Home Life
Life in Africa offers as sharp a contrast as is possible to imagine
to the rush and bustle of the old country. Perhaps this is one of the
earliest impressions that strikes one when coming straight from a large
and noisy household in the Metropolis. The keynote of this country is
“mpora, mpora”—“slowly, slowly,” and its effects are seen and felt
everywhere. Time is of no consequence or value to the people. The wheels
of life revolve so slowly that I felt as if my whole being had been
pulled up with a jerk. The clockwork of activity had to be allowed to run
down gradually, in order to fall into correspondence with things around.
Having left England just after Christmas, with its memories of busy
thoroughfares streaming with lights from the gaily decorated shops, and
teeming with folks big and small all chattering and preparing for the
festive season, I had scarcely had time to forget all this noise and
rattle before arriving at the antipodes of existence. Step out of the
house one evening with me at about 8.0. Miles and miles of country lie
faintly outlined by the phantom light of the moon—that orb of death. No
other spark or ray breaks the long, wide expanse of darkness, and all the
land and nature lie in profound sleep: no song of mirth or infant’s cry
reaches us, everything is mute and everywhere is sleeping.
Suddenly a shrill shriek from the hyena or a leopard’s low growl drives
us indoors. Oh for the rumble of a London ’bus or the rush of the Irish
express as it passes the old home in a mad hurry night after night. There
is the faithful companionship of a scratchy pen, so that is how one
generally turns out a voluminous correspondent in these parts of silent
Africa.
Now let that same pen tell something of our home and various domestic
odds and ends. Our house was built of wood and mud daub with a roof of
thatch. The rooms, five in number, were lofty and fairly large, with
walls which could be called neither straight nor smooth—in fact they
rather reminded me of “Uncle Podger’s” wall that looked as if it had been
smoothed down with a garden rake after he had been hanging a picture.
But ours were white-washed, and this, at least, gave them a clean and
cheerful appearance. The fact was that a violent storm had slightly blown
the walls out of gear before the ground had sufficiently hardened round
the framework poles. The windows were ingeniously made of wood with
calico nailed across as a substitute for glass. We had only one door to
start with—the front door—made of the unpolished and unplaned material
of two packing cases, ornamented with the names and destinations of the
owners of the boxes. There was a verandah all round the house which kept
it cool from the mid-day sun.
Really, it was a marvellous building when you consider that the workmen
had never built anything different from the round beehive grass and reed
huts in which the people live. The poles had all to be brought in from a
forest seven miles away, and were carried in on men’s heads. The mud was
beaten by their bare feet. They had to be overlooked at every point and
turn as they have no idea of work, or even a straight line, unless the
European is actually on the spot to show them. And when that European
was absolutely alone and endeavouring to act as pastor, teacher, and
schoolmaster to hundreds of eager and teachable people, the question is
how he ever squeezed in time to build this and his own house.
Our tent furniture was far too diminutive and scanty to fill our five
rooms, so we turned cabinet-makers, and produced some highly creditable
articles, all things considered.
Piling up six packing cases of uniform size, and nailing round strips of
native grass matting, we had a splendid “Liberty” bookcase.
A “cosy corner” was made out of two more boxes turned upside down,
stuffed with shavings and covered with cretonne. It _looked_ very
comfortable but rather belied its name.
Our dining-room table consisted of the lids of cases joined up and nailed
to four posts planted in the mud floor. After a few weeks the legs took
root, and the young branches supplied novel decorations.
We framed a few large photographs in reeds and hung them where the walls
were flat enough.
The nights in Toro are cold, for although we are only 1·5 degrees lat.
North, the capital is 5,000 feet above sea level. In consequence the
houses are built with brick chimneys. With a bright log fire burning in
the open hearth and a comfortable arm chair our sitting-room looked very
cosy and bright. It is quite remarkable the amount of enjoyment one can
derive out of things which cost nothing but a little hard work and a good
deal harder thinking out.
One learns sometimes from rather trying experiences that several things
which have been regarded as absolute essentials in England can so easily
be dispensed with out here.
A lot of things brought out from home reached me in a hopelessly wrecked
condition. As I have said before, on account of the scarcity of porters
we had been obliged to leave several boxes behind. Three of the
twenty-three I had left were never again heard of. As these were food
supplies I hoped they nourished some of the half-famished natives we
passed up country. But the cases that did arrive had been exposed without
protection from the rains, and were absolutely rotten when they reached
me; the zinc linings had been destroyed by rust, and the contents reduced
to pulp. In a sort of mechanical way I sorted out the different things,
throwing aside books, letters, clothing, and nick-nacks on the rubbish
heap. Some things could never be replaced—little recollections of the
past and home-links. How reluctantly were these cast out!—but God showed
me that this was known and allowed by Him, and when once He shows us
this, the sunshine bursts forth and the heart rejoices. It strengthens
one all round when sometimes the temporal is shattered to allow the
Invisible and Eternal to appear. I should not be at all surprised that
our missionary example St. Paul had had all his loads spoilt by shipwreck
when he wrote: “I have learned in whatsoever state I am therewith to be
content; not that I speak in respect of want.”
On another occasion when our annual supplies from England were within one
day’s march of Toro the porters’ shed was burnt down and all our loads
but two were destroyed.
Now, as to food, there are just three items you can buy out here: goats,
or sheep that have not an ounce of fat except in their tails. These cost
about 2s. 8d. Chickens, which provide sufficient flesh for one person’s
meal of very normal appetite, can be purchased for fifty cowrie shells
(1¼d.), twenty eggs for the same price, but these are not often cheap, as
very frequently they are brought for sale when they will not hatch.
Of course our store room, furnished from England, is our grocer; the
garden answers to greengrocer and fruiterer, for it produces nearly
everything; crops can be had in constant succession if care is taken to
sow systematically. We also have from our cows a constant supply of fresh
butter, cream, and milk which is churned on the premises in a native
gourd. Besides this we are our own bakers. Flour is grown in limited and
fluctuating quantities in the country. This is ground up, mixed with
carbonate of soda and buttermilk, baked in a native pot with fire above
and under, and in less than an hour a very decent wholemeal loaf is ready
for afternoon tea.
The only drawback is that most of these departments of industry have to
be worked by one’s self. It is rather curious the number of professions a
European holds out here, simply because he must, there is no one else to
do it. The natives have such exalted ideas of the powers of a white man,
that they appeal to him in every difficulty.
The first week we had brought to us an umbrella to be re-covered, one
watch with broken mainspring needing repair, a lamp to be soldered, all
sorts and conditions of sick people wanting medicine, and one raving
madman!
The servant question was one that had to be faced immediately on our
arrival, so we decided to write up to the King and Namasole. In reply,
four young girls were sent down who did nothing but weep in spite of
our kindly assurances of friendliness. They had never seen white ladies
before, and were literally scared at us. They all ran away during the
first night! So we had to keep on our road-boys until we had won the
confidence of the women. We sometimes wondered if we should live to see
that time; for one day a cabbage was sent to table that had been cooked
in about one pound of soda. The cook had seen the European put a pinch
in the water, and judging the diminutive quantity was with an eye to
economy, determined on giving us a liberal treat for once!
Our best “cosy” was served up at another meal as a dish cover to the
roast chicken!
It is not often, however, that they knowingly deviate from the model
lesson given them; they sometimes err too faithfully on the other side
by reproducing the European’s mistakes and never improving on them. If
you have once taught them a heavy pastry, your pies will always have
that same unfortunate crust in spite of a more successful second lesson.
They believe absolutely in reverting to original type. However, this is
a one-sided view of the little black cooks. Imagine an English lad of
twelve serving up a six-course dinner as these little fellows can, after
some training; and with such a kitchen range, three bricks or stones and
some twigs, and a very limited storeroom. Give a Toro cook a leg of goat
and he can turn out a most satisfying meal of varieties—goat soup, goat
curry, goat stewed, goat boiled and roast; and then if you want one more
course, give him flour, eggs, milk, and a little butter, and he could
send you in goat pie and goat pudding, or pancakes, boiled or baked
batter, boiled or baked sponge pudding.
If you live on poor food in Toro, you must not blame the country or your
cook, but yourself, that you did not arm against the future by occasional
visits to your English kitchen. That is by far the best way of learning;
cookery lectures and cookery books are not much use for a country like
this; they generally tell you to “take” something you have not got and
cannot get, and on that seems to depend the success of the recipe. Often
have I recalled the long, tiring hours spent in learning to knead bread,
and then the patience of waiting for it to rise; we should be eating
tinned biscuits (like our predecessors) till this day if our bread
depended on that method out here.
Vegetables form rather an important part in the daily diet; in fact,
one is inclined to be a vegetarian where vegetables are so plentiful
and meat very tough and tasteless. On some occasions fifteen different
kinds have been sent to table at a meal. They are all cooked in one large
earthen pot, each vegetable being tied up in a large banana leaf with
water—the leaf is waterproof and made soft and pliable by passing it
through the fire.
The white ants and snakes show marked appreciation for the Europeans’
houses. In spite of digging deep trenches round outside, the ants, which
are supposed to travel only a few inches under the surface soil, manage
to get at the poles and so gradually undermine the safety of the walls.
They are the most indefatigable workers. In one night the floor of a
room will be covered with little heaps of soil which they have carried
up; a mackintosh coat was half eaten away by these little pests that
had discovered it on a peg behind the bedroom door. Sulphur, hot water,
Keating, pepper, thrown down proved quite ineffectual in driving them
off. The natives advised a European to leave the little ant-heaps for a
few days until a crop of small mushrooms appeared on the ant-heaps, and
that would satisfy the ants and off they would go to begin their work
elsewhere. The experiment was tried, with the result that on the third
day the floor was covered with tiny white fungi, and the ants really
did disappear after that. I will not attempt to explain the reason
scientifically.
More stringent measures than passive resistance were needed for the
snakes that came and built under the sitting room floor. Their appearance
was first discovered by one of them leaving his top coat behind him in
one of the rooms.
One evening we were roused from our peaceful occupations hearing two
rifle reports and a regular stampede outside our house; we rushed to
the door, but were quickly told to shut it up, as a leopard was rushing
about. Two shots had been fired, but missed it. A large search party
was formed of excited, frightened natives with spears, rifles, and long
torches, but all their endeavours were in vain. Three nights after that
another and even larger leopard prowled round the houses, entered the
donkey stables and dragged out a small baby donkey. In the morning an
awful sight met our gaze on the path outside the stabling. The two hind
legs had been completely eaten and the body torn open; the ground was
covered with blood, and many claw marks were visible. The war drum was
beaten, and, according to the law of the country, all the men turned out,
from the chiefs to the poorest peasant, armed with spears and clubs.
The excitement was intense, the King’s Hill was thronged with dancing,
rushing natives, singing war songs and making dashing onslaughts toward
imaginary foes. They all danced and rushed in step, accomplishing the
curious body dance in perfect order. They tracked the beast and Mr.
Fisher, who had led out the party, shot it as it gave one spring from its
lair. The return home was a yell of victory, all assembling under the
large tree on the top of the King’s Hill to salute the Katikiro (Chief
Minister), who sat in state to wait the arrival of the prey. Afterwards
all the wounded were brought to the dispensary for surgical attention;
one arm was so severely cut with spears and torn by the leopard’s claws
that I had to stitch it up. Leopard’s claws are very poisonous, and
inflammation immediately sets in; many cases prove fatal on account of
blood poisoning.
Just one word more before closing this. Life out here is not one of
constant “roughing it.” No girls in England could have been happier than
we were, and there are heaps of things that make up for some left in
Merrie England.
For instance, a punt down the Thames is not to be compared to a paddle
in a dug-out canoe or a sail in the same by a square of calico hoisted.
There is a delightful lake right away among the mountains, only five
miles off, and no one ever enjoyed a lunch like the one we had in the
little reed bungalow on the shore. Our first picnic there was unique.
The lunch was provided by the Government officials, and really, I had
never imagined men were so domesticated. They superintended the culinary
arrangements. The Administrator made a meat pie, the crust of which
might have been improved; another produced a sort of trifle; while a
third manufactured scones; and we tried not to notice the lack of baking
powder. But we survived all three.