Ma's great love for children; her rescue of outcast twins from
death; the story of little Susie, the pet of the household; and
something about a new kind of birthday that came oftener than
once a year.
Ma's house at Ekenge was always like a big nursery.
Mothers are much the same all over the world, but in Africa they are
very ignorant and thoughtless, and do not know how to care for their
children, while they believe so much in the strange customs of the
country that things are done to the little ones which seem to us
hard-hearted and cruel. It was worse in Ma's days, when most of the
people were still slaves.
She was always sorriest for the babies, they were so helpless, and the
only times she was really angry were when she saw them neglected or
starved or made drunk. Then she was like a tigress, and the people fled
before her. "Poor wee helpless things," she would say as she picked them
up and thought of the way the white babies at home were cared for. She
saw in the tiniest babe one for whom Jesus died; and she loved them all,
and washed them and nursed them, and sang to them day and night.
There was no cradle in the Mission House, but something better. Ma's bed
was in the middle of the room, and around it were hammocks slung to the
roof, from each of which a cord was hung. In these were placed the
babies, and if any one became wakeful during the night and cried, she
would pull the string and set its hammock swinging, and soon the little
one was slumbering again. Sometimes she had to look after half a dozen
or more at once, and two or three hammocks would be going at the same
time.
With many she had a hard struggle, but never grudged any trouble to make
them well. She would come home late after a long day's tramp in the
forest, tired and hungry and sleepy, and send Janie to bed and stay up
herself and tend the sick and suffering ones. You can fancy her there
alone in the mud-house in the forest in the quiet hours of the night,
bending over a wasted form, watching the pain in its eyes with tears in
her own, giving it medicine, soothing it, and seeking to make it comfy,
and beside her the pale dark shape of Death, with its grim smile,
waiting for another victim.
Ma sometimes won the child from the grave; sometimes she failed, and
then she was very sad. But she could not help it. The people believed
that sickness was caused by evil spirits, and most of the children that
came to her were already dying and beyond her love and skill. When they
closed their eyes she dressed them in a pinafore and put them in a box
covered with white flowers, and buried them in her children's cemetery.
Some women who called at Ma's yard were gossiping about the day's
marketing, when one said it was funny that a baby should live after
being five days and six nights in the bush.
"What's that?" demanded Ma. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing, Ma. The girl baby that was thrown away because the mother is
dead is still alive, for we heard her crying as we came along this
morning."
Ma jumped up and went flying to the spot. She found the waif on some
waste ground, terribly thin and eaten by insects and crying feebly.
Taking her home Ma laid her in a big calabash and brooded over her with
tender care, and by and by she recovered, and became healthy and pretty.
"The child of wonder," the people called her; but Ma named her Mary,
after herself, and she became one of her house-children, and stayed
with her until she married.
Twins gave Ma the sorest time. The people believed that all sorts of
troubles would come to them if these were allowed to live. Ma laughed at
them.
"Twins are just like other children," she said; "and if only you let
them grow up you will see for yourselves that there is no difference.
Look at my bonnie Janie--she is a twin."
But it was no use. So the only thing for her to do was to save the
little mites before they could be murdered. It was Eme Ete who told her
when twins came, and when she got the secret message she dropped the
work she was doing and made swiftly for the spot. Sometimes they were
already dead and thrown away in pots, and the mother driven into the
backwoods. If she were in time she took the infants home and nursed them
and guarded them from the father and relatives, who usually tried to
steal and destroy them.
One day she saved twins in her own village, and took them into the
Mission House and put them in her bed. The people were alarmed, and said
that dreadful things would happen. Chief Edem kept away. "I cannot go
any more to my Mother's house," he groaned; "no, never any more." No one
spoke to her. Mothers kept their children out of her way. She was sad
and sorrowful, but she would not give in, for she knew she was doing
right.
One of the twins died, but the other grew and waxed strong. The people
liked their Ma so much that they, too, were unhappy at the cloud that
had fallen between, and at last they began to make friends.
"Ma, forgive us," they said humbly. "We have not been taught right. Let
your heart warm to us again."
So the shadow passed away. What cheered Ma most of all was that the
father of the twin carried it home, and took back the mother, which
showed that the old stupid notion was beginning to die.
[Illustration: IYE.]
Another day there was a great uproar. Twins had come to a slave woman,
called Iye, about five miles off. Ma met her in the forest carrying the
infants in a box on her head, a howling mob of men and women hounding
her on. They had destroyed all her property and torn up her clothes. Ma
took the box, because no one would touch it, and helped the poor mother
along to the Mission House. They could not go by the usual path, as the
villagers would not have used it afterwards, so they had to wait in the
hot sun until another lane was cut.
The boy twin was dead, but the girl was alive, and with care became
plump and strong. She was a bonnie child with a fair skin and sweet
ways, and she became the pet of the household. Ma called her Susie,
after her elder sister, and loved her as much as if she had been her
own. Even the mother, after she got well and went away, sometimes came
back to see her, and was proud of her good looks.
Fourteen months passed. One day Janie went upstairs to put a child to
sleep, and asked Mana, one of the girls, to look after Susie, as she was
full of play and mischief. Mana took her, and while getting the tea
ready, placed a jug of boiling water on the floor for a moment. Susie,
babylike, seized it and spilt the water over her bare body. She was
dreadfully scalded. Ma was frantic, and for a fortnight scarcely let her
out of her arms. Often the child smiled up in her face and held up her
wee hand to be kissed. Ma at last carried her down to Creek Town, and
woke up the doctor there at midnight in the hope that something more
could be done. But the shock and wounds had been too severe, and when Ma
got back the bright life of the queen of the household flickered and
went out.
Ma's grief was pitiful, and made even the people wonder. "See how she
loved her," they said one to another. They came and mourned with her,
and stood by at the burial. Susie was robed in white, with her own
string of beads round her neck, and a white flower in her hand.
It was very lonesome for Ma afterwards. "My heart aches for my darling,"
she wrote. "Oh, the empty place and the silence and the vain longing for
the sweet voice and the soft caress and the funny ways. Oh, Susie!
Susie!"
Her heart went out towards Iye, the slave mother, and by and by she
bought her for L10 and made her free, and she remained in the Mission
House, a faithful worker, and a great help to Ma and those who came
after her.
All the stories of Ma's adventures with twins cannot be told, because
she had to do with hundreds of them, but this is one which shows what
she had often to go through.
One afternoon when she was busy teaching in the school, a message was
thrown suddenly at her from the door.
"Ma! come, twins."
"Where?" she asked.
"Twelve miles away in the bush, and the mother is very ill."
Ma went to the door and looked up. "There is going to be a storm," she
said, "and I have a sickly baby to look after and night will soon be
here, but--come along, Janie, we'll go."
Darkness fell ere they reached the spot, and the stars were hidden
behind clouds, and they could hardly see a yard in front.
They found the woman lying unconscious on the ground. One of the
infants was dead, and Janie dug a hole and buried it. Ma ordered the
husband and his slave to make a stretcher, which they did very
unwillingly. Then she placed the woman on it and bade them carry her.
Still more unwillingly, and grumbling all the time--for they dreaded
to touch a twin-mother--they obeyed. Janie lifted the living twin, and
all set forth by the light of a piece of fire-stick glowing at the
end. This went out, and they stumbled along in the dense darkness. At
last they stopped. They had lost themselves. The men laid down their
burden and went off to grope for a trail, and Ma and Janie were alone
in the eerie forest with the moaning form at their feet.
"Oh, Ma, they may not come back," cried Janie.
"Well, my lassie, we'll just bide where we are until morning."
A shining ghostly thing leapt about in the darkness. Janie's heart went
to her mouth. But it was only the men back with a torch made of palm
tassel and oil which they had got from a hut. They went on again.
When the Mission yard was reached the men were so tired that they fell
down and went to sleep at once. Ma, too, was tired, but her work was
not done. She got a hammer and nails and some sheets of iron and
knocked up a little lean-to, in which she put the woman and nursed her
back to consciousness, and fed and comforted her. Then, utterly worn
out, she just lay down where she was in her soiled and damp clothes, and
fell sound asleep.
The baby died next day, and the mother grew worse, and there was no
hope. She was sore in spirit as well as in body, and sorrowed for her
fate and the loss of her husband's love. Ma soothed her, and told her
she was going to a better world, where no one would be angry with her
for being a twin-mother.
When she passed away the people would not touch or come near her, and so
Ma did all that was needful herself, and placed her in a coffin, and
then the husband and his slave bore her away and buried her in a lonely
spot in the bush.
Poor twin-mothers of Africa!
Though Ma did not save very many of the twin-children that passed
through her hands, she did a great work by making the people realise how
foolish and sinful a thing it was to be afraid of them and kill them.
The household had grown and grown. We know about Janie and Mary, both
trickified and bright little maidens. Then there was Mana, a faithful
and affectionate lassie. One day, in her own country, she had gone to
the spring for water, and was seized by two men and brought to Okoyong
and sold to Eme Ete, who gave her to Ma. Wee Annie was there also, very
shy and timid, but a good nurse. Her parents had stolen and eaten a dog
in the bush, and there was much trouble, and the mother died, and Annie
would have been buried in the grave had not Ma taken her. Six other boys
and girls with sad stories also lived in the Mission House, so that Ma
often felt she was like the old woman who lived in a shoe, and who had
so many children she didn't know what to do.
It was not easy for her to keep in stock the food and medicine and
clothes that were needed for the family, and sometimes she would run out
of things. Once, when she was short of tins of milk, she strapped a baby
on her back and tramped down the forest trail to Creek Town, got what
she wanted, and patiently tramped back again.
Another time she was watching some women who were imprisoned within a
stockade and were going to be killed, and as she could not leave the
place Janie handed her cups of tea through the fence. Suddenly a tornado
came on and flooded the Mission House and soaked all the clothes. Ma
herself was wet to the skin. To add to her trouble Janie came and said,
"Ma, we have no milk, and the baby is crying for some."
"Well, Janie, I'll just have to trot to Creek Town for it. I'll get
some dry clothes too. Put the baby in a basket."
Slipping out in the darkness, and taking a woman to help to carry the
baby, she set forth. They lost their way in the rain, and wandered
hither and thither, and only reached the town at the dawning of the day.
Ma roused one of the ladies of the Mission, obtained the milk and a
change of clothes, and lay down for a little sleep. Hearing that she had
come, King Eyo got his canoe ready, and sent her back by the river. Her
absence from the stockade had not been noticed, and she was able later
to settle the trouble without bloodshed.
There were plenty of merry days in the home-life of Ekenge. Wherever
girls are gathered together there is sure to be fun and laughter, and Ma
had always the heart and will of a girl for jokes and mischief. She
could not take her bairns into lighted streets or gay shops, or to
places of amusement, for there was none of these things in the bush, but
sometimes she gave them a holiday, and a special tea, and gifts.
Perhaps, however, the most delightful treat they had was when a box
arrived from across the sea.
All over Scotland loving hearts were thinking of Ma, and loving hands
were working for her; and clothing, books, pictures, and knick-knacks
were being collected and packed in boxes and sent out addressed to her
in Okoyong. The Sunday School children also had their thoughts on the
Mission, and gave their pennies and halfpennies to it just as Ma herself
had done when a little girl. About this time they gathered up enough
money to build a steel steamer for use on the inland rivers and creeks,
and it was now plying up and down, carrying mails and parcels and
missionaries. It was called the _David Williamson_, after a minister of
the Church who visited Calabar, but the natives named it the _Smoking
Canoe_.
[Illustration: THE _DAVID WILLIAMSON_.]
You can imagine the excitement at the Mission House at Ekenge when a
half-naked messenger, his dark body perspiring and glistening in the
sun, appeared, and cried:
"Ma, the _Smoking Canoe_ is at the beach."
"Ho-ho! gifts from Makara land," sang half a dozen throats. "Oh, Ma,
when can we go? Let us go now."
Ma was as excited as the rest, so off went men, women, and children,
streaming along the path to the river, where the _David Williamson_ lay.
As the boxes were usually too heavy to be carried, they were opened up
on the beach and the contents made into parcels. These the natives
balanced on their heads and went off, a long file of them, through the
forest to Ekenge.
Sometimes it needed a second and a third journey before all the goods
were together again.
What a delight it was to Ma to open the packages! What cries of rapture
came from the children and the people looking on as they saw all the
things that were to them so wonderful and beautiful.
There were print garments by the dozens, woollen articles, caps,
scarves, handkerchiefs, towels, ribbons and braids, thimbles, needles
and pins, beads, buttons, reels, spoons, knives, scrap-books,
picture-books and cards, texts, pens, and a host of other things. It was
almost with awe that the women touched the pretty baby-clothes, and the
men clapped their hands as Ma held up a blue or scarlet gown or jacket.
The dolls were looked upon as gods, and Ma would not give them away in
case they were worshipped: she kept the prettily dressed ones to teach
the women and girls how clothes were made and how they were worn. Some
common things, which children at home would not value, they treasured.
When Janie was handed a penwiper, "Oh, Ma," she said reproachfully,
"wipe a dirty pen with that? No, no." And she put it up on the wall as
an ornament!
One old woman was given a copy of the picture "The Light of the World."
"Oh," she cried in joy, "I shall never be lonely any more!"
If you had watched Ma closely when she was opening the packages, you
would have seen that she was seeking for something with a quick and
impatient eye. When at last she found what she wanted she gave a shout
of triumph. Tins of home-made toffee and chocolate! They were always
there, for every one knew she liked sweets. When at home she used to ask
that these might be sent out, because the bush bairns were fond of them,
but her friends just laughed in her face. "Miss Slessor," they would
say, "you can eat as many as the bairns!" "Of course I can," she
confessed.
After the children had looked at all the gifts Ma would tell them where
they came from, and would kneel down and thank Jesus for putting it into
the hearts of the givers in Scotland to care for His forlorn black folk
in Africa.
Then Ma said, "Away to bed, bairns. But oh, hasn't it been grand? It's
just been like a birthday. Many happy returns!"
Ma did not give all the things away. A brilliant gown might go to the
chief as a gift--and he would sit proudly in Court with it and be
admired and envied by all,--or a flannelette garment to some poor and
aged woman to keep her warm during the shivery fog season; but as a rule
Ma liked the people to work for what they got, or to pay something for
them. Thus she taught them to want clothes and other things, and showed
them how to get them, and in this way she was a real Empire builder. She
used to say that there was no truer or more successful Empire maker than
the missionary.
[Illustration: OPENING ONE OF THE BOXES FROM SCOTLAND.]
[Illustration: MA'S HOUSE AT AKPAP.]