THE SHEKIANI AND MPONGWÉ.
LOCALITY OF THE SHEKIANI -- MODE OF GOVERNMENT -- SKILL IN HUNTING
-- SHEKIANI ARCHITECTURE -- MEDICAL TREATMENT -- NATIVE SORCERERS
-- FATE OF THE WIZARD -- A VICTIM TO SUPERSTITION -- TREATMENT OF
THE POSSESSED -- LOCALITY OF THE MPONGWÉ -- NATIVE FASHIONS --
MPONGWÉ MOURNING -- SKILL IN LANGUAGES -- THE SUCCESSFUL TRADER AND
HIS RELATIONS -- DEATH OF THE MONARCH AND ELECTION OF A NEW KING
-- A MPONGWÉ CORONATION -- OLD KING GLASS AND HIS CHARACTER -- HIS
SICKNESS, DEATH, BURIAL, AND SUCCESSOR.
Scattered over a considerable track of country between the Muni and
Gaboon rivers, on the western coast of Africa, are numerous villages of
the Shekiani or Chekiani tribe. The Shekiani are divided into numerous
sub-tribes, which speak a common language, but call themselves by
various names, such as the Mbondemo, the Mbousha, the Mbicho, &c. Each
of these lesser tribes is again subdivided into clans or families, each
of which has its own head.
The mode of government is very simple, and indeed scarcely deserves
the name; for although the chiefs of the different tribes are often
called kings, their titles are but empty honors, and their authority
is but partially recognized even by the headmen of the clans. The
kings, indeed, are scarcely distinguishable from their so called
subjects, their houses being the same, and their mode of living but
little superior. Still, they are respected as advisers; and, in cases
of difficulty, a few words from one of these kings will often settle a
dispute which threatens to be dangerous.
Owing to their proximity to the coast, the Shekiani are great traders,
and, in consequence of their contact with the white man, present a
most curious mixture of savageness and civilization, the latter being
modified in various droll ways. Take, for example, the Shekiani mode
of managing fire-arms. When they go to hunt the elephant for the sake
of its tusks, they always arm themselves with trade guns, for which
they pay seven shillings and sixpence. The quality of these weapons
may be easily imagined, and it is really wonderful how the Birmingham
manufacturer contrives to furnish for so small a sum a gun that
deserves the name.
Of course it is made to suit native ideas, and consequently it is
very large and very heavy, a negro contemptuously rejecting a small
and light gun which might be worth thirty or forty pounds. Then the
mainspring of the lock is of prodigious strength, and the hammer and
pan of proportionate size. Inferior, of course, as is the material,
the weapon is really a wonderful article; and, if properly handled,
is capable of doing good service. But a negro never handles anything
carefully. When he cocks his musket, he wrenches back the hammer with a
jerk that would break a delicate lock; when he wants to carry home the
game that he has killed, he hangs it to the muzzle of the piece, and so
slings it over his shoulder, and, as he travels, he allows it to bang
against the trees, without the least care for the straightness of the
barrel.
But it is in loading the weapon that he most distinguishes himself.
First he pours down the barrel a quantity of powder at random, and rams
upon it a tuft of dry grass. Upon the grass come some bullets or bits
of iron, and then more grass. Then come more powder, grass, and iron
as before; and not until then does the negro flatter himself that he
has loaded his musket. That a gun should burst after such a method of
loading is not surprising, and indeed it is a wonder that it can be
fired at all without flying to pieces. But the negro insists on having
a big gun, with plenty of powder and shot, and he cares nothing for a
weapon unless it goes off with a report like a small cannon, and has a
recoil that almost dislocates the shoulder.
The Shekiani are of moderate size, not very dark-colored, and in
character are apt to be quarrelsome, passionate, revengeful, and
utterly careless of inflicting death or pain. Owing to their unsettled
habits, they are but poor agriculturists, leaving all the culture of
the ground to the women. Their mode of making a plantation is very
simple. When they have fixed upon a suitable spot, they begin to clear
it after a very primitive fashion. The men ascend the trees to some
ten or twelve feet of height, just where the stem narrows, supporting
themselves by a flexible vine branch twisted hoop-fashion round the
tree and their waist. They then chop away at the timber, and slip
nimbly to the ground just as the upper part of the tree is falling. The
trunks and branches are then gathered together until the dry season
is just over, when the whole mass is lighted, and on the ground thus
cleared of trees and brushwood the women plant their manioc, plantains,
and maize.
Their villages are built on one model. The houses are about twelve or
fifteen feet in length by eight or ten wide, and are set end to end in
a double row, so as to form a long street. The houses have no windows,
and only one door, which opens into the street. At night the open ends
of the street are barricaded, and it will be seen that each village
thus becomes a fortress almost impregnable to the assaults of native
warriors. In order to add to the strength of their position, they make
their villages on the crests of hills, and contrive, if possible,
to build them in the midst of thorn brakes, so that, if they were
attacked, the enemy would be exposed to their missiles while engaged
in forcing their way through the thorns. When such a natural defence
cannot be obtained, they content themselves with blocking up the
approaches with cut thorn branches.
The houses are made of the so called bamboo poles, which are stuck in
the ground, and lashed to each other with vine ropes. The interior
is divided at least into two apartments, one of which is the eating
and the other the sleeping chamber. Each Shekiani wife has a separate
apartment, with its own door, so that the number of wives may be known
by the number of doors opening out of the sitting-room. Although their
houses are made with some care, the Shekiani are continually deserting
their villages on some absurd pretext, usually of a superstitious
character, and, during their travels toward another site, they make
temporary encampments in the woods, their rude huts being composed of
four sticks planted in the ground, tied together at the top, and then
covered with leaves.
It has been mentioned that the Shekiani are careless about inflicting
torture. One day M. du Chaillu was staying with one of the so-called
Shekiani “kings,” named Njambai; he heard terrible shrieks, and was
coolly told that the king was only punishing one of his wives. He ran
to the spot, and there found a woman tied by her waist to a stout
stake, and her feet to smaller stakes. Cords were tied round her neck,
waist, wrists, and ankles, and were being slowly twisted with sticks,
cutting into the flesh, and inflicting the most horrible torture. The
king was rather sulky at being interrupted in his amusement, but, when
his guest threatened instant departure unless the woman were released,
he made a present of the victim to her intercessor. The cords had been
so tightly knotted and twisted that they could not be untied, and, when
they were cut, were found to have been forced deeply into the flesh.
The same traveller gives an account of the cruel manner in which the
Shekiani treated an unfortunate man who had been accused of witchcraft.
He was an old man belonging to the Mbousha sub-tribe, and was supposed
to have bewitched a man who had lately died.
“I heard one day, by accident, that a man had been apprehended on a
charge of causing the death of one of the chief men of the village. I
went to Dayoko, and asked him about it. He said yes, the man was to be
killed; that he was a notorious wizard, and had done much harm. So I
begged to see this terrible being. I was taken to a rough hut, within
which sat an old, old man, with wool white as snow, wrinkled face,
bowed form, and shrunken limbs. His hands were tied behind him, and his
feet were placed in a rude kind of stocks. This was the great wizard.
Several lazy negroes stood guard over him, and from time to time
insulted him with opprobrious epithets and blows, to which the poor old
wretch submitted in silence. He was evidently in his dotage.
“I asked him if he had no friends, no relations, no son, or daughter,
or wife to take care of him. He said sadly, ‘No one.’
“Now here was the secret of his persecution. They were tired of taking
care of the helpless old man, who had lived too long, and a charge of
witchcraft by the gree-gree man was a convenient pretext for putting
him out of the way. I saw at once that it would be vain to strive to
save him. I went, however, to Dayoko, and argued the case with him.
I tried to explain the absurdity of charging a harmless old man with
supernatural powers; told him that God did not permit witches to exist;
and finally made an offer to buy the old wretch, offering to give
some pounds of tobacco, one or two coats, and some looking glasses for
him--goods which would have bought me an able-bodied slave.
“Dayoko replied that for his part he would be glad to save him, but
that the people must decide; that they were much excited against him;
but that he would, to please me, try to save his life. During all the
night following I heard singing all over the town, and a great uproar.
Evidently they were preparing themselves for the murder. Even these
savages cannot kill in cold blood, but work themselves into a frenzy of
excitement first, and then rush off to do the bloody deed.
“Early in the morning the people gathered together, with the fetish
man--the infernal rascal who was at the bottom of the murder--in their
midst. His bloodshot eyes glared in savage excitement as he went around
from man to man, getting the votes to decide whether the old man should
die. In his hands he held a bundle of herbs, with which he sprinkled
three times those to whom he spoke. Meantime a man was stationed on
the top of a high tree, whence he shouted from time to time in a loud
voice, ‘_Jocoo! Jocoo!_’ at the same time shaking the tree violently.
‘_Jocoo_’ is _devil_ among the Mbousha, and the business of this man
was to drive away the evil spirit, and to give notice to the fetish man
of his approach.
“At last the sad vote was taken. It was declared that the old man
was a most malignant wizard; that he had already killed a number of
people; that he was minded to kill many more; and that he must die.
No one would tell me how he was to be killed, and they proposed to
defer the execution till my departure, which I was, to tell the truth,
rather glad of. The whole scene had considerably agitated me, and I
was willing to be spared the end. Tired, and sick at heart, I lay down
on my bed about noon to rest, and compose my spirits a little. After a
while, I saw a man pass my window almost like a flash, and after him
a horde of silent but infuriated men. They ran toward the river. In a
little while, I heard a couple of sharp, piercing cries, as of a man in
great agony, and then all was still as death.
“I got up, guessing the rascals had killed the poor old man, and,
turning my steps toward the river, was met by a crowd returning, every
man armed with axe, knife, cutlass, or spear, and these weapons, and
their own hands and arms and bodies, all sprinkled with the blood of
their victim. In their frenzy they had tied the poor wizard to a log
near the river bank, and then deliberately hacked him into many pieces.
See the illustration on the 526th page. They finished by splitting
open his skull, and scattering the brains in the water. Then they
returned; and, to see their behavior, it would have seemed as though
the country had just been delivered from a great curse. By night the
men--whose faces for two days had filled me with loathing and horror,
so bloodthirsty and malignant were they--were again as mild as lambs,
and as cheerful as though they had never heard of a witch tragedy.”
Once, when shooting in the forest, Du Chaillu came upon a sight which
filled him with horror. It was the body of a young woman, with good and
pleasant features, tied to a tree and left there. The whole body and
limbs were covered with gashes, into which the torturers had rubbed red
pepper, thus killing the poor creature with sheer agony.
Among other degrading superstitions, the Shekiani believe that men and
women can be changed into certain animals. One man, for example, was
said to have been suddenly transformed into a large gorilla as he was
walking in the village. The enchanted animal haunted the neighborhood
ever afterward, and did great mischief, killing the men, and carrying
off the women into the forest. The people often hunted it, but never
could manage to catch it. This story is a very popular one, and is
found in all parts of the country wherever the gorilla lives.
The Shekiani have another odd belief regarding the transformation
of human beings into animals. Seven days after a child is born, the
girls of the neighborhood assemble in the house, and keep up singing
and dancing all night. They fancy that on the seventh day the woman
who waited on the mother would be possessed of an evil spirit, which
would change her into an owl, and cause her to suck the blood of the
child. Bad spirits, however, cannot endure the sight or sound of human
merriment, and so the girls obligingly get up a dance, and baffle the
spirit at the same time that they gratify themselves. As in a large
village a good many children are born, the girls contrive to insure
plenty of dances in the course of the year.
Sometimes an evil spirit takes possession of a man, and is so strong
that it cannot be driven away by the usual singing and dancing, the
struggles between the exorcisers and the demon being so fierce as to
cause the possessed man to fall on the ground, to foam at the mouth,
and to writhe about in such powerful convulsions that no one can hold
him. In fact, all the symptoms are those which the more prosaic white
man attributes to epilepsy.
Such a case offers a good opportunity to the medicine man, who comes to
the relief of the patient, attended by his assistant. A hut is built in
the middle of the street, and inhabited by the doctor and patient. For
a week or ten days high festival is held, and night and day the dance
and song are kept up within the hut, not unaccompanied with strong
drink. Every one thinks it a point of honor to aid in the demolition
of the witch, and, accordingly, every one who can eat gorges himself
until he can eat no more; every one who has a drum brings it and beats
it, and those who have no musical instruments can at all events shout
and sing until they are hoarse. Sometimes the natural result of such a
proceeding occurs, the unfortunate patient being fairly driven out of
his senses by the ceaseless and deafening uproar, and darting into the
forest a confirmed maniac.
THE MPONGWÉ.
Upon the Gaboon River is a well-known negro tribe called Mpongwé.
Perhaps on account of their continual admixture with traders, they
approach nearer to civilization than those tribes which have been
described, and are peculiarly refined in their manners, appearance,
and language. They are very fond of dress, and the women in particular
are remarkable for their attention to the toilet. They wear but little
clothing, their dark, velvet-like skin requiring scarcely any covering,
and being admirably suited for setting off the ornaments with which
they plentifully bedeck themselves.
Their heads are elaborately dressed, the woolly hair being frizzed
out over a kind of cushion, and saturated with palm oil to make it
hold together. Artificial hair is also added when the original stock
is deficient, and is neatly applied in the form of rosettes over the
ears. A perfumed bark is scraped and applied to the hair, and the whole
edifice is finished off with a large pin of ivory, bone, or ebony.
When their husbands die, the widows are obliged to sacrifice this
cherished adornment and go about with shaven heads, a custom which
applies also to the other sex in time of mourning. In this country
mourning is implied by the addition of certain articles to the ordinary
clothing, but, among the Mpongwé, the case is exactly reversed. When a
woman is in mourning she shaves her head and wears as few and as bad
clothes as possible; and when a man is in mourning, he not only shaves
his head, but abandons all costume until the customary period is over.
The women wear upon their ankles huge brass rings made of stair rods,
and many of them are so laden with these ornaments that their naturally
graceful walk degenerates into a waddle; and if by chance they should
fall into the water, they are drowned by the weight of their brass
anklets.
The Mpongwés are a clever race, having a wonderful aptitude for
languages and swindling. Some of the men can speak several native
dialects, and are well versed in English, French, Spanish, and
Portuguese, using their accomplishments for the purpose of cheating
both of the parties for whom they interpret. They are very clever at an
argument, especially of that kind which is popularly known as “special
pleading,” and will prove that black is white, not to say blue or red,
with astonishing coolness and ingenuity.
Clever, however, as they are, they are liable to be cheated in their
town by their own people--if indeed those can be said to be cheated who
deliberately walk into the trap that is set for them. They will come
down to the coast, impose upon some unwary trader with their fluent
and plausible tongues, talk him into advancing goods on credit, and
then slink off to their villages, delighted with their own ingenuity.
As soon, however, as they reach their homes, the plunderers become
the plundered. Indeed, as Mr. W. Reade well remarks, “There are many
excellent business men who in private life are weak, vain, extravagant,
and who seem to leave their brains behind them. Such are the Mpongwés,
a tribe of commercial travellers, men who prey upon ignorance in the
bush, and are devoured by flattery in the town.”
As soon as the successful trader returns to his village, he is beset
by all his friends and relations, who see in him a mine of wealth, of
which they all have a share. They sing his praises, they get up dances
in his honor, they extol his generosity, eating and drinking all the
while at his expense, and never leaving him until the last plantain has
been eaten and the last drop of rum drunk. He has not strength of mind
to resist the flattery which is heaped upon him, and considers himself
bound to reward his eulogists by presents. Consequently, at the end of
a week or two he is as poor as when he started on his expedition, and
is obliged to go off and earn more money, of which he will be robbed in
a similar manner when he returns.
These feasts are not very enticing to the European palate, for the
Mpongwé have no idea of roasting, but boil all their food in earthen
vessels. They have little scruple about the different articles of diet,
but will eat the flesh of almost any animal, bird, or reptile that they
can kill.
Among the Mpongwé, the government is much the same as that of the other
tribes in Western Equatorial Africa. The different sub-tribes or clans
of the Mpongwé are ruled by their headmen, the principal chief of a
district being dignified with the title of king. Dignity has, as we all
know, its drawbacks as well as its privileges, and among the Mpongwé
it has its pains as well as its pleasures. When once a man is fairly
made king, he may do much as he likes, and is scarcely ever crossed in
anything that he may desire. But the process of coronation was anything
but agreeable, and utterly unlike the gorgeous ceremony with which
civilized men are so familiar.
[Illustration: (1.) FATE OF THE WIZARD. (See page 523.)]
[Illustration: (2.) CORONATION. (See page 527.)]
The new king is secretly chosen in solemn conclave, and no one, not
even the king elect, knows on whom the lot has fallen. On the seventh
day after the funeral of the deceased sovereign, the name of the new
king is proclaimed, and all the people make a furious rush at him.
They shout and yell at him; they load him with all the terms of abuse
in which their language is so prolific; and they insult him in the
grossest manner.
One man will run up to him and shout, “You are not my king yet!”
accompanying the words with a sound box on the ear. Another flings a
handful of mud in his face, accompanied by the same words, another gets
behind him and administers a severe kick, and a third slaps his face.
For some time the poor man is hustled and beaten by them until his life
seems to be worthless, while all around is a crowd of disappointed
subjects, who have not been able to get at their future monarch, and
who are obliged to content themselves by pelting him with sticks and
stones over the heads of their more fortunate comrades, and abusing
him, and his parents, and his brothers, sisters, and all his relatives
for several generations. This part of the ceremony of coronation is
illustrated on the previous page.
Suddenly the tumult ceases, and the king elect, bruised,
mud-bespattered, bleeding, and exhausted, is led into the house of his
predecessor, where he seats himself. The whole demeanor of the people
now changes, and silent respect takes the place of frantic violence.
The headmen of the tribe rise and say, “Now we acknowledge you as our
king; we listen to you, and obey you.” The people repeat these words
after them, and then the crown and royal robes are brought. The crown
is always an old silk hat, which, by some grotesque chance, has become
the sign of royalty in Western Africa. The state robes are composed
of a red dressing-gown, unless a beadle’s coat can be procured, and,
arrayed in this splendid apparel, the new king is presented to his
subjects, and receives their homage.
A full week of congratulations and festivities follows, by the end of
which time the king is in sad need of repose, strangers from great
distances continually arriving, and all insisting on being presented
to the new king. Not until these rites are over is the king allowed to
leave the house.
M. du Chaillu was a witness of the remarkable ceremony which has just
been described, and which took place on the coronation of a successor
to the old King Glass, who, as is rather quaintly remarked, “stuck
to life with a determined tenacity, which almost bid fair to cheat
Death. He was a disagreeable old heathen, but in his last days became
very devout--after his fashion. His idol was always freshly painted
and highly decorated; his fetish was the best cared-for fetish in
Africa, and every few days some great doctor was brought down from the
interior, and paid a large fee for advising the old king. He was afraid
of witchcraft; thought that everybody wanted to put him out of the way
by bewitching him; and in this country your doctor does not try to cure
your sickness; his business is to keep off the witches.”
The oddest thing was, that all the people thought that _he_ was a
powerful wizard, and were equally afraid and tired of him. He had
been king too long for their ideas, and they certainly did wish him
fairly dead. But when he became ill, and was likely to die, the usual
etiquette was observed, every one going about as if plunged in the
deepest sorrow, although they hated him sincerely, and were so afraid
of his supernatural powers that scarcely a native dared to pass his
hut by night, and no bribe less than a jug of rum would induce any
one to enter the house. At last he died, and then every one went into
mourning, the women wailing and pouring out tears with the astonishing
lachrymal capability which distinguishes the African women, who can
shed tears copiously and laugh at the same time.
On the second day after his death old King Glass was buried, but the
exact spot of his sepulture no one knew, except a few old councillors
on whom the duty fell. By way of a monument, a piece of scarlet cloth
was suspended from a pole. Every one knew that it only marked the spot
where King Glass was _not_ buried. For six days the mourning continued,
at the end of which time occurred the coronation, and the chief Njogoni
became the new King Glass.
The mode of burial varies according to the rank of the deceased. The
body of a chief is carefully interred, and so is that of a king, the
sepulchre of the latter being, as has just been mentioned, kept a
profound secret. By the grave are placed certain implements belonging
to the dead person, a stool or a jug marking the grave of a man, and
a calabash that of a woman. The bodies of slaves are treated less
ceremoniously, being merely taken to the burying-ground, thrown down,
and left to perish, without the honors of a grave or accompanying
symbol.
Like other dwellers upon river banks, the Mpongwé are admirable
boatmen, and display great ingenuity in making canoes. The tree from
which they are made only grows inland, and sometimes, when a large
vessel is wanted, a suitable tree can only be found some eight or ten
miles from the shore. If a canoe maker can find a tree within two or
three miles from the water, he counts himself a lucky man; but, as the
trees are being continually cut up for canoe making, it is evident that
the Mpongwé are continually driven further inland.
When a Mpongwé has settled upon a tree which he thinks will make a
good canoe, he transplants all his family to the spot, and builds a
new homestead for himself, his wives, his children, and his slaves.
Sometimes he will economize his labor, and pitch his encampment
near three or four canoe trees, all of which he intends to fashion
into vessels before he returns to his village. When the trees are
felled, and cut to the proper length--sixty feet being an ordinary
measurement--they are ingeniously hollowed by means of fire, which is
carefully watched and guided until the interior is burnt away. The
outside of the tree is then trimmed into shape with the native adze,
and the canoe is ready. A clever man, with such a family, will make
several such canoes during a single dry season.
The next and most important business is to get the canoes to the water.
This is done by cutting a pathway through the wood, and laboriously
pushing the canoe on rollers. In some cases, when the canoe tree is
nearer the sea than the river, the maker takes it direct to the beach,
launches it, and then paddles it round to the river.