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BOKWALA
THE STORY OF A
CONGO VICTIM ^
BY
A CONGO RESIDENT
WITH A PREFACE BY
H. GRATTAN GUINNESS, M.D.
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 BOUVERIE ST. & 65 ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD,
■*’ ■ ‘ *’r •
PREFACE
Having personally visited the Upper
Congo in the days preceding the estab¬
lishment of the notorious rubber regime, and
being intimately acquainted with the conditions
of native life which then obtained, I have
watched with profoundest pity and indignation
the development of Congo slavery. Old-time
conditions of savage barbarity were awful, but
it has been reserved for so-called “ Christian
Civilisation ” to introduce the system of atro¬
cious oppression and hopeless despair under
which, during the last fifteen years, millions
of helpless natives have perished directly or
indirectly, for whose protection Great Britain
and the United States of America have special
responsibility before God and men.
It is particularly appropriate that in this
moment of Congo crisis these pages should
render articulate the voice of a Congo victim.
Bokwala tells his own story, thanks to the
clever and sympathetic interpretation of a
gifted and experienced resident on the Congo.
5
Preface
And a touching story it is, told with admirable
directness and simplicity, truthfulness and
restraint.
I heartily commend the book to all who are
interested in the greatest humanitarian issue
which has appealed to us during the last thirty
years, and to those also who as yet know little
or nothing of the Congo Iniquity.
H. GRATTAN GUINNESS, M.D.
Acting-Director of
The Regions Beyond Missionary Union.
Harley House, Bow, London, E.
6
0 Lord, how long shall I cry, and Thou
wilt not hear ! even cry unto Thee out of
violence, and Thou wilt not save !
Why dost Thou shew me iniquity, and
cause me to behold grievance ? for spoiling
and violence are before me : and there are
that raise up strife and contention.
Therefore the law is slacked, and judg¬
ment doth never go forth : for the wicked
doth compass about the righteous, therefore
wrong judgment proceedeth.
Thou art of purer eyes than to behold
evil, and canst not look on iniquity :
wherefore lookest Thou on them that deal
treacherously, and boldest Thy tongue when
the wicked devoureth the man that is more
righteous than he ?
Habakkuk i. 2, 3, 4, 13.
FOREWORD
HIS story of Bokwala, a Congo victim,
JL has been written in the belief that it
will help the friends of the Congo native to
see something of how Congo affairs appear when
looked at from the standpoint of those whom
they most nearly concern in their actual working,
i.e., the Congo natives themselves.
Bokwala’s story is the truth, and nothing but
the truth. The whole truth, however, is written
only in tears and blood wrung from the unfor¬
tunate people who are subjects of such treatment
as is described in this book. Even if it were
written with pen and ink, it could not be printed
or circulated generally. No extreme case has
been chosen, the story told has none of the very
worst elements of Congo life in it ; it is the life
which has been lived by hundreds and thousands
of Congo natives, and in great measure is being
lived by them to-day.
Now in July, 1909, while these words are
being written, wrongs are taking place ; men and
women are being imprisoned for shortage in food
9
Foreword
taxes ; messengers of white men are threatening,
abusing, and striking innocent villagers ; and
constant demands are being made upon the
people who find it impossible to supply such
except at great expense to themselves, which
they do not hesitate to incur rather than be
tied up and go to prison.
Changes there have been in the name and
personnel of the administration : but no change
in the system. We who live here and see what
takes place pray that you at home may stand
firm and not for one moment think that the
battle is won. It is not won yet ; and wiU not
be until we see the changes actually worked out
by reformers here on the Congo as surely as you
see the proposals and promises of them on paper
in Europe.
If what is here recorded helps to bring about
that happy state of things one day sooner than it
would otherwise come, surely readers and writer
wiU unite in praise to Him who alone is able to
bring it to pass.
A CONGO RESIDENT.
10
CONTENTS
FAOB
PEEPACB BY DR. H. GRATTAN GUINNESS . . 5
FOREWORD . . . . . .9
CHAPTER I
HOW WE ONCE LIVED . . . .15
My early days — Life at home — How we fared — Work and
play — Our one fear, the cannibals — Iseankdto’s warning
— We despise it — We are captured by cannibals — The
journey — A horrible meal — The cannibal village reached.
CHAPTER II
I AM A CANNIBAL’S SLAVE . . . .26
In the cannibal village — Before the council — Our fate —
Desire to please my master — How I succeeded — Our
fears and their justification — A sad company — Siene’s
murder — The boy who lied — The ordeal by poison —
Village strife — The human peace-offering — The haunting
dread — Eumours of the white men — A fright — Mak-
weke’s peril — How he escaped — We plan flight — The
start — The chase — A near thing — The river reached —
Over, and at home again.
CHAPTER III
THE COMING OP BOKAKALA . . . .46
At home again — I choose a wife — How I went courting —
And was married — My visits to the white men — They
11
Contents
PAGE
talk of “ one Jesus” — The other white man, Bokakala —
He wants rubber — We are eager to get it — How rubber
was collected — The rubber market — “ We did not Icnow.”
CHAPTER IV
THE BEGINNING OF SOEROWS . . .55
The coming of more white men — A change in our treat¬
ment — Things go from bad to worse — I get tned of
oollectiag rubber — And stay at home — The white man’s
anger and threats — I go to a palaver — My rubber is
short — I am whipped — The white man’s new plan —
Forest guards — Their oppression and greed — We report
them to the white man — Results — But the worst not
yet.
CHAPTER V
OPPRESSION, SHAME, AND TORTURE . . 62
My new slavery — How our villagers fared at home — The
white man’s meat — How it was got — The white men
of God and their pity — How the women were enslaved —
Feeding the idle — Endeavours to evade oppression —
Results — How would you hke our conditions? — Forest
work — Its hardships — The day of reckoning — Back to
the vUlage and home — An ominous silence — A sad
discovery — Redeeming our wives — An offending villager
— A poor victim — A ghastly punishment — The woman’s
death — Another village — The monkey hunters — The old
man who stayed at home— How he was tortured — No
redress.
CHAPTER VI
SOME HORRORS OF OUR LOT . . .74
Our work grows harder — I consult the white man of God
— A strange contrast — My plea unavailing— My rubber
short — I am sent to the prison — The captives — Their
12
Contents
PAGE
work and their punishments — The sick — The new-born
babe — The dead and their burial — The suspected — How
they were tortured — The steamer — The rubber chief —
The prison opened — A procession of spectres — The place
of the dead — For a time peace — Work for the man of
God — How we fared — My reward — I wish to go home.
CHAPTER VII
BACK TO SLAVERY . . . . .88
My welcome at home — My respite and its end — The
forest sentry — The little boy — My father’s appeal and
its result — I intervene — The sentry’s revenge— A rubber
slave once more — I appeal to the man of God — Dis¬
appointment — “ Nothing but rubber till I die ! ” — The
hopeless toil — The coming of the pestilence — The witch¬
doctor’s medicine— The desolation— But still the rubber !
CHAPTER VIII
OTHER CHANGES. HOPE DEFERRED . . 98
A change of labour — We become hunters — A new
demand — And new difficulties— Failure — The sentry’s
demand — The old men’s plea — Murder — We tell the men
of God — And complain to the rubber man — The white
chief — The things written in a book — And no remedy
comes — Hunting again — The English visitor — The white
woman — Results of making complaints — The sentries’
threats — The one way of escape — “ Better to be with
the hunters than the hunted”- — Another sorrow — The
sleeping-sickness — “Just a little while, and they die” —
We cry to the white people.
CHAPTER IX
THE ELDERS OF EUROPE .... 112
More white men from Europe — -Fears and curiosity —
The white men inquire about us — We tell them of our
13
Contents
PAGE
state — And our oppressors — The knotted strings and
their story— “ These things are bad ” — The white man’s
promises— Better times— Soon ended — Eubber again —
The old toil — The men of the river— The demands on
the villages — The chiefs in power — Chiefs and the
sentries — The death wail and the white man — “ We
are very poor.”
CHAPTER X
THINGS WE WANT TO KNOW . . . 121
My story is finished — The past and the present — Why
are these things so ? — The old days — Now we are white
men’s slaves — How long will it last ? — We are dying —
Our only rest is death — How long, how long ?
14
BOKWALA
CHAPTER I
How We Once Lived
My early days — Life at home — How we fared — Work
and play — Our one fear, the cannibals — Iseankoto’s
warning — We despise it — We are captured by canni¬
bals — The journey — A horrible meal — The cannibal
village reached.
I HAVE heard that there are many white
people in Europe, both men and women,
who feel compassion for us black men, and who
would, if they knew more about us, take pity on
us and save us from our sorrows and trials. So
I am going to tell the story of my life, that they
may know and help us.
Long, long ago I was born in the village of
Ekaka, and having lived so long I have seen
many things, and who is better able to tell them
than I ? We have great controversy with the
15
Bokwala
white people about our ages : they say I am
about thirty years old, but of course I know
better ; and I say that I am about three
thousand years old — which shows that white
men do not know everything.
My name is Bokwala, a slave. I do not
know why my father and mother named me so ;
for I was a freeborn child. But afterwards I
became a slave in truth, as I shall tell you, so
then it suited me well.
We lived all together very happily in my
father’s compound. He was the chief of Ekaka,
and had great authority ; he had but to give an
order, and at once the people would hurry to
execute it. His own name was Mboyo, but he
was always called Isek’okwala, after me, and in
the same way my mother was called Yek’okwala.
It is one of our customs to call the parents
“ father ” or “ mother ” of Bokwala, or whatever
the name of the child may be.
My mother was my father’s favourite wife,
but, being a chief, he had several others, and
necessarily our compound was a large one.
In the centre of one side of a large open space
was the chief’s own house, and next to it the
open house for talking palavers, feasting, &c.
Then there were the houses of the women, one
16
How We Once Lived
for each wife, where she lived with her own
children, and other houses for slaves. As we
boys grew older we built houses for ourselves in
our father’s compound, and in time it grew to be
almost like a small village.
Those were good days, as far as we ourselves
were concerned. We were free to do as we
liked ; if we quarrelled, we fought it out, and
the strongest won ; if we wanted meat or fish,
we went to hunt in the forest, or to fish on the
river, and soon had a plentiful supply ; and in
our gardens there was always as much vegetable
food as we needed.
Sometimes the women had quarrels amongst
themselves, and then we had no peace for a time.
They talked and talked, and scolded each other
from morning till night, and almost from night
till morning, and there was no sleep for any of
us. Not even my father could put an end to
these rows : for the time being the women were
masters of the situation and of him. You see,
the women provide us men with food, and if
they are angry with a man they starve him,
therefore what can he do ? He justs waits, and
by and by their anger is finished, and a time of
peace ensues, and possibly a feast.
I will tell you how we passed our days in the
B 17
Bokwala
time of my childhood. Every one rose with the
sun, for our people do not think it good to sleep
late, and it did not take long to eat our morning
meal of manioca, and anything which had been
kept over from the night before.
Then we began to scatter, some of the women
to the large manioca gardens at some distance in
the forest, and others to fish in the river.
Sometimes they went fishing for a day only, at
other times for as long as a month. The length
of time and the kind of fishing depends on the
season, whether the water is high or low, and
what sort of fish are plentiful. Some of the
men and boys would go out to hunt with their
nets and spears, others would be busy making
nets, canoes, paddles, and cooking utensils, or
doing smithy work, making spears, knives, or
ornaments for the women. The chief and elders
of the village would gather in the large shed and
talk palavers, hear and tell news, smoke and
chat aU day long.
We children would fish, go for picnics in the
near forest, bathe in the river, play games,
quarrel and fight and make it up again, and
return to our play untU we felt hungry, when
we made our way homewards to seek our
mothers.
]8
How We Once Lived
Towards evening, when the sun was slipping
down, the men would come in from the hunt,
and the women from the gardens, from wood¬
cutting in the forest, and water-drawing at the
springs, and then the cooking would begin. All
round us were women chatting, and little girls
running errands and helping them in various ways.
Some of the women would be making toko
(native bread) from the steeped manioca they
had just brought from the river, and they were
busy with pestle and mortar, pots and calabashes.
Others were making banganju, a kind of pottage
made of manioca leaves, palm nuts, and red
peppers, and yet others preparing bosaka, or
palm-oil chop.
The animals killed in the hunt were first
taken to my father to be divided by him,
and soon the portions were given round to
the women to be cooked, while we youngsters
sat about waiting, talked and feasted on the
appetising smells emitted from the various
boiling pots.
My mother sat and talked with my father ;
she did no cooking, as she was the favourite
wife, and the others cooked for her. In the
fruit season we might add our quota to the
feast in the form of rubber and other fruits, or
19
Bokwala
even caterpillars or palmerworms, and these
were greatly enjoyed by all.
When the food was ready the women brought
it in hand-baskets to my father, who first helped
himself to his share, and passed some to any
visitors who might be with him, then he gave
the rest to his wives, and each in turn divided
it amongst her own children. The slaves were
treated much the same as children when food
was served out, they received their share.
We had no plates or spoons then, as some
of our people who work for the white men now
have, leaves served for plates, and twisted into
a scoop did equally well for spoons. The chief
possessed his own carved ivory spoon, worked
from a solid elephant’s tusk, but that was taboo
for any but himself. Nowadays we may not
work ivory for ourselves, we have to take it
to the white men.
As soon as we had all finished eating, and
drinking spring water, some of us carefully
gathered up all the leaves which we had used,
and the peelings and cuttings of the food, and
threw them away in the forest, lest some evil-
disposed person should get hold of them and
by means of them bewitch us. W e are all
very much afraid of witchcraft, unless we our-
20
How We Once Lived
selves praetise it ; then, of course, it is for others
to fear us.
The meal finished and cleared away, and the
leavings tied up to the roof to be served again
to-morrow morning, we all gathered round the
fires and the old men told stories of their
prowess in hunting or in war, or retold to us
young ones some of the legends and fables of
our ancestors of long ago. Sometimes, on rare
occasions, my father would sing to us the legend
of Lianza, the ancient warrior and hero of our
race. This story takes a long time to tell, and
at frequent intervals the whole company would
join in singing the choruses, with clapping of
hands and great excitement.
This lasted far into the night. And some¬
times when the moon shone brightly we
would sing and dance and play games, which
we enjoyed greatly at the time, although they
were not good games, and we generally had
to suffer for them afterwards. On the fol¬
lowing morning many of us were sick, our
heads ached, and we were fit for nothing.
We do not play these games so much now
as we used to.
There was just one thing we were always
afraid of in those days, and that was an attack
21
Bokwala
from our enemies who lived on the other side
of the river. They were very bad people, so
wicked that they even eat men whom they
have killed in battle, or slaves whom they
have taken prisoners or bought for the pur¬
pose. They were at that time much stronger
than we were, and when they attacked us we
always got the worst of it. So we dreaded them
very much, more even than the wild animals of
the forest.
On a certain evening we were sitting talking
after having finished our evening meal, and we
began to make plans for a fishing expedition
to the marsh near the river, and finally decided
to start on the next day.
We slept that night at home, and were awake
betimes in the morning ready for an early start.
There was a very old man in our village
named Iseankdtd, or the Father of Discernment.
He had been a strong man and possessed great
fame ; but that was in the past, and now we did
not pay much heed to his sayings. He called us
together as soon as we were awake, and told us
of a very vivid dream he had had during the
night.
It was this. We went to fish just as we had
planned, but while we were there the cannibals
22
How We Once Lived
came, attacked and overpowered us, and we
were all either killed or taken prisoners. He
besought us to lay aside our plans and stay at
home that day, as he was certain that the dream
was a warning to be disregarded at our peril.
We were self-willed, however, and would not
hsten to advice, but rather ridiculed the warn¬
ings of old Iseankdtd.
“ It is only a dream,” we said ; “ who cares
for dreams ? ” and snatching a few mouthfuls of
food we set off merrily, making fun of the old
man as we went. What fools we were 1 And
how we blamed ourselves and each other after¬
wards I
Down the hill we went towards the river,
singing, shouting, and skipping along, heedless
of the danger into which we were running.
Having reached the bottom of the hill, we made
our way along the forest path which skirts the
river bank, and ere long came to the place we
had decided on visiting.
Very soon we scattered and commenced work,
and were just rejoicing to find that the fish were
plentiful and we were hkely to have a good lot
to take home with us at night, when we were
suddenly startled by a rustling in the bush close
to us.
23
Bokwala
Before we had time to realise what had hap¬
pened, we were surrounded by numbers of fierce
cannibal warriors who had been in hiding, wait¬
ing for a chance to pounce upon some defenceless
party of a weaker tribe.
We tried to fight them, but being almost
without arms, we had no chance against these
men who had come prepared for battle, and we
were completely at their mercy. One or two
slaves who went with us were killed, but the
women and we boys and girls were tied together
with strong creepers and taken prisoners.
Our captors gathered up the corpses of the
men they had killed, and compelled some of our
number to carry them, and then we were ordered
to march off with them. We kept a sharp look
out for any opportunity to escape, but this was
impossible as we were too well watched. We
were taken across the river and away into the
forest, in the depth of which we encamped ust
before the sun went down.
During all that night we lay awake, weeping
for our homes and friends, and more for our¬
selves, watching our enemies prepare fires, cut
up the corpses of our friends, cook, and after¬
wards eat them ; for to those people we are but
nydvia (meat) ; and all the time we feared even
24
How We Once Lived
to speak, lest we also should be deemed fit
morsels for their evening meal.
Early the next morning we were on the road
again, and at last towards evening we arrived at
Bosomo, the village of our captors, footsore and
weary, and faint for want of food.
Everything was strange to us. We eould not
even understand the language whieh we heard
spoken, but we could guess that inquiries were
being made as to the sueeess of the expedition,
and that we were being examined and scrutinised
from head to foot as to our usefulness either as
servants or as food.
Some manioca was given to us by the women,
and we were put all together in a large open
shed, while some warriors acted as sentries lest
we should escape. But there was no danger of
that just then, we were far too tired, and in
spite of our misery were soon fast asleep.
25
CHAPTER II
I am a Cannibal’s Slave
In the cannibal village — Before the council — Our fate —
Desire to please my master — How I succeeded — Our
fears and their justification — A sad company — Siene’s
murder — The boy who lied — The ordeal by poison
• — Village strife — The human peace-offering — The
haunting dread — Rumours of the white men — A
fright — Makweke’s peril — How he escaped — We plan
flight — The start — The chase — A near thing — The
river reached — Over, and at home again.
WHEN we awoke it was to find the sun
already shining, for after the fight and
long walk, in addition to the much talking of
the night before, our new masters were as weary
as ourselves.
It was not long, however, before the whole
village was astir and the morning meal eaten.
We were glad to eat the manioca which had
been given us the previous night, because now
that we had rested we felt the pangs of hunger.
26
I am a Cannibal’s Slave
Needless to say, we watched the people furtively
to see what they did and what kind of mood
they were in.
We were surprised and amused to see that
they washed their hands and faces in the dew
which was on the plantain leaves, whilst they
were also very particular about their teeth.
We, of course, clean our teeth; but if one
rubs his body occasionally with oil and camwood
powder surely he has no need of water ! It
only spoils the effect.
When they had finished their ablutions and
taken their food the chief and elders of the
town gathered together in council, and after a
little while we were brought before them.
There was much talk, which I could not under¬
stand, but as it was evident that they were
deciding our fate we stood there in fear and
trembling, not knowing but what some of us
might be chosen to furnish another feast for
them. Finally it was decided that we should
be kept in slavery, and we were di^dded up
between the different elders of the town, the
chief keeping me and three others as his share
of the spoil. And so my name, Bokwala (slave),
became true of me and I entered on my life as
a slave to the cannibals.
27
Bokwala
I felt so strange amongst all these people
whose language I could not understand, and
yet I found that I was expected to enter on
my duties at once. Although I had great anger
in my heart towards my captors, yet in one way
I desired to please them, because by so doing I
hoped to make sure of a better time for myself
than I should have otherwise. So I set myself
to find out what was meant even when I could
not understand their words.
When the sun began to slip down a little I
noticed that the women commenced to get their
fires ready for cooking the evening meal. The
wife of my master pointed to me and then to
her fire, and was evidently making some request
of him which concerned me. He assented and
turning to me said, “ Dua na epundu”
I knew he was giving me an order, and
immediately rose to obey; but what did he
want ? I went into the house and looked round
and soon spied an axe. Of course, the woman
wanted firewood, and in order to get that one
needed an axe. So probably “ Dua na epundu ”
meant “Bring the axe.” I picked it up and
carried it to my master, who was apparently
pleased, for he patted me on the head and said,
“ Mwana mbai, mwana mbai ” (“ My child ”).
28
I am a Cannibal’s Slave
Then, pointing with his lips to the forest, he
said, “7iu? a lene desa ” (“ Go and cut firewood”).
I had expected that order, so was ready to set
off at once, repeating over and over the few
words I had learned, in turn with my own
language, so that I should not forget them : —
“ Dua na epundu, yela liswa ; ” “ dua na
epundu, yela liswa,"' I said over and over again,
until I felt sure of the words. Then, while I
was cutting the wood, “ Ke a lene desa, Nco yo
tena nkui ; " “ Ke a lene desa, Nco yo tena
nkui ; " and before long I found that I had
enough wood to fill my basket, so I set off* for
the village, and was again rewarded by a pat on
the head and the words, “ Mwana mbai, mwana
mbai ! "
While I was in the forest cutting wood the
hunters had come back and brought some
animals with them, so I found every one busy
preparing meat for cooking. I, with the other
children, sat down and watched, when suddenly
one of the women turned to me and said, “ Dua
na mune."
I sprang up and rushed into the house, but
what I had been sent for I could not think. I
sat on the ground and wondered, and again
I sent my eyes round the little hut. Ah ! that
29
Bokwala
is it 1 oil, of course. They have plenty of meat,
and are going to make palm-oil chop. I seized
the calabash of oil from under the bed, and ran
with it to the woman who had sent me, and was
received with a chorus of “ Bia ! bia / ” (“ Just
so”), and for the third time received the old
chief’s pat on the head, and heard the words,
“ Mwana mhai / ”
I began to feel a little less strange, and to
listen for other words, for I had already found
that the way to please these people was to be
bright and do my best. I found that they
called nydiiia (meat), tito ; bauta (oil), mune ;
ngoya (mother), ngwao, and /a/a (father), sango,
and I was just trying to learn these words well
so as to remember them afterwards, when the
chief called to me, “ Bokwala ! ”
“ Em'one ” (“ I am here ”), said I, in my own
language, for I knew not how else to answer.
“ Dua na yeka dia,'’’ said he, beckoning me to
their group, who were gathered round to take
their evening meal, which was just being served
I drew near, and received my share of food, and
so I learnt some more words, which meant,
“ Come and eat food.”
I began to think that my master did not seem
a bad sort of man after all, and that perhaps I
30
I am a Cannibal’s Slave
might get used to my life there ; but then 1
could not help remembering the fight, and that
only two nights before these people had been
feasting off my people, and would do so again
when they had an opportunity, and I went to
sleep that night with my mind made up that if
ever I could see the least chance to do so, I
would escape, even if it had to be alone.
Many days and nights passed in this way, we
slaves having to do all kinds of work and being
sent on errands continually, sometimes even
being told to mind the little children when the
mothers went to their gardens. Of course, we
looked upon all this as oppression, and felt great
shame, for we boys frequently had to do
women’s work, and what can be more degrading
than that ? And I could never forget that I
was the son of a chief 1
As we learnt more of their language, and
began to understand what was said in our
presence, we found that there was plenty of
reason for fear as to our future, even though we
had been kept alive for the present.
When our people were spoken of it was as
tito (meat), and fighting expeditions were looked
upon as hunts. It was quite usual to ratify agree¬
ments between chiefs by the killing of a slave
31
Bokwala
and feasting on the body, and this was even done
sometimes when a chief wanted to pay special
honour to a visitor. And when we heard these
things being discussed and plans being laid for
them, we trembled with fear, and wondered how
long we should be all there together.
We had not much time to ourselves, for we
were kept continually busy, and we dared not
talk together very much, because some of the
natives of the village could understand our
words, but now and again, out in the forest or at
night, we were able to tell each other how we
were getting on, and to condole with one
another over our misfortunes.
Now my master discovered that I was good
at climbing and at catching bats, so when the
bat season came on he often sent me into the
forest to search for some. One day I went out
on such a quest and did not return until even¬
ing. I took the bats 1 had caught to the chief,
and afterwards went off to the shed where my
companions were sitting.
They all seemed very quiet, and scarcely
gave me a welcome, and this was unusual,
especially when I brought meat in from the
forest. I threw myself down amongst them, and
looking round the group I missed Siene, a little
32
I am a Cannibal’s Slave
girl slave with whom I was on very good
terms.
“ Where is Siene ? ” I asked of the others.
“ O Bokwala,” answered one, “ do not ask,
we do not want to tell you.”
“ But I want to know. Is she ill ? Or has
she escaped ? ” I inquired, thinking the latter
hardly possible for a girl alone.
“ Bokwala,” said one, beckoning me to follow
him, “ come.”
I followed him to an open space at the end of
one of the huts, and pointing to the ground,
he said to me, “ Look there ; that is all that is
left of Siene.”
I looked and started back. Could it be ?
Yes, it was only too true — that dark stain on
the ground was blood. And little by little I
heard the whole terrible story. The chief had
visitors, and he determined on a feast in their
honour, and as a dainty morsel was indispensable,
he decided to kill and serve up the body of
my little girl friend. It was on that very spot
where we stood that the deed had been com¬
mitted. And that dark stain was all that was
left of my friend !
That night I was drunk with anger, and so
were the other boys. There was no one but us
c 33
Bokwala
boys and girls to weep for Siene, but we wept
until we wept ourselves to sleep for sorrow ;
sorrow not only for her, but for ourselves as
well ; for we knew not how soon we might be
treated in the same way.
Time passed on, and we grew more and more
accustomed to our surroundings, and as we boys
proved useful to our masters, we had a certain
amount of liberty, and went to fish and hunt
frequently, but always for the benefit of our
respective masters — nothing we caught was
reckoned as our own property.
And we were not always in favour. If any¬
thing was lost or stolen, we were accused of the
deed ; if we failed to obey or understand, we
were beaten or punished in some other way ;
and if one of us was found to have lied, we had
to pay the price, which was sometimes a heavy
one.
One boy who told his master a lie was
found out, and the master with one slash of his
knife cut the boy’s ear off, cooked it over the
fire, and compelled the slave to eat it. That
was a bad master, they were not all like that.
One way of punishing us was by rubbing red
peppers into our eyes, and another by cutting
little slits in the skin over our shoulders and
34
I am a Cannibal’s Slave
backs where we could not reach, and rubbing
pepper into the sores thus made. They hoped
by this means not only to punish us, but to
harden us, and make of us brave men who would
not flinch at pain.
In the case of aecusations of stealing, the most
popular way of settling the affair was by the
poison ordeal. That was a very frequent occur¬
rence in those days, and still is in parts where
the white men do not visit often. It was like
this. All the people gathered together, and the
chief, witch-doetor, and headmen seated them¬
selves to hear the trial. The persons eoneerned
gave their evidence, and the accused was allowed
to make his defence ; but if he were a slave, of
what use was it ? Then the evidence would be
summed up, and the decision given that the
poison ordeal be administered.
The bark was brought and scraped, then
mixed with water, and the draught given to the
prisoner. We always took it wiUingly, for we
aU believed that it revealed the truth, and there¬
fore were obliged to stand or fall by it. After it
was drunk in the presence of the people, all
waited eagerly for the result. If the prisoner
vomited, and was none the worse, of course he
had been falsely accused ; if, on the other hand,
35
Bokwala
he fell and died, there was proof positive of his
guilt. What could any one want more decisive
than that ?
Occasionally there were fights between
different villages near to us, as well as the
warlike expeditions to other tribes. When
two villages had been fighting for a long time,
and neither could win or was willing to give in,
it was generally settled by a peace-offering. At
such a time we slaves went in fear of our lives,
for it was almost certain that a slave would be
hanged as a peace-offering, and possibly his
corpse would be eaten afterwards.
With all these fears surrounding us, and
never feeling sure of our lives for a single day —
no matter how kind some of the people might
be to us — you will not be surprised to hear that
whenever we got together and could talk a little
our conversation always turned to the subject
of our escape from slavery. But so far as we
could see there was no possibility of getting
away.
About this time we began to hear rumours of
some strange people who had paid a visit to a
village not far from my father’s place, Ekaka.
They were said to be white — men like us but
with white skins — and they came in a canoe
36
I am a Cannibal’s Slave
which went of itself, having no paddlers, but
emitting smoke from the roof.
At first we laughed and thought it was just a
yarn, simply a made-up story ; but the rumours
became frequent, and we heard that some of the
people had actually bought some land and
settled down on it. We could not understand
about them, so we eoncluded that they must be
the children of Lianza, the great warrior hero of
our race, who went down river ages ago and
never returned. But these things did not
trouble me, for what chance had I ever to get
back to my father’s place, or see these people ?
One day we had a great fright. A neigh¬
bouring chief came with his slaves and children
and the elders of his village to visit my master.
There was the usual salutation and a little
gossip, and then he began to tell his business.
He had been settling an affair between himself
and another chief, and it fell to his share to
provide the feast of ratification, and naturally
he wished to do it well.
Now he had no suitable slave to kill for the
occasion, which was unfortunate, so he had
come to his friend to see if he could help him
out of this serious diffieulty by selling him a
slave.
37
Bokwala
“ No,” said my master, “ I cannot help you ;
I have no one to sell.”
Then there was much talking and pleading.
“You have so many slaves in your village, do
let us have one, even if only a little one.”
But for some time he held out, and refused to
sell, and we who were listening began to hope
that we were safe for this time at any rate, until
at last we heard the words, “ Well, take my
wife’s boy : he is small and not of much use to
me. Take Makweke.”
Makweke was a little lad whom the chief
had given to his wife to look after her two baby
girls, of whom they were both very fond. The
woman liked Makweke and was kind to him,
and not having a boy of her own she treated
him better than most of the slaves. So when
she heard her husband’s words she whispered to
the boy to run and hide, and told him of a safe
hiding-place.
Away he went into the bush, and we sat
down and waited.
Soon the chief called, “ Makweke, dua
yelepele ” (“ Come quickly ”), but receiving
no answer he called again.
Then his wife answered, “ Makweke is not
here ; he was, but has gone.”
38
I am a Cannibal’s Slave
“ Call him,” said the chief ; “ I want him here.”
The woman answered, “ I cannot call him ; if
you want him you must search for him your¬
self.”
So, receiving the chief’s permission, the people
rushed out and searched for Makweke in the
houses and all over the village, then in the
gardens at the back, but they found no trace of
him. Into the forest they went and hunted in
every direction, beating the bushes with sticks,
and peering up into the big trees, trying to
discover his hiding-place ; but it was all in vain.
The search failed, and they returned to their
own village in great anger at being thwarted
in their plans.
But I must tell you of Makweke. He ran
off to a little distance, climbed a tree, and let
himself down into the hollow trunk — the hiding-
place of which he had been told. There he was
safe, but he could hear the noise and shoutings
of the people who were searching for him getting
nearer and nearer, until at last they reached his
tree, halted, beat the bushes under it and the
lower branches with their sticks, and then —
what relief ! — passed on.
He told us afterwards that he was so scared
he hardly dared breathe, and although he knew
39
Bokwala
they could not see him, he trembled with fear
as long as they were near.
Late at night, after the visitors had left, his
mistress took some food out to him, and told
him to remain there until the morning, when
probably her husband’s anger would be finished.
Then he might come back to the village. He
did so, and the affair passed without further
trouble.
All this decided us that we would not remain
in such a place of danger a day longer than
we could help. I was older now, and had
grown big and strong, and once across the river
I knew that a warm welcome would be accorded
to me and any who went with me. Our only
fear was of recapture before we could reach the
river, but we all felt it was worth risking, so
from that time we began in dead earnest to look
out for an opportunity of running away.
Not so very long after the chief and some
of his people went to pay a visit and remained
over night. All was quiet in the village, and no
one troubled about us boys, so in the dense
darkness of a moonless night we gathered
together.
Hastily we made our plans, picked up the
little food we had saved from our evening meal,
40
I am a Cannibal’s Slave
grasped our hunting spears and knives, and
slipped away into the bush at the back of the
village. We went very stealthily — nya-nya,
like a leopard when he is stalking his prey —
scared at every sound, starting at the snapping
of a twig, the call of a night-bird or the
whistle of an insect.
On and on we pressed, not daring to speak to
each other, lest we might betray our where¬
abouts to some unfriendly native, or one who
was friendly to our masters, scarcely able to see
the path, for the moon had not yet risen,
scratching ourselves as we passed thorny bushes,
treading on sticks and roots of trees projecting
from the ground — and still on — what mattered
wounds or weariness if at last we reached the
river and liberty ?
We made good progress during the first few
hours, and were not much afraid of pursuit,
as our flight would not be discovered until
morning ; but by and by some of our party
(which consisted of a man and his wife with
a little child as well as three of us boys) began
to get weary, and it was necessary that we
should get away from the main road, lest we
should be overtaken. So we turned off into a
side road, and at a little distance from it we
41
Bokwala
found a large fallen tree which made a good
hiding-place. There we lay down and slept for
some time, one of us taking turns at watching
and listening.
In the morning we were startled by hearing
voices not far off, and as we listened we re¬
cognised them as belonging to natives of the
village we had left. Yes, they had awakened to
find us gone ; and now a search party was out
scouring the forest in every direction for signs of
us. We dared not move nor speak, and how
anxious we were that the child should not cry !
Nearer and nearer came the voices till they
sounded almost close at hand, and then they
receded gradually, and at last died away in the
distance. We were nearly caught, but not
quite I
After waiting for some time, we went out to
look round, and on the main road we traced the
footprints of our pursuers distinctly ; they had
passed our footpath by, and so we escaped recap¬
ture. From now onwards we had to keep to
bypaths, sometimes cutting our way through
dense forest, spending our nights under fallen
trees or on the ground, hungry and weary ; but
in spite of all our difficulties we reached the
river bank at last.
42
I am a Cannibal’s Slave
We were still far from home, but once on the
other bank we would at least be safe from pur¬
suit. Our people have a proverb, “ Wta fendaka
ntandu la mposa dola ” — that is, “ You cannot
cross the river by means of a thirst for home.”
This is certainly a true saying, so we had to
seek for a canoe to take us over. One of our
party set out along the bank to see if there were
any moored there, as people often go out fishing
and leave their canoes with no one to look after
them. This was our hope, and it was fulfilled.
Not far away was found a canoe with paddles
in it, and no sign of the owners. We deter¬
mined to watch it until sundown, and then, if
no one appeared, to take it and set out. For
the remainder of that day we rested, and sought
for some food to stay our hunger. How we
rejoiced to find some edible caterpillars, which
were delicious, and made us feel stronger for our
night’s work ! Just as the darkness was coming
on, when you cannot tell one man from another,
we crept along the bank, stepped into the canoe,
grasped the paddles, and silently pushed off into
the stream.
We boys were delighted to be on the river
again, and we did paddle ! But had any people
been about we might have lost everything even
43
Bokwala
then, for the woman who came with us had been
born on that side of the river, and had never
been on the water in her life. She sat down in
the bottom, clasping her child, and trembling
with fear. Every time the canoe gave a lurch
she would utter a little half-suppressed scream,
and say, “xVa gwa ! Na ktve honaV' (“I am
dying. What shall I do?”). We could not
help laughing at her, but it did no good, she was
really very much afraid. We got safely over,
tied the canoe to the bank, and left it for the
owners to find as best they might, and plunged
once more into the forest.
Now that we were on the safe side of the
river we did not need to be so careful about
keeping away from the roads ; we only hid if we
heard voices, not knowing to whom they might
belong. Two more nights were passed in the
thick forest, and two more days we spent walk¬
ing on, just managing to keep alive by eating
fruit, roots, caterpillars, or anything we could
find that was edible. When we were nearing
home we again heard voices not far off.
We listened. Yes, I recognised them. They
were people from my father’s village. Accosting
them, we made inquiries about our friends, and
were glad to find that all was well.
44
I am a Cannibal’s Slave
On we pressed with renewed energy, and
towards evening we arrived in the village, worn
out with anxiety, exhausted from want of food,
and ready to drop with weariness ; but how glad
we were to be there 1
And what a welcome we all had ! My father
and mother received us with great rejoicing —
our fellow travellers for my sake — and what a
feast was made in our honour ! After the feast
I told my story, and many were the questions
asked and the comments made as the villagers
listened.
Thus we arrived back at home, and thus we
were welcomed, and on the next day a great
dance was held in our honour. And for our¬
selves, what shall I say ? We — we were ready
to die of happiness ! And yet the day was
coming when we would wish that we had stayed
where we were, even as slaves of the cannibals.
45
CHAPTER III
The Coming of Bokakala
At home again — I choose a wife — How I went courting —
And was married — My visits to the white men —
They talk of “ one Jesus ” — -The other white man,
Bokakala — He wants rubber — We are eager to get
it — How rubber was collected — The rubber market
— “ We did not know."
FTER I got back home, it was some little
time before we all settled down again to
the old ways. As I said, there was much re¬
joicing, accompanied by feasting and dancing,
and then when that was over, I had to visit
many friends, while others came to visit me.
We all enjoyed the feasting and soon got
strong and well again, some of us quite stout ;
but it was not long before we got tired of
answering so many inquiries, and listening to
so many comments; so off we went into the
forest to cut bamboos and reeds for thatching,
46
The Coming of Bokakala
and trees for building, and set to work to
build new houses for ourselves. It was soon
settled that the family who had come with us
from the cannibal country should remain in our
village, so the husband started building a house
for them not far from ours.
As time went on I began to think it would
be a good thing to get married, and as my father
was quite ready to find the riches I should need
to pass over to the father of my chosen wife, I
did not lose any time in making known my
wishes to her.
Her name was Bamatafe, and she was con¬
sidered very beautiful. Her skin was of a light
brown colour, and decorated all over in various
patterns of cicatrised cuttings, and when well
rubbed with palm oil and camwood powder
would shine in the sun. She was usually
dressed in a wild-cat skin and fresh plantain
leaves frayed out at the edges and suspended
from a string of blue beads round the waist.
Her hair was dressed in our most beautiful style
— called bestngya — that is, all the hair is divided
into very small portions, each of which is rolled
in oil sprinkled plentifully with red camwood
powder and another kind of sweet-smelling
powder made from nuts. Her eyes were black,
47
Bokwala
and her teeth were chiseled to very sharp
points.
Such was the girl I loved ; and now that
you know what she looked hke, can you wonder
that I wanted her?
But of course I had to find out if she were
willing to come to me, so I determined to pay
a few visits to her home.
On the first occasion I simply passed by and
looked at her as she was sitting in her father’s
house ; but I went again, and, drawing near, I
said to her, “ Bamatafe, o Veko ? ” (salutation,
“ Are you there ? ”) to which she answered, “ I
am there ; Are you there ? ” and I said “ O yes ! ”
I felt very encouraged after that interview,
and the next time stayed and talked with her
for a while ; then when a few days had passed
I carried her a fine fat hen for a present. When
she accepted that I knew it was all right for me,
she was agreeable.
I immediately went and told my father about
it, and he arranged with hers about the amount
of riches which was to be paid as pledge money
on the occasion of our marriage. A spear was
passed over as earnest of the other things to
come, and that evening I brought home my wife.
Her beauty was greatly admired, and ac-
48
The Coming of Bokakala
cording to our custom I had to make a lot of
presents to the people who admired her so
much. Every one of the young men thought
me very fortunate in securing such a beautiful
wife. And I soon found that she was clever
also, for she could cook well; and at once she
set about planting a big garden, which showed
that she was industrious.
We settled down to village life then —
building houses, making canoes and other
things, getting our knives, spears, and ornaments
made by the village blacksmith, hunting,
fishing, palaver talking, paying and receiving
visits, having a good time generally, and feeling
so glad to be really free — free from bondage
and servitude.
I often paid visits to the white men of whom
we had heard so many rumours on the other
side of the river, and became quite friendly
with them. I could not quite understand them:
their words were good certainly, but they said
they had eome to our land simply to tell us
those words, and not to get anything from us.
Naturally that seemed strange to me — our
people always w^ant to get and not to give —
“ but then,” thought I, “ there is no accounting
for people who are such freaks as to have
D 49
Bokwala
white skins ; perhaps it is their way ; and if so,
what more ? ” They were always talking about
one Jesus, who was very good and kind and
loved us, and who they say died and rose again
and is now alive. That was too much ! Who
ever saw a person rise from death, and if He
were alive and really cared for us, why did He
himself not come and see us ? So we said,
“ When we see Him, we will believe.” Of
course, it is only nsao (legend or fable).
We went to see them, and took them an
egg or a chicken, or perhaps a little manioca
now and then, and listened to their words and
heard them sing, and we always came away
thinking what wonderful people they were, and
how much wisdom they had.
And then there came to our district another
white man, and he built a house not far from
the compound of these white men of God,
and settled down there. At first we thought
that he and the other white men were brothers:
all had white faces and straight hair like
monkeys ; they seemed friendly and helped each
other, and we never saw them fight or quarrel
as we so often do. But after a while we saw
that there was a difference, for the new white
man called a palaver, and our cliiefs gathered
50
The Coming of Bokakala
together from all the villages around the
distriet, and, of eourse, many of us young
men went with them to hear what it was all
about.
It was this : the new white man — we ealled
him Bokakala — had come to live with us
because he had heard that in our forest grew
the rubber vine in abundance, and he wanted
rubber — plenty of it. Not only so, but would
pay for it — brass rods, beads, salt! Now would
the chiefs get it for him? Would they be
willing to send their young men into the
forest to collect the rubber sap ? And would
the young men go ?
Oh, how we laughed ! How we danced I
Who ever heard of placing any value on the
rubber plant except for the fruit to eat ? Fancy
getting salt — white man’s salt — just for bringing
rubber I Of course we would go and get it.
Could we not start at once ?
Then Bokakala got out some baskets to give
us to put the rubber in, and there was such a
scramble for those baskets — we almost fought
as to who should get the first chance of
possessing a rubber basket.
The white man seemed pleased, and gave
presents to the chiefs ; and we were pleased,
51
Bokwala
anxious to get off at once, at the first possible
minute, to search for rubber, to obtain for our¬
selves some of that wonderful salt from Europe.
We had already tasted it, and once tasted,
there is nothing else that will satisfy the desire
for it.
Away into the forest we went — not far, for
there was plenty of rubber in those days — and
were soon busy making incisions in the vines
and catching the drops of sap as they fell
in little pots or calabashes ready to bring
it home with us in the evening. There was
great rivalry amongst us as to who could get
the largest quantity. Then when we thought
we had sufficient we returned to our homes with
it and sought for the plant with which it must
be mixed in order for it to coagulate. This
grows in great quantities near many of our
villages, and we call it behaaku. Having
mixed the two saps they formed a substance
solid enough to make into balls about the size
of a rubber fruit. These, packed into the
baskets which the white man had given us,
were ready for carrying to him.
When we took our well-filled baskets and
presented them at his house Bokakala was
much pleased, and we wondered that any man
52
The Coming of Bokakala
should be so easily satisfied, for we could not
understand of what use the rubber could be to
him. However, he gave us salt and beads, and
if we gained by his foolishness, why should we
object ?
We continued to take him rubber, and in
course of time a special day was set apart (the
fifth day of the white man’s week) on which
rubber was to be brought regularly, and that
day soon came to be called by us mbile eotofe
(rubber day), and is so called to the present
time.
Week after week the rubber market was held,
and Bokakala was good to us — he gave us salt,
cloth, and beads in exchange for what we
brought ; he talked and chatted with us,
settled our palavers for us, taught us many
things, and even named some of our children
after himself and gave them presents.
In those days we had no palaver with Boka¬
kala ; it was after he left us that trouble began.
Many times since we have regretted that we
welcomed Bokakala as we did because of what
happened afterwards, but at the beginning he
treated us well, and we did not know what
would follow. Perhaps he did not know either,
but it seems to us that we made our great
53
Bokwala
mistake in accepting his first offers. We were
tempted and fell into a trap ; but we say to
ourselves over and over again when we think
and speak of those times, “ It was aU right
at first, but we did not know.”
54
CHAPTER IV
The Beginning of Sorrows
The coming of more white men — A change in our treat¬
ment — Things go from bad to worse — I get tired of
collecting rubber — And stay at home — The white
man’s anger and threats — I go to a palaver — My
rubber is short — I am whipped — The white man’s
new plan — Forest guards — Their oppression and
greed — We report them to the white man — Results
— But the worst not yet.
WHEN Bokakala had been with us some
time, other white men came to our
country, and they also wanted rubber. “Why
do they want so much rubber ? ” we asked ; for
we could not see why they should be continually
wanting the same thing. That is not our way ;
we feel a thirst for a thing for a time, but in
a little while it is finished, and we want some¬
thing else. Later on Bokakala left us to go
to his own land to seek for strength in his
55
Bokwala
body, and he left us another white man, whom
we called “Leopard” ; but they were all known
afterwards as Bokakala’s white men.
When the day of rubber came round week
after week, we took in to the white man our
little baskets of rubber balls, and received in
exchange salt or beads ; or if, as sometimes
happened, he had none of these articles left,
he would give us a book to keep, and pay
us in kind when his boxes arrived. So far we
had not had any trouble between us and the
white man ; he and we were satisfied with the
barter we carried on.
But changes came — another white man came
to help Leopard in his work, and he was different
from other white men, he was not good, so we
gave him a bad name which meant “Pillage”
or “ Brigandage,” though I do not suppose he
ever knew what it meant.
Naturally a change took place in the way
we were treated, and gradually things got
worse and worse.
Now it is well known that no man goes on
for ever at one thing without getting tired, and
wanting a rest. And when I had been going
to and fro to the forest getting rubber for a
long time, I began to wish to sit down in
56
The Beginning of Sorrows
town for a little while, especially as by this
time Bamatafe had given birth to a little son,
of whom I was very proud, as he was our
firstborn.
So one week I stayed at home when the
young men went to the forest, and when the
day of rubber fell I had no rubber, and did not
go to the white man’s place.
As usual, our names were called out of a
book, and when mine was reached some one
answered, “ He has not come.” Then the white
man was angry, and said that if Bokwala did
not come to the next market he would have a
big palaver. My friends came home and told
me his words, and the next time I went with
them and was told that I must never miss
coming — the rubber must be brought in regu¬
larly without fail, or there would be “ chicotte,”
or perhaps even prison for those who missed
coming.
After that I went regularly for a long time,
but on one occasion there was a great palaver
to be talked in our village, and it was necessary
for me to be present at it. At this time we had
to collect a certain weight of rubber and present
it at the white man’s place every fifteenth day.
It took almost all our time to go to and from
57
Bokwala
the forest and collect the rubber, for it was
becoming very scarce.
So when the day came for carrying my basket
to the white man I had not the prescribed
quantity. I knew that when my turn came
to have my rubber weighed the white man
would be angry and scold me, but said I, “ Lo-
tango nta voak'ontu" (“Reproach does not kill
a man ”), and I did not expect anything worse.
But the order was given, Etama” (“Lie
down ”).
I could scarcely believe my ears — I, the son
of a chief, to be whipped publicly !
It was true. I was placed face down on
the ground, my cloth turned back, and the
twisted hippo hide whip was brought out by
one of the servants of the white man.
Down it came on me, lash after lash, cutting
clean into the flesh at every stroke, and causing
the blood to flow !
I do not know how many strokes were given
me then ; how could I count ? The pain was
bad enough, but the shame was worse. Then
I was sent off, the blood drops on the sand
showing the path I followed, without payment
for the rubber I had brought, and with the order
to bring a double quantity next time.
58
The Beginning of Sorrows
For my own sake I tried to do so. I bought
some from a man in the village who had
managed to amass a reserve stock, but I had
to pay a ruinous price for it. I soaked some
in water to make it heavier, and next time I
was allowed to leave without any punishment.
One day the white man told us of a new
arrangement he was making for us rubber
workers. A number of men were to be set
apart as sentries, we called them, but the white
man called them guards of the forest. They
were to be taken from amongst our own people,
and armed with guns, and they would ac¬
company us on our journeys to and from the
forest and protect us, and they would also
escort us to the white man’s place when the
day arrived for taking in the collected rubber.
This sounded well, and as the rubber grew more
and more scarce, and we had to go further into
the forest to secure it, surely, we thought, a gun
would be a protection, and keep our enemies
from interfering with us.
Alas ! once more were our hopes dashed to
the ground. These men, who were supposed
to be our protectors, became in time our worst
oppressors. Instead of going with us into the
forest, they at once appropriated the best houses
59
Bokwala
in the villages for themselves, or if these were
not good enough for them, they caused new
ones to be erected at our expense. After hurry¬
ing us off to the forest alone and unprotected
at the earliest possible moment, they established
themselves in the village, and lived in such a
style as to far outshine any of our chiefs— in
fact, taking a delight in insulting and depre¬
ciating them and relegating to themselves every
vestige of authority which had formerly been
vested in the chiefs of our own people.
As soon as ever we young men had gone,
they behaved as though everything in the
village belonged to them ; the few goats we
had, our fowls, dogs, food, all our goods and
possessions— -nothing was safe from their greed,
and it was not long before even our wives were
not safe if left at home alone.
Things had been gradually getting worse for
a long time, and now that the sentries were
placed over us were so much worse than ever
before that we began to give up hope.
We reported their doings to the white man
many times, but we soon found that he and
they were as one man, and that if we told we
almost invariably lost the palaver before the
white man, and then the sentries found means
60
The Beginning of Sorrows
of their own to punish us for having spoken
against them.
We frequently visited the other white men
when we had the time to spare — I mean those
who taught about God — and told them our
grievances.
They listened and wrote the things we told
them in a book, and tried very hard to get
things put right for us ; but with a bad white
man in charge of worse black men who were
all armed with guns and given free scope in
the villages, it was little they could do.
On several occasions they did win cases for
us, and we always knew that things would be
worse if they were not in our midst to see
and hear what was done, and to take our part
against our oppressors.
“ Times were bad ! ” do you say ? You are
sorry for us ?
Yes, white men of Europe, they were bad,
even then ; but I have not reached the worst
part of my story. Then, if you do indeed feel
pity, your hearts will weep for us, and you
wiU be fiUed with grief and with anger.
61
CHAPTER V
Oppression, Shame, and Torture
My new slavery — How our villagers fared at home — The
white man’s meat — How it was got — The white men
of God and their pity— -How the women were en¬
slaved — Feeding the idle — Endeavours to evade
oppression — Results — -How would you like our con¬
ditions ? — Forest work — Its hardships — The day of
reckoning — Back to the village and home — -An
ominous silence- — A sad discovery — Redeeming our
wives — An offending villager — A poor victim — A
ghastly punishment — The woman’s death — Another
village — The monkey-hunters — The old man who
stayed at home — How he was tortured — No redress.
I THINK you white people who hear my story
will see that by this time my name Bokwala
(slave) was being verified for the second time;
for though the slavery to the black man was bad
and caused me much shame, that which we had
to undergo now was, in some ways, worse ; and,
though most of the very worst things were done
62
Oppression, Shame, and Torture
by the sentries, the white man agreed to
them.
At least, we thought he did, as he scarcely
ever lost a palaver for them. This kind of treat¬
ment, constant rubber collecting, no rest, and
sometimes no pay — what can it be called but
another kind of slavery?
I want to tell you some of the things which
happened during this time of oppression. It is
not only we men who go into the forest who
suffer ; but also those who are left at home in
the villages, our old fathers and mothers, our
wives and little children.
The white man wanted fresh meat for his
table, so he ordered the old men in the villages
to hunt antelopes in the forest for him, and
bring them in alive. The hunting was easy,
but not so the catching of animals alive.
That meant great care in dealing with such
animals as were inside our enclosures of nets,
so as not to allow their escape while endea¬
vouring not to kill them.
Then other kinds, the water antelopes espe¬
cially, are dangerous, and cannot be caught alive
without the captor receiving wounds from their
sharp teeth. When once caught, their legs were
broken in order to prevent their escape on the
63
Bokwala
journey to the white man’s compound, and thus
our fathers supplied the white man’s table with
fresh meat.
Some of the \dllages had to supply one, two,
or even four animals weekly, and one white man
would not take them with broken legs because
he wanted to keep them alive on his own
place.
I have been told also that some of the white
men of God and their wives remonstrated with
the carriers of these broken-legged animals who
happened to pass their houses, wdth regard to
the cruelty of breaking the legs. They say they
feel pity for the antelopes ! Of course, the men
laughed at that, because who pities animals ?
They are not men, or we should pity them.
White men are strange kind of people !
Again, when the white man’s compound grew
large and he had many people working for him,
he needed food with which to provide for their
needs. Not only his actual servants but their
wives and families, and sometimes others went
and sat down, as we say, on the white man’s
place, for there they had an easy time.
In order to supply all that was needed the
women in the villages had to work very large
gardens, much larger than would otherwise
64
Oppression, Shame, and Torture
have been necessary ; then dig the roots of the
manioca ; peel and steep it in the river for four
or five days ; carry it back again to their homes
in heavily laden baskets up steep hillsides ;
pound, mould into long strips, wrap in leaves,
bind with creeper-string, and finally boil the
toko or kwanga, our native bread. All this
meant much work for our women ; firewood
must be cut and carried from the forest, special
leaves sought and gathered, and creeper cut for
string ; and every week the food must be taken
to the white man's place punctually.
And for a large bundle of ten pieces one brass
rod (5 centimes) is paid to the women !
What seems hardest of all is that much of the
food goes to supply families in which are plenty
of strong women, who are perfectly well able to
cook for themselves and their husbands.
These women live a life of idleness, and very
often of vice, on the land of the white man, and
frequently treat the village women with disdain
and shower contumely upon them. If, as some¬
times happens, high words ensue, the village
women have no chance whatever, for the others
can say a word to their husbands or paramours,
who are armed with guns, and it is an easy thing
for them to avenge such quarrels on their next
E 65
Bokwala
visit to the village of which the women happen
to be natives.
There are generally a few villages in close
proximity to the white man’s place the natives
of which are set apart to supply paddlers,
carriers, dried fish for employees’ rations, manioca
bread, &c., and who are not reckoned amongst
the rubber workers. We used to envy the
inhabitants of these places, and some of our
people tried to leave their own homes and
go to reside where the people seemed to us
to be better off than we were.
But this was not allowed by the white man ;
if found out, the offence was punished severely
either with the whip or prison, so we gave it up.
And even in these favoured villages they had
their trials ; fowls and eggs were required as
well as other little things, and they had to be
supplied somehow, and it was often anyhow.
As long as the supplies came to hand regu¬
larly, and no complaints were made by the
villagers against the sentries who were sent out
to collect the food or call the people, all went
well. But it could not possibly be peaceful for
long, because our people were treated in ways
that no one, not even an animal, would put up
with quietly. And although I know you white
66
Oppression, Shame, and Torture
people do not like to hear of bad doings, I must
tell you of some now, or you cannot understand
how we feel about this rubber and other work
which we are compelled to do by strangers of
whom we know nothing, and to whom we think
we owe nothing.
Think how you would feel, if you had been
out in the forest for eleven or twelve days and
nights, perhaps in the wet season, when the
wind blows so that you cannot climb the trees
for fear of either the tree or yourself being
blown down; and the rain pours in torrents and
quickly soaks through the leaf thatch of your
temporary hut (just a roof supported on four
sticks) and puts out your fire, so that all night
long you sit and shiver; you cannot sleep for
the mosquitoes ; and, strong man as you are,
you weep, because the day which is past has
passed in vain, you have no rubber 1
Then, if a fine morning follows, and you
manage to make a fire, (with tinder and flint,)
eat a little food you have kept over, and start
off again in feverish haste to find a vine before
some one else gets it. You find one, make
several incisions, place your calabash under the
dripping sap, and your hopes begin to rise.
Towards evening it rains again, and again you
67
Bokwala
can scarcely sleep for the eold ; you have nothing
to cover yourself with, and the only source of
warmth is a few smouldering embers in the
centre of the hut.
In the middle of the night you have a feel¬
ing that something is near, something moving
stealthily in the darkness, and you see two
glaring eyes gazing at you — a leopard or civit
cat is prowling round your shelter. You throw
a burning firebrand at it, and with a growl it
dashes off into the bush.
In the morning you tie another knot in your
string, by which you count the days, and say,
“ If only I can get a lot to-day ! The time
grows short, I shall soon go home.”
Day after day passes in this way, and at last
the rubber is ready, or even if it is not, the
day has dawned ; you must start for the white
man’s place — and home is on the way!
One or two nights are passed on the road, and
you draw near to the village.
“ What a weleome I shall have 1 Bamatafe
with the baby, Isekokwala, my father, now an
old man, and my mother, and a feast of good
things as I always find.”
As we get near the village, I begin to sing and
feel happy, and tell the other men what a good
68
Oppression, Shame, and Torture
wife I have, and what a feast she will have ready
for me 1
But how quiet it all is — and yes, surely I hear
a wail 1 What can it be ?
I rush on ahead, and hear the following
story.
In the morning some sentries arrived to bring
the rubber men to the white man’s place. We
had not come in from the forest, so they took our
wives, quite a number of them — Bamatafe
amongst them with her baby at her breast — away
to the white man’s prison, or hostage house as he
calls it, and my relatives are crying over it !
I was mad with rage, but it was too late to do
anything that night.
In the morning we took our rubber in to the
white man, who received it, refused to pay any¬
thing for it, but allowed it to pass /or the redemp¬
tion of our wives / Of course, we did not say
anything ; we were only too glad to get them
free at any price ; for what could we do without
them ?
You, white men in Europe, who say you feel
pity for us, how would you feel if such a thing
happened to you and your wife and little child ?
We were treated like that not once, but many
times.
69
Bokwala
In a village not far from my father’s the men
were all away on one occasion trying to procure
what was required of them as their weekly tax.
When the day for bringing it in fell due, they
did not arrive in good time, and as usual sentries
were sent out to inquire into it.
Finding no men in town, and most of the
women having fled into the bush in fear at the
approach of the sentries, they seized the wife of
one of the absent men. She had recently become
a mother ; perhaps she was not strong enough to
run away with her companions. Anyway she
was arrested with her babe at her breast, and
taken off* to the white man’s place, where it was
decided to give the village a lesson that they
would not soon forget.
In the presence of the white man the poor
thing was stretched on the ground, and the awful
hippo-hide whip was brought into requisition.
The man who started the whipping became tired,
and passed the whip over to another to continue
it, until at last, when the woman was more dead
than alive, and in a condition which cannot be
described to you, the white man gave the order
to cease, and she was — set free, did you say ? —
No, sent into the prison house !
An hour or two later her husband arrived and
70
Oppression, Shame, and Torture
was told that if he waoted to redeem his wife he
must bring the white man twenty fowls. He
succeeded in collecting sixteen, which were
refused, then he made up the number, and so
redeemed his wife and babe. This redemption
must have cost him a great deal of money, and
he was a poor man.
Three days after her return to her home the
wife died.
It seems strange, but the child lived, and is
alive to-day, a puny, ill-nourished child, as you
may imagine.
O white women, can you listen to such things
unmoved ? Think, then, how much worse it
must be to see them, and live in the midst of
them, knowing that the same thing might
happen to you any day ?
In a village situated at some distance from
the white man’s compound the sentries had
established themselves in their usual style of
living, in the best houses the village could boast
of, and began to supply themselves lavishly
from the gardens and poultry-houses of the
villagers. They ordered the old men who were
past rubber collecting out into the bush to hunt
monkeys for them to feast upon.
Day after day the old men went, and brought
71
Bokwala
back the animals required, but one morning
there was a heavy fall of rain.
One old man refused to go out in the wet, he
said that he could not stand the cold, and so
remained in his house. His failure to go to the
hunt was discovered by the sentries, and he was
arrested by two of them, stripped, and held
down on the ground in the open street of the
village.
Then they— but I must not tell you what
they did, white people do not talk of such
things.
After that one of the sentries held the left
arm of the old man out straight on the ground,
while another, with his walking-staff (a square
sawn stick), beat him on the wrist until at last
his hand fell off. His sister came to his
assistance, and he went away with her to his
hut to suffer agonies of pain for months.
A long time after the white man of God and
his wife were visiting a neighbouring village,
teaching the people, and this old man found
courage to go and tell them his story, and show
them his arm. Then the wound was green, the
bones protruding, and he was in a hopeless
condition.
But the strange thing was that the arm
72
Oppression, Shame, and Torture
appeared to have been cut a little below the
elbow. The explanation was that the ends of
the bones had become sharp, and were con¬
stantly scratching other parts of his body, so he
had cut them off from time to time with his own
knife. He, with the white man of God, went a
long journey to the white man in charge of the
rubber work, and showed him the wound.
But nothing was done, as all his people were
too much afraid to bear witness to the deeds of
the sentries. If they had done so they might
have been treated in the same way, or even
worse. For there was nothing, not even murder,
that the sentries were afraid to do, and nothing
too cruel for them to think of and put in
practice.
I think I have told you enough to make you
see that we rubber men were not the only ones
who suffered from the presence of the white
men; and now I must tell you more of my own
story.
73
CHAPTER VI
Some Horrors of Our Lot
Our work grows harder — -I consult the white man of God
—A strange contrast — My plea unavailing — -My
rubber short — I am sent to the prison — -The captives
-—Their work and their punishments- — -The sick—
The new-born babe— -The dead and their burial — The
suspected — -How they were tortured — -The steamer—
The rubber chief — The prison opened— A procession
of spectres — The place of the dead— For a time peace
— Work for the man of God-— How we fared — My
reward— I wish to go home.
I AM afraid that you white people will get tired
of listening to a constant repetition of the
same story, but that is just what my life and the
lives of my people have consisted of ever since
the coming of Bokakala — rubber, chicotte,
prison, rubber, prison, chicotte ; and again
rubber, nothing but rubber. We see no chance
of anything else until we die.
74
Some Horrors of Our Lot
If you are tired of hearing about it, what do
you think we must be of living in it ?
The rubber vines were getting worked out in
our part of the forest, and almost every time we
had to go further to get any, but at last we
found a way of getting it quicker. It was this :
when we found a good vine, instead of making
incisions and waiting for the sap to drip from
them, we cut the vine down, dividing it into short
lengths. These we placed endways in a pot,
and left them to drain off all the sap into the
pot. In this way we got quite a lot of rubber
from the one vine, and we rejoiced accordingly.
For a time this way of working rubber helped
us over some of our difficulties ; it gave us a
sufficient quantity in a short time, and so we
were saved from the anger of the white man.
But it was not long before we began to find
a dearth of vines ; for those we had cut were
useless for future working, and therefore we had
to take longer journeys into the forest than ever
before.
If we went too far in any direction it brought
us in contact with the natives of other villages
who were also seeking for rubber, and regarded
us as poaching on their preserves. True, there
was some rubber on the other side of the river,
75
Bokwala
but there we dared not go, because of the age¬
long feud between the natives of that part and
ourselves — we feared that if we went we should
never return.
After much consideration, I thought there
was just one chance of getting free ; so I went
to see the white man of God, taking him a
present which I hoped would show him that I
really meant what I said, and asked him to take
me on to work for him.
He received the fowl I gave him, but not as
a gift ; he would insist on paying for it its full
value, and giving me a few spoonfuls of salt
over. (Truly the ways of white men are un¬
accountable ! Some compel one to supply
against one’s will what they want, and pay
nothing or next to nothing for it ; and then
others refuse to take a thing as a gift, but insist
on paying for it ! Of course, we like the latter
way, but should not think of doing so ourselves.)
Then he explained to me that it was impossible ;
he could not engage any man who held a “book”
for rubber, and as I did hold one and my name
was on the rubber workers’ list, it was out of the
question. I pleaded with him, Bamatafe pleaded
for me. We returned again on the following
day to try once more, but it was in vain. I
76
Some Horrors of Our Lot
had to go back to my rubber work in the
forest.
Soon after this a day came when my rubber
was short weight. I had failed to find a good
vine, and though I soaked the rubber in water
to make it heavier, the white man noticed and
refused to pass it. As a result, I did not return
home that night, but spent it and several more
in the white man’s prison.
I had heard much about this place from
Bamatafe and others, who had frequently been
in it, and so was not so surprised as I otherwise
might have been. Prison to us who are used to
an outdoor life in the forest has always a horrible
aspect ; but such a prison as that was is beyond
description. And yet I must tell you something
about it.
The building itself was a long, narrow hut with
thatched roof, bamboo walls, and mud floor.
That was all ; and it was crowded promiscuously
with men and women of all ages and conditions.
These were fastened together with cords or
chains round the neck, in groups of about ten
with a fathom of chain or cord between each.
There were old men and women with grey
hair and shrivelled skins, looking more like
moving skeletons than living people, with
77
Bokwala
scarcely enough eloth or leaves for decent
covering. Strong, capable women were there
who should have been working happily at home
for their husbands ; women with babies only a
few days’ or weeks’ old at their breasts ; women
in delieate health ; young girls ; the wives of
husbands who had somehow failed to satisfy the
demands made upon them ; and young lads who
had tried to shirk paddling the heavily laden
rubber boats — all these were there, crowded
together in that one shed without privacy or
sanitary arrangement of any kind from sundown
to sunrise, and some of them for weeks together.
The smell was horrible, the hunger and thirst
intense, and the publicity in some ways worst of
all. I myself was not hungry that first night,
and Bamatafe came to and fro with food for me
on the following days ; but much of it I never
ate. Some of my fellow-prisoners were so
ravenously hungry, that it was impossible to
save any scraps, even if I had wanted to. Many
of them, coming from a distance, had no friends
to supply their needs.
Early in the morning we were turned out in
charge of sentries to clean the paths of the
compound, carry water, work on houses, cut
up and pack rubber, and carry the filled baskets
78
Some Horrors of Our Lot
from the store to the river ready for transport
by canoe or boat to the place of the great
rubber chief down river. If the work done
failed to satisfy the sentry, or he had any old
scores to pay off to a prisoner who was in his
power, the chicotte or the butt-end of the gun
was always at hand, and proved an easy means
of chastisement for either man or woman, the
latter frequently incurring it for nothing worse
than a desire for chastity.
Then at sundown we were marched back to
the prison house for another night of horrors.
It was often impossible to sleep.
On one night in particular we were kept
awake hour after hour by the groaning of some
of the sick ones, and then towards morning,
after a little sleep, we were aroused again by the
puny wail of a new-born babe. Was it any
wonder that its first cries were weak, and that
the little life so recently given seemed on the
point of ebbing away? In the morning the
sentries agreed that the mother was not fit for
work, and reported to the white man accord¬
ingly; but three days afterwards the mother
was out at work in the hot sun with her baby
at her back.
Many prisoners died at the time of which I
79
Bokwala
speak — two, three, five, sometimes ten in a day
— there was so mueh hunger and thirst and sick¬
ness. When one died, they tied a string round
his foot, and dragged him a little way into the
bush, dug a shallow hole, and covered him with
earth. There were so many that the place
became a great mound, and the burials were
so carelessly done that one could often see a
foot, hand, or even head left exposed ; and the
stench became so bad that people were unable
to pass by the road which was near the “ grave.”
And yet, bad as all this was, something
happened there which made me glad that I
was an ordinary prisoner, and not (what I had
thought impossible) something worse. Four
big, strong young men were suspected of
having stolen some rubber from the white
man’s store. It may have been a true
accusation ; that I do not know — no one
knows.
The white man was furious, and said that
he would make an example of them, which he
proceeded to do. Four tall poles were pro¬
cured and planted in the ground at the back
of his own house, and the four men were
brought.
Their heads and beards were shaven, they
80
Some Horrors of Our Lot
were stripped of their loin eloths, and tied to
these poles, not only by the lower parts of their
bodies, but by their heads, so that they could
not move at all.
This happened in the morning.
The sun climbed up, and stood overhead —
they were still there.
The sun slipped down, down, down — they
were still there.
No food or water had they tasted all day, so
they were parched with thirst. They pled for
water, none was given ; for a covering for their
shame, no notice was taken ; and at last, in
sheer despair, they entreated that they might
be shot — they would rather, far rather, die
than endure the shame of remaining any longer
in a public place in such a condition.
At night they were released from their agony,
only to be sent to prison, and finally exiled up
river. The charge was never proved against
them. But the white man of God heard
about the affair, and talked the palaver with
the rubber chief, and eventually they were
released and came back to their own villages.
One day we heard a steamer whistle ; it was
coming to our landing-place. “ Oh, joy ! per¬
haps the white man will let us go,” we thought.
F 81
Bokwala
He often did send prisoners off to their homes
when a steamer whistled, which seemed strange
to us in those days, but it mattered not to us
why he did it, if only we might get free.
To our disappointment he did not do so on
this occasion, and we soon heard that the big
chief of rubber had come. We wondered what
he would do to us, if things might be worse,
although we did not see how that could be.
Afterwards we found that the white men of
God had been writing many letters to him
about us and the way in which we were
treated, and he had come to see for himself.
He did so, with the result that he opened the
doors of the prison house, and told us to walk
out. He commenced to count us, but gave it
up : we were so many. He told us we were
free, and could go to our homes. We could
scarcely believe it, it seemed to be too good
to be true ; but we immediately set off with
hearts full of joy.
You may think what a merry procession we
must have been, perhaps even that we were
singing and dancing with delight, because we
were free I Not so ; we must have looked more
like a procession of spectres. Some, too weak
to walk, were carried on the backs of others not
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Some Horrors of Our Lot
much stronger than themselves ; women weak
and ill, some soon to become mothers, and
others with young babes looking as sickly as
themselves ; men and women both so famished
with hunger that they had tied strips of plantain
fibre tightly round their stomachs to try and
stay the craving for food !
How eagerly we drank the water and
devoured the little food that was given to us
by friendly people as we passed, and how the
old men and women called out blessings on the
head of the chief of rubber and the white man of
God who had interceded for us ! We notieed
that as we passed through their compound the
white men and women of God were actually
crying with tears for our sorrows, and yet how
glad they were to see us free !
Yes, we were free, but many who lived at
a distance and were old or sick never reached
their homes again. One died at the place of the
white man of God, two or three in villages a
little further on, and many who entered the
forest were never heard of again ; they prob¬
ably died of hunger, and their bodies must
have been devoured by wild animals.
I was one of the last to leave the prison,
and as I did so the great chief was making
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Bokwala
inquiries about the prison grave of which he
had heard. He said to me, “Will you show
me the place ? ”
I answered, “ Oh, yes, white man, it is not
far. Just over in the bush yonder ; but if you
come, bring a cloth to hold your nose ; for you
will not reach the place without it.”
He said, “ Is it as bad as that ? Then I think
I will not go.” And he did not.
The end of it was that the bad white man who
had been so cruel to us was sent away to Europe,
and a new one came to us who was much kinder
in his treatment of us, and for a time we had
peace.
Then came my opportunity ; for while there
were not so many palavers going on, there was
freer intercourse between the rubber white men
and the white men of God, and so it became
possible for the latter to take a few of us rubber
men to work for them.
As I had begged so long for that very chance
I was one of the first chosen ; and how can I
describe the joy with which I said farewell to
rubber work, and went with my wife and
child to reside near the compound of my
new master.
Everything was so different ; it was like
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Some Horrors of Our Lot
having a rest, although, of course, I do not
mean that we did not have any work. We
had plenty, and it had to be well done ; but
there were regular times, and home and food
and a welcome from the wife in the evening
when one returned from work tired, instead of
cold, wet, hunger, and fear in the forest. I
thought I had indeed reached a good place,
and should never want to leave it, so I set to
work with a will.
By and by I was taught to use the saw,
and became one of the staff of pit sawyers
who were cutting up wood for house building.
We worked from sunrise to sunset, with two
hours off for rest mid-day ; but sometimes we
did piece-work, and then our hours were shorter.
We received a monthly wage, and a weekly
allowance for rations ; and as our wives kept
their own gardens, and sometimes went fishing,
we were well supplied with food and soon got
strong and well.
Each morning before we commenced work
there was a service in the chapel which we all
had to attend, and later on there was school
for the boys and domestic servants of the white
people and for our children and any who liked
to attend from the villages. Some evenings
85
Bokwala
there were preaching services or classes for in¬
quirers, and occasionally the white man showed
us pictures with a lamp.
The pictures appeared on a large cloth which
was hung from above, and we liked seeing
them very much. But we were also somewhat
afraid of them, especially when we saw some
of our own people who were dead — we thought
it must be their spirits ! And when we went
round to the other side to see their backs,
behold, they had none, but only another front,
so we thought there must be something strange
about them ; for we have never seen people with
two fronts and no backs !
Every first day of the week we did no work,
but went with our wives and other people to
hear the teaching. Before this time I knew
but very little of it : I knew that it was about
one Jesus, but who or what He was, or why
they talked so much about Him I could not
understand. Now I began to learn that He
was the Son of God, and came to earth for us.
I heard about His birth, life and death, and
how He died for us — instead of us — ^just as
the peace-offering is killed in our country to
save the whole village. We kill a slave ; but
God sent His Son, and Jesus came willingly
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Some Horrors of Our Lot
and gave His life for us. Truly, He must have
loved us !
After a time I joined the inquirers’ class, for
I wanted to learn more about Him, and to
belong to His company.
The time passed very quickly, it seemed but
a little until my book, which was for twelve
moons, was finished. I received my payment
— brass rods, cloth, salt, &c. — and felt quite a
rich man. Never had I possessed so much
before ; and I wanted to go to Ekaka and
show off my riches. When my master asked
what I purposed doing I said that I was tired
and would like to go home for a while to rest.
I went, and soon after that my master went
to Europe for his rest also.
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CHAPTER VII
Back to Slavery
My welcome at home — My respite and its end — The
forest sentry — The little boy— -My father’s appeal
and its result — I intervene — The sentry’s revenge —
A rubber slave once more — I appeal to the man of
God — Disappointment — “Nothing but rubber till I
die ! ” — The hopeless toil — The coming of the pesti¬
lence — The witch-doctor’s medicine — The desolation
— But still the rubber!
IW AS well received by my people at Ekaka,
and my father, now an old man, was proud
to see me return with my riches.
I also had a good welcome from the family of
Bamatafe, for had I not brought brass rods, salt,
knives, a blanket, and other thmgs for which
they craved ? When a man is paid off at the
end of a year’s work he always gets plenty of
visitors, and is much praised by all his towns-
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Back to Slavery
people as long as his riches last. After that
they seem to lose interest in him, and do not
care for him any longer.
But at first, as I said, I had a good time. My
father was immensely pleased with a present of
a red blanket ; the father of Bamatafe received a
knife and some brass rods, which my father had
smelted for him into anklets ; the salt was used
for feasts and presents, and it was but a few
days before we found that we had nothing left
of all my wages !
Now, thought I, I would rest. A little fish¬
ing, a little hunting, a good deal of lying down
in the big palaver house, and very much talking
and telling of news — in fact, a good time gener¬
ally — and then one day came the end of it.
On that day, I cannot forget it, a big bully
of a sentry, armed with a gun and chicotte, came
into Ekaka to see about sending the rubber men
off to the bush. As he passed my father’s place
he began to grumble to the old man about many
things — he did not provide a sufficient number
of rubber workers ; he did not give enough
honour to the sentries placed in his village ;
one of the rubber men had died, fallen from
the vine he was cutting high up in the top of a
tree, and been picked up dead, and my father
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Bokwala
had not brought any one forward to take his
place on the white man’s list.
This sentry proceeded to seize a little boy of
about twelve years of age, a nephew of the
deceased man, and ordered him to get rubber.
My father ventured to plead for him, repre¬
senting that he was too young, and not strong
enough for the work.
He was answered by curses, insults were
heaped upon him, then the bully took his own
knife from him and actually cut off his long
beard, of which he and all his family were so
proud ; and finally he struck the old man on the
chest with the butt-end of his gun, felling him
to the ground.
I had kept quietly in the hut, but this was too
much. I sprang up and rushed to my father’s
aid, and that was my undoing. The sentry took
his revenge for my interference by informing the
white man that I was sitting down at home
doing nothing, and ought I not to be sent out
to work rubber ?
The white man called me, and gave me a
book for rubber. In vain I told him that I was
only resting in town for a little while, and
intended to return to my work for the white
men of God ; my name was put on the list, and
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Back to Slavery
once more I was obliged to seek for rubber.
The conditions were much the same as before,
but we were obliged to go further away than
ever to find the rubber vines, as they were
getting so scarce.
After some months of this work, which we all
hate, I heard the news that my white man had
returned to our country.
“ Now,” thought I, “ all will be well. I will
go and plead with him, and beg him to redeem
me from this slavery, and then I will work for
him again.”
So when I took my next lot of rubber in
to the white man, after receiving my three
spoonfuls of salt in return for my basket of
rubber balls, I went on to see the other white
men.
It was true, the white man for whom I had
worked had arrived while we were in the forest,
and was just settled down to work again.
When he and his wife saw me they gave me a
hearty welcome, evidently thinking that I, like
so many others, had just called to welcome them
back to our land. He knew nothing of what
had taken place in his absence.
I told him all my story, everything that had
happened to me and mine while he was in
91
Bokwala
Europe ; and asked him, now that he had
returned, to redeem me from my slavery,
and let me come back and work for him
again.
But new white men had come and new rules
had been made since his departure from our
land, and again it was not permissible for a man
holding a rubber book to take service with any
one. All my hopes were dashed to the ground ;
but still I pleaded with him with all the fluency
of which I was capable — he had done it before,
and if then, why not now ? We can understand
white men making rules for black, but how can
they interfere with each other ? I thought that,
if I only kept at it long enough, I should
surely win.
But at last I was convinced of the truth of
the statement, and I wept. Yes, strong man as
I was, I wept ; for anger and sorrow were in my
heart, and 1 turned to the white man as I stood
there on the grass outside his house.
“ White man,” said I, “ if this is true, there is
no hope for me. It will be nothing but rubber
until I die, and rubber is death. Dig a grave
here, and bury me now ! I may as well be
buried in my grave as go on working rubber.”
And I meant it.
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Back to Slavery
But back to rubber I had to go, with no
hope of ever doing anything else ; back into a
slavery which would last until death, and from
which there is no eseape. For if you run away
from one district, you only reach another, and
another white man as eager for rubber as the
one you left. Then he will make you work
for him, if he does nothing worse ; he may send
you baek, and then — chicotte, prison, and more
rubber 1
So I and my people went on day after day,
and month after month, with little pay (what
we did receive was only a mockery of the word),
no comfort, no home life, constant anxiety as
to our wives and daughters in the villages, and
nothing to look forward to for our sons but that
they must follow in our steps, and of necessity
become rubber workers as soon as, or even
before, they were old enough to have sufficient
strength for the work.
White men, do you wonder that the words,
“ Botofe bo le iwa ” (“ Rubber is death ”) passed
into a proverb amongst us, and that we hated
the very name of rubber with a deadly hatred ?
The only ones who were kind to us in those
days were the white men of God. They visited
our villages frequently to teach us and our
93
Bokwala
families, and sometimes on their journeys they
would meet with us in the forest, and stop for
awhile to talk to us.
“ Come,” they said ; “ listen to the words of
God, the news of salvation.”
We came, and they told us the same story of
Jesus and salvation from sin ; it is a good story,
and we liked to hear it. But we would say,
“ White man, you bring us news of salvation
from sin ; when will you bring us news of salva¬
tion from rubber ? If you brought that, then
we should have time to listen to and think
about your other news.”
Then came a time of awful pestilence, so
terrible that we do not understand or even
mention it, lest we ourselves be smitten like
others. When we speak of it we call it the
“ sickness from above ” or the “ sickness of
heaven ” ; but the white men, who are not
afraid to mention it, call it smallpox.
It raged in all our villages, and spread from
hut to hut like a fire. We took our sick ones
into the forest, and a few people who had
recovered from the disease many years before
went to look after them. Crowds of people
died, and though some recovered, they were
very weak and ill after it.
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Back to Slavery
The white men of God put some medicine
into the arms of many of our people. It was
cut in with a needle, but we did not understand
it, and most of us refused to have it done, as we
thought it would hurt. But we noticed that
many of those who did take the medicine did
not get the sickness, or at least only slightly.
In the midst of it all one of our own witch¬
doctors arose and announced that a cure had
been revealed to him, and as he himself was
immune from the disease, he would come and
put his medicine on all who were prepared to
pay his fee. He made an itineration through
all the villages with much singing, dancing, and
shaking of rattles, and in each village he took
up a stand to administer his medicine to all who
would pay.
The sick people were brought out of the bush,
the suspected cases from the huts, and the strong
ones in the villages came also, and all were
anointed with the medicine on payment of a
brass rod. Such crowds there were ; very few
refused, I think only the children of God, and
they did it in spite of much opposition. Their
relatives tried to persuade them to take it, but
when the witch-doctor heard of and asked the
reason of their refusal, and was told that it was
95
Bokwala
because they were children of God, he said,
“Leave them alone ; if that is the palaver, it is
of no use to persuade them ; they will never
give in.”
But, strange to say, the sickness was worse than
ever after this episode, until the people got tired
of trying to isolate the cases and just left them
in the villages. Crowds of people still died at
this time, and many of the corpses were left
unburied, until at last we began to think that
we should all be finished off by the sickness,
which lasted many moons, perhaps sixteen or
eighteen.
When at last the sickness did cease, the
\dllages were half empty, whole families had
been swept away, and the few who were left
were so weak that most of the work in the
villages had to be left undone. Then many
more died of the hunger and after-effects,
because they were unable to work to get food,
and had no friends left to help them.
But one thing had to go on without cessation
all the time, and that was rubber collecting. It
must have varied in quantity, but the supply
was never allowed to stop during all that
dreadful time.
When our wives and children or mothers and
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Back to Slavery
fathers were sick and we knew not what the end
of the sickness would be, we still had to leave
them with others, or even alone, and go into
the forest on another errand — that of rubber
collecting ! Many a relative died in those days
without our ever knowing of their illness ; but
we were rubber men. Were we not also slaves,
having no choice but to go, even though the
rubber sap seemed to us sometimes like drops
of our blood ?
G
97
CHAPTER VIII
Other Changes. Hope Deferred
A change of labour — We become hunters — A new
demand — And new difficulties — Failure — The
sentry’s demand — The old men’s plea — Murder —
We tell the men of God — And complain to the rubber
man — The white chief — The things written in a
book — And no remedy comes — Hunting again —
The English visitor — The white woman — Results of
making complaints — The sentries’ threats — The one
way of escape — “ Better to be with the hunters than
the hunted ” — Another sorrow — The sleeping-sick¬
ness — “ Just a little while, and they die ” — We cry
to the white people.
AS I was telling you before, many of our
people died of the “sickness from above,”
including a number of the young men who
worked rubber. Of necessity the supply of
rubber became very small when there were so
few to collect it in the forest.
98
other Changes. Hope Deferred
After the siekness was finished, and the white
men found that it was really true that so many
of our people were dead, and that others were
still sick and unfit for work, they called us
young men of Ekaka together and told us some
very good news. It was this. That they had
decided that we should make no more rubber,
but be freed entirely from that work on con¬
dition that we men would hunt antelopes for
the white man’s table, and bring smoked meat
for his workmen’s rations, and that our women
would supply toko (manioca cooked ready for
eating) at stated intervals.
We agreed with much joy, and all the way
home that day we were singing and shouting,
so as to let every one know of our good fortune.
We went also to tell the white men of God our
news ; they were glad to hear about it, and gave
us much good advice as to keeping up a regular
supply of food, and not bringing palavers upon
ourselves by failing to do our part. We heartily
assented to all they said, for we were ready to
do anything if only we might be freed from
rubber work.
The hunting was started at once, and we kept
up the supply of one or two antelopes weekly,
and smoked rations for a long time ; but by and
99
Bokwala
by a new white man came to us from up-country
and he made new rules for us.
An order was given that we must procure four
living antelopes every week, and in order to do
this all of us who were strong enough to hunt
had to be in the forest almost all the time, just
sending in the antelopes as we caught them.
It was not so bad in dry weather — then we
were used to go on long hunts in the old days of
freedom-— but now it was all the year round,
wet season as well as dry, . night and day ; for
antelopes began to get scarce as the rubber had
done, and we had to penetrate a long way into
the forest in order to get them. We found to
our cost that hunting was not play under such
circumstances ; but even so, it was better than
rubber, and we tried to fulfil the white man’s
requirements.
But one day — the day for taking an antelope
to the white man — we failed to procure one
in time for the usual morning visit, when we
were in the habit of sending it in.
I suppose the white man became impatient
and dispatched a sentry— a native of our
country who was known to us all as a fool —
armed with a gun and cartridges, to inquire why
the animal had not been sent in.
100
other Changes. Hope Deferred
When this sentry, Kebocu, arrived in our
village, he found it almost deserted. Only one
or two old men and a few women were there ;
but, my father not being present, his friend,
Bomoya, went out to meet the white man’s
messenger and inquire what he wanted.
Bomoya was closely followed by Isekasofa,
another old friend and associate of my father’s.
They exchanged greetings with Kebocu and
asked his business.
“ Where is the antelope for the white man’s
soup ? ” he asked.
They explained that we had failed to catch
any on the day previous, and that they were
expecting our arrival at any time, and then the
animal would be dispatched immediately.
His answer was to raise and load his gun, an
action not understood by the old men, who
simply stood still waiting. Calling to a woman
who was crossing the road to get out of the
way, he fired. The shot passed through
Bomoya’s thigh, disabling him ; but old Isekasofa,
stooping down to hide behind his friend, received
the bullet in his breast, and dropped dead on
the spot.
Just as the deed was done, we all rushed into
the village with our antelopes, proving the truth
101
Bokwala
of what the old men had said. We heard all
about the shooting from the woman who had
seen it all, and whose husband was a workman
of the white men of God. Kebocu himself ran
away when he saw us all come into the village.
Basofa, the son of Isekasofa, and another man
picked up the corpse, put it on a bier of forest
poles, and set off with many others of us to tell
our sorrowful story to the white man of God.
We arrived first at the school-house where
Mama, the white woman, was teaching the
children ; when she saw us and our burden she
was much grieved, for Isekasofa was a friend of
the white people and had visited them only a
few days previously. We went on to the
dwelling-house, and told our story to the two
white men of God, who sympathised with us in
our sorrow, and wrote a letter to the white man
of rubber about the outrage.
We went on to the rubber compound, and
waited there a long time, because the white man
had gone to the river. He kept us so long
waiting to show him the corpse of Isekasofa (he
knew why we were there, for messengers had
been sent to tell him) that, sitting there in the
heat of the midday sun, we became very angry,
and some of our people even set out to attack
102
other Changes. Hope Deferred
the village of which Kebocu, the sentry, was a
native.
At last the white man^came and listened to
our story, but he seemed so strange that we
thought — of course we did not know — that he
had been drinking the strong palm-wine of
Europe which makes people dizzy in their heads.
Once a white man gave some to one of our
people, and he was quite foolish after it.
We were persuaded not to attack Kebocu’s
village, as the white man would see that he was
punished; and we went back to our own place to
weep for and bury our dead, and attend to the
wounded man.
It was but a few days after this episode that a
great chief called a judge came from down-
country to make inquiries about our part, and
hear palavers.
This was the first time a white man had
come on such an errand, and numbers of our
people gathered at the house of the white
man of God and told our troubles to the
chief. He listened and questioned us, and
made inquiries of other people who had seen
the things we brought forward, and another
white man wrote many, many words in a
book. That book, they said, would go down-
103
Bokwala
country to another great chief, and then every¬
thing would be settled satisfactorily.
As Kebocu had not been punished or even
arrested for causing the death of Isekasofa,
that affair was also talked about, and Bomoya
was carried in from his home that the white
man might see for himself the truth of our
statements. His wound was in a terrible
condition, and was turning green inside. All
this was also written in the book.
The book was sent down-country ; the
white men both went their way ; and we
never heard any more. Kebocu was never
punished, but lived in his own village a free
man. Bomoya recovered, because the white
men of God made medicine for his wounds,
but he was always lame.
It made us very angry when, some time
after his partial recovery, he was imprisoned
for some weeks — because he was found in his
village, and not out in the forest hunting ante¬
lopes for the white man’s soup ! Just as if a
lame man would be of any use in a hunt with
nets and spears I
We continued our hunting week after week,
not only to supply the white man’s table,
but also to provide rations (either of meat
104
other Changes. Hope Deferred
or fish) for his sentries and workmen, and our
women had to provide manioca for the same
reason.
It meant much work for us all ; not only
work, but constant exposure to the cold and
damp of the forest. It was worse in the wet
season, when many of our people contracted a
sickness of the chest which is most painful
and often ends in death. In fact, the pro¬
viding of food was getting to be almost as
great a tax upon us as the rubber had been.
And we thought, “ If the rubber work never
ends, the food work will not ; they will never
give up calling for food ! ”
We had no comfort at home, for we were
rarely there. We had nothing to look forward
to in the future but work — either rubber or
food — so we gave up hoping ; our hearts were
broken ; we were as people half dead !
Two or three times white people came again
to ask about our alfairs. One was a very tall
Englishman with a wonderful dog such as we
had never seen before. He was very kind to us,
made many inquiries about our treatment, and
gave us presents before he left. We asked him
to come back to us again, but he never did. We
were told that he was talking about our troubles
105
Bokwala
and writing them in a book in England, but that
is all we know about him.
Another who came was a white woman. She
stayed for a little while at the rubber place, and
used to ask us many questions and talked much
to us and to the white men. But we could
never really understand about her ; why should
a woman come to see about palavers — how could
she settle them ? She soon went away, and we
did not think any more about her.
Others came at intervals — great chiefs from
down-river, I suppose they were — to some of
whom we told our grievances ; but we soon
found that the rubber white men did not like
us to do so, and sometimes we were punished
or even imprisoned after the departure of the
white men to whom we had made reports. So
you will not be surprised when I tell you that
we got to hide our troubles, and did not tell
even when an opportunity presented itself.
Many times we have been asked by other
white men of God who have come on visits,
“ Why do you not tell these bad doings of
which we hear? Why do you not report to
the white chiefs?” It was like this: we were
afraid to tell — afraid of the consequences to
ourselves afterwards ; we had been threatened
106
other Changes. Hope Deferred
with such dreadful things by the sentries if we
dared to speak of their doings.
I do not wonder that they did not want their
doings talked about, for I have not told you one-
tenth of the bad things they did, and the worst
of the things cannot be even mentioned. And
then, so many promises which had been made
to us by white men had been broken, of what
use was it to get more promises from them ?
They would only be broken like the rest, we
thought, and so we gave up, and when the white
men tried to find out things we even ran away
and hid, rather than tell them, and so bring
greater trouble on ourselves and our families.
There was just one way out of our slavery,
and some of our young men availed themselves
of it. It was to become a sentry oneself. Only
a few had the opportunity, and those who took
it soon beeame as bad as the other sentries with
whom they came in contaet. They found
that the only way to please the white man was
to get plenty of rubber ; and in order to do that
they were obliged to use the same means as the
others and become cruel oppressors of their own
people.
When they were remonstrated with they
would say, “ It is better to be with the hunters
107
Bokwala
than with the hunted. We have the chance to
join the hunters : what more ? ” I never had
the chance myself ; perhaps if I had I might
have done the same ; for if you compare our lives
with the lives of the sentries, I do not think
that even a white man can wonder that some
of us chose the easy way.
There is one thing of which I have not yet
told you ; we think it is one of the worst of all
our trials. W e scarcely know about the begin¬
ning of it, but it seems to have been soon after
the end of the “ sickness of heaven ” that this
other sickness began to come amongst us. We
call it “ nkangi ea ilo ” (“ sickness of sleep ”), and
many refer to it as “ this desolation,” “ losilo
lone''
Both names describe it. When a person has
the disease, he gradually gets more and more
languid until at last he sleeps all the time, and
the disease destroys him. We have no hope for
the future on account of this disease, as well
as our other troubles ; no one ever recovers, but
generally the whole family take it, and die one
after the other, until whole villages are almost
wiped out.
At first only a few people had it ; and though
108
other Changes. Hope Deferred
we did not understand it, we thought that, like
other sicknesses, it would be cured. But in
a very few years it has spread from house to
house and village to village, away into the back
towns and far up-river ; it seems as if it had
no ending !
Numbers of people who are weak and sickly
contract it, and many more who are exposed to
all weathers rubber seeking, hunting, or fishing,
and who come back home with some simple
malady, get the sleep sickness as well, and then
— just a little while — and they die !
Some of the largest and best populated
villages are now reduced to a few huts, the
majority of which are inhabited by sick folk.
Men and women of aU ages and little children
all alike take the disease, and aU alike die.
In the old days, if a person died in one hut,
a child was born in another to take his place and
name ; but now — every day the death wail is
heard, every day funerals are taking place — but
it is a rare event for a child to be born. You
see just one baby here, and another there, and
that is all ! And therefore we have come to
say, “We shall all be finished soon, all get the
disease, none recover. If we are to have it, we
shall have it : what more ? ”
109
Bokwala
Perhaps you think we should take medicine
for this sickness, but we can find none of any
use. The white men of God have tried many
kinds of medicine : medicine to drink, and also
the kind which they put into one’s arm with
a needle ; but these only did good for a little
while, and then the sickness was as bad as ever.
Our own people have tried their own medicines,
our witch-doctors also have tried to cure it by
means of their fetishes ; but all alike are useless.
We often ask the white men if their doctors
have found the medicine ; but we always get
the same answer, “ No, not yet.” We wonder
that the white men with all their wisdom have
not found it : if they have not, who can ?
The white men of God are continually teach¬
ing us that in view of all this sickness, now is
the time for us to settle the palaver between
us and God by believing in His Son Jesus, so
as to be ready if death comes to us. And then
our witch-doctors step in and say, “ Is not this
closing of the eyes in prayer, which these white
men have taught our people, the cause of the
sickness of sleep ? ”
What can we do ? We go and hear the
teaching, and it is good : we agree to it. Then
we hear what the witch-doctors say, and for
110
other Changes. Hope Deferred
a while we absent ourselves. And all the time
the sickness goes on and increases. O white
people, will you not pray to your God for the
medicine ? will you not try and send it to us
soon, that this desolation may be ended, and
some of us be saved alive ?
Ill
CHAPTER IX
The Elders of Europe
More white men from Europe — Fears and curiosity — The
white men inquire about us — ^We tell them of our
state — And our oppressors— -The knotted strings and
their story — “ These things are bad ”■ — The white
men’s promises- — Better times — Soon ended — Rubber
again — The old toil — The men of the river — The
demands on the villages — The chiefs in power —
Chiefs and the sentries— The death wail and the
white man — “We are very poor.”
ONE Saturday evening a big steamer eame
to the white man’s beach, and soon after
the news spread throughout our villages that a
lot of white men from Europe — old men with
grey hair — had come to see and judge of our
condition for themselves, and to listen to what
we had to tell them.
Some of us were afraid to go near them ; we
had not had a good experience of white men in
the past, and we kept away. But others were
112
The Elders of Europe
curious to see the elders of Europe, and so they
went to take a look at them from a distance, and
then came back and reported to us who stayed
at home. There were, said they, three strange
white men, said to be settlers of palavers, two
of whom were in truth old, grey-headed men ;
one other was a medicine-man. These were
accompanied by the great rubber chief, as well
as the white men who worked the steamer.
They had also heard that we were all invited to
go to the steamer on the next day and state our
grievances.
Then while we were still talking about it,
the white men of God sent to advise us not to
hide anything, but to come and tell these white
men all the palavers we could remember, giving
names, and bringing eye-witnesses whenever we
could. They also said that these white men had
promised that we should be protected, and that
no harm should come to us as the result of our
making our grievances known.
This reassured us, and we thought that as
these white men were not boys but old and
white-haired, they were worthy of respeet, and
their word should be true. Therefore we
gathered together, we and our chiefs, and we
told them many, many things — things which
H 113
Bokwala
grieved and surprised and made them very
angry.
We told them how we had to make rubber
when the vines were practically finished in our
district ; how we had to get animals all the year
round and in all weathers, and fish, no matter
what the state of the river might be ; how our
wives could scarcely prepare manioca for our
own families because of the constant demands
of the white men and his sentries. Then, gain¬
ing courage, we went on to tell of the treatment
which we received from the sentries in our
villages, of their cruelties and oppression, their
murders and thefts, their wicked treatment of
our wives and daughters, and many other abuses
which I cannot tell you of.
Many chiefs came from far distant villages
and districts, bringing with them long knotted
strings or bundles of twigs, each knot or twig
representing a person killed or a woman stolen.
Everything we told was written down, and
the white men of God told many things, and
these also were written down. This went on
for two or three days, until at last the old white
chief said, “ Have you anything more to
tell?”
“ Oh, yes,” we said, “ many things, white
114
The Elders of Europe
man ; we can go on like this for three more
days, if you want to hear all.”
Said he, “We have heard sufficient ; we know
that these things are bad, why should we hear
more ? ”
We were given twenty brass rods each, and
told that no one would molest us, and that soon
these bad things would be ended, as the palaver
would be settled in Europe.
So we went home, and waited. We did not
expect much, for we had been told the same
thing before, and we had given up hoping long
ago.
But after long time of waiting changes did
come once more. Bokakala’s white men of
rubber did not come to us any more, but Bula
Matadi (the State) himself came and said that
now he would send his own white men to us,
and that they were good; and there would be
no more bad doings in our villages ; as they
would recall all the sentries and not send any
more out to live with us, and oppress and ill-
treat us and our families.
And Bula Matadi really came, and since then
we have had better times than before. Having
no sentries in our villages, but only our own
headmen, makes it much better for us, and far
115
Bokwala
safer for our wives and families who are left at
home when we are away in the forest.
For a little while there was no rubber work ;
we cut posts and bamboos for building, and fire¬
wood for steamers, and there was always the
food tax which pressed hard on men and women
alike. It always has been a heavy task to supply
that, and is still— just as much food is needed,
and we are so few, so very few to keep up the
quantity.
However, we congratulated ourselves on not
having rubber to work, when lo ! Bula Matadi
himself suddenly ordered us to begin working
rubber again !
It seems that there is no way of pleasing a
white man except by providing him wdth rubber.
I do not mean the white men of God — they are
different. But the others, whether they belong
to Bokakala or Bula Matadi, whether they live
up-country or down, or away on the big river,
they are aU alike in feeling a hunger for
rubber.
So now we are away in the forest for two
months, and in our homes for one. The two
months are spent in collecting rubber, and
making it into long strips to take to the
white man. Each man has to make six
116
The Elders of Europe
strips for each month, and take them to the
white man once in three months — eighteen
strips at a time. Then we get a piece of
cloth or a shirt or a plate as payment if the
rubber is good and the quantity sufficient ; if
it is not, then we get very little or no payment,
and if the shortage is of frequent occurrence,
it may be prison.
We are better off in having a longer time
for getting the rubber ; but we have long
distances to go in order to reach any vines,
and then we have to cut them down and
sometimes dig up the roots in order to get
sufficient of the sap.
And we have more comfort, because, going
for a longer time, we make better shelters, and
take our hunting-nets and spears with us, and
so succeed in getting some fresh animal food.
If several of us are in the same part of the
forest, it is easy to set up our nets round a
herd of wild pigs or some antelopes. Some
go in and beat the bush, others wait outside
the nets with poised spears, and it is not long
before we have some animal for our evening
meal.
The people who live on the river bank, and
have to be always providing wood for passing
117
Bokwala
steamers, or fish and manioca for rations for
Bula Matadi’s soldiers and workmen, and fresh
meat for his own table, are really worse off in
some ways than we who are now on rubber
work, because they must take their portion
every seven or fifteen days, and if they fail to
do so they are imprisoned.
Then demands are made of some villages to
supply fowls and eggs at odd times and in
varying quantities. We wonder sometimes
what the white men do with so many eggs ;
they seem to be always wanting them. One
of our people who has frequently to supply
eggs says that he thinks the white men must
be under the impression that we black men
lay eggs the same as fowls do, for they are
always calling for them, whether or not the
fowls are laying !
Now that there are no sentries in our
villages the chiefs of the people are expected
by the white men to exercise more authority.
But during the years of the sentries’ rule the
chiefs were divested of every bit of authority,
and systematically degraded in the sight of
their people. So bad did it become that a
chief spent a great part of his time in the
cham, or in the bush hiding from the sentries.
118
The Elders of Europe
Naturally the children and young people lost
their respect for the chiefs, and many an old
man whose word a few years ago was law has
found, to his shame and chagrin, that he is
considered as of no importance and his word
as valueless.
Sometimes the old men get into trouble for
things that are not really their fault.
For instance, a little while ago some one died
in a village near the white man’s compound, and,
as usual, the people commenced wailing. From
evening until far into the night the death wail
rang out, and the sound disturbed the white
man’s rest. On the next day the chief was
arrested and put in prison for not having stopped
the noises — and he remained there for three days
and nights. He is absolutely dispossessed of his
power, no one thinks of obeying him ; and yet he
is punished for the inevitable outcome of the
rule of the sentries in our villages.
It was much easier to kill the authority of the
chiefs than it is to give it back to them. Of
course, there is one great chief, who wears a
medal, and is in constant intercourse with the
white men of Bula Matadi. He has plenty of
authority — we think too much — and he uses it
largely in getting a great crowd of wives and
119
Bokwala
making it difficult for the young men to get
any. Being rich, he can pay enormous prices
for women, and demand the same. That is one
of our grievances at the present time.
It is our custom to pay for our wives to
their fathers and guardians, and the present high
prices and scarcity of brass rods are making it
almost impossible for a young man to get a
wife, and this leads to other bad palavers.
We are very poor — poorer than ever, because
the prices of food and other things are higher
than before, and yet those who provide the food
tax do not receive any more for what they
supply. Nowadays our women have no heavy
brass anklets, gaiters, or neck ornaments ; we are
often glad to sell the knives, which were our
pride in the old days, for rods with which to
settle our palavers.
So, although we are better off in some ways
since the changes came, we still have our troubles.
We are but few and weak, and those who are
stronger than we still oppress and tread us down.
We are still slaves, and even if our slavery is a
httle less hard than of old, it is still slavery and
still irksome to us and our children.
120
CHAPTER X
Things We Want to Know
My story is finished — The past and the present — Why are
these things so ? — The old days — Now we are white
men’s slaves — How long will it last? — We are
dying — Our only rest is death — How long, how
long ?
WHITE men of Europe, my story is
finished. I have told you about the
past, and the two kinds of slavery in which we
have been bound ; I have told you about the
present, our constant work, the difficulty in
which our chiefs find themselves placed, our
inabihty to marry because of our poverty, our
sickness, the desolation which broods over our
villages, the lack of children to take the places
of those who die. I think I have told you
sufficient to show you that we are in need of
pity and help.
121
Bokwala
I want to ask you, white people of Europe,
two questions. The first is, “ Why a7'e these
things so ? ”
Long ago, our fathers tell us and some of us
can remember, there were no white people in
our land ; we lived alone and happily in our own
way. True, there were feuds and fights,
quarrels and bloodshed, and a kind of slavery,
but the country was ours, the forest was ours in
which to hunt, the river was ours in which to
fish, the fruits of the forest and the produce
of our gardens were ours to appease our hunger.
We did not know anything about white men,
nor did we wish to.
And then — suddenly they came in their
steamers and settled amongst us. And gradually
we learnt that these white men, who came to us
uninvited, are our masters — we, our families,
our forests, the produce of our gardens, the
spoil of our hunting and fishing--all belong to
them. And we cannot understand why it
should be so.
Once more, we have to work for the white
man all the time. Now, when the work is
lighter than ever, we are in the forest two out of
every three months. W e must get a certain
quantity of rubber, or there is prison for us, and,
122
Things We Want to Know
when we come out of prison, more rubber must
be made in place of what was short before we
can make a start on the next three-monthly
portion.
Those of us who are taking food are out on
the river fishing from the first to the fifth
working day, and we take in the food on the
sixth. If we hunt, we must be continually
going to the forest, which is not any better.
The food-tax men are worse off than the rubber
men at present. For all this constant work we
receive very little pay, and, if we complain, we
are told that all this work is (“tax”). We
knew about “ wuta ” long ago before the white
men came, but our “ wuta ” was to pass over
a part of what we had in consideration of some
benefit received, or the use of some implement,
or in order to be freed from some obligation, but
we never understood it to mean all that we had
or anything which would take all our time.
Now, everything else has to be let go in order to
get “ wuta ” for Bula Matadi, and I would ask
you white men. Why is it so ?
I have only one more question to ask you.
It is this. For how long will it last ?
We were young men when it commenced,
now we are middle-aged, and we seem no nearer
123
Bokwala
to the end of it than we were at first. Still
there is the demand for rubber, rubber,
rubber !
Many of our people have died from exposure
to cold and heat, or from lack of comfort ; many
others from accidents, such as falling from the
rubber vines, and many more from the pesti¬
lences of which I have told you.
White men, I tell you the truth : we are
dying, soon our villages will be put out as a fire
that is quenched.
And still we are working, stiU we are slaves to
the white men.
And we have nothing to look forward to, as
far as we can see, except constant work — and
death. We have heard that when a man
reaches what the white men call forty years
of age his tax palaver is finished ; but that
time must be in very old age, for no one ever
seems to become old enough to leave off work.
No, the only rest we can look forward to is
death !
The white men of God are still with us, and
they stiU tell us the news of salvation from sin.
That is good news.
But again I say that what we want to hear is
the news of salvation from rubber. How long
124
Things We Want to Know
before we shall hear that news ? How long a
time must pass before this “ wuta ” business is
finished ? How long shall we wait before we
get a little rest — apart from death ?
The End.
UNWIN BR0THEB3, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON.
JAMES CHALMERS
His Autobiography and Letters.
By the late RICHARD LOVETT, M.A.,
Author of ‘‘James Gilmour of Mongolia," etc.
Seventh Impression. With 2 Maps and 8 Portrait Illustrations,
511 pages. Large crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. In padded
paste grain, round corners, gilt edges, 6s. 6d. net.
“ Altogether no brighter or more skilful narrative of missionary life
— from the subjective as well as from the objective point of view — has
ever been published than this.” — The Spectator.
“ It is the best missionary biography that has appeared during the
last twenty years. It is a book that will live and take rank as a mission¬
ary classic. It is full of thrills, tremulous with pathos, glowing in its
passion, and sublime in its tragic ending. A book to be read and
re-read when the enthusiasm of humanity wanes, and we are tempted
to let fireside heroics take the place of action.” — The Daily News.
GRIFFITH JOHN
The Story of Fifty Years in China.
By R. WARDLAW THOMPSON, D.D.
(Foreign Secretary of the London Missionary Society).
Fifth Impression. With Two Maps and Sixteen other full-page Illus¬
trations. Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 568 pages, 3s. 6d.
‘‘No one can read this story without being inwardly refreshed.
The mere adventure side of it is stirring to a degree. It reveals a
Pauline daring and endurance.” — Christian World.
“The story of Dr. John’s life is a very fascinating one, and it is told
by Dr. Wardlaw Thompson with much literary skill, and excellent
taste and judgment.” — The Westminster Gazette.
V^. HOLMAN BENTLEY
The Life and Labours of a Congo Pioneer.
By his Widow, H. M. BENTLEY.
With a Photogravure Portrait, Map, and 19 other Illustrations,
466 pages, demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s. net (by post, 6s. 5d.).
“This highly interesting memoir forms a worthy tribute to the
honourable life and devoted labours of a notable pioneer of Christianity
in Darkest Africa, who gave twenty-seven years to missionary work
upon the Congo. . . . The book forms an admirably interesting life-
story of successful mission work.” — The Standard.
“ Important in itself as the record of a notable, heroic and con¬
secrated life, important also in the influence which it is sure to have
on scores of young men and women in our Churches.” — The Baptist
Times.
London : THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY.
BISHOP HANNINGTON
And the Story of the Ug^anda IViisslona
Prepaxed by W. GRINTON BERRY, M.A.
With Map, Portrait, 3 Coloured and 4 other Illustrations, crown 8vo,
cloth gilt. Coloured Medallion on Cover, Is. 6d.
The personality of Hannington was full of colour and vigour, and
the story of his work, particularly of his adventures in East Africa,
ending with his martyrdom on the shores of the Victoria Nyanza, is
cne of the most fascinating in missionary annals. Hannington was
himself a picturesque writer, with a noteworthy gift of producing
dashing and humorous descriptive sketches, and quite a third of the
present volume consists of Hannington’s own narratives. This volume
will serve to sustain and deepen the perennial interest in Uganda,
where the Gospel has won some of its most glorious triumphs.
ALFRED SAKER
The Pioneer of the Cameroons.
By his Daughter, E. M. SAKER.
With Map, 3 Coloured and other Illustrations, Coloured Medallion
on Cover, crown 8vo, cloth gilt. Is. 6d.
The Cameroons are a little known land, but they have been the
scene of some of the most interesting work done by British mission¬
aries on the West Coast of Africa. The land, like Sierra Leone, long
justified the title of “ The white man’s grave.” The people were
savages, amongst whom it was not easy to work. The language was
new, and Alfred Saker gave his life to this field. The story of his
adventures and encouragements is singularly interesting.
A DOCTOR Ai\iD HIS DOG IN UGANDA
From Letters and Journals of A. R. Cook, M.D.
Medical Missionary of the Church Missionary Society.
Edited by Mrs. H. B. COOK.
With a Preface by Eugene Stock. Second Impression. With Photo¬
graph, Map of Uganda, and 12 other Illustrations, crown 8vo,
cloth gilt, 2s.
“ With sincere pleasure I commend this little book. A great deal
has been published from time to time on Uganda and the Uganda
Mission, but this is the first book recounting the experiences of a
Medical Missionary. To one who remembers the past history it is
wonderful to read a book like the present.” — Eugene Stock.
“ This little book will be of interest to people other than those
actively engaged in mission work, for the social and economic con¬
ditions of the country are by no means lost sight of.” — Manchester
Courier.
“ We know of no other book which gives so vivid and realistic a
picture of the daily life of the missionaries of Uganda.” — Record.
London: THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY.
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