Our Reception and Entertainment
The welcome of Tonzeka and his people--A case judged--We find the white
man in Tonzeka’s town--Tonzeka defends the white man--He complains
of the effect of the white man’s preaching--A drunken bout.
The whole town turned out to welcome us with shouts, gun-firing,
clapping of hands, trillings, and the slapping of their open mouths with
the palms of their hands. The folk lined the paths leading to their
chief’s house, and saluted and chaffed us good-humouredly as we threaded
our way to it preceded by our admired band. Satu’s brass helmet excited
much envy and many remarks. It was the first time such a head-gear had
been seen in those parts, and naturally called for various comments on
its size, brightness and value.
Chief Tonzeka received us heartily, and having exchanged greetings with
us, showed Satu and his followers the quarters they were to occupy
during their visit, and deputed a large number of women to fetch
firewood and water, and also cook for us. The women had to supply all
the vegetable foods for our meals, and Tonzeka sent them the necessary
meat and fish. Tonzeka proved the genuineness of his hospitality by
killing a large pig, thus supplying Satu and his people with the meat
that all Congos love so well.
We incidentally heard there was a white man--one of those _Mundele wa N
zambi_ (white men of God) visiting the town, but we did not see him
until the next evening.
While the women were busy preparing the evening meal, Satu and his folk
foregathered in the chief’s courtyard (_lumbu_) to exchange news, to
talk about trade, about politics, and about the different cases that had
been brought to them for settlement as chiefs and head men.
Tonzeka gave as an example of the foolishness of the people in his
district the following case that was brought before him for judgment.
“A pig belonging to the Lumu people was killed by a Manga man on a farm
belonging to one of his wives. The Lumu folk demanded payment for the
pig; but this was refused on the ground that any pigs found digging up
cassava roots on a farm can be killed. After a time the Manga women went
to work that piece of ground again, and the Lumu women met them there,
and, being more numerous, took away the hoes belonging to the Manga
women, and claimed the land as their pig was killed on it, and no
compensation had been paid for it. That evening the chief of Manga sent
a message to the chief of Lumu, and the messenger carried a gun, which
he should not have done, so the Lumu people took the gun away from him
on the plea that he was bringing force into their town.”
“How did you settle that palaver?” asked Satu.
“Well, you know,” replied Tonzeka, “that any pig found on another’s farm
may be killed, and in some parts of the country the man who kills it can
take half the flesh for the trouble of killing it, and to compensate him
for the damage done to his farm; and the other half he sends to the
owner of the pig. In this part, when a pig is killed for trespassing,
the one who kills it leaves it at the place where it was slain, and
sends to tell the owner what he has done, and he himself has to fetch
the carcass, and as he finds it on another person’s farm he has sure
proof that it has trespassed.”
“Yes,” assented Satu, “I know those are the different customs, and in
our district we always take half the pig.”
“But,” continued Tonzeka, “this case was complicated because the Manga
people allowed their messenger to take a gun with him when he was sent
with their message.”
“That was very foolish of them,” said Satu, “but how did you decide the
case?”
“I judged it thus,” answered Tonzeka. “I fined the Lumu people one pig
for attempting to claim land which did not belong to them, as the
killing of a pig gave them no rights over the land on which it was
killed; and I fined the Manga people one goat, as the messenger had no
right to carry a gun when he went to deliver a message. It was taking
force into another’s town, and was also an exhibition of insolence.”
“You judged wisely,” commented Satu, “and I hope you received a fat pig
and a large goat for your trouble.”
“You will be able to judge that for yourselves,” laughingly replied
Tonzeka, “for the fines[30] only arrived this morning, and you will be
eating the pig for your evening meal.”
Footnote 30:
See note 25, p. 348.
Satu expressed the hope that he would receive such splendid fines every
day.
Tonzeka then informed his visitors that there was a white man staying in
his town, and promised to take his friend Satu to see him.
“I wonder if it is the same one whom we drove out of our town?” queried
Satu.
“Why did you drive him away?” asked Tonzeka, with a note of surprise in
his voice. “Surely he had done no harm to either you or your people?”
In an apologetic tone Satu admitted that he had not done them any harm,
for they did not give him an opportunity, as they would not allow him to
enter the town. “But Old Plaited-Beard told us such horrible things
against the white men that if I had not been there my people would have
killed this one. What is he doing in your town?”
To him Tonzeka replied: "This white man comes to see us very often, and
tells us about God, and about His Son Jesus Christ, Who, so the white
man says, came to die for us on a cross. I don’t understand all his
palavers; but he washes the sores of old and young, rich and poor, head
men and slaves, puts good medicine on them, ties them up with his own
white fingers, and the sores are quickly healed. We understand that! You
know my mother was very ill, and we tried one _nganga_ after another,
but they failed to cure her, although they ‘ate’ up a lot of money. Then
this white man came on one of his visits, and in two or three days she
was fully restored to health by the white man’s medicines."
“Yes,” remarked Satu, “perhaps he gave her the sickness by his
witchcraft, and therefore could easily cure her. These white men are
exceedingly cunning.”
“I know what you mean,” replied Tonzeka. “That is what our _ngangas_ do
to make money out of us. The _ngangas_ by means of their charms and
fetishes cause our diseases, and they receive fees for doing so; by
their fetishes they curse us or try to cure us, and again they receive
fees, and thus they become rich by our complaints. This white man did
not charge for the medicine, and what is more he gave my mother some of
his own food to make her strong.”
“I did not quite mean that,” said Satu, “but these white men are here to
buy up the dead bodies of our relatives, which they store in their
houses, and on the first good chance they send them away in their ships
to Mputu to become their slaves. They have wonderful magic for restoring
the spirits to the bodies.” And as he spoke a look of alarm and hate
came into his eyes, for he called to mind his fear that his own brother
and various other relatives were, as he was speaking, toiling in farms
and forests for their dreaded white masters.
With an air of superior knowledge Tonzeka said to his honoured visitor:
"There was a time when I also firmly believed what you have just stated;
but I and many of my people have been to this white man’s station. He
received us very kindly and showed us over his house; and truly, we saw
no shelves[31] there, and no places where he could keep dead bodies.
When we had an opportunity we entered his stores, medicine-house, boys’
quarters, and nowhere did we find a place where he could stow away dead
bodies. After two or three visits we came to the conclusion that these
falsehoods had been started by our _ngangas_ to protect their own
interests."
Footnote 31:
See note 26, p. 349.
Satu expressed his astonishment at what he had heard; but still
doubting, asked: “Did you go into all the rooms in his house, and does
he ever send bales and boxes to the coast?”
“Yes,” replied Tonzeka, “I went into all the rooms, for one of the boys
showed me every nook and corner one day while the white man was absent.
He does not trade, consequently he has no bales and boxes to send to the
coast. Friend Satu, do not believe those lies about the white man.
Evidently ivory and rubber have a value in their country. Why, the white
man himself showed me a coat and a sheet made of rubber that no water
could pass through. I tried them myself; and I understand that in their
country it rains all the year round, for they have no dry season as we
have, and if they had no rubber they could not make rubber coats, and
would have to stay in their houses every day.”
Satu thanked his friend and said: "What you tell me about rubber coats
and sheets quite accounts for the presence of traders in our country;
but these ‘white men of God’ do not trade. Why are they here?" And a
look of sly triumph came into his eyes as he continued: “They don’t buy
rubber, they don’t deal in ivory, they don’t trade in anything, and,
according to your own statement, they don’t even buy dead bodies. Why
are they here? That is what I want to know?”
“That is the very question I put to this white man myself,” replied
Tonzeka, "and I will try to give you his answer. He said: A very long
time ago, years and years ago, the people in his country were just like
the people are now in our country. They were naked, painted savages that
lived in huts in their forests. They had spears and knives, and fought
each other as we do. They had canoes like ours, and wore brass armlets
and anklets very much the same as ours. They believed in fetishes,
charms and _ngangas_; and, to use his own words, his forefathers lived
wretched lives and died miserable deaths without God and without hope.
Then some messengers brought to his country the wonderful news about
God, about Jesus Christ, and about the great Salvation, and the hearts
and lives of many thousands were changed and filled with joy and
pity--joy because they were saved, and pity for us who know not of God’s
great love for all, for so great is His love that He freely gave His
beloved Son to die for us. Now these people have sent this white man and
others like him to pass on the blessings of Jesus and His grand
salvation to us, for it seems that this Jesus gave them a command to
preach the good news to everybody all over the world.
“I spent nearly a whole evening in talking these palavers over with the
white man, and I have told you all I have remembered; but I am afraid I
have forgotten a great many of his words.”
Again Satu thanked his friend, and promised to ponder in his heart the
words he had heard, or, as he expressed it: “To drink water over them.”
“Well,” said Tonzeka, “I have sent two of my sons to the white man’s
school, and they are learning to read, write, do carpentry and to make
bricks. They are gaining much knowledge, but there is one thing I do not
like about this white man.”
“What is that?” eagerly asked Satu.
Tonzeka paused a few moments before replying, and then he broke out in a
self-pitying tone: "This white man tells me that I am a bad man, because
I lie, steal, commit adultery and become often very drunk, and in doing
these bad deeds I am breaking God’s laws, and shall be punished for
doing so. When he talks like that I always feel very uncomfortable, for
I know that what he says is perfectly true. I never heard before that
God had given any laws for us to obey, because, as you know, we have no
books; yet when we get drunk, or thieve, or lie, or do any other bad
action, something inside tells us that they are wrong and condemns us;
but we are not ashamed, because everybody does them. If he would give us
medicine, and teach our boys and girls it would be all right, but when
he talks God’s palavers I do not like him, for he makes my ‘heart stand
up’ with fear."
Satu was about to condole with him, but there was a general movement
towards the fires, for by now the saucepans were steaming with cooked
food, and all the folk were eagerly anticipating the feast of pig and
pudding. Satu turned these matters over in his mind, and remarked to one
of his head men: “After all, there are some disadvantages in having a
white man in one’s town, if he makes us uncomfortable in our hearts;
and,” he continued, “I am not sure whether Tonzeka is bewitched by the
white man, or is sharing profits with the white man in the sale of dead
bodies.”
After the evening meal Tonzeka gave another proof of his hospitality. He
opened some cases of trade gin[32] and two demijohns of rum, and invited
Satu and his party to a drinking bout.
The fiery liquor quickly induced a quarrelsomeness in the drinkers that
I thought would cause such murderous fights that the town would be
drenched with blood; indeed, Bakula received a nasty cut on his arm, and
several others were wounded and bruised. But this intoxicated madness
was fortunately soon succeeded by a maudlin state, in which the
carousers embraced each other, shouted senseless sayings, joined in
ribald refrains, and engaged in obscene dances until at last the potions
gained the mastery and they fell on the ground in sottish sleep--mere
breathing logs.
Borne on the breeze from a distant part of the town came the evening
hymn of the white man and his boys, and distinctly the words were
carried to me--
“God loved the world of sinners lost
And ruined by the fall;
Salvation full, at highest cost,
He offers free to all.
Oh, ’twas love, ’twas wondrous love!
The love of God to me!
It brought my Saviour from above
To die on Calvary.”
Footnote 32:
See note 27, p. 349.