THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS
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.
When Bokakala had been with us some time, other white men came to our
country, and they also wanted rubber. “Why do they want so much
rubber?” we asked; for we could not see why they should be continually
wanting the same thing. That is not our way; we feel a thirst for a
thing for a time, but in a little while it is finished, and we want
something else. Later on Bokakala left us to go to his own land to seek
for strength in his body, and he left us another white man, whom we
called “Leopard”; but they were all known afterwards as Bokakala’s
white men.
When the day of rubber came round week after week, we took in to the
white man our little baskets of rubber balls, and received in exchange
salt or beads; or if, as sometimes happened, he had none of these
articles left, he would give us a book to keep, and pay us in kind when
his boxes arrived. So far we had not had any trouble between us and the
white man; he and we were satisfied with the barter we carried on.
But changes came—another white man came to help Leopard in his work,
and he was different from other white men, he was not good, so we gave
him a bad name which meant “Pillage” or “Brigandage,” though I do not
suppose he ever knew what it meant.
Naturally a change took place in the way we were treated, and gradually
things got worse and worse.
Now it is well known that no man goes on for ever at one thing without
getting tired, and wanting a rest. And when I had been going to and fro
to the forest getting rubber for a long time, I began to wish to sit
down in town for a little while, especially as by this time Bamatafe
had given birth to a little son, of whom I was very proud, as he was
our firstborn.
So one week I stayed at home when the young men went to the forest, and
when the day of rubber fell I had no rubber, and did not go to the
white man’s place.
As usual, our names were called out of a book, and when mine was
reached some one answered, “He has not come.” Then the white man was
angry, and said that if Bokwala did not come to the next market he
would have a big palaver. My friends came home and told me his words,
and the next time I went with them and was told that I must never miss
coming—the rubber must be brought in regularly without fail, or there
would be “chicotte,” or perhaps even prison for those who missed
coming.
After that I went regularly for a long time, but on one occasion there
was a great palaver to be talked in our village, and it was necessary
for me to be present at it. At this time we had to collect a certain
weight of rubber and present it at the white man’s place every
fifteenth day. It took almost all our time to go to and from the forest
and collect the rubber, for it was becoming very scarce.
So when the day came for carrying my basket to the white man I had not
the prescribed quantity. I knew that when my turn came to have my
rubber weighed the white man would be angry and scold me, but said I,
“Lotango nta wak’ontu” (“Reproach does not kill a man”), and I did not
expect anything worse.
But the order was given, “Etama” (“Lie down”).
I could scarcely believe my ears—I, the son of a chief, to be whipped
publicly!
It was true. I was placed face down on the ground, my cloth turned
back, and the twisted hippo hide whip was brought out by one of the
servants of the white man.
Down it came on me, lash after lash, cutting clean into the flesh at
every stroke, and causing the blood to flow!
I do not know how many strokes were given me then; how could I count?
The pain was bad enough, but the shame was worse. Then I was sent off,
the blood drops on the sand showing the path I followed, without
payment for the rubber I had brought, and with the order to bring a
double quantity next time.
For my own sake I tried to do so. I bought some from a man in the
village who had managed to amass a reserve stock, but I had to pay a
ruinous price for it. I soaked some in water to make it heavier, and
next time I was allowed to leave without any punishment.
One day the white man told us of a new arrangement he was making for us
rubber workers. A number of men were to be set apart as sentries, we
called them, but the white man called them guards of the forest. They
were to be taken from amongst our own people, and armed with guns, and
they would accompany us on our journeys to and from the forest and
protect us, and they would also escort us to the white man’s place when
the day arrived for taking in the collected rubber. This sounded well,
and as the rubber grew more and more scarce, and we had to go further
into the forest to secure it, surely, we thought, a gun would be a
protection, and keep our enemies from interfering with us.
Alas! once more were our hopes dashed to the ground. These men, who
were supposed to be our protectors, became in time our worst
oppressors. Instead of going with us into the forest, they at once
appropriated the best houses in the villages for themselves, or if
these were not good enough for them, they caused new ones to be erected
at our expense. After hurrying us off to the forest alone and
unprotected at the earliest possible moment, they established
themselves in the village, and lived in such a style as to far outshine
any of our chiefs—in fact, taking a delight in insulting and
depreciating them and relegating to themselves every vestige of
authority which had formerly been vested in the chiefs of our own
people.
As soon as ever we young men had gone, they behaved as though
everything in the village belonged to them; the few goats we had, our
fowls, dogs, food, all our goods and possessions—nothing was safe from
their greed, and it was not long before even our wives were not safe if
left at home alone.
Things had been gradually getting worse for a long time, and now that
the sentries were placed over us were so much worse than ever before
that we began to give up hope.
We reported their doings to the white man many times, but we soon found
that he and they were as one man, and that if we told we almost
invariably lost the palaver before the white man, and then the sentries
found means of their own to punish us for having spoken against them.
We frequently visited the other white men when we had the time to
spare—I mean those who taught about God—and told them our grievances.
They listened and wrote the things we told them in a book, and tried
very hard to get things put right for us; but with a bad white man in
charge of worse black men who were all armed with guns and given free
scope in the villages, it was little they could do.
On several occasions they did win cases for us, and we always knew that
things would be worse if they were not in our midst to see and hear
what was done, and to take our part against our oppressors.
“Times were bad!” do you say? You are sorry for us?
Yes, white men of Europe, they were bad, even then; but I have not
reached the worst part of my story. Then, if you do indeed feel pity,
your hearts will weep for us, and you will be filled with grief and
with anger.