THE BATOKA AND MANGANJA TRIBES.
LOCALITY OF THE BATOKA -- THEIR GENERAL APPEARANCE AND DRESS -- THEIR
SKILL AS BOATMEN -- THE BAENDA-PEZI, OR GO-NAKEDS -- AGRICULTURE --
MODE OF HUNTING -- MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS -- WAR CUSTOMS -- THE MANGANJA
TRIBE -- GOVERNMENT -- INDUSTRY OF BOTH SEXES -- SALUTATION -- DRESS
-- THE PELELE, OR LIP-RING -- TATTOOING -- WANT OF CLEANLINESS --
BEER-BREWING AND DRINKING -- EXCHANGING NAMES -- SUPERSTITIONS --
FUNERAL AND MOURNING.
Somewhere about lat. 17° S. and long. 27° E. is a tribe called the
Batoka, or Batonga, of which there are two distinct varieties; of whom
those who live on low-lying lands, such as the banks of the Zambesi,
are very dark, and somewhat resemble the negro in appearance, while
those of the higher lands are light brown, much of the same hue as
_café au lait_. Their character seems to differ with their complexions,
the former variety being dull, stupid, and intractable, while the
latter are comparatively intellectual.
They do not improve their personal appearance by an odd habit of
depriving themselves of their two upper incisor teeth. The want of
these teeth makes the corresponding incisors of the lower jaw project
outward, and to force the lip with them; so that even in youth they
all have an aged expression of countenance. Knocking out these teeth
is part of a ceremony which is practised on both sexes when they are
admitted into the ranks of men and women, and is probably the remains
of some religious rite. The reason which they give is absurd enough,
namely, that they like to resemble oxen, which have no upper incisors,
and not to have all their teeth like zebras. It is probable, however,
that this statement may be merely intended as an evasion of questions
which they think themselves bound to parry, but which may also have
reference to the extreme veneration for oxen which prevails in an
African’s mind.
In spite of its disfiguring effect, the custom is universal among the
various sub-tribes of which the Batoka are composed, and not even the
definite commands of the chief himself, nor the threats of punishment,
could induce the people to forego it. Girls and lads would suddenly
make their appearance without their teeth, and no amount of questioning
could induce them to state when, and by whom, they were knocked out.
Fourteen or fifteen is the usual age for performing the operation.
Their dress is not a little remarkable, especially the mode in which
some of them arrange their hair. The hair on the top of the head is
drawn and plastered together in a circle some six or seven inches in
diameter. By dint of careful training, and plenty of grease and other
appliances, it is at last formed into a cone some eight or ten inches
in height, and slightly leaning forward. In some cases the cone is of
wonderful height, the head-man of a Batoka village wearing one which
was trained into a long spike that projected a full yard from his head,
and which must have caused him considerable inconvenience. In this case
other materials were evidently mixed with the hair: and it is said that
the long hair of various animals is often added, so as to mingle with
the real growth, and aid in raising the edifice. Around the edges of
this cone the hair is shaven closely, so that the appearance of the
head is very remarkable, and somewhat ludicrous.
The figures of the second engraving on page 357 are portraits by Mr.
Baines. Mantanyani, the man who is sitting on the edge of the boat,
was a rather remarkable man. He really belongs to the Batoka tribe,
though he was thought at first to be one of the Makololo. Perhaps he
thought it better to assume the membership of the victorious than the
conquered tribe. This was certainly the case with many of the men who,
like Mantanyani, accompanied Dr. Livingstone. He was a singularly
skilful boatman, and managed an ordinary whaling boat as easily as one
of his own canoes. The ornament which he wears in his hair is a comb
made of bamboo. It was not manufactured by himself, but was taken from
Shimbesi’s tribe on the Shire, or Sheereh River. He and his companions
forced the boat up the many rapids, and, on being interrogated as to
the danger, he said that he had no fears, for that he could swim like a
fish, and that, if by any mischance he should allow Mr. Baines to fall
overboard and be drowned, he should never dare to show his face to Dr.
Livingstone again.
Mr. Baines remarks in his MS. notes, that Mantanyani ought to have made
a good sailor, for he was not only an adept at the management of boats,
but could appreciate rum as well as any British tar. It so happened
that at night, after the day’s boating was over, grog was served out to
the men, and yet for two or three nights Mantanyani would not touch it.
Accordingly one night the following colloquy took place:--
“Mantanyani, non quero grog?” (_i. e._ Cannot you take grog?)
“Non quero.” (I cannot.)
“Porquoi non quero grog?” (Why cannot you take grog?)
“Garaffa poco, Zambesi munta.” (The bottle is little and the Zambesi is
big.)
The hint was taken, and rum unmixed with water was offered to
Mantanyani, who drank it off like a sailor.
A spirited account of the skill of the natives in managing canoes is
given in “The Zambesi and its Tributaries.” The canoe belonged to a
man named Tuba Mokoro, or the “Canoe-smasher,” a rather ominous, but
apparently undeserved, title inasmuch as he proved to be a most skilful
and steady boatman. He seemed also to be modest, for he took no credit
to himself for his management, but attributed his success entirely to
a certain charm or medicine which he had, and which he kept a profound
secret. He was employed to take the party through the rapids to an
island close to the edge of the great Mosi-oa-tunya, _i. e._ Smoke
Sounding Falls, now called the Victoria Falls. This island can only be
reached when the water happens to be very low and, even in that case,
none but the most experienced boatmen can venture so near to the Fall,
which is double the depth of Niagara, and a mile in width, formed
entirely by a vast and sudden rift in the basaltic bed of the Zambesi.
“Before entering the race of water, we were requested not to speak, as
our talking might diminish the value of the medicine, and no one with
such boiling, eddying rapids before his eyes would think of disobeying
the orders of a ‘canoe-smasher.’ It soon became evident that there was
sound sense in the request of Tuba’s, though the reason assigned was
not unlike that of the canoe man from Sesheke, who begged one of our
party not to whistle, because whistling made the wind come.
“It was the duty of the man at the bow to look out ahead for the
proper course, and, when he saw a rock or a snag, to call out to the
steersman. Tuba doubtless thought that talking on board might divert
the attention of his steersman at a time when the neglect of an order,
or a slight mistake, would be sure to spill us all into the chafing
river. There were places where the utmost exertions of both men had to
be put forth in order to force the canoe to the only safe part of the
rapid and to prevent it from sweeping broadside on, when in a twinkling
we should have found ourselves among the plotuses and cormorants which
were engaged in diving for their breakfast of small fish.
“At times it seemed as if nothing could save us from dashing in our
headlong race against the rocks, which, now that the river was low,
jutted out of the water; but, just at the very nick of time, Tuba
passed the word to the steersman, and then, with ready pole, turned the
canoe a little aside, and we glided swiftly past the threatened danger.
Never was canoe more admirably managed. Once only did the medicine seem
to have lost something of its efficacy.
“We were driving swiftly down, a black rock over which the white foam
flew lay directly in our path, the pole was planted against it as
readily as ever, but it slipped just as Tuba put forth his strength
to turn the bow off. We struck hard, and were half full of water in a
moment. Tuba recovered himself as speedily, shoved off the bow, and
shot the canoe into a still, shallow place, to bail the water out.
He gave us to understand that it was not the medicine which was at
fault--_that_ had lost none of its virtue; the accident was owing to
Tuba having started without his breakfast. Need it be said that we
never let Tuba go without that meal again.”
Among them there is a body of men called in their own language the
“Baenda-pezi,” _i. e._ the Go-nakeds. These men never wear an atom of
any kind of clothing, but are entirely naked, their only coat being
one of red ochre. These Baenda-pezi are rather a remarkable set of
men, and why they should voluntarily live without clothing is not very
evident. Some travellers think that they are a separate order among the
Batoka, but this is not at all certain. It is not that they are devoid
of vanity, for they are extremely fond of ornaments upon their heads,
which they dress in various fantastic ways. The conical style has
already been mentioned, but they have many other fashions. One of their
favorite modes is, to plait a fillet of bark, some two inches wide, and
tie it round the head in diadem fashion. They then rub grease and red
ochre plentifully into the hair, and fasten it to the fillet, which
it completely covers. The head being then shaved as far as the edge
of the fillet, the native looks as if he were wearing a red, polished
forage-cap.
Rings of iron wire and beads are worn round the arms; and a fashionable
member of this order thinks himself scarcely fit for society unless
he carries a pipe and a small pair of iron tongs, with which to lift
a coal from the fire and kindle his pipe, the stem of which is often
ornamented by being bound with polished iron wire.
The Baenda-pezi seem to be as devoid of the sense of shame as their
bodies are of covering. They could not in the least be made to see that
they ought to wear clothing, and quite laughed at the absurdity of such
an idea; evidently looking on a proposal to wear clothing much as we
should entertain a request to dress ourselves in plate armor.
The pipe is in constant requisition among these men, who are seldom
seen without a pipe in their mouths, and never without it in their
possession. Yet, whenever they came into the presence of their white
visitors, they always asked permission before lighting their pipes,
an innate politeness being strong within them. Their tobacco is
exceedingly powerful, and on that account is much valued by other
tribes, who will travel great distances to purchase it from the Batoka.
It is also very cheap, a few beads purchasing a sufficient quantity
to last even these inveterate smokers for six months. Their mode of
smoking is very peculiar. They first take a whiff after the usual
manner, and puff out the smoke. But, when they have expelled nearly the
whole of the smoke, they make a kind of catch at the last tiny wreath,
and swallow it. This they are pleased to consider the very essence or
spirit of the tobacco, which is lost if the smoke is exhaled in the
usual manner.
The Batoka are a polite people in their way, though they have rather
an odd method of expressing their feelings. The ordinary mode of
salutation is for the women to clap their hands and produce that
ululating sound which has already been mentioned, and for the men to
stoop and clap their hands on their hips. But, when they wish to be
especially respectful, they have another mode of salutation. They
throw themselves on their backs, and roll from side to side, slapping
the outside of their thighs vigorously, and calling out “Kina-bomba!
kina-bomba!” with great energy. Dr. Livingstone says that he never
could accustom his eyes to like the spectacle of great naked men
wallowing on their backs and slapping themselves, and tried to stop
them. They, however, always thought that he was not satisfied with the
heartiness of his reception, and so rolled about and slapped themselves
all the more vigorously. This rolling and slapping seems to be reserved
for the welcoming of great men, and, of course, whenever the Batoka
present themselves before the chief, the performance is doubly vigorous.
When a gift is presented, it is etiquette for the donor to hold the
present in one hand, and to slap the thigh with the other, as he
approaches the person to whom he is about to give it. He then delivers
the gift, claps his hands together, sits down, and then strikes his
thighs with both hands. The same formalities are observed when a
return gift is presented; and so tenacious are they of this branch of
etiquette, that it is taught regularly to children by their parents.
They are an industrious people, cultivating wonderfully large tracts of
land with the simple but effective hoe of their country. With this hoe,
which looks something like a large adze, they not only break up the
ground, but perform other tasks of less importance, such as smoothing
the earth as a foundation for their beds. Some of these fields are so
large, that the traveller may walk for hours through the native corn,
and scarcely come upon an uncultivated spot. The quantity of corn which
is grown is very large, and the natives make such numbers of granaries,
that their villages seem to be far more populous than is really the
case. Plenty, in consequence, reigns among this people. But it is a
rather remarkable fact that, in spite of the vast quantities of grain,
which they produce, they cannot keep it in store.
The corn has too many enemies. In the first place, the neighboring
tribes are apt to send out marauding parties, who prefer stealing
the corn which their industrious neighbors have grown and stored to
cultivating the ground for themselves. Mice, too, are very injurious
to the corn. But against these two enemies the Batoka can tolerably
guard, by tying up quantities of corn in bundles of grass, plastering
them over with clay, and hiding them in the low sand islands left by
the subsiding waters of the Zambesi. But the worst of all enemies is
the native weevil, an insect so small that no precautions are available
against its ravages, and which, as we too often find in this country,
destroys an enormous amount of corn in a very short time. It is
impossible for the Batoka to preserve their corn more than a year, and
it is as much as they can do to make it last until the next crop is
ready.
[Illustration: (1.) BOATING SCENE ON THE BO-TLET-LE RIVER. (See page
340.)]
[Illustration: (2.) BATOKA SALUTATION. (See page 350.)]
As, therefore, the whole of the annual crop must be consumed by
themselves or the weevil, they prefer the former, and what they cannot
eat they make into beer, which they brew in large quantities, and drink
abundantly; yet they seldom, if ever, intoxicate themselves, in spite
of the quantities which they consume. This beer is called by them
either “boala” or “pombe,” just as we speak of beer or ale; and it
is sweet in flavor, with just enough acidity to render it agreeable.
Even Europeans soon come to like it, and its effect on the natives
is to make them plump and well nourished. The Batoka do not content
themselves with simply growing corn and vegetables, but even plant
fruit and oil-bearing trees--a practice which is not found among the
other tribes.
Possibly on account of the plenty with which their land is blessed,
they are a most hospitable race of men, always glad to see guests,
and receiving them in the kindest manner. If a traveller passes
through a village, he is continually hailed from the various huts with
invitations to eat and drink, while the men welcome the visitor by
clapping their hands, and the women by “lullilooing.” They even feel
pained if the stranger passes the village without being entertained.
When he halts in a village for the night, the inhabitants turn out to
make him comfortable; some running to fetch firewood, others bringing
jars of water, while some engage themselves in preparing the bed, and
erecting a fence to keep off the wind.
They are skilful and fearless hunters, and are not afraid even of the
elephant or buffalo, going up closely to these formidable animals,
and killing them with large spears. A complete system of game-laws is
in operation among the Batoka, not for the purpose of prohibiting the
chase of certain game, but in order to settle the disposal of the game
when killed. Among them, the man who inflicts the first wound on an
animal has the right to the spoil, no matter how trifling may be the
wound which he inflicts. In case he does not kill the animal himself,
he is bound to give to the hunter who inflicts the fatal wound both
legs of one side.
As to the laws which regulate ordinary life, there is but little that
calls for special notice, except a sort of ordeal for which they have
a great veneration. This is called the ordeal of the Muave, and is
analogous to the corsned and similar ordeals of the early ages of
England. The dread of witchcraft is very strong here, as in other
parts of Southern Africa; but among the Batoka the accused has the
opportunity of clearing himself by drinking a poisonous preparation
called muave. Sometimes the accused dies from the draught, and in
that case his guilt is clear; but in others the poison acts as an
emetic, which is supposed to prove his innocence, the poison finding no
congenial evil in the body, and therefore being rejected.
No one seems to be free from such an accusation, as is clear from Dr.
Livingstone’s account: “Near the confluence of the Kapoe the Mambo,
or chief, with some of his headmen, came to our sleeping-place with a
present. Their foreheads were smeared with white flour, and an unusual
seriousness marked their demeanor. Shortly before our arrival they had
been accused of witchcraft: conscious of innocence, they accepted the
ordeal, and undertook to drink the poisoned muave. For this purpose
they made a journey to the sacred hill of Nehomokela, on which repose
the bodies of their ancestors, and, after a solemn appeal to the unseen
spirit to attest the innocence of their children, they swallowed the
muave, vomited, and were therefore declared not guilty.
“It is evident that they believe that the soul has a continued
existence, and that the spirits of the departed know what those they
have left behind are doing, and are pleased or not, according as their
deeds are good or evil. This belief is universal. The owner of a large
canoe refused to sell it because it belonged to the spirit of his
father, who helped him when he killed the hippopotamus. Another, when
the bargain for his canoe was nearly completed, seeing a large serpent
on a branch of a tree overhead, refused to complete the sale, alleging
that this was the spirit of his father, come to protest against it.
Some of the Batoka believe that a medicine could be prepared which
would cure the bite of the tsetse, that small but terrible fly which
makes such destruction among the cattle, but has no hurtful influence
on mankind. This medicine was discovered by a chief, whose son Moyara
showed it to Dr. Livingstone. It consisted chiefly of a plant, which
was apparently new to botanical science. The root was peeled, and the
peel sliced and reduced to powder, together with a dozen or two of the
tsetse themselves. The remainder of the plant is also dried. When an
animal shows symptoms of being bitten by the tsetse, some of the powder
is administered to the animal, and the rest of the dried plant is
burned under it so as to fumigate it thoroughly. Moyara did not assert
that the remedy was infallible, but only stated that if a herd of
cattle were to stray into a district infested with the tsetse, some of
them would be saved by the use of the medicine, whereas they would all
die without it.
The Batoka are fond of using a musical instrument that prevails, with
some modifications, over a considerable portion of Central Africa. In
its simplest form it consists of a board, on which are fixed a number
of flat wooden strips, which, when pressed down and suddenly released,
produce a kind of musical tone. In fact, the principle of the sansa is
exactly that of our musical-boxes, the only difference being that the
teeth, or keys, of our instrument are steel, and that they are sounded
by little pegs, and not by the fingers. Even among this one tribe there
are great differences in the formation of the sansa.
The best and most elaborate form is that in which the sounding-board of
the sansa is hollow, in order to increase the resonance; and the keys
are made of iron instead of wood, so that a really musical sound is
produced. Moreover, the instrument is enclosed in a hollow calabash,
for the purpose of intensifying the sound; and both the sansa and
the calabash are furnished with bits of steel and tin, which make a
jingling accompaniment to the music. The calabash is generally covered
with carvings. When the sansa is used, it is held with the hollow or
ornamented end toward the player, and the keys are struck with the
thumbs, the rest of the hand being occupied in holding the instrument.
This curious instrument is used in accompanying songs. Dr. Livingstone
mentions that a genuine native poet attached himself to the party, and
composed a poem in honor of the white men, singing it whenever they
halted, and accompanying himself on the sansa. At first, as he did
not know much about his subject, he modestly curtailed his poem, but
extended it day by day, until at last it became quite a long ode. There
was an evident rhythm in it, each line consisting of five syllables.
Another native poet was in the habit of solacing himself every evening
with an extempore song, in which he enumerated everything that the
white men had done. He was not so accomplished a poet as his brother
improvisatore, and occasionally found words to fail him. However, his
sansa helped him when he was at a loss for a word, just as the piano
helps out an unskilful singer when at a loss for a note.
They have several musical instruments besides the sansa. One is called
the marimba, and is in fact a simple sort of harmonicon, the place of
the glass or metal keys being supplied by strips of hard wood fixed
on a frame. These strips are large at one end of the instrument,
and diminish regularly toward the other. Under each of the wooden
keys is fixed a hollow gourd, or calabash, the object of which is to
increase the resonance. Two sticks of hard wood are used for striking
the keys, and a skilful performer really handles them with wonderful
agility. Simple as is this instrument, pleasing sounds can be produced
from it. It has even been introduced into England, under the name of
“xylophone,” and, when played by a dexterous and energetic performer,
really produces effects that could hardly have been expected from it.
The sounds are, of course, deficient in musical tone; but still the
various notes can be obtained with tolerable accuracy by trimming
the wooden keys to the proper dimensions. A similar instrument is
made with strips of stone, the sounds of which are superior to those
produced by the wooden bars.
The Batoka are remarkable for their clannish feeling; and, when a
large party are travelling in company, those of one tribe always keep
together, and assist each other in every difficulty. Also, if they
should happen to come upon a village or dwelling belonging to one of
their own tribe, they are sure of a welcome and plentiful hospitality.
The Batoka appear from all accounts to be rather a contentious people,
quarrelsome at home, and sometimes extending their strife to other
villages. In domestic fights--_i. e._ in combats between inhabitants
of the same village--the antagonists are careful not to inflict fatal
injuries. But when village fights against village, as is sometimes the
case, the loss on both sides may be considerable. The result of such
a battle would be exceedingly disagreeable, as the two villages would
always be in a state of deadly feud, and an inhabitant of one would not
dare to go near the other. The Batoka, however, have invented a plan by
which the feud is stopped. When the victors have driven their opponents
off the field, they take the body of one of the dead warriors, quarter
it, and perform a series of ceremonies over it. This appears to be a
kind of challenge that they are masters of the field. The conquered
party acknowledge their defeat by sending a deputation to ask for the
body of their comrade, and, when they receive it, they go through the
same ceremonies; after which peace is supposed to be restored, and the
inhabitants of the villages may visit each other in safety.
Dr. Livingstone’s informant further said, that when a warrior had slain
an enemy, he took the head, and placed it on an ant-hill, until all
the flesh was taken from the bones. He then removed the lower jaw,
and wore it as a trophy. He did not see one of these trophies worn,
and evidently thinks that the above account may be inaccurate in some
places, as it was given through an interpreter; and it is very possible
that both the interpreter and the Batoka may have invented a tale for
the occasion. The account of the pacificatory ceremonies really seems
to be too consistent with itself to be falsehood; but the wearing of
the enemy’s jaw, uncorroborated by a single example, seems to be rather
doubtful. Indeed, Dr. Livingstone expressly warns the reader against
receiving with implicit belief accounts that are given by a native
African. The dark interlocutor amiably desires to please, and, having
no conception of truth as a principle, says exactly what he thinks will
be most acceptable to the great white chief, on whom he looks as a sort
of erratic supernatural being. Ask a native whether the mountains in
his own district are lofty, or whether gold is found there, and he
will assuredly answer in the affirmative. So he will if he be asked
whether unicorns live in his country, or whether he knows of a race
of tailed men, being only anxious to please, and not thinking that
the truth or falsehood of the answer can be of the least consequence.
If the white sportsman shoots at an animal and makes a palpable miss,
his dusky attendants are sure to say that the bullet went through the
animal’s heart, and that it only bounded away for a short distance.
“He is our father,” say the natives, “and he would be displeased if we
told him that he had missed.” It is even worse with the slaves, who are
often used as interpreters; and it is hardly possible to induce them to
interpret with any modicum of truth.
THE MANGANJA TRIBE.
On the river Shire (pronounced Sheereh), a northern tributary of the
Zambesi, there is a rather curious tribe called the Manganja. The
country which they inhabit is well and fully watered, abounding in
clear and cool streams, which do not dry up even in the dry season.
Pasturage is consequently abundant, and yet the people do not trouble
themselves about cattle, allowing to lie unused tracts of land which
would feed vast herds of oxen, not to mention sheep and goats.
Their mode of government is rather curious, and yet simple. The country
is divided into a number of districts, the head of which goes by the
title of Rundo. A great number of villages are under the command of
each Rundo, though each of the divisions is independent of the others,
and they do not acknowledge one common chief or king. The chieftainship
is not restricted to the male sex, as in one of the districts a woman
named Nyango was the Rundo, and exercised her authority judiciously, by
improving the social status of the women throughout her dominions. An
annual tribute is paid to the Rundo by each village, mostly consisting
of one tusk of each elephant killed, and he in return is bound to
assist and protect them should they be threatened or attacked.
The Manganjas are an industrious race, being good workers in metal,
especially iron, growing cotton, making baskets, and cultivating the
ground, in which occupation both sexes equally share; and it is a
pleasant thing to see men, women, and children all at work together in
the fields, with perhaps the baby lying asleep in the shadow of a bush.
They clear the forest ground exactly as is done in America, cutting
down the trees with their axes, piling up the branches and trunks in
heaps, burning them, and scattering the ashes over the ground by way
of manure. The stumps are left to rot in the ground, and the corn is
sown among them. Grass land is cleared in a different manner. The grass
in that country is enormously thick and long. The cultivator gathers
a bundle into his hands, twists the ends together, and ties them in a
knot. He then cuts the roots with his adze-like hoe, so as to leave the
bunch of grass still standing, like a sheaf of wheat. When a field has
been entirely cut, it looks to a stranger as if it were in harvest,
the bundles of grass standing at intervals like the grain shocks. Just
before the rainy season comes on, the bundles are fired, the ashes are
roughly dug into the soil, and an abundant harvest is the result.
The cotton is prepared after a very simple and slow fashion, the fibre
being picked by hand, drawn out into a “roving,” partially twisted,
and then rolled up into a ball. It is the opinion of those who have
had practical experience of this cotton, that, if the natives could be
induced to plant and dress it in large quantities, an enormous market
might be found for it. The “staple,” or fibre, of this cotton is not so
long as that which comes from America, and has a harsh, woolly feeling
in the hand. But, as it is very strong, and the fabrics made from it
are very durable, the natives prefer it to the foreign plant. Almost
every Manganja family of importance has its own little cotton patch,
from half an acre to an acre in size, which is kept carefully tended,
and free from weeds. The loom in which they weave their simple cloth is
very rude, and is one of the primitive forms of a weaver’s apparatus.
It is placed horizontally, and not vertically, and the weaver has to
squat on the ground when engaged in his work. The shuttle is a mere
stick, with the thread wound spirally round it, and, when it is passed
between the crossed threads of the warp, the warp is beaten into its
place with a flat stick.
They are a hospitable people, and have a well-understood code of
ceremony in the reception of strangers. In each village there is a
spot called the Boala, _i. e._ a space of about thirty or forty yards
diameter, which is sheltered by baobab, or other spreading trees,
and which is always kept neat and clean. This is chiefly used as a
place where the basket makers and others who are engaged in sedentary
occupations can work in company, and also serves as a meeting-place in
evenings, where they sing, dance, smoke, and drink beer after the toils
of the day.
As soon as a stranger enters a village, he is conducted to the Boala,
where he takes his seat on the mats that are spread for him, and awaits
the coming of the chief man of the village. As soon as he makes his
appearance, his people welcome him by clapping their hands in unison,
and continue this salutation until he has taken his seat, accompanied
by his councillors. “Our guides,” writes Livingstone, “then sit down in
front of the chief and his councillors, and both parties lean forward,
looking earnestly at each other. The chief repeats a word, such as
‘Ambuiata’ (our father, or master), or ‘Moio’ (life), and all clap
their hands. Another word is followed by two claps, a third by still
more clapping, when each touches the ground with both hands placed
together. Then all rise, and lean forward with measured clap, and sit
down again with clap, clap, clap, fainter and still fainter, until the
last dies away, or is brought to an end, by a smart loud clap from the
chief. They keep perfect time in this species of court etiquette.”
This curious salutation is valued very highly, and the people are
carefully instructed in it from childhood. The chief guide of the
stranger party then addresses the chief, and tells him about his
visitors,--who they are, why they have come, &c.; and mostly does so in
a kind of blank verse--the power of improvising a poetical narrative
being valued as highly as the court salutations, and sedulously
cultivated by all of any pretensions to station. It is rather amusing
at first to the traveller to find that, if he should happen to inquire
his way at a hut, his own guide addresses the owner of the hut in blank
verse, and is answered in the same fashion.
The dress of this tribe is rather peculiar, the head being the chief
part of the person which is decorated. Some of the men save themselves
the trouble of dressing their hair by shaving it off entirely, but
a greater number take a pride in decorating it in various ways. The
headdress which seems to be most admired is that in which the hair is
trained to resemble the horns of the buffalo. This is done by taking
two pieces of hide while they are wet and pliable, and bending them
into the required shape. When the two horns are dry and hard, they are
fastened on the head, and the hair is trained over them, and fixed in
its place by grease and clay. Sometimes only one horn is used, which
projects immediately over the forehead; but the double horn is the form
which is most in vogue.
Others divide their hair into numerous tufts, and separate them by
winding round each tuft a thin bandage, made of the inner bark of a
tree, so that they radiate from the head in all directions, and produce
an effect which is much valued by this simple race. Some draw the hair
together toward the back of the head, and train it so as to hang down
their backs in a shape closely resembling the pigtail which was so
fashionable an ornament of the British sailor in Nelson’s time. Others,
again, allow the hair to grow much as nature formed it, but train it to
grow in heavy masses all round their heads.
The women are equally fastidious with the men, but have in addition a
most singular ornament called the “pelele.” This is a ring that is not
fixed into the ear or nose, but into the upper lip, and gives to the
wearer an appearance that is most repulsive to an European. The artist
has illustrated its form and effect, in an engraving on page 357. The
pelele is a ring made of ivory, metal, or bamboo, nearly an inch in
thickness, and variable in diameter, sometimes measuring two inches
across. When the girl is very young, the upper lip is pierced close to
the nose, and a small pin inserted to prevent the orifice from closing.
When the wound is healed, the small pin is withdrawn, and a larger one
introduced; and this plan is carried on for years, until at last the
full-sized “pelele” can be worn.
The commonest sort of pelele is made of bamboo, and is in consequence
very light. When a wearer of this pelele smiles, or rather tries to
smile, the contraction of the muscles turns the ring upward, so that
its upper edge comes in front of the eyes, the nose appearing through
its middle. The whole front teeth are exposed by this motion, so as to
exhibit the fashionable way in which the teeth have been chipped, and,
as Livingstone says, they resemble the fangs of a cat or a crocodile.
One old lady, named Chikanda Kadze, had a pelele so wide and heavy
that it hung below her chin. But then she was a chief, and could
consequently afford to possess so valuable an ornament.
The use of the pelele quite alters the natural shape of the jaws. In
the natural state the teeth of the upper jaw are set in an outward
curve, but in a wearer of the pelele the constant, though slight,
pressure of the ring first diminishes the curve, then flattens it, and,
lastly, reverses it. Livingstone suggests that a similar application
of gradual pressure should be applied to persons whose teeth project
forward, not knowing that such a plan has long been practised by
dentists.
How this frightful ornament came to be first introduced is unknown. The
reasons which they give for wearing it are rather amusing. A man, say
they, has whiskers and a beard, whereas a woman has none. “What kind of
a creature would a woman be, without whiskers and without the pelele?
She would have a mouth like a man, and no beard!” As a natural result
of wearing this instrument, the language has undergone a modification
as well as the lips. The labial letters cannot be pronounced properly,
the under lip having the whole duty thrown upon them.
[Illustration: (1.) PELELE OR LIP-RING. (See page 356.)]
[Illustration: (2.) BATOKA MEN. (See page 348.)]
In different parts of the country the pelele takes different shapes.
The most valued pelele is a piece of pure tin hammered into a dish-like
shape. Some are made of a red kind of pipeclay, and others of a white
quartz. These latter ornaments are generally cylindrical in form, so
that, as has been well observed, the wearer looks as if she had an inch
or so of wax-candle thrust through the lips, and projecting beyond the
nose. Some of them are so determined to be fashionable that they do not
content themselves with a pelele in the upper lip, but also wear one in
the lower, the effect upon the expression of countenance being better
imagined than described. The pelele is seen to the greatest advantage
in the lake district, where every woman wears it, and where it takes
the greatest variety of form. Along the river it is not so universally
worn, and the form is almost always that of the ring or dish.
In this part of the country the sub-tribes are distinguished by certain
marks wherewith they tattoo themselves, and thereby succeed in still
farther disfiguring countenances which, if allowed to remain untouched,
would be agreeable enough. Some of them have a fashion of pricking
holes all over their faces, and treating the wounds in such a way that,
when they heal, the skin is raised in little knobs, and the face looks
as if it were covered with warts. Add to this fashion the pelele, and
the reader may form an opinion of the beauty of a fashionable woman. If
the object of fashion be to conceal age, this must be a most successful
fashion, as it entirely destroys the lines of the countenance, and
hardens and distorts the features to such an extent, that it is
difficult to judge by the face whether the owner be sixteen or sixty.
One of the women had her body most curiously adorned by tattooing,
and, indeed, was a remarkable specimen of Manganja fashion. She had
shaved all her head, and supplied the want of hair by a feather tuft
over her forehead, tied on by a band. From a point on the top of her
forehead ran lines radiating over the cheeks as far as the ear, looking
something like the marks on a New Zealander’s face. This radiating
principle was carried out all over her body. A similar point was marked
on each shoulder blade, from which the lines radiated down the back and
over the shoulders, and on the lower part of the spine and on each arm
were other patterns of a similar nature. She of course wore the pelele;
but she seemed ashamed of it, probably because she was a travelled
woman, and had seen white men before. So when she was about to speak to
them, she retired to her hut, removed the pelele, and, while speaking,
held her hand before her mouth, so as to conceal the ugly aperture in
her lip.
Cleanliness seems to be unsuitable to the Manganja constitution.
They could not in the least understand why travellers should wash
themselves, and seemed to be personally ignorant of the process. One
very old man, however, said that he did remember once to have washed
himself; but that it was so long ago that he had quite forgotten
how he felt. A very amusing use was once made of this antipathy to
cold water. One of the Manganjas took a fancy to attach himself to
the expedition, and nothing could drive him away. He insisted on
accompanying them, and annoyed them greatly by proclaiming in every
village to which they came, “These people have wandered; they do not
know where they are going.” He was driven off repeatedly: but, as
soon as the march was resumed, there he was, with his little bag over
his shoulder, ready to proclaim the wandering propensities of the
strangers, as usual. At last a happy idea struck them. They threatened
to take him down to the river and wash him; whereupon he made off in a
fright, and never made his appearance again.
Perhaps in consequence of this uncleanliness, skin diseases are rife
among the Manganjas, and appear to be equally contagious and durable;
many persons having white blotches over their bodies, and many others
being afflicted with a sort of leprosy, which, however, does not seem
to trouble them particularly. Even the fowls are liable to a similar
disease, and have their feet deformed by a thickening of the skin.
Sobriety seems as rare with the Manganjas as cleanliness; for they are
notable topers, and actually contrive to intoxicate themselves on their
native beer, a liquid of so exceedingly mild a character that nothing
but strong determination and a capability of consuming vast quantities
of liquid would produce the desired effect. The beer is totally unlike
the English drink. In the first place, it is quite thick and opaque,
and looks much like gruel of a pinkish hue. It is made by pounding the
vegetating grain, mixing it with water, boiling it, and allowing it to
ferment. When it is about two days old, it is pleasant enough, having
a slightly sweetish-acid flavor, which has the property of immediately
quenching thirst, and is therefore most valuable to the traveller, for
whose refreshment the hospitable people generally produce it.
As to themselves, there is some excuse for their intemperate habits.
They do not possess hops, or any other substance that will preserve
the beer, and in consequence they are obliged to consume the whole
brewing within a day or two. When, therefore, a chief has a great
brew of beer, the people assemble, and by day and night they continue
drinking, drumming, dancing, and feasting, until the whole of the
beer is gone. Yet, probably on account of the nourishing qualities of
the beer--which is, in fact, little more than very thin porridge--the
excessive drinking does not seem to have any injurious effect on the
people, many being seen who were evidently very old, and yet who had
been accustomed to drink beer in the usual quantities. The women seem
to appreciate the beer as well as the men, though they do not appear to
be so liable to intoxication. Perhaps the reason for this comparative
temperance is, that their husbands do not give them enough of it. In
their dispositions they seem to be lively and agreeable, and have a
peculiarly merry laugh, which seems to proceed from the heart, and is
not in the least like the senseless laugh of the Western negro.
In this part of the country, not only among the Manganjas, but in other
tribes, the custom of changing names is prevalent, and sometimes leads
to odd results. One day a headman named Sininyane was called as usual,
but made no answer; nor did a third and fourth call produce any result.
At last one of his men replied that he was no longer Sininyane, but
Moshoshama, and to that name he at once responded. It then turned out
that he had exchanged names with a Zulu. The object of the exchange
is, that the two persons are thenceforth bound to consider each other
as comrades, and to give assistance in every way. If, for example,
Sininyane had happened to travel into the country where Moshoshama
lived, the latter was bound to receive him into his house, and treat
him like a brother.
They seem to be an intelligent race, and to appreciate the notion of
a Creator, and of the immortality of the soul; but, like most African
races, they cannot believe that the white and the black races have
anything in common, or that the religion of the former can suit the
latter. They are very ready to admit that Christianity is an admirable
religion for white men, but will by no means be persuaded that it would
be equally good for themselves.
They have a hazy sort of idea of _their_ Creator, the invisible
head-chief of the spirits, and ground their belief in the immortality
of the soul on the fact that their departed relatives come and speak
to them in their dreams. They have the same idea of the muave poison
that has already been mentioned; and so strong is their belief in its
efficacy that, in a dispute, one man will challenge the other to drink
muave; and even the chiefs themselves will often offer to test its
discriminating powers.
When a Manganja dies, a great wailing is kept up in his house for two
days; his tools and weapons are broken, together with the cooking
vessels. All food in the house is taken out and destroyed; and even the
beer is poured on the earth.
The burial grounds seem to be carefully cherished--as carefully,
indeed, as many of the churchyards in England. The graves are all
arranged north and south, and the sexes of the dead are marked by the
implements laid on the grave. These implements are always broken;
partly, perhaps, to signify that they can be used no more, and partly
to save them from being stolen. Thus a broken mortar and pestle for
pounding corn, together with the fragments of a sieve, tell that there
lies below a woman who once had used them; whilst a piece of a net
and a shattered paddle are emblems of the fisherman’s trade, and tell
that a fisherman is interred below. Broken calabashes, gourds, and
other vessels, are laid on almost every grave; and in some instances a
banana is planted at the head. The relatives wear a kind of mourning,
consisting of narrow strips of palm leaf wound round their heads,
necks, arms, legs, and breasts, and allowed to remain there until they
drop off by decay.