Tramp IV. Towards the Pigmies
While the Kingdom of Toro has distinctly defined boundaries on the East,
North, and South (the latter two being the Albert and Albert Edward
Nyanzas) there are no lines of demarcation that bound it on the West. It
adjoins the Protectorate to the Belgian territory that extends across
from the Congo Free State, and until that boundary is officially fixed
the Kingdom of Toro may be said to include a number of untamed savage
tribes with a portion of the pigmies, who recognise no authority and rule
outside themselves.
Immediately the Toro Mission was established its first branch station
was planted about sixty miles west in Mboga, the district that touches
Stanley’s Great Forest—the home of the pigmies. Although the chief
offered much opposition to the Baganda missionaries, yet the workers
persistently held on, realising its important strategic position for
reaching the many tribes round its borders, and it formed one of the few
last links yet to be forged in order that Krapf’s dream of a chain of
missions extending across Africa might be fulfilled. After opposition
had burnt itself out and the Chief Tabala had himself become a Christian
the work prospered vigorously, and in 1903 the number of men and women
baptised reached over two hundred.
In that year the question of boundary line between Belgian and British
territory was again raised to be finally marked out. The decision would
either result in the district of Mboga being retained by the British,
or given over to the Belgians in exchange for a strip of land farther
south, in which latter case the River Semliki would form the natural
dividing line.
It was considered expedient, pending the arrangement between the two
Governments to strengthen in every way possible the mission work at Mboga
so that it might not be shaken should it ultimately lie outside the
Uganda Protectorate.
It was, therefore arranged that in the five months remaining before
leaving for furlough in England we should fit in a visit to that
district. The time of year fixed on for starting was a little
unfortunate, as the wet season was in full working order, and that never
adds an enviable charm to the gipsy life of African travelling. It was
evident that we were getting near the end of the prescribed period of
service, for instead of gaily trudging off in stout boots and puttees, we
pushed off from Kabarole with a donkey and a hammock, the only available
modes of conveyance.
When only three miles out we were overtaken by one of Toro’s special
storms. The heavily laden clouds had been running off towards the west
when Ruwenzori stood in their way and forbade them. So, in a terrible
temper, they turned back and gave us the full benefit of their tears. My
hammock bearers did not seem to mind; certainly they had nothing on that
would spoil, and I believe these casual drenchings are the only occasions
on which many of them feel the touch of water on their bodies. I have
often seen them trying to avoid even this by taking shelter under a tree
and holding a huge banana leaf over their head, when only clothed in a
tiny goat skin. The donkey slipped along behind with its rider enveloped
in a commodious mackintosh that left only the donkey’s nose and feet
visible. In order to get to the mission station of Busaiga, where we were
to spend a day, we had to turn off for two miles along a sloppy kind
of sheep-track path, which the donkey managed better than my men, who
stumbled along in the mud, very fearful lest they should let their burden
down. The man carrying our bath went before to warn them of danger; but
we passed him half-way, for with a splash he fell. No one seemed to
regard it as anything unusual, and continued marching on. Looking over
the side of my hammock, the last I saw of him was a hopeless mix-up of
black man’s limbs and bath sitting in inches of mud.
It was very good to find a big fire burning and a hot cup of tea ready in
a well swept native house that had been prepared for us, and designated
for our temporary use. In the afternoon our tent was well surrounded by
broad grins and inquisitive eyes as we were “at home” to callers. They
continued coming in from 1.30 to 5.30, by which time the air felt heavy,
so we escaped for an evening look-out. The complete range of mountains
was clearly defined from south to north and terminated close to us, in
the Semliki plain. Towards their northern base rested a heavy dense bank
of white cloud that slowly glided along. When it had reached the farthest
shoulder of the range, it woke from its soliloquy and with a mighty
effort plunged upwards, and in a few minutes flooded the whole country
with a dense, damp mist.
The first of May dawned in all the brightness of its reputation. Lake,
plain, valleys, and mountains appeared in their brightest garments to
do honour to the day, and the air trembled in its endeavour to laud the
Creator. No wonder that the people swarmed out of their stuffy little
huts for morning service. It was then pointed out to them that their
house of prayer needed rethatching, and in less than three hours the
“restoration of the church” was completed, for streams of tiny naked
figures went off and returned with a few strands of grass balanced
on their heads; the women followed with heavier burdens, and the men
were standing ready to tie it into small bundles and stuff them into
the thatch. There was here as everywhere a great demand for “reading
sheets,” and those who did not possess five cowrie shells (half a
farthing) wherewith to purchase one brought in a bundle of firewood,
two eggs, or undertook any little job in order to earn the sum. In the
afternoon we had meetings for men and women. At each gathering over one
hundred were present, which must have included nearly all the adult
inhabitants of the place. The audiences one meets with in the villages
are distinctly responsive; they evidently have an idea that it is a
slight to leave the European to do all the talking. In the middle of your
“sermon” one native will burst out with “Aye, aye, that’s so,” and the
whole company will agree in chorus. Then, again, they will repeat after
you a whole sentence that has struck them, and when your oration is over
they all exclaim “That’s very good; well done, very well done.” It is
most encouraging to a nervous speaker.
Leaving Busaiga, we descended to a wide plateau, which was most likely
at one time a lake bed, but the water has run off and left it quite dry.
The curious parallel gorges, where villages now nestle, resemble immense
yawning cracks formed by the land calling out for water. In one of these
clefts, where there was a sleepy little hamlet, we pitched camp. The old
chief of the place was sitting in his courtyard contentedly smoking a
huge pipe. He did not take the least notice of our arrival, and, from
what he said, if we had been a party of plunderers, he would have assumed
exactly the same immovable attitude. It was a very stuffy place; the heat
seemed to fall down listlessly in the little valley and had no strength
to move off at night. As for the varieties of insects that visited us as
the candles were lit, even the most initiated naturalist must have been
puzzled at classifying them.
[Illustration: THE SEMLIKI RIVER.]
On the following day we were up at daybreak to cheat the sun, which we
expected would do its worst for us in the exposed Semliki plain. When we
reached that level, although it was only 8.0 a.m., the heat was almost
unbearable. The little donkey must have felt it rather badly, for it
upset itself in the mud, and this twisted into weird contortions the
invaluable umbrella that was being carried on its back. The Semliki River
has to be crossed half-way across the plain; its waters are of a thick
grey colouring, and in them are smuggled away crocodiles, all sorts of
fierce fish with tusk-like teeth, and fever germs. A big dug-out canoe
came over from the opposite bank to ferry us across, and then returned to
fetch our porters, ass, and cows. The animals took most naturally to the
skiff—which might perhaps be traced back to their ancestors of the Ark
period.
In the cool of the afternoon an old fisherman punted me out in his canoe.
He attracted my attention to a big crocodile drawn up on the bank—it
suddenly woke from its sleep and slipped into the water for an evening
ablution. These dug-outs are scarcely what you might call inviting. I
have never seen one that does not leak considerably, and it is difficult
to imagine yourself comfortable when seated on a few rushes at the bottom
of the boat, feeling all the time the water oozing in under you.
Antelopes simply abound in the plain. In one spot alone there must have
stood forty of these peaceful creatures. They evidently understand that
all their district is preserved against the sportsman, for they now
venture quite close to the path and look at passers by with the greatest
impertinence. Two fine creatures with handsome antlers stood defying our
caravan only about fifty yards away, and simply refused to be frightened
off.
Mboga stands on a ridge of hills about 18 miles on the opposite side of
the plain to Ruwenzori. The scenery was in charming contrast to that
on the previous day’s journey as we lifted up on to high land. Forest
arteries flowed through every bend and hollow from the great aorta of
Stanley’s Pigmy Forest that stretched away for miles behind the Mboga
Hills. The trees closely resembled the English oak and mountain ash;
there was a marked scarcity of flowers, and my butterfly net remained
quite limp as we climbed up for three hours till the Mission station
appeared in sight. The people that came out to meet us broke up into two
parts; the one went with Mr. Fisher to superintend camping operations,
and I was borne off by the others to the Chief’s reception hall to hold
audience with his mother, who had ready a big black native pot of smoked
milk to offer me. Over one hundred women then streamed in to look at
the first European lady who had visited their country. They exclaimed,
“Bwana Fisher has much grace and love, for he was the first white man
to come and tell us of the religion of Christ, and now he has brought
to us the first lady.” A large open shed had been erected by the Chief
Paulo Tabalo, under which our tent could be erected and so sheltered
from the burning heat of the day, and it also provided us with a large
airy sitting room, which was necessary for the four weeks we intended to
remain.
The first thing that was absolutely essential to take in hand was
the building of a new Church, for the reed one standing was totally
inadequate to accommodate the people. Consequently each morning after a
brief service the men and women poured across to the new site to start
operations. The men, headed by their Chief, went off into the forests for
poles, and the women, laying aside their white linen draperies, handled
their hoes, and in a few days had completely cleared the plot of all
the long grass with which it had been covered. It was quite astonishing
to see the rapidity with which everybody went to work, and although the
proposed large mud church looked rather a formidable undertaking, the
Christians insisted on building a permanent mud house adjoining the
Church, which they hoped would secure more frequent visits from the
Missionary, or procure them an ordained teacher from Uganda.
The late Sir Henry Stanley, in “Darkest Africa,” has given a most vivid
picture of Mboga in his time. It was there he met with so much trouble
and savage opposition from the natives. Paulo Tabalo tells a thrilling
story of how his father collected together a large army to oppose the
great white man on the banks of the Semliki River, but was compelled to
flee, leaving behind a number of slain.
Oppression has given place to justice, turbulence to peace, and the most
abject fear of and subordination to the Evil Spirit is gradually being
overcome by knowledge and trust in God.
Stepping out from our tent one evening, I strolled away to a near hill to
watch the sun set. As it slowly disappeared behind a low ridge of distant
mountains it scattered trails of golden light across the plain, through
which the white waters gleamed. Then for a few brief minutes the vast
Ruwenzori Range appeared completely vestured in a deep pink transparent
mist, above which shone as a coronet the pure white snows. Never again in
the four weeks we spent there was such a wonderful effect repeated.
The hushed stillness was suddenly broken by a voice that issued from a
little hut almost hidden from view. Glancing round a tall rock that stood
between, I saw a dusky figure sitting in the doorway peeling potatoes
for the evening meal. She was quite unconscious of any intruder, and as
she bent down over her work she sang in the native tongue “Like a river
glorious is God’s perfect peace.”
Mboga of the present is a “Cave of Adullam” to the numerous surrounding
tribes who have fled from the hands of plunderers and raiders and come to
settle down under the peaceful rule of the Christian Chief.
Among the thirty-six men and women who had been instructed and were then
presented for baptism there were representatives of five different
tribes, three of whom were the first-fruits from those tribes. I held a
daily class with them for three weeks, and so had a chance of comparing
the brain power of these people. Certainly the one pigmy did not by any
means stand last in the class; on the other hand, he displayed a very
keen perception and often turned round to his neighbour and tried rather
impatiently to rub in the point. On the other hand, he was entirely
lacking in concentration, and it seemed impossible to pin his mind down
to the subject under discussion. Every afternoon the people stopped
work for two hours in order to go to Church to listen to the white
missionaries’ words. On the first Sunday a hint was thrown out to them
that they should study together in their homes, and so help each other to
understand their Bibles better. The day following Paulo called his people
together in his audience hall and told them that they had listened to
very good words from their European friend and teacher, and he felt that
if they were to become strong and be blessed by God they ought to carry
out the advice given. Several of them thereupon started systematic Bible
study in their homes. Many of the Christian women came to my afternoon
class with questions prepared which they had planned out together; and
they helped each other to make notes of my answers. I was surprised at
the intelligence shown in their questionings, for they had received
practically little teaching and are not naturally sharp. They asked many
things about the Epistles, when they were written, whether on St. Paul’s
journeyings or when in imprisonment; then they wanted to know the meaning
of “Alpha and Omega” and “the woman clothed with the sun,” etc., etc.
One afternoon, just as the class was closing, I looked up, and in the
doorway of the Church stood two most repelling figures. Their hair had
grown to the shoulders and was rolled into thin streaks with an ample
quantity of white goat’s fat; they wore a mere fragment of clothing, and
held in their hands a bow and sheaf of arrows. My lesson came to a dead
standstill, and I asked the women who the two men were. “They eat each
other,” was the reassuring response. I dismissed the class right away
and made off, but found the two cannibals standing outside. Very bravely
I went up and saluted them, but they only stared and grunted, then when
I turned to hurry back to camp they came too! In spite of being told
that they only eat their own people, I did not like to run any risk, so
enticed a number of women to come with me all the way to our tent by
saying I had some pictures just out from England to show them.
As we stood there in Mboga among some of the most primitive of the
human races it was difficult to realize that they formed part of that
greatest existing empire of the world. Let us hope the time will soon
come when these people will be brought within the circle of its moral and
intellectual influence as well as the circle of its civil rule. One can
scarcely imagine that there ever existed a more unenlightened age in the
history of man than the present twentieth century among these distant
subjects of Great Britain. From the brow of the Mission hill at Mboga no
fewer than seven distinct practically untamed tribes, each with its own
peculiar customs and dialect, lie within the range of eyesight. During
the four weeks spent in these parts we had an opportunity of coming in
direct contact with some people from each of these tribes, and as we
learned something of their habits and modes of existence we realised
in a deeper sense than ever before the significance of the words, “And
darkness was upon the face of the deep.”
After one month’s life under canvas, nomadic life loses its charm,
especially when the rains are a little too generous. The last three weeks
of our stay in Mboga proved somewhat distressful on this account, for
the storms beat down upon our skeleton shed and poured in through the
tent almost daily. The wide trenches dug round our quarters were quite
ineffectual in carrying off the water which came sweeping in upon us like
a flood. Frequently we were obliged to sit on our chairs or boxes with
our feet tucked under us while the water gaily took possession of the
ground floor of the tent.
Then food was a difficulty, for no one would sell the few goats and
chickens that they possessed. After the first fortnight they assured us
that we had eaten up all the chickens in the place! (In spite of this
we certainly lost weight.) Eggs were very scarce, and were sold at the
same price as a chicken, for, they argued, an egg is a chicken, and the
ones they brought for sale nearly proved their argument! All our boys
got ill with malarial fever, and when they were at their worst a case of
cholera was brought in to me for treatment. This seemed to be an unknown
complaint in these parts, and the people had no idea of its infectious
character. Already three deaths had occurred, and two households were
stricken down with it through visiting the sick house. We immediately
ordered all the infected huts to be quarantined and the strictest
attention given to the burning of all contaminated matter. Fortunately
the disease was thus checked from spreading, but not until four had
succumbed to it.
Our last Sunday spent there was a memorable occasion, for thirty-five men
and women were admitted into the fold of Christ through the confession
of their faith in Baptism, and sixty-two from this little “lighthouse”
station united with us in Holy Communion. After the evening service two
young men came forward and offered themselves to be trained as teachers
to the villages beyond. So although darkness yet covers the land of
Mboga it might be said “And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the
waters.”