the Missionaries’
off-day—when general repairs and washing are usually done, or visits paid
to neighbouring villages. We started off on our bikes in high spirits
which managed to survive a heavy thunderstorm that overtook us half way
and soaked us through. We hung ourselves out to dry round a fire in the
hut on the lake shore, and having warmed ourselves with tea made for the
lake in search of wild-duck. We baled the water out of the dug-out canoe
and set off with three boys as paddlers. You never met with anything more
aggravating than an African dug-out; they are so badly balanced that the
least movement threatens to overturn the skiff; and as for steering,
that is out of the question. Anyhow, when we were far away from our
landing point, the canoe refused to move, except in complete circles.
We could make no headway; the united efforts of all—barring myself, who
did not row—failed to move the boat except in rapid revolutions. Then a
storm blew up and darkness seemed to be suddenly settling down on us.
One of our party, who knew from experience our danger, was in a terrible
fright. I tried hard to tune up to “Excelsior” and “Midshipmite,” which
eventually evidently appealed to the kind heart of the elements, for
the boat moved and we were safely landed. But the return home was the
difficulty. The moon went in as soon as it appeared, and as it was so
dark a different route was suggested, in order to escape the river which
we had to cross on our way out. About half way we found out that the
recent storms had washed away the bridge we had relied upon to get us
across the river and so were obliged to trust to other means. Miss Pike
headed the procession on a boy’s shoulder, but as the water came up to
the lad’s armpit her position was far from enviable. Then I ventured on
the donkey, sitting in a sort of tailor fashion, but, alas! the water
refused to let me off scot free. After that, in a miserably drenched
condition, with our flapping skirts like reservoirs of water, we trudged
on through long grass and thick mud, and at last reached a succession
of deep swamps. One of these looked so tragic and interminable that the
men insisted on crossing hands and taking me through in dandy-chair
style. I shall not forget that experience. Like Christian of old, one
of my carrier’s strength and courage failed him, and half-way I became
suddenly aware that he was rapidly disappearing under water. A violent
yell brought small boys to the rescue, who, supporting me, managed to
extricate him from the mud depths, and a second start was made; but just
as we were reaching the other side the same poor, unfortunate man landed
in more mud, into which he sank. Before I could release my hold, I saw
him go completely under the water, and felt myself rapidly descending
into the depths over his head. The situation was so ludicrous that the
awful after-effects were forgotten in the peals of laughter which no one
could restrain, in spite of the poor man’s miserable condition and my own.
To resume our description—on the east of Ruwenzori the land presents an
unbroken stretch of undulating country; on the west side the land falls
rapidly and forms the Semliki plain, so called after the river that winds
zig-zag through it, uniting the Albert Edward Nyanza on the south to the
Albert Nyanza on the north.
Descending to this plain round the north end of the mountain range, the
configuration of the land indicates two distinct ancient water levels;
this is confirmed by the quantities of small shells that are often found
in scattered heaps among the sandy soil, similar to those now found on
the Lake shores.
With the exception of the fringe of the Congo Forest that enters the Toro
boundary, and the Bamboo Forests that grow so thickly on the slopes of
the mountains, Toro is not abundant in trees and timber. Wide veins of
woodland winding along the river courses, however, form welcome relief to
the prolific elephant grass that covers hills and valleys. Looked down
upon from a distance these extended forests present a rich variety of
tints. Winter is never seen, for when old age strikes the branches, the
tree breaks forth into its second childhood under the influence of the
sun’s rays. But on entering beneath the shade of these tempting oases,
one realizes a feeling of disappointment, for everything appears to have
outgrown its beauty. Powerful and unkempt creepers and rubber plants have
wound their long bare limbs like poisonous snakes round the barks and
branches of the trees till the vegetation has ceased to breathe in their
grasp, and has withered away. Then the mischievous little monkeys as
they frolic and scamper about leave such litter behind!
Toro is almost entirely void of isolated trees. The annual grass fires
that are lighted to clear the country for the sowing of the crops have
given them no chance of an existence.
Banana groves are gradually springing up over the country, for the Batoro
are emulating the example of the Baganda in adopting the unsweetened
banana called “Matoke” as their staple food. Formerly they lived entirely
on “Bura,” a small millet which possesses a very low percentage of
nutritive quality. The only thing that commends it is the infinitesimal
amount of labour needed for its cultivation, and this is the chief
consideration of these folk. They grind the grain between two stones
which gradually crumble away in the process, making the food when cooked
hardly distinguishable from boiled sand.
Ruwenzori gives the whole kingdom of Toro a very plentiful water supply.
The streams, flowing down from the ever-melting snow and ice, unite
and form clear and swift rivers which provide the land with pure cold
water, but at the same time make the country difficult for travelling
about in. The crude bridges made by the natives get washed away in the
rainy season, which often monopolises nine months out of the twelve.
The mountains seem to attract every cloud that rises above the horizon.
Nature indulges in most phenomenal pranks out there. There may be a
perfectly bright cloudless afternoon, when suddenly it looks as if
all the clouds of heaven had been unchained and let loose. From every
direction they gather in impenetrable blackness, then girding themselves
with fury, they burst forth and, with a hurricane in their wake, menace
Toro with a few angry tears of passion and break with roars of thunder
and tongues of fire on Ruwenzori’s side. Failing to shake that mountain
ridge, they rebound and empty themselves upon Kabarole. In a few minutes
the whole country is a wash-out; the hills send down sheets of water, and
so do our thatched roofs. Unless these are under constant repair, all our
little black boys, when they see a storm coming, are armed with pots,
pans, basins, and dishes, and stand about in the rooms to catch the rain
water, and so save themselves the trouble of going to the spring.
One afternoon a terrible thunderstorm broke over Toro; the force of
one clap, which was simultaneous with the most vivid lightning, was
indescribable. A thunderbolt seemingly had fallen just over our heads and
sounded as if a million dynamite explosives had burst over us. Scarcely
had one recovered from the momentary shock, when the dreaded sound “Tera
enduru” was heard; this is a fire alarm which the natives produce by
clapping their lips with the palm of their hand. Hastening outside, we
saw clouds of smoke issuing from Mr. and Mrs. Maddox’s house, which
adjoined ours. Not waiting for hats or umbrellas, we hurried across to
the yard, where boys and girls were rushing frantically about; Mrs.
Maddox was in bed with fever in the very room where the fire had broken
out. Her room was blazing away, while she was asleep, unconscious of her
danger. Wrapping her in blankets, we managed to have her carried across
to our house. The lightning had struck the corner of the room, instantly
igniting the thatch, poles, and bamboo ceiling; the flash had travelled
through the room, just escaping the bed, but singeing a little Bible on
the table close by. Really, her escape was nothing less than a miracle.
In a very short time the Katikiro was on the spot with his men, and we
all worked hard at carrying out the things. To save the house was an
impossibility. It was merely a fight with time and fire—pulling down
packing cases and books, carrying out stores, boxes, bedding, clothing,
crockery, tables, and chairs, and feeling the flames were quickly
devouring all that lay in their way. When almost the last item was out,
we were ordered away, and with a crash the end of the roof fell in, while
the flames ascended in one solid, angry mass. Meanwhile, the King had
posted an army of men to guard our house, and fan away all sparks with
large banana leaves. All this had taken but fifteen minutes, so you can
imagine the rapidity with which everyone had worked. The only things
burnt were a tent and camp-bed, which had been stored in the roof, and
were quite unreachable.
Fortunately, this happened just ten days before they were due to leave
for England, so they were not homeless for long.
The whole of Toro seemed to crowd into our court, congratulating us
all on our escape, and thanking God for protecting us. You will easily
imagine how dead beat we were when the day was over, and how we welcomed
sleep; but this was not to be for long, for at 12.0 midnight the same
alarm of fire awakened us, and tearing on our dressing gowns and
slippers, we found Mr. Fisher’s women’s house a conflagration. This was
truly terrifying, as it was in such close proximity to his own house;
while, as the house was entirely built of grass and reeds, the flames
were more rapid and dense. Black figures, silhouetted against the flaming
background, were seen wildly scrambling up on to these two roofs, beating
away the flames and sparks. It really seemed an impossibility to save
either, especially when you heard people shouting “Muije okutukonyera
enju yahya” (“Come and help us, the house is on the point of burning.”)
But I am glad to say the God of Deliverances was again with us to save,
and to show forth His power. Nothing was lost but the women’s house, and
the possessions and clothing of the seven women. In the morning, this was
found to be a case of incendiarism; a small girl, who had recently left
through stealing, had set fire to the house to revenge herself on the
women.
These things are a little bit upsetting to one’s nerves; the constant
earthquakes and terrific thunderstorms keep one always girded for flight.
One afternoon the missionaries had met together for afternoon tea, and
suddenly there was a slight underground murmur, and the house shook as if
it trembled. There were three windows and one door to the room, and out
of them the three men instantly disappeared; they looked rather shaken
when they came back for their tea. It was agreed not to let out names!
On the western wide of Ruwenzori, and close to the base of that mountain
range, are boiling springs containing a considerable proportion of
sulphur. The natives have discovered their medicinal properties for skin
diseases and have digged channels so as to divert part of the water
into trenches or pits where they can sufficiently cool it for bathing
purposes. They also carry their food down to the springs, and in a short
time the plantains or potatoes are cooked and ready for use.
Lying as it does on the Equator, Toro experiences scarcely any change
of seasons all the year round, and in consequence of its being some
5,000 feet above sea level, the temperature scarcely rises above 75-80°
Fahr. in the shade, while the nights are often cold enough to justify
the log fires that the Europeans indulge in. The prodigious and constant
rainfalls just rob the country of a reputation it might have held for
possessing an ideal climate for the colonist and for agricultural
purposes. Except in the low-lying marshy districts, Toro is exceptionally
free from mosquitoes and malaria, and, up to the present, not one case of
sleeping sickness has been known.
The soil is abnormally rich. Eucalyptus seed sown in the open produces
trees of 12-15ft. in 18 months. Strawberries yield two and three
plentiful crops annually, in fact growth has often to be checked, as in
the case of cauliflowers, which need transplanting three times if fruit
is to be obtained. Excellent coffee is grown in the country, and a very
limited amount of inferior wheat. There is no reason why rice should
not be successfully cultivated in the swampy soil, and tea on the sides
of the mountains. The great obstacle to the developing of industries
at present is the difficulty of transport to the districts where there
is a profit-yielding demand. No minerals have yet been discovered with
the exception of an appreciable amount of iron, which the people have
instinctively learned to work; they are able to turn out good spear
heads, hoes, knives, and even rough needles of clumsy proportions.
This is undoubtedly one of the world’s natural zoological gardens. Huge
herds of elephants, sometimes numbering 200 or 300, trundle through the
tiger grass; leopards and lions may be heard at night roaring after their
prey, sometimes even round the capital; crocodiles and hippopotami infest
the lakes; monkeys and chimpanzees scamper about the forests; snakes lie
coiled up in the long grass; and everywhere teems insect life, from the
infinitesimal jigger to the locust. Lions are feared less by the people
than leopards. In Bunyoro, where lions showed a leaning towards human
flesh and blood, the King or Chief of the infested district used to send
out two black cows or calves, and the lions, after having tasted their
blood, no longer troubled the people, but dieted from that time on pigs
and hyenas.
Toro is still in the infancy of its development; the land, its resources,
the people, and their possibilities are fields that give promise of a
harvest of rich fruition to those who go to labour with mind and will.