I meet Labotsibeni again--Flattering a savage queen--Explaining the
"little black magic box"--Curing rheumatism with tooth-paste,
vaseline, and hair oil--Women as currency--Gin, gold, and cows pay for
the picture rights--The "flu" strikes--Jennie, the "blaau app", and
the peacocks' tails.
From Mbabane it is only a short distance to the top of the mountain
from which the descent is made into Ezulweni, the beautiful Valley of
Heaven. As we reached the top I pointed out Sheba's Breasts and the
Place of Execution to my companions. These peaks could be seen far off
to the right, where the sun picked them out in the early morning mist.
Coming down the mountain was hard work, the grade being one in four at
many places. We walked, because it would only have made it harder for
the mules if we had kept our seats in the wagonette. At the bottom of
the steep trail stands the place of Harry Niles, an old-time trader
who has settled down there. He has a picturesque little home and has
surrounded the house with banana trees, papayas, and semi-tropical
fruits. Niles is a charming old man who retired from active business
to live out his remaining years in this garden spot. He has no
interest in outside affairs and lives an ideal existence, if one likes
that sort of thing. His likes and dislikes are quickly expressed, and
this is probably one of the reasons that make him contented with his
life of isolation. If he likes you, however, he can be more hospitable
than any one I know. He will feed you with the most delicious salads,
fresh meat, and other delicacies, and there is always something rare
to drink. His salads are famous, so that his few friends in Mbabane
often make the hard trek to his little home to share one of them.
Coming into the Valley of Heaven from Mbabane, instead of from
Rietvlei, made it a much shorter distance to Zombode. We wanted to get
there as soon as possible, since we had already been delayed by the
wretched weather, so we only had a drink with Niles and then pushed
on. He told me that he had heard that the Swazis were getting ready to
acknowledge Sebuza as king, but he had no definite information about it.
"What's more," he added, "I don't give a damn! Just so long as these
royal niggers keep out of my way I'll keep out of theirs. They know
better than to bother me, and it makes no difference to me who is king!"
Shortly before we came in sight of Zombode, Oom Tuys came riding down
the trail. A Swazi runner had brought word that we were coming, and my
uncle had come out to meet me. I was very glad to see him and he was
as cheerful as ever. He told me that he had had no difficulty in
getting into Swaziland, as he had come in through Komatipoort, but he
understood that word had gone to Mbabane that he was at Zombode and he
wanted to cut his stay as short as possible.
"It is a shame that the great British Empire should hound one poor
lone Boer trader," he said, his eyes twinkling, "and I feel very much
afraid. I hate to disturb the peace of mind of the High Commissioner,
so I don't want to stay here any longer than necessary."
Then he began to plan with me how to get our business over as quickly
as possible. I had not been to Swaziland since my youth, and things
were different now. Instead of our being met by a welcoming party of
indunas, only a few curious savages and a horde of children came out
to watch us arrive. The former proud formality of the royal kraal
seemed lacking, and when I asked Tuys about it he explained that since
Queen Labotsibeni had become blind "the old customs had gone to seed."
There was still one formality about seeing her, however. This
consisted of announcing your presence by sending her a bottle of gin
and then waiting until she sent for you. Tuys explained to me that the
old queen was terribly vain and desired, above all things, to be
flattered. She liked to pretend that she could still see, and Tuys
warned me under no circumstances to admit that I thought she could not.
"You want to look out for Lomwazi, my boy," he added. "He has more
brains than all the rest put together and is a very wily devil. He
never leaves the side of the old queen, and she can't say a word that
he doesn't hear. Look out for him!"
He also advised me to keep my eye on Debeseembie, a brother of Lomwazi
and the favorite son of the old queen. Debeseembie was another
faithful watchdog of the royal hut and was always somewhere around.
This was the first time I had seen Labotsibeni since I was a little
boy, hence I was keenly interested in her apart from the fact that I
hoped to obtain her permission to take pictures of Sebuza's
coronation. It is well to observe here that I use the word
"coronation" for lack of a better term. The Swazi king wears no crown,
and I suppose the right but awkward phrase would be to speak of
Sebuza's "induction as king."
Lomwazi came out to meet us as we entered the royal kraal and readily
agreed to convey the gin-present to his royal mistress. When I slipped
him a bottle for himself, his haughty expression immediately became
one of joy. A little gin goes a long way with the Swazis.
In a very short time he returned and said that the queen would see us.
In addition to the present sent ahead when an interview is desired
with the queen, it is also proper etiquette to leave a present when
the interview is over. Knowing this, I took along a present--that is,
another bottle of gin.
Now the royal kraal at Zombode was built with a little kraal inside
the main one, and in the middle of that was Labotsibeni's reception
hall or audience chamber. This was the most unusual building in
Swaziland. It had brick walls about four feet high and was about ten
by fifteen feet in size. The arched grass roof was about head high in
the middle, but one had to stoop low to enter, because the three
openings were only the height of the brick wall. No one has ever
explained how these bricks came to Zombode. There are no bricks in
Swaziland and it struck me as extraordinary that I should see them
there.
Lomwazi led us to the reception hut and we waited for him to announce
us. I could see Labotsibeni lying on a mat in the center of the floor
with a number of her women and warriors about her. She seemed very fat
and huge, and very very old.
"Nkosikaas! All powerful Queen of Swaziland," Lomwazi chanted. "Oom
Tuys and Mzaan Bakoor, great white indunas, have come to see you. They
bring presents and would be overjoyed forever if you would look upon
them and accept their great tribute!"
Some of this was true, but all of it was the proper sort of thing at
Zombode. Labotsibeni listened intently, and when her vizier finished
she spoke in her old cracked voice:
"Tell my white sons that I am proud to welcome them to Swaziland and
will grant them an audience."
Thereupon we entered the hut. There were at least a dozen
maids-of-honor attending the old queen, and several of these spread
mats for us to sit on. Some of these women were working on freshly
tanned hides from which they were fashioning skirts, and the odor of
the skins tainted the air of the hut. I am accustomed to this smell
and do not find it unpleasant, but both Snyman and Biddy soon had all
of it they could stand.
The old queen lay on her stomach with her head propped up by her
hands. Within easy reach was a pile of leaves, and at intervals she
would take one of these, wipe her lips and fingers with it, and thrust
it through the open doorway. Her hands were small and beautifully
shaped and her nails were spotlessly clean and perfectly manicured.
Later I learned that her maids spent hours taking care of her hands,
their only tools for manicuring the royal nails being bits of broken
bottle-glass.
Remembering Tuys's warning, I complimented her on her looks, beautiful
hands, and the cleanliness of her hut and kraal. I told her that her
royal abode was an example for all the other native kings of the
Transvaal and generally explained to her what a superior person she
was. She listened intently to my flattery and appreciated it greatly.
Near her was the bottle of gin we had sent ahead. It was more than
half finished and she took a drink while I was delivering my
flattering oration. She reached for the bottle and Debeseembie
assisted her to get the drink by pouring out more than half an earthen
mug full of the fiery liquid. With one swallow she gulped it down, and
then almost choked. This gave me my cue, and I told her how moderate
she was and how refined in her way of drinking gin.
"Why, Nkosikaas, if I were to give Jafta, king of the Mapors, a bottle
of gin," I said, "he wouldn't stop drinking until he had finished it,
and then he would soon become drunk. Whereas, you, with your royal
daintiness and delicacy, drink your gin like a queen!"
This thought pleased her much and she thereupon took another drink,
which practically emptied the bottle. Of course I do not know that she
had consumed the first half of that bottle, but she certainly drank
enough in our presence to intoxicate any normal person. It was
strange, but it did not seem to have much effect on her. When she
spoke and drank, I noticed that her teeth were perfect. This, at the
age of more than one hundred years, is a great tribute to the Swazi
custom of cleaning the teeth with charcoal or sand after each meal.
There was nothing private about our interview. While we talked indunas
came and went and the women were always in the hut. In addition, both
Lomwazi and Debeseembie were on hand all the time. After we had
exhausted all our compliments and small talk, Tuys broached the
subject of permission to take pictures of Sebuza's coronation.
Here we ran against what seemed to be an insuperable obstacle. It was
impossible to make either the queen or Lomwazi understand what I
wanted. They had no conception whatever of what a photograph meant and
motion-pictures were entirely beyond their comprehension. Both Tuys
and I tried in every way to make them understand, but it was hopeless.
Finally I decided that the only thing to do would be to take a picture
of Lomwazi or the old queen and show Lomwazi what I was talking about.
I persuaded him to get Labotsibeni to allow herself to be carried
outside the hut into the sunlight, and there I took a picture of her.
Then I photographed Lomwazi, Debeseembie, and a group of others. I
explained to them that I would show them the pictures the next day, as
I hoped to have them developed and printed by that time. After the
picture-taking we went back inside the hut, and then the old queen
became more friendly and told me her troubles. It seems she suffered
with rheumatism in the shoulders and back. This was due to the fact
that her upper body was usually bare and that she laid in the draught
between the openings of the hut. When cold, she would cover herself
with a magnificent fur rug, but this did not help her rheumatism much.
On hearing of her aches and pains, Tuys's evil genius gave him an
inspiration and he proceeded to get me into a pretty pickle.
"Nkosikaas, you are in great good luck that we came to see you," he
told her. "Mzaan Bakoor is a great white witch-doctor and makes the
muti (medicine) that cures such pains as you have. He will make the
muti for you and will cure you!"
Labotsibeni appeared much cheered by this suggestion. I was not,
however. I had no medicines with me and would gladly have kicked Tuys
for making the offer. Shortly after this we left the queen, with the
understanding that I was going to make the medicine that would cure
her rheumatism and would bring it to her as soon as it was ready.
When we got back to our camp I blessed Tuys with a real Boer outburst
of profanity.
"Why, Tuys, we'll make the old lady think that we are the worst sort
of fakirs," I told him. "She won't grant me the right to take the
pictures when she finds out that we have fooled her. You have made a
fine mess of things!"
But Tuys laughed and laughed and laughed. He thought it was one of the
funniest situations he had ever seen. Looking back at it, I can see
the humor of it, but at that time I did not find it amusing. Tuys told
me I would have to go through with it and produce medicine that would
at least make his word good. So I went to work. All I had with me were
some toilet necessities. The "muti" was compounded at length, and this
is the way the prescription read: Two ounces each of tooth-paste,
vaseline, and hair-tonic. These I beat up until they were a loose
paste and then placed them in a glass jar bearing a very vivid label.
This jar had held my photographic chemicals.
With impressive solemnity we returned and presented the muti to the
queen. Then I explained the treatment. Her maids were to take cloth
soaked in hot water and apply it to the aching parts until she could
stand it no longer. Then small portions of the muti were to be
thoroughly rubbed in until the pains departed.
[Illustration: QUEEN LABOTSIBENI, MOTHER OF KING BUNO
During Sebuza's infancy and boyhood, the throne receded to Queen
Labotsibeni, his grandmother. She was blind and more than one hundred
years old]
[Illustration: LOMWAZI AND HIS COUNCIL OF INDUNAS, OR WAR CHIEFS]
All this impressed Labotsibeni, but she insisted that the "great white
witch-doctor" apply the treatment. I had to do it--that is, if I
wanted to keep her favor. For an hour I massaged the old woman, and
when the last of the muti was rubbed in she announced that her pains
were gone and promptly fell asleep. The hot cloth, as I had guessed,
took the aches out of her shoulders and back and the villainous muti
bluffed her into a cure, which was good for the time being at least.
It was a fine piece of chicanery for a graduate of two of the greatest
medical colleges to have to practice, but it did the trick!
Next morning we went to the royal hut as soon as we were sent for. The
same gin ritual had to be followed, and we found the old queen quite
happy and a trifle under the influence of the liquor. The pictures had
turned out well, and Lomwazi was amazed to see himself in all his
barbaric beauty. He is one of the strongest men in Swaziland and is
very vain concerning his athletic prowess. One of his greatest sports
is to wrestle with any one who will stand up to him, and he seldom
loses. Hence, when he saw himself in the pictures, he felt very proud.
Immediately he christened the camera "the white man's magic" and told
Labotsibeni all about it. I watched this talk, and it was pathetic.
Lomwazi explained as best he could what we had done and then handed
his mother the picture of herself, telling her to look at it. She held
it close to her eyes, and then said:
"The white man's little black box is very wonderful! It must be a good
magic or my son would not recommend it so highly."
If she had been able to see, she might have remarked that the picture
was a remarkably good likeness. It was the only time she was ever
photographed, and it seemed a shame that the old queen could not
appreciate it.
Again we brought up the question of permission to take the coronation
pictures. I explained that we wanted to do the same with Sebuza as we
had done with them. This seemed to be all right, and we were getting
nearer our goal when Lomwazi brought up the question of paying for the
royal permission. He knew that the white man was not asking this favor
for fun, and it came to him that we ought to be made to pay for it.
"Nkoos, you have come far to ask this permission," he said. "You have
trekked through the rain and sun and it has cost you time and money to
get here. You would not have done this if the queen's permission was
not of great value to you, would you?"
I had to admit that I was not there entirely for my health, but
minimized the importance of the pictures to myself personally.
"These pictures will show the glory of Swaziland to the whole world,"
I protested. "I shall carry them over the great waters to all the
countries and there show the people what a wonderful land this is. I
will show the English, the Boers, and all others that Sebuza is a real
king. I will show the entire world that the son of Buno and the
grandson of Queen Labotsibeni rules one of the greatest nations in the
whole of Africa!"
This oration flattered the vanity of the old queen and practically
settled the question. Even the primitive Swazi values publicity.
Labotsibeni agreed that we should have the royal permit to take the
coronation pictures, and the next question was what I would pay. This
was debated for some time. I tried to make Lomwazi set a price for the
permission, while he, cunning beggar, tried to get me to make an offer.
Now the Swazi has only a few standards of value. He recognizes the
fact that women, gold, gin, and cattle have values that are stable
everywhere. These values are about as follows:
One gold pound buys one cow;
Five cows buy one woman;
One quart of gin buys whatever it will, according to the degree with
which it is desired by a Swazi.
Five cows, however, are not a standard price for all women. Only the
women of the plain people are valued at so low a figure. If the women
to be bought are of good family, that is, if they are the daughters of
indunas, they are worth more than five cows. I have known princesses
to be bought for as much as fifty cows. These were the exception,
however, since these girls were the daughters of a high chief.
I was prepared to offer cattle, gin, and money, and had brought along
a certain amount of the latter. Lomwazi, however, started the deal
with women as his counters.
"How many young women, all maidens, are you prepared to give?" he asked.
"It would take too long a time to get the women," I objected, "and I
don't wish to trade women for the permission. I am ready to pay a
small amount of gin and money, and perhaps some cows, but I cannot get
women now."
"Can't you get ten or fifteen women, Nkoos?" Labotsibeni asked in her
husky voice. "My son, Lomwazi, has but few wives and I have so few
maids. It would be very agreeable if you could get a small number of
women."
Lomwazi agreed with her in this, and I had to argue for some time to
get out of the woman phase of the bargaining. Oom Tuys, although he
knew it was against the law for white men to buy and sell women,
pooh-poohed my scruples and told me to turn him loose and he would get
me all the women I wanted. However, I remained firm in my refusal and
the dickering took another tack.
"Well then, we'll buy the women we need," Lomwazi said. "Mzaan Bakoor,
you will have to give much gin and money, and also cows. The queen has
decided that one thousand pounds, one thousand quarts of gin, and one
thousand cows shall be the price."
The old queen nodded her approval. I had not seen her confer with her
vizier and realized that he was acting on his own authority. This
showed me his power and how much the old lady trusted him. I then set
out to get the price down to where we could really talk business. I
had an idea that Lomwazi did not know how many there were in a
thousand, but had used that figure as a basis for the deal.
When I suggested that the thousand figure was preposterous, he
reminded me that it was only as many as there were men in the royal
impi, thus proving that he actually knew what "one thousand" meant.
We talked back and forth, Labotsibeni every now and then putting in a
word. The upshot of it all was that I agreed to pay five hundred
gallons of gin, five hundred gold pounds or sovereigns, and five
hundred cows for the right to take the pictures.
Oom Tuys thought I was a fool to give them so much.
"That is a tremendous price to pay for a few reels of these savages,"
he said; "particularly, when there is a good chance that you will not
be ready to take the pictures before the coronation takes place. To
protect you, I shall make them promise to keep you informed as to when
the show will take place, so that you can get on the job."
He then pinned down the old queen, Lomwazi, and Debeseembie to a
solemn promise that they would send me word as soon as preparations
were under way to make Sebuza king. It is a point of honor among the
royalty and high chiefs of the Swazis that their word is good, and
this promise assured me that I would not lose my opportunity.
Next came the problem of paying for the rights to take the pictures.
Money I had with me, and I was soon able to buy enough cows to make up
the required number. The gin, however, was not so easy. It is against
the law to bring gin into Swaziland, although the authorities did not
object to a few bottles being brought to the old queen. On Tuys's
advice, I arranged that the five hundred gallons be brought in through
Komatipoort, from Portuguese territory. This confession, I suppose,
will make me liable to arrest when I return to the Transvaal. To avoid
detection, the gallon jugs were each packed in bags of straw
surrounded by chaff, being carried over the border by native women.
They looked as though they were carrying corn, and the government
officials let them pass without suspicion.
After making the payment we set out for Ermelo. We had been about a
fortnight on our trip, and both Snyman and Biddy were anxious to get
back. We took the short-cut by way of Mbabane and made good time, the
roads being fairly hard.
We had one shock, however. When we reached the Masuto River we found
that the "flu" had visited there during our absence. First the Scotch
engineer had died and been buried by the Boer farmer who had given us
food; then the farmer had died and been put away by the young
storekeeper with the hunted eyes; and finally he had died and been
hidden in a shallow grave near his store by some passing strangers.
All three were gone, and this cast a gloom over our party, so that we
were glad to leave the spot.
The river had gone down and we were able to ford it without much
trouble, although Snyman had hard luck and fell out of the wagonette
into the only deep spot.
I remembered that there were several women at the house of the dead
farmer, so we went there to pay our respects and offer them any
assistance we could. The house was closed and they were all gone,
evidently to some of their relatives near Ermelo. We were about to
return to the wagonette when I thought I saw something stirring near
an orange-tree back of the house.
It was a "blaau app," or blue monkey, which was tied to the tree. The
farmer's women had forgotten the poor beast when they went away and it
was pathetically glad to see me. It must have been very hungry, for it
had been eating oranges, as the skins strewn on the ground showed. It
was the first time I had ever heard of a monkey eating such food. When
I cut it loose, the poor thing jumped into my arms and I took it back
to the wagonette, where we fed it. Biddy and Snyman soon started an
argument as to what its name should be. The first wanted to call it
"Labotsibeni," but the other thought "Victoria," in memory of a
late-lamented Queen of England, would be a nice name. So, since it was
my monkey, I called her "Jennie," whereat the others upbraided me for
my lack of inspiration. To add to their iniquity, no sooner did we
unpack in Ermelo than they started a preposterous yarn about how I had
stolen "Jennie" from old Queen Labotsibeni. They said that the monkey
was her consolation in old age and that I had decoyed it away, thus
breaking the aged queen's heart.
This was not the last of "Jennie," however. The young doctor who had
taken over my practice was carrying on well, and he adopted the
monkey. She had the run of the place and was quite contented in her
new home until one morning we were awakened by a fearful row. The
peacocks next door were screeching at the top of their lungs and their
owner, a gruff old Englishman, was out on the lawn using very bad
language.
I ran out--and found "Jennie" up a tree with her hands full of the
long tail-feathers from several of the proudest peacocks! It took me
some time to pacify the Englishman, who demanded her life and was
calling for his shotgun. Finally I smoothed the troubled waters, but
"Jennie" was not allowed to run loose after that.
Having obtained the picture rights, I was anxious to have them taken
properly. I scouted about, but could not find the equipment or
camera-men I needed, so I decided to go to New York and get them. Oom
Tuys agreed to watch things in Swaziland and delay the coronation
until I could get back. I felt I could trust him to protect me, so I
started to make arrangements for my overseas trip.
[Illustration: THE STREAM THAT DIVIDES THE ROYAL FROM THE COMMON GROUND
It was on the banks of this stream that we camped awaiting permission
to enter the royal territory. This herd of cattle is being sent to the
royal kraal as payment for two Princesses whom a chief has purchased
as wives]
[Illustration: TYPE OF AFRIKANDER CATTLE
These cattle are the unit of value among the Swazis and enter into
every business transaction]
[Illustration: SWAZI WOMEN AT HOME
Fashion is as inflexible in Swaziland as anywhere, but the styles do
not change]
This was not any too easy, because the war had disarranged sailings
and there were not many ships touching at Cape Town. However, I soon
saw in the paper that there was a freight steamer in port which was to
sail direct to New York. I knew the skipper and telegraphed him that
there was an emergency that required my sailing with him.
"If you care to take a chance," he wired back, "join the ship as soon
as you can."
Just as I was leaving, Tuys reached Ermelo with a message from Lomwazi
that Sebuza would be crowned within the next two months. This made me
all the more anxious to be gone, and I left Tuys with the
understanding that he would do his best to delay the coronation until
I got back from New York.