BOKWALA
THE STORY OF A CONGO VICTIM
BY
A CONGO RESIDENT
WITH A PREFACE BY
H. GRATTAN GUINNESS, M.D.
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 BOUVERIE ST. & 65 ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD, E.C.
1910
PREFACE
Having personally visited the Upper Congo in the days preceding the
establishment of the notorious rubber régime, and being intimately
acquainted with the conditions of native life which then obtained, I
have watched with profoundest pity and indignation the development of
Congo slavery. Old-time conditions of savage barbarity were awful, but
it has been reserved for so-called “Christian Civilisation” to
introduce the system of atrocious oppression and hopeless despair under
which, during the last fifteen years, millions of helpless natives have
perished directly or indirectly, for whose protection Great Britain and
the United States of America have special responsibility before God and
men.
It is particularly appropriate that in this moment of Congo crisis
these pages should render articulate the voice of a Congo victim.
Bokwala tells his own story, thanks to the clever and sympathetic
interpretation of a gifted and experienced resident on the Congo. And a
touching story it is, told with admirable directness and simplicity,
truthfulness and restraint.
I heartily commend the book to all who are interested in the greatest
humanitarian issue which has appealed to us during the last thirty
years, and to those also who as yet know little or nothing of the Congo
Iniquity.
H. GRATTAN GUINNESS, M.D.
Acting-Director of The Regions Beyond Missionary Union.
Harley House, Bow, London, E.
O Lord, how long shall I cry, and Thou wilt not hear! even cry unto
Thee out of violence, and Thou wilt not save!
Why dost Thou shew me iniquity, and cause me to behold grievance? for
spoiling and violence are before me: and there are that raise up strife
and contention.
Therefore the law is slacked, and judgment doth never go forth: for the
wicked doth compass about the righteous, therefore wrong judgment
proceedeth.
Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on
iniquity: wherefore lookest Thou on them that deal treacherously, and
holdest Thy tongue when the wicked devoureth the man that is more
righteous than he?
Habakkuk i. 2, 3, 4, 13.
FOREWORD
This story of Bokwala, a Congo victim, has been written in the belief
that it will help the friends of the Congo native to see something of
how Congo affairs appear when looked at from the standpoint of those
whom they most nearly concern in their actual working, i.e., the Congo
natives themselves.
Bokwala’s story is the truth, and nothing but the truth. The whole
truth, however, is written only in tears and blood wrung from the
unfortunate people who are subjects of such treatment as is described
in this book. Even if it were written with pen and ink, it could not be
printed or circulated generally. No extreme case has been chosen, the
story told has none of the very worst elements of Congo life in it; it
is the life which has been lived by hundreds and thousands of Congo
natives, and in great measure is being lived by them to-day.
Now in July, 1909, while these words are being written, wrongs are
taking place; men and women are being imprisoned for shortage in food
taxes; messengers of white men are threatening, abusing, and striking
innocent villagers; and constant demands are being made upon the people
who find it impossible to supply such except at great expense to
themselves, which they do not hesitate to incur rather than be tied up
and go to prison.
Changes there have been in the name and personnel of the
administration: but no change in the system. We who live here and see
what takes place pray that you at home may stand firm and not for one
moment think that the battle is won. It is not won yet; and will not be
until we see the changes actually worked out by reformers here on the
Congo as surely as you see the proposals and promises of them on paper
in Europe.
If what is here recorded helps to bring about that happy state of
things one day sooner than it would otherwise come, surely readers and
writer will unite in praise to Him who alone is able to bring it to
pass.
A CONGO RESIDENT.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE BY DR. H. GRATTAN GUINNESS 5
FOREWORD 9
CHAPTER I
HOW WE ONCE LIVED 15
My early days—Life at home—How we fared—Work and play—Our one fear,
the cannibals—Iseankótó’s warning—We despise it—We are captured by
cannibals—The journey—A horrible meal—The cannibal village reached.
CHAPTER II
I AM A CANNIBAL’S SLAVE 26
In the cannibal village—Before the council—Our fate—Desire to
please my master—How I succeeded—Our fears and their
justification—A sad company—Siene’s murder—The boy who lied—The
ordeal by poison—Village strife—The human peace-offering—The
haunting dread—Rumours of the white men—A fright—Makweke’s
peril—How he escaped—We plan flight—The start—The chase—A near
thing—The river reached—Over, and at home again.
CHAPTER III
THE COMING OF BOKAKALA 46
At home again—I choose a wife—How I went courting—And was
married—My visits to the white men—They talk of “one Jesus”—The
other white man, Bokakala—He wants rubber—We are eager to get
it—How rubber was collected—The rubber market—“We did not know.”
CHAPTER IV
THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS 55
The coming of more white men—A change in our treatment—Things go
from bad to worse—I get tired of collecting rubber—And stay at
home—The white man’s anger and threats—I go to a palaver—My rubber
is short—I am whipped—The white man’s new plan—Forest guards—Their
oppression and greed—We report them to the white man—Results—But
the worst not yet.
CHAPTER V
OPPRESSION, SHAME, AND TORTURE 62
My new slavery—How our villagers fared at home—The white man’s
meat—How it was got—The white men of God and their pity—How the
women were enslaved—Feeding the idle—Endeavours to evade
oppression—Results—How would you like our conditions?—Forest
work—Its hardships—The day of reckoning—Back to the village and
home—An ominous silence—A sad discovery—Redeeming our wives—An
offending villager—A poor victim—A ghastly punishment—The woman’s
death—Another village—The monkey hunters—The old man who stayed at
home—How he was tortured—No redress.
CHAPTER VI
SOME HORRORS OF OUR LOT 74
Our work grows harder—I consult the white man of God—A strange
contrast—My plea unavailing—My rubber short—I am sent to the
prison—The captives—Their work and their punishments—The sick—The
new-born babe—The dead and their burial—The suspected—How they were
tortured—The steamer—The rubber chief—The prison opened—A
procession of spectres—The place of the dead—For a time peace—Work
for the man of God—How we fared—My reward—I wish to go home.
CHAPTER VII
BACK TO SLAVERY 88
My welcome at home—My respite and its end—The forest sentry—The
little boy—My father’s appeal and its result—I intervene—The
sentry’s revenge—A rubber slave once more—I appeal to the man of
God—Disappointment—“Nothing but rubber till I die!”—The hopeless
toil—The coming of the pestilence—The witch-doctor’s medicine—The
desolation—But still the rubber!
CHAPTER VIII
OTHER CHANGES. HOPE DEFERRED 98
A change of labour—We become hunters—A new demand—And new
difficulties—Failure—The sentry’s demand—The old men’s
plea—Murder—We tell the men of God—And complain to the rubber
man—The white chief—The things written in a book—And no remedy
comes—Hunting again—The English visitor—The white woman—Results of
making complaints—The sentries’ threats—The one way of
escape—“Better to be with the hunters than the hunted”—Another
sorrow—The sleeping-sickness—“Just a little while, and they die”—We
cry to the white people.
CHAPTER IX
THE ELDERS OF EUROPE 112
More white men from Europe—Fears and curiosity—The white men
inquire about us—We tell them of our state—And our oppressors—The
knotted strings and their story—“These things are bad”—The white
man’s promises—Better times—Soon ended—Rubber again—The old
toil—The men of the river—The demands on the villages—The chiefs in
power—Chiefs and the sentries—The death wail and the white man—“We
are very poor.”
CHAPTER X
THINGS WE WANT TO KNOW 121
My story is finished—The past and the present—Why are these things
so?—The old days—Now we are white men’s slaves—How long will it
last?—We are dying—Our only rest is death—How long, how long?
BOKWALA
CHAPTER I
HOW WE ONCE LIVED
My early days—Life at home—How we fared—Work and play—Our one fear,
the cannibals—Iseankótó’s warning—We despise it—We are captured by
cannibals—The journey—A horrible meal—The cannibal village reached.
I have heard that there are many white people in Europe, both men and
women, who feel compassion for us black men, and who would, if they
knew more about us, take pity on us and save us from our sorrows and
trials. So I am going to tell the story of my life, that they may know
and help us.
Long, long ago I was born in the village of Ekaka, and having lived so
long I have seen many things, and who is better able to tell them than
I? We have great controversy with the white people about our ages: they
say I am about thirty years old, but of course I know better; and I say
that I am about three thousand years old—which shows that white men do
not know everything.
My name is Bokwala, a slave. I do not know why my father and mother
named me so; for I was a freeborn child. But afterwards I became a
slave in truth, as I shall tell you, so then it suited me well.
We lived all together very happily in my father’s compound. He was the
chief of Ekaka, and had great authority; he had but to give an order,
and at once the people would hurry to execute it. His own name was
Mboyo, but he was always called Isek’okwala, after me, and in the same
way my mother was called Yek’okwala. It is one of our customs to call
the parents “father” or “mother” of Bokwala, or whatever the name of
the child may be.
My mother was my father’s favourite wife, but, being a chief, he had
several others, and necessarily our compound was a large one.
In the centre of one side of a large open space was the chief’s own
house, and next to it the open house for talking palavers, feasting,
&c. Then there were the houses of the women, one for each wife, where
she lived with her own children, and other houses for slaves. As we
boys grew older we built houses for ourselves in our father’s compound,
and in time it grew to be almost like a small village.
Those were good days, as far as we ourselves were concerned. We were
free to do as we liked; if we quarrelled, we fought it out, and the
strongest won; if we wanted meat or fish, we went to hunt in the
forest, or to fish on the river, and soon had a plentiful supply; and
in our gardens there was always as much vegetable food as we needed.
Sometimes the women had quarrels amongst themselves, and then we had no
peace for a time. They talked and talked, and scolded each other from
morning till night, and almost from night till morning, and there was
no sleep for any of us. Not even my father could put an end to these
rows: for the time being the women were masters of the situation and of
him. You see, the women provide us men with food, and if they are angry
with a man they starve him, therefore what can he do? He justs waits,
and by and by their anger is finished, and a time of peace ensues, and
possibly a feast.
I will tell you how we passed our days in the time of my childhood.
Every one rose with the sun, for our people do not think it good to
sleep late, and it did not take long to eat our morning meal of
manioca, and anything which had been kept over from the night before.
Then we began to scatter, some of the women to the large manioca
gardens at some distance in the forest, and others to fish in the
river. Sometimes they went fishing for a day only, at other times for
as long as a month. The length of time and the kind of fishing depends
on the season, whether the water is high or low, and what sort of fish
are plentiful. Some of the men and boys would go out to hunt with their
nets and spears, others would be busy making nets, canoes, paddles, and
cooking utensils, or doing smithy work, making spears, knives, or
ornaments for the women. The chief and elders of the village would
gather in the large shed and talk palavers, hear and tell news, smoke
and chat all day long.
We children would fish, go for picnics in the near forest, bathe in the
river, play games, quarrel and fight and make it up again, and return
to our play until we felt hungry, when we made our way homewards to
seek our mothers.
Towards evening, when the sun was slipping down, the men would come in
from the hunt, and the women from the gardens, from woodcutting in the
forest, and water-drawing at the springs, and then the cooking would
begin. All round us were women chatting, and little girls running
errands and helping them in various ways.
Some of the women would be making tökö (native bread) from the steeped
manioca they had just brought from the river, and they were busy with
pestle and mortar, pots and calabashes. Others were making banganju, a
kind of pottage made of manioca leaves, palm nuts, and red peppers, and
yet others preparing bosaka, or palm-oil chop.
The animals killed in the hunt were first taken to my father to be
divided by him, and soon the portions were given round to the women to
be cooked, while we youngsters sat about waiting, talked and feasted on
the appetising smells emitted from the various boiling pots.
My mother sat and talked with my father; she did no cooking, as she was
the favourite wife, and the others cooked for her. In the fruit season
we might add our quota to the feast in the form of rubber and other
fruits, or even caterpillars or palmerworms, and these were greatly
enjoyed by all.
When the food was ready the women brought it in hand-baskets to my
father, who first helped himself to his share, and passed some to any
visitors who might be with him, then he gave the rest to his wives, and
each in turn divided it amongst her own children. The slaves were
treated much the same as children when food was served out, they
received their share.
We had no plates or spoons then, as some of our people who work for the
white men now have, leaves served for plates, and twisted into a scoop
did equally well for spoons. The chief possessed his own carved ivory
spoon, worked from a solid elephant’s tusk, but that was taboo for any
but himself. Nowadays we may not work ivory for ourselves, we have to
take it to the white men.
As soon as we had all finished eating, and drinking spring water, some
of us carefully gathered up all the leaves which we had used, and the
peelings and cuttings of the food, and threw them away in the forest,
lest some evil-disposed person should get hold of them and by means of
them bewitch us. We are all very much afraid of witchcraft, unless we
ourselves practise it; then, of course, it is for others to fear us.
The meal finished and cleared away, and the leavings tied up to the
roof to be served again to-morrow morning, we all gathered round the
fires and the old men told stories of their prowess in hunting or in
war, or retold to us young ones some of the legends and fables of our
ancestors of long ago. Sometimes, on rare occasions, my father would
sing to us the legend of Lianza, the ancient warrior and hero of our
race. This story takes a long time to tell, and at frequent intervals
the whole company would join in singing the choruses, with clapping of
hands and great excitement.
This lasted far into the night. And sometimes when the moon shone
brightly we would sing and dance and play games, which we enjoyed
greatly at the time, although they were not good games, and we
generally had to suffer for them afterwards. On the following morning
many of us were sick, our heads ached, and we were fit for nothing.
We do not play these games so much now as we used to.
There was just one thing we were always afraid of in those days, and
that was an attack from our enemies who lived on the other side of the
river. They were very bad people, so wicked that they even eat men whom
they have killed in battle, or slaves whom they have taken prisoners or
bought for the purpose. They were at that time much stronger than we
were, and when they attacked us we always got the worst of it. So we
dreaded them very much, more even than the wild animals of the forest.
On a certain evening we were sitting talking after having finished our
evening meal, and we began to make plans for a fishing expedition to
the marsh near the river, and finally decided to start on the next day.
We slept that night at home, and were awake betimes in the morning
ready for an early start.
There was a very old man in our village named Iseankótó, or the Father
of Discernment. He had been a strong man and possessed great fame; but
that was in the past, and now we did not pay much heed to his sayings.
He called us together as soon as we were awake, and told us of a very
vivid dream he had had during the night.
It was this. We went to fish just as we had planned, but while we were
there the cannibals came, attacked and overpowered us, and we were all
either killed or taken prisoners. He besought us to lay aside our plans
and stay at home that day, as he was certain that the dream was a
warning to be disregarded at our peril.
We were self-willed, however, and would not listen to advice, but
rather ridiculed the warnings of old Iseankótó.
“It is only a dream,” we said; “who cares for dreams?” and snatching a
few mouthfuls of food we set off merrily, making fun of the old man as
we went. What fools we were! And how we blamed ourselves and each other
afterwards!
Down the hill we went towards the river, singing, shouting, and
skipping along, heedless of the danger into which we were running.
Having reached the bottom of the hill, we made our way along the forest
path which skirts the river bank, and ere long came to the place we had
decided on visiting.
Very soon we scattered and commenced work, and were just rejoicing to
find that the fish were plentiful and we were likely to have a good lot
to take home with us at night, when we were suddenly startled by a
rustling in the bush close to us.
Before we had time to realise what had happened, we were surrounded by
numbers of fierce cannibal warriors who had been in hiding, waiting for
a chance to pounce upon some defenceless party of a weaker tribe.
We tried to fight them, but being almost without arms, we had no chance
against these men who had come prepared for battle, and we were
completely at their mercy. One or two slaves who went with us were
killed, but the women and we boys and girls were tied together with
strong creepers and taken prisoners.
Our captors gathered up the corpses of the men they had killed, and
compelled some of our number to carry them, and then we were ordered to
march off with them. We kept a sharp look out for any opportunity to
escape, but this was impossible as we were too well watched. We were
taken across the river and away into the forest, in the depth of which
we encamped just before the sun went down.
During all that night we lay awake, weeping for our homes and friends,
and more for ourselves, watching our enemies prepare fires, cut up the
corpses of our friends, cook, and afterwards eat them; for to those
people we are but nyáma (meat); and all the time we feared even to
speak, lest we also should be deemed fit morsels for their evening
meal.
Early the next morning we were on the road again, and at last towards
evening we arrived at Bosomo, the village of our captors, footsore and
weary, and faint for want of food.
Everything was strange to us. We could not even understand the language
which we heard spoken, but we could guess that inquiries were being
made as to the success of the expedition, and that we were being
examined and scrutinised from head to foot as to our usefulness either
as servants or as food.
Some manioca was given to us by the women, and we were put all together
in a large open shed, while some warriors acted as sentries lest we
should escape. But there was no danger of that just then, we were far
too tired, and in spite of our misery were soon fast asleep.