LIFE AT KIBOKOLO
Mr. and Mrs. Lewis began their work in Kibokolo, Zombo, in October, 1899,
and left it finally seven years later, having spent the year 1901, and
the first half of 1902, in England on furlough. Those seven years were
lean and hungry years which would have eaten up all the joy of former
harvests if the hearts of the workers had not been nourished and cheered
by unfailing faith in God. It was their business and that of their
colleagues, in fact and in figure, to clear the ground, and transform
a patch of wilderness into fields capable of bearing plenty. Their new
neighbours were a wild, shy, suspicious people, and life at San Salvador
with all its crudities seemed like civilisation when compared with the
unmitigated barbarism of Zombo.
The people had invited Mr. and Mrs. Lewis to come among them, but
they had done so, moved by considerations which were of the earth
earthy, and it was inevitable that they should experience a measure of
disappointment. The missionaries were of course prepared for this, and
entered the open door with a good conscience, assured that in the end
their mission would secure for the people even greater earthly blessings
than those they had forecast.
At first their work consisted in the main of building houses and making
friends. All the time they preached the gospel, knowing in their hearts
that there was small likelihood of their doctrine winning acceptance,
until they themselves had been accepted and had won trust and love.
In the beginning, the women, and by consequence the children, were afraid
of Mrs. Lewis, and it was an event in her life, when the first Zombo baby
stretched out its little arms in welcome to her, suffered her to nurse
it, and was loath to be given up. She did not wait for the women to come
to her, but went to them in their towns, exhibiting skilled and patient
kindness which could not fail in the end.
Meanwhile the charge, domestic and educational, of the children on the
station, and multifarious household duties, kept her perpetually busy.
It should also be mentioned that she maintained a regular correspondence
with many friends at home, and with several of the missionaries’ wives
upon the Congo, in whose work she took the deepest and most sisterly
interest, and who were wont to consult her when difficulties arose; and
quite commonly the difficulties were at least as frequent as the mails.
Somewhat straitened for human society her affection went out to the tame,
dumb creatures about her, and to one who was not dumb, the parrot. Her
cat, “Sandy,” whom the mail-man lost on the way to Kibokolo, was brought
into San Salvador after many days, and sent on, safely this time, to
Kibokolo, to the great joy of his indulgent mistress. “Edward,” Mr.
Pinnock’s donkey, was useful as well as handsome, and her friendship
with him inclined to weakness; so much so that when one day he walked
into the dining-room and eat her last loaf of bread, she merely reminded
him in gentle tones that it was wicked to steal. After Edward’s day
came Taffy and Queenie, two mules, who were much esteemed, especially
Queenie, who died too early; and later a cow and bull, the joint property
of Mr. Hooper and Mr. Pinnock. The bull died. The cow pined and took
to wandering. Mrs. Lewis was sorry for her grief, and when Mr. Hooper
decided to shoot her, to provide beef for a certain feast, Mrs. Lewis
was torn between sentiment and prudence. She could not touch such unholy
beef, nor could she be sorry that it would feed a hungry crowd.
Her garden was an increasing joy to her, and though she loved flowers
with something akin to passion, her dutifulness as a housewife made
kitchen produce her first care. When Mr. Lewis and Mr. Hooper, who also
had the building gift, much to his senior colleague’s joy, had erected
the permanent houses, residential conditions were pleasant enough.
But Mrs. Lewis was not in Kibokolo for pleasure, but for souls; and as
the years passed her hunger grew. It was joy to her when she had a decent
school once more, and women sitting at her feet to listen to the gospel;
and the new chapel and the ultimately growing congregations called forth
her glad thanksgiving; but she wanted souls; and when the call to
Kimpese came, her lament was that she would not be in Kibokolo when the
harvest of souls began, of the coming of which she had no doubt. Even as
she was writing this lament, news arrived of the baptism of the first
Kibokolo convert, and she took her part in the happiness of Mr. and Mrs.
Hooper, and of their common Lord.
Shortly after her return from furlough in 1902 tragical events occurred
which desolated the towns about the station, and darkened the immediate
outlook of the Mission. But light came again into the sky, and the work
went on.
Mr. and Mrs. Lewis were fortunate in their colleagues at Kibokolo: an
immeasurable mercy! John Pinnock was their old and tried friend. Mr.
Hooper, who came out to them fresh from Bristol College, was made of
true missionary stuff, and walked straight into their affections and
their confidence. When later Mrs. Hooper appeared in Kibokolo she found
waiting for her a great woman’s love, which by God’s grace she knew
how to appreciate, to retain, and to deserve. Mr. and Mrs. Bowskill’s
temporary sojourn in Kibokolo was also a great joy to Mrs. Lewis, and the
friendship formed in the months of its duration lasted to the end of her
life.
From Kibokolo she made many journeys with her husband, of which only
hints and glimpses can be given to the reader, and one journey without
him. The story of this journey and its sequel is so unique and heroic,
that I have detached it from the sequence of events, and related it at
some length in a following chapter.
For the rest the reader must be content with a selection of passages from
Mrs. Lewis’s correspondence, which I am not without hope may suffice to
convey, in their cumulative effect, a realistic impression of life at
Kibokolo.
“November 13, 1899.—Alice wonders how I should like to be doing servant’s
work. As a matter of fact that is what I am chiefly doing these days
since coming here. No, none of the San Salvador people are with us here.
We have two wretched workmen from another town, our own boy Veza, and
John Pinnock’s boy Kinsengwa. That is our staff of workmen, with another
man who originally came from Zombo, but is leaving at the end of the
year. Then we have Kumbu and Zika, two boys about twelve, who have been
with us some time at San Salvador and wished to stay with us; Kidimbu, a
little boy of about eight, who comes from Nkaba, where Nlekai is working,
and John Pinnock’s Mayowela, a little fellow of seven. I have two girls,
Talanga and Salune, aged respectively, perhaps, eleven and thirteen, and
between us we do all there is to be done, cooking, washing, mangling,
ironing, and the regular routine, besides some ground clearing and
sewing; and I have school with those six in the afternoon. Of course,
being so small, they can do nothing without help. All my mornings have to
be given up to household matters; but these things are important, without
which we cannot keep in health, so I don’t consider it is time wasted,
although it is not so much to my taste as preaching and teaching.
“Yesterday was Sunday, and Tom and I went to another town to hold a
service. The chief there rejoices in the name of ‘Lion’s tail,’ and is
the most sensible chief about here, though he is not much interested in
God’s palaver yet. Kinzala, his town, is about an hour from here. I went
on Pinnock’s donkey (who, by the way, has his head in at the door now).
It is rather awkward riding sideways on a man’s saddle, but I can manage
it. We had not a large congregation as there was a funeral near, but
our great object just now is to make friends. There was a nice little
baby present who would come to me and didn’t want to leave—the first in
Zombo who has made friends, and I was quite pleased, for I miss all the
little people at San Salvador who were my special friends. It was such a
broiling day. I got so sunburnt that I am the colour of a lobster to-day.
It was 90° in the shade yesterday. To-day it is raining and thundering
incessantly. The weather just now is very trying, and in our grass-house,
of course, we feel it more, not having proper doors and windows, so that
the house is very draughty and one has to be very careful not to take
cold.
“In the afternoon yesterday I went round the town and got into
conversation with some women. One woman, when I asked her if she wouldn’t
come to meeting to hear ‘God’s palaver’ said, ‘But I have nothing to
pay so how can I come?’ That, of course, gave me a good opportunity of
telling her about the free gift of God’s love to all the world. This
woman has been very friendly, and is the only one, so far, who has
invited me into her house.”
“April 10, 1900. (A circular letter to children.)—Since I last wrote to
you we have removed from our old home at San Salvador, where we spent
so many happy years, and are settled here at the new station—my husband
and self and Mr. Pinnock. I expect you will have read in the _Herald_
about the opening of the new chapel at San Salvador, which Mr. Lewis
had just finished before we left, and also about our arrival here. We
were very sorry to leave all our dear friends, and on the day we parted
we felt very sad indeed. But we are glad to be allowed to tell of God’s
love to those who have none others to tell them of it, and we often have
nice letters from our old girls and boys in San Salvador, and sometimes
some of the men come as carriers with our mails, so we do not forget one
another....
“Well, now, I am sure you want to hear something about our work here. You
must remember it is very different from that at San Salvador. At present
we are living in grass-houses, with just the sand for a floor. We have no
chapel, only an open porch, where we meet on Sundays, and every afternoon
I have school, a very small one, in our room, which has to serve all
purposes except sleeping. We have only been here six months, and the
people, although they begin to know us a little, still cannot understand
what we have come for. They say, ‘These white men do not buy rubber or
cows; they do not come here to rule, and they want us to come and talk
with them and to send our children. They must want to buy our spirits and
send them to the white man’s country. We are not going to be caught! We
will keep our women and children away, and while we will not offend them
because they are very powerful, we will just watch to see what they are
up to.’ Some time ago there was heard a peculiar rumbling sound, like
a very slight shock of earthquake. When they heard it they said, ‘That
is Lewis’s train, taking the spirits away.’ Some of the men had been to
Tumba and seen the train there.
“For some weeks now the country has been very unsettled, and the other
towns threatened to come and fight our chief, Kapela, and his people,
because they kept a white man in their town. Just then there happened,
as is common in March, to be a lull in the rains, and their farms were
getting dry. Now that April is in the rains have begun again. But the
people put this down to us. While they were unfriendly we stopped the
rain; now the palaver is nearly over we have brought it again. Poor
creatures! how we long for the time when they shall open their hearts
to receive our message of a loving Father and a tender Saviour and know
that all things are ordered by Him. We have made a beginning; we have
four little Zombo boys on the station, and I should like to tell you how
we got them. When we had been here two or three months we thought it was
time to make an effort to get children to school. So we asked all the
chiefs of the district to meet us one day as we had something to talk to
them about.
“They had been expecting this, and fifteen came with their
followers—altogether over a hundred men assembled. We had made
preparation for their entertainment, had killed and cooked a goat, opened
some tins of sardines, and got some townswomen to cook ‘luku’ for them.
Then we made three or four large jugs of lemonade. They would not enter
the house, so we spread mats for them outside, while we three sat under
the eaves. Then Mr. Lewis told them once more the reasons for our being
here, and that we wanted to teach their children. Those near could come
daily; but we wanted some others to live with us, so that they might
know our ways and might learn to read in God’s book. There ensued a long
discussion. One after another the chiefs spoke, some saying that was
not what they wished for. They wanted a trader who would help them to
get rich. Finally they went off to consult among themselves. When they
returned most of them said they were willing to give us some boys, some
did not speak, while others said they would let us have some carriers,
but did not want their children to come to us. What was the good?
However, they settled a day when they should bring some boys, and then we
invited them into one of the houses to eat. But no, they would not enter;
so the ‘chop’ was brought and they eat it as they sat, only one or two
refusing to partake, as to ‘eat goat’ in Kongo means to acknowledge the
one who provides it as your chief. I wished we could have photographed
the scene, but we thought it might frighten them.
“On the day appointed only two parties turned up—Kapela, our head chief,
and one other. Kapela brought three little boys and two young men, but
as the latter have wives and families we said they could come daily to
school. The three boys were delighted, and when their relatives’ backs
were turned began to dance for joy, and very proud they were when I
rigged them out in new shirts and cloths.
“One of them is very bright, and gets on fast; the others are slower, but
the youngest is a dear, affectionate little fellow. I must not tell you
more about them now, or you will get tired of this letter; but just one
thing I will add, to show you they are already learning the best of all
truths. The other day in school I asked, ‘Who is the Son of God?’ and
Mpululu answered, ‘Jesus.’ Then, ‘What did He come to earth for?’ and one
of my Congo boys said, ‘To save us.’ But I asked again, ‘To save us from
what?’ and again Mpululu answered, ‘From our sins.’ I thought that a very
nice answer from a little heathen boy; don’t you?
“May 2.—Edward usually comes to school and has regular ‘larks’ with the
children, racing about with them. Sometimes they get on his back, and
he goes quietly a little way, then suddenly kicks up his heels and off
they go. They don’t mind: there is only soft sand to fall on. It is
just mischief of his! It is quite pretty to see little Mvulu cuddling
him. I am going to get a snapshot one day of them. Well, this is a long
rigmarole, mainly nonsense. But really I have not much to write. It is
foundation work just now, and apparently little or nothing being done. On
Sunday we had three boys, or men, to service here. J. P. went to a town
close by and was sent away: ‘They didn’t want the teaching.’ Tom went to
Nzamba in the afternoon and had a pretty fair audience, thirty to forty;
J. P. to another town and had twelve. I cannot get about much till the
rain ceases, and, besides, I have not been very first rate—neuralgia,
&c. But I feel better now, and trust to be all right when the dry season
comes.”
“June 22.—We have just returned from a visit of eight days to Kimfuti,
Ndosiman’s town. There was a funeral there and lots of people from other
towns, so we had splendid opportunities for preaching. The people are
friendly and the women not afraid, so we had quite a good time and have
brought back with us the chief’s nephew, a nice little boy of about
eleven years old, I should think. I expect we shall get more from there
later. We stayed at another town half-way, going and coming, and they too
were friendly.”
“July 14.—We have had no news later than May 25th, so know nothing. How
thankful I shall be to hear that it [the Boer War] is at an end. Of
course we have been interested in the demonstrations about the relief of
Mafeking, and are delighted at the news, and proud of B. P. & Co., but
people really seem to have gone mad.
“Here we are very quiet, and there is really nothing to tell. They are
waiting for the materials to come up from Matadi to begin the new house.
But there is a difficulty about carriers.”
“October 12th.—The other day I got into a rare pickle. I went to a town
an hour and a quarter from here, and, coming home, the donkey, having
fasted for an hour or two, grew thinner, and the saddle got very loose
and kept tumbling on one side. At last it was hopeless, especially as I
had no bridle, and Edward would keep going round when the saddle twisted.
I did not feel up to walking all the way home, as it was blazing hot.
Fortunately I only had the three girls with me, so I made a virtue of
necessity, and rode astride (Don’t be too shocked, there was no one to
see!) until I got within sight of the station; then dismounted and
walked home. But I don’t feel inclined for that game again.”
In the long interval between the writing of the paragraph just quoted,
and that which follows, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis spent another furlough in
England, and returned again to Kibokolo. On the outward voyage they were
happy in the company of their friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lawson Forfeitt. When
the party left England the preparations for the Coronation were complete.
At Teneriffe they heard the heavy news of the King’s illness, and spent a
week of grave anxiety, to be relieved by hopeful tidings at Sierra Leone.
“August 25, 1902. (To Mrs. J. Jenkyn Brown.)—We had a pleasant voyage
and a very happy time at San Salvador with our old friends. Mr. and
Mrs. Graham were well; but Mrs. G. is overworked. I wish very much she
had some one to help her; I am afraid of her breaking down. We had an
uproarious welcome here from our two colleagues, Messrs. Pinnock and
Hooper, and also from the people, who really seemed glad to see us. They
are much less afraid of us than they used to be, and the women come round
about much more freely.
“I am hoping very soon now to have some women to teach. Several come
to talk to the girls, and seem pleased when I go to them. Mrs. Graham
kindly let me take one of her big girls, and I have two other little ones
who are attached to two of our boys. I have two or three Zombo girls
promised, but they are too small to come just yet.
“Mr. Hooper has had wonderful health; not a day’s illness since he came
two years ago. Mr. Pinnock looked very poorly; he has just left for his
furlough. They have both worked very hard, and have got up a nice house
in which we are now living. Tom is now beginning our new house. It is a
great comfort to have a boarded floor once more.
“We miss our old friend Edward very much, but the two mules we brought
out with us are delightful. I rode nearly all the way up, and you can
hardly imagine the lovely change it was from the hammock. They go
beautifully. Tom rode the whole way, and so saved all his hammock men.
They will be a great saving both of money and fatigue if they live. They
are dear creatures, very friendly and tame. We have named them ‘Taffy’
and ‘Queenie.’ My little furry friend Sandy flourishes still; he actually
knew me at once, and ever since has been doing his pussy best to let me
know how glad he is.
“You will be pleased to know that my little boy, Daniel, has grown a very
nice useful boy, and I am in hopes that he is going to turn out well. He
with another came down to the coast to meet us. There and back was a walk
of some four hundred miles. Not bad for a boy of twelve! He enjoyed it, I
think, and was very pleased to see us again.”
“September 8th.—When I last wrote I had just recovered from a slight
fever; I am thankful to say I have been quite well since then. Tom has
been suffering from toothache, a most unusual thing for him; I do hope
it will soon go, for it pulls one down so. He is very busy starting
our new house; Mr. Hooper helps him in the morning, and takes school in
the afternoon. I take the medicine in the morning, which is not much
here compared with what it was at San Salvador. In the afternoon I give
my three girls some lessons, and on Wednesday evening I have all the
children to a Bible class. Yesterday was Sunday, and we had about twenty
outside people to the service. That is the largest number we have had
since we returned. I get two or three women sometimes to come and talk
with me, and the girls on Sunday afternoons, but as yet I cannot get any
girls to school. Some want to come very much, and one little thing came
several afternoons running; but she has been stopped by her master, and
it is the same with the others; so there is nothing for it but patience.
They will come in time. I do all I can to make friends with the women; I
go round the towns as often as possible with the girls, so as to get them
accustomed to me and to get to know them. Just now there seems nothing
but burials; day and night the drums are going, and the people dancing
and howling. The darkness is appalling to think of, and although the
light is here, as yet they will not come to it. Of course it is nothing
new; but it is so different from where we have been before. There the
difficulty was to find time to talk to all the people who wanted to be
taught; here the trouble is to get the people to listen.”
[Illustration: THE DISPENSARY AT KIBOKOLO. MRS. LEWIS STANDING IN
DOORWAY.]
“September 30th.—Well! here there is nothing to write about. Tom is
housebuilding, assisted by Mr. Hooper, who teaches the boys in the
afternoon, and studies the language in the evenings. They both of them
take prayers in turn, to which we try to get the people to come, without
much success so far. As for me, I am a kind of maid-of-all-work. I am
housekeeper, gardener, organist, and occasional preacher, _i.e._, when
they both go out on Sunday morning. Sometimes, too, I go round to the
towns on Sunday afternoon and hold a service. Last Sunday, after hunting
everybody up, I got thirty, sometimes we only get two or three. One of
the women who lives close by has just been here to sell plantain. I asked
her why she did not come to service; she said, ‘What will you give me for
coming?’ and that is the answer one usually gets.”
“October 8, 1902. (A circular letter.)—A sad trouble has befallen us. As
I write I look from the window upon the still smoking ruins of what but
two days ago was the flourishing and most populous township in Zombo. But
I will begin at the beginning and try to tell you what has happened.
“This is Wednesday. On Sunday morning, as we were just about to sit down
to breakfast, two soldiers came asking to buy something. We told them
to wait till the next day, and inquired then what they were here for.
They said they had come from the Resident at Makela to demand carriers
which were owing to him from Nzamba (the town just opposite, across the
stream). We thought the people would be a little frightened, so did not
expect a good meeting. Tom and Mr. Hooper went off, each to separate
towns, and I had the service here. On their return we all felt a little
encouraged, for I had had over twenty townsfolk here, and they both had
had fair numbers to listen.
“In passing through Nzamba Tom had found about fifteen soldiers there,
he had also seen some of our folks and told them to keep quiet and give
the men that were owing. Just before dinner we heard the sound of rifle
firing, and as we sat at table the boys told us three men had been shot
by the soldiers. Tom and Mr. H. went over to see if it were true, and
found one man, the coming chief, dead, and two others of the headmen
badly shot, both of whom died that evening. The soldiers had gone to the
town where they were staying, and the people were vowing vengeance on
Nkil’a nkosi, the chief of that town.
“There is an old feud between these towns and his, and lately Nkil’a
nkosi has attached himself to the Portuguese Resident and traders at
Makela, and has been doing his best to get our people into trouble. Now,
through their own foolishness, he has succeeded only too well.
“It seems that the soldiers tied up one of the headmen, and two others
rushed to untie him, whereupon the soldiers fired and shot all three. One
soldier was badly wounded. He is here now, and we are afraid he will not
recover.
“Tom tried all he could to persuade the Nzamba people not to follow the
soldiers, but they would not listen, and when they had finished attending
to the sick men the fighting men were all on their way to the fight.
“In the meantime the people were rushing here, bringing all their poor
belongings into the station as it was too late to go far. Our yard was
soon full of women and children, goats, pigs, two cats, fowls, baskets
of manioc and other food, and bunches of plantain which had been hastily
cut down; while under our house were packed matetes containing cloth,
beads, gunpowder, &c. They were far too frightened to go back to their
houses that night, so we packed them in with the children as well as we
could, only glad to be able to prove to them that we were sorry for their
trouble and wanted to help them. The men came begging Tom and Mr. H. to
go and fight on their side, and because they refused, cannot understand
how we can be their friends. Night at last came, and very little sleep
any one had, as you may imagine, and by dawn the next morning all the
women and children, or nearly all, had left the town to go to their
various families in other and more distant towns. The Nzamba men buried
their dead the first thing without any noise and did not intend to fight
again that day, but the other side came down the hill calling out to
them, so they went, and returned in the evening very proud of themselves,
saying they had conquered. But their triumph was very shortlived.
“Yesterday morning about eleven o’clock we saw from our window the
Portuguese flag on the top of the hill, and very soon recognised the
Resident just behind, accompanied by four soldiers and men carrying his
hammock.
“He came straight to the station, would not take any refreshment, said he
merely wanted to hear what we knew of the palaver, and to ask us to see
to the soldier who had been wounded, and to ask me for some medicine for
his wife.
“October 10th.—I had to leave off, but now I must try to go on with my
tale. The Resident left us, saying that he was going to see the chiefs of
the towns, but we could see from our windows that the towns were quite
empty, and he simply passed through and returned whence he came. Directly
after dinner Tom and Mr. Hooper rode off to see the sick soldier, and
met him being brought here in a hammock. The Resident had told us that
he had a thousand men from Makela with him, and they saw the valley was
full of armed men. They had come from all the towns round; some to pay
off old scores, others to be on the winning side, and to save themselves
had joined Nkila. We gathered the children and workmen into our house and
there stood and watched as they poured down the hill in hundreds and set
fire to all the houses in Nzamba. It was hard for our three boys who came
from there to see their town in flames and to know that their enemies had
the best of it. ‘They could not have done it except with the white man’s
soldiers,’ they said. At last they crossed the brook which separates the
two towns, and began burning this one. The old man who is our nearest
neighbour and the headman of this part stayed on the station, for his
wife had gone with the other women. He has been a friend to us from the
beginning, and it was very pathetic to see the poor old man watching with
eager eyes as they came nearer and nearer to his house. They went into
all the huts and took anything that was left. I am glad to say it was
not much in this town, but when they came near the station they stopped
burning, and just then a tremendous storm came on, the worst we have had
this season.
“The two little towns which I generally visit on a Sunday afternoon
were destroyed, and one on the other side nearest to us. Whether it was
the storm that stopped them going further we do not know, but they did
not return to burn any more, though some came down the next morning to
finish looting. We sent up to ask for some help with the sick man, and
two soldiers came to stay with their wounded comrade. Soon after that the
white sergeant arrived with a message asking Tom to call the chiefs of
Kibokolo together. We were very glad to be able to say with truth that we
did not know where they were, for it was only to get them into a trap.
“Yesterday morning the poor soldier died; his wounds had been left too
long for any but skilled help to avail. They came and carried him away
for burial, and that is the last we have seen of them. We hear that the
Resident has gone back to meet the delimitation party at Makela, but
the soldiers are left at Kimalomba (Nkila’s town), and they are vowing
vengeance against these people, so we are afraid we have not seen the end
yet.
“There are fifteen houses left in this town; the next nearest is ten
minutes away, and there are plenty of people within an hour. But it is
a terrible upset, and at present we hardly know what to do or say. One
little consolation we have, that the people evidently understand that we
are their friends.
“Yesterday one of the wives of Mwan’a Mputu came to the station saying
she did not know where her husband was, so she and her child are staying
here. In the afternoon a little boy came with a bad foot; he and his
mother were in hiding, and as his foot was bad he came here. He does not
want to go away again, but that is an after consideration; he may not be
allowed to stay.
“We hear shots in the direction of the town he has come from, but do not
know yet what they mean. We are in no danger personally, and we can only
trust that God Who led us here and has been so evidently with us in all
times will not fail us now. We know He will not, neither will He let His
work suffer; but for the present it is a long set-back, we are afraid.
“Just now we have plenty of food for the station folks, but we may have a
little difficulty in that important matter.”