Chapter X: Our Reception and Entertainment

The welcome of Tonzeka and his people--A case judged--We find the white
man in Tonzeka’s town--Tonzeka defends the white man--He complains
of the effect of the white man’s preaching--A drunken bout.

The whole town turned out to welcome us with shouts, gun-firing, clapping of hands, trillings, and the slapping of their open mouths with the palms of their hands. The folk lined the paths leading to their chief’s house, and saluted and chaffed us good-humouredly as we threaded our way to it preceded by our admired band. Satu’s brass helmet excited much envy and many remarks. It was the first time such a head-gear had been seen in those parts, and naturally called for various comments on its size, brightness and value.

Chief Tonzeka received us heartily, and having exchanged greetings with us, showed Satu and his followers the quarters they were to occupy during their visit, and deputed a large number of women to fetch firewood and water, and also cook for us. The women had to supply all the vegetable foods for our meals, and Tonzeka sent them the necessary meat and fish. Tonzeka proved the genuineness of his hospitality by killing a large pig, thus supplying Satu and his people with the meat that all Congos love so well.

We incidentally heard there was a white man--one of those _Mundele wa N zambi_ (white men of God) visiting the town, but we did not see him until the next evening.

While the women were busy preparing the evening meal, Satu and his folk foregathered in the chief’s courtyard (_lumbu_) to exchange news, to talk about trade, about politics, and about the different cases that had been brought to them for settlement as chiefs and head men.

Tonzeka gave as an example of the foolishness of the people in his district the following case that was brought before him for judgment.

“A pig belonging to the Lumu people was killed by a Manga man on a farm belonging to one of his wives. The Lumu folk demanded payment for the pig; but this was refused on the ground that any pigs found digging up cassava roots on a farm can be killed. After a time the Manga women went to work that piece of ground again, and the Lumu women met them there, and, being more numerous, took away the hoes belonging to the Manga women, and claimed the land as their pig was killed on it, and no compensation had been paid for it. That evening the chief of Manga sent a message to the chief of Lumu, and the messenger carried a gun, which he should not have done, so the Lumu people took the gun away from him on the plea that he was bringing force into their town.”

“How did you settle that palaver?” asked Satu.

“Well, you know,” replied Tonzeka, “that any pig found on another’s farm may be killed, and in some parts of the country the man who kills it can take half the flesh for the trouble of killing it, and to compensate him for the damage done to his farm; and the other half he sends to the owner of the pig. In this part, when a pig is killed for trespassing, the one who kills it leaves it at the place where it was slain, and sends to tell the owner what he has done, and he himself has to fetch the carcass, and as he finds it on another person’s farm he has sure proof that it has trespassed.”

“Yes,” assented Satu, “I know those are the different customs, and in our district we always take half the pig.”

“But,” continued Tonzeka, “this case was complicated because the Manga people allowed their messenger to take a gun with him when he was sent with their message.”

“That was very foolish of them,” said Satu, “but how did you decide the case?”

“I judged it thus,” answered Tonzeka. “I fined the Lumu people one pig for attempting to claim land which did not belong to them, as the killing of a pig gave them no rights over the land on which it was killed; and I fined the Manga people one goat, as the messenger had no right to carry a gun when he went to deliver a message. It was taking force into another’s town, and was also an exhibition of insolence.”

“You judged wisely,” commented Satu, “and I hope you received a fat pig and a large goat for your trouble.”

“You will be able to judge that for yourselves,” laughingly replied Tonzeka, “for the fines[30] only arrived this morning, and you will be eating the pig for your evening meal.”

Footnote 30:

See note 25, p. 348.

Satu expressed the hope that he would receive such splendid fines every day.

Tonzeka then informed his visitors that there was a white man staying in his town, and promised to take his friend Satu to see him.

“I wonder if it is the same one whom we drove out of our town?” queried Satu.

“Why did you drive him away?” asked Tonzeka, with a note of surprise in his voice. “Surely he had done no harm to either you or your people?”

In an apologetic tone Satu admitted that he had not done them any harm, for they did not give him an opportunity, as they would not allow him to enter the town. “But Old Plaited-Beard told us such horrible things against the white men that if I had not been there my people would have killed this one. What is he doing in your town?”

To him Tonzeka replied: "This white man comes to see us very often, and tells us about God, and about His Son Jesus Christ, Who, so the white man says, came to die for us on a cross. I don’t understand all his palavers; but he washes the sores of old and young, rich and poor, head men and slaves, puts good medicine on them, ties them up with his own white fingers, and the sores are quickly healed. We understand that! You know my mother was very ill, and we tried one _nganga_ after another, but they failed to cure her, although they ‘ate’ up a lot of money. Then this white man came on one of his visits, and in two or three days she was fully restored to health by the white man’s medicines."

“Yes,” remarked Satu, “perhaps he gave her the sickness by his witchcraft, and therefore could easily cure her. These white men are exceedingly cunning.”

“I know what you mean,” replied Tonzeka. “That is what our _ngangas_ do to make money out of us. The _ngangas_ by means of their charms and fetishes cause our diseases, and they receive fees for doing so; by their fetishes they curse us or try to cure us, and again they receive fees, and thus they become rich by our complaints. This white man did not charge for the medicine, and what is more he gave my mother some of his own food to make her strong.”

“I did not quite mean that,” said Satu, “but these white men are here to buy up the dead bodies of our relatives, which they store in their houses, and on the first good chance they send them away in their ships to Mputu to become their slaves. They have wonderful magic for restoring the spirits to the bodies.” And as he spoke a look of alarm and hate came into his eyes, for he called to mind his fear that his own brother and various other relatives were, as he was speaking, toiling in farms and forests for their dreaded white masters.

With an air of superior knowledge Tonzeka said to his honoured visitor: "There was a time when I also firmly believed what you have just stated; but I and many of my people have been to this white man’s station. He received us very kindly and showed us over his house; and truly, we saw no shelves[31] there, and no places where he could keep dead bodies. When we had an opportunity we entered his stores, medicine-house, boys’ quarters, and nowhere did we find a place where he could stow away dead bodies. After two or three visits we came to the conclusion that these falsehoods had been started by our _ngangas_ to protect their own interests."

Footnote 31:

See note 26, p. 349.

Satu expressed his astonishment at what he had heard; but still doubting, asked: “Did you go into all the rooms in his house, and does he ever send bales and boxes to the coast?”

“Yes,” replied Tonzeka, “I went into all the rooms, for one of the boys showed me every nook and corner one day while the white man was absent. He does not trade, consequently he has no bales and boxes to send to the coast. Friend Satu, do not believe those lies about the white man. Evidently ivory and rubber have a value in their country. Why, the white man himself showed me a coat and a sheet made of rubber that no water could pass through. I tried them myself; and I understand that in their country it rains all the year round, for they have no dry season as we have, and if they had no rubber they could not make rubber coats, and would have to stay in their houses every day.”

Satu thanked his friend and said: "What you tell me about rubber coats and sheets quite accounts for the presence of traders in our country; but these ‘white men of God’ do not trade. Why are they here?" And a look of sly triumph came into his eyes as he continued: “They don’t buy rubber, they don’t deal in ivory, they don’t trade in anything, and, according to your own statement, they don’t even buy dead bodies. Why are they here? That is what I want to know?”

“That is the very question I put to this white man myself,” replied Tonzeka, "and I will try to give you his answer. He said: A very long time ago, years and years ago, the people in his country were just like the people are now in our country. They were naked, painted savages that lived in huts in their forests. They had spears and knives, and fought each other as we do. They had canoes like ours, and wore brass armlets and anklets very much the same as ours. They believed in fetishes, charms and _ngangas_; and, to use his own words, his forefathers lived wretched lives and died miserable deaths without God and without hope. Then some messengers brought to his country the wonderful news about God, about Jesus Christ, and about the great Salvation, and the hearts and lives of many thousands were changed and filled with joy and pity--joy because they were saved, and pity for us who know not of God’s great love for all, for so great is His love that He freely gave His beloved Son to die for us. Now these people have sent this white man and others like him to pass on the blessings of Jesus and His grand salvation to us, for it seems that this Jesus gave them a command to preach the good news to everybody all over the world.

“I spent nearly a whole evening in talking these palavers over with the white man, and I have told you all I have remembered; but I am afraid I have forgotten a great many of his words.”

Again Satu thanked his friend, and promised to ponder in his heart the words he had heard, or, as he expressed it: “To drink water over them.”

“Well,” said Tonzeka, “I have sent two of my sons to the white man’s school, and they are learning to read, write, do carpentry and to make bricks. They are gaining much knowledge, but there is one thing I do not like about this white man.”

“What is that?” eagerly asked Satu.

Tonzeka paused a few moments before replying, and then he broke out in a self-pitying tone: "This white man tells me that I am a bad man, because I lie, steal, commit adultery and become often very drunk, and in doing these bad deeds I am breaking God’s laws, and shall be punished for doing so. When he talks like that I always feel very uncomfortable, for I know that what he says is perfectly true. I never heard before that God had given any laws for us to obey, because, as you know, we have no books; yet when we get drunk, or thieve, or lie, or do any other bad action, something inside tells us that they are wrong and condemns us; but we are not ashamed, because everybody does them. If he would give us medicine, and teach our boys and girls it would be all right, but when he talks God’s palavers I do not like him, for he makes my ‘heart stand up’ with fear."

Satu was about to condole with him, but there was a general movement towards the fires, for by now the saucepans were steaming with cooked food, and all the folk were eagerly anticipating the feast of pig and pudding. Satu turned these matters over in his mind, and remarked to one of his head men: “After all, there are some disadvantages in having a white man in one’s town, if he makes us uncomfortable in our hearts; and,” he continued, “I am not sure whether Tonzeka is bewitched by the white man, or is sharing profits with the white man in the sale of dead bodies.”

After the evening meal Tonzeka gave another proof of his hospitality. He opened some cases of trade gin[32] and two demijohns of rum, and invited Satu and his party to a drinking bout.

The fiery liquor quickly induced a quarrelsomeness in the drinkers that I thought would cause such murderous fights that the town would be drenched with blood; indeed, Bakula received a nasty cut on his arm, and several others were wounded and bruised. But this intoxicated madness was fortunately soon succeeded by a maudlin state, in which the carousers embraced each other, shouted senseless sayings, joined in ribald refrains, and engaged in obscene dances until at last the potions gained the mastery and they fell on the ground in sottish sleep--mere breathing logs.

Borne on the breeze from a distant part of the town came the evening hymn of the white man and his boys, and distinctly the words were carried to me--

“God loved the world of sinners lost
And ruined by the fall;
Salvation full, at highest cost,
He offers free to all.
Oh, ’twas love, ’twas wondrous love!
The love of God to me!
It brought my Saviour from above
To die on Calvary.”

Footnote 32:

See note 27, p. 349.