CHAPTERIITHE STRING OF BEADSTherewas great chattering in the village over the unloading of the packs with the various wares brought from the market. The marketing arrangements of wild Africa are very curious. There are four days in a Congo week,—Konzo, Nkenge, Nsona, and Nkandu,—and on at least one of the four days a market is held somewhere near every important village. All markets held on Konzo are called Konzo markets, those held on Nkenge are called Nkenge markets, and so on. Each of the four kinds of markets is in a different place, but there is one of the four within five miles of every town. In the village where Mpoko and Nkunda lived, the people had to go four miles to the Konzo market, nine to the Nkenge market, sixteen to the Nsona and twenty to the Nkandu, but this last market was quite near the next village downstream.Some of these markets were noted for certain goods. Mpoko’s mother could always depend on pigs being on sale at the Nkenge market, and whoever had a pig to sell would be likelyto take it there. At the Konzo market, four miles away, were good pots, calabashes, and saucepans, some of which were made by women in their village, for one of the old grandmothers was rather famous for her pottery. Other markets were known for palm wine, iron work, oil, or some other specialty, and besides these things cassava roots, peanuts, kwanga (native bread), palm oil, beans and other vegetables, grains and fowls were generally sold in all markets.marketBesides these markets, larger markets were held occasionally, from one to another of which the traders traveled with things not made in the country. Besides the brass rods, blue beads were sometimes used as a kind of money, a farthing string of a hundred beads being passed from hand to hand; or it might be used to buy food in small quantities, ten or fifteen blue beads three eighths of an inch long andabout a quarter of an inch thick being used as small change.A great deal of produce was simply swapped from one person to another. A man might gather a quantity of some produce like tobacco, rubber, raffia, palm oil, or grain, at one market and another, and take it finally to the great market to exchange for beads, brass, calico, or whatever else he found there. Salt is so rare in some parts of Africa that it is used for money, and a man will work as a porter so many days for so many bags of salt. When the people make salt on the shores of an inland lake, they have to gather the salty sand and wash it out in pots specially made, with little holes in the bottom into which the salt water runs; then the water is dried away over slow fires and the salt scraped off the sides of the kettle. It takes less time and labor to earn salt ready made than to make it in this way. Salt is also made from grass ashes.The packs of the village men had in them not only salt, but many pieces of gay-colored cloth, beads, and wire. Nkunda felt that hers was the best share of all, when her mother called her to have hung round her neck a string of bright red coral beads. No other little girlhad a string half so pretty, Nkunda thought. The more she fingered the little, smooth, scarlet drops of her necklace, the more she admired them.Seeing her delight, the Alo Man grinned and showed all his white teeth.“Perhaps they will bring you luck,” he said, “as the youngest sister’s beads did in the story.”Of course, after that, every one wanted to hear the story.The Alo Man settled himself cross-legged on a mat, all the listeners squatted down within easy hearing distance, and he began the story of the String of Beads.I often am reminded [he said] of the three sisters who lived in a land many days’ journey from here. Each of them had a string of beads, but the youngest sister, her beads were of red coral, and the others, their beads were only common cowrie shells. Naturally, they hated her, and one day when they had all been bathing in the river, the older sisters hid their beads in the sand.“See,” said the eldest sister as the youngest sister came out of the water, “we have thrownour beads into the river, where there is a strong water-goblin who will give us back twice as many. Throw your own beads into the river and then you will have two strings of coral beads, and two is always better than one.”“Except when you have a lame foot,” said the other sister, giggling.The youngest sister believed what they said, and threw her beads into the river, and they went down, down, down to the bottom of the deepest pool and did not come up again.Then the two elder sisters laughed and took their own beads and hung them round their necks, and filled their water jars and went home.“How foolish I was,” said the youngest sister, sadly. “I wonder if the river would not give them back to me if I should ask very politely?”She began to walk along the bank, saying, “Water, water, please give me back my beads, my pretty beads!” And the water answered, “Go down the stream! Go down the stream!”[The Alo Man made his voice sound exactly like the gurgle and splash of the ripples.]She went on a little way and asked the river again to give back her beads. And again theriver answered, “Go down the stream! Go down the stream!”The youngest sister went along the river bank until she could no longer see the village. She had never been so far away from it before. At last she came to a place where the river leaped over a great cliff. Under the waterfall was a hut with an old woman sitting at the door. She was bent and wrinkled and very, very ugly, and she looked up as the youngest sister looked down at her from the bank.“Do not laugh at me!” said the old woman. “I am ugly now, but once I was beautiful as you are.”“I am not laughing at you, good mother,” said the youngest sister. “I should like to do something to help you.”“You are very kind, my child,” said the old woman. “Will you be so good as to bind up my wounds and give me water to drink?”landscape with cabinThe youngest sister took a strip of her garment and bound up the old woman’s wounds and fed and comforted her as if she had been the old woman’s own daughter. Scarcely had she done this when the old woman caught her by the arm. “My child,” she said, “you have come to a place where a terrible giant lives.Every one who comes down the river is in danger of falling into his hands. But do not be afraid; he shall not hurt you. Hark! there he comes now, like a great wind that brings the rain.”Sure enough, the wind began to blow, and the rain poured, and the lightning flashed, and it grew very cold. The old woman hid the youngest sister behind a wall.Then the giant came to the bank of the river.“Some one has come to the hut,” said he, in a great roaring voice. “I am hungry. Bring her out and let me have her for my supper.”“But you must have your sleep first,” said the old woman.“Yes,” said the giant, “it is true; I am very weary.”Then the giant lay down and went to sleep.When he was sound asleep the old woman led the youngest sister out from behind the wall, and hung round her neck a string of beads more beautiful than any she had ever seen, and put rings of gold on her arms and on her ankles. Around her waist she hung a kirtle of the softest and finest kidskin, with copper fringe, and over her shoulders she threw a silver jackal skin. In her hand she placed a magic stone.“When you reach the river bank,” said the old woman, “press the stone to your lips. Then throw it over your shoulder, and it will return to me.”The youngest sister did as the old woman told her, and very soon she reached the place where she lived with her two sisters. They looked with the greatest surprise at her beautiful dress and ornaments and asked where she had found them. When she told them an old woman had given them to her, they said, without waiting to hear the story, “We too will go to the old woman,” and throwing their beads into the river they ran along the banks, calling to the waters to return them.After so long a time they came to the hut where the old woman sat. The giant was no longer there, and the old woman was sitting crouched in the doorway as before.“Do not laugh at me,” said the old woman. “I am ugly now, but once I was young and beautiful as you are.”The two sisters laughed at this, and ridiculed the old woman, and called her all the jeering names they could think of.“Will you not bind up my wounds and give me water to drink?” asked the old woman.But the sisters said that they had never heard of such impudence.“Where are the bracelets and beads you have to give away?” asked the elder sister.“Where are your mantles and kirtles with fringe?” asked the younger. “We come for these, not to waste our time on you. We must make haste and go home.”“Indeed, I think you must,” said the old woman, “for this place is the home of a giant who comes in the form of wind and rain, and I hear him coming now!”Then the hut sank under the waters, and the maidens found themselves standing on the bank without even their own beads to deck themselves with. That very moment they heard the wind and the rain sweeping through the trees, and they turned and ran as fast as their feet would carry them, back to their own village, while the wind and the rain howled behind them and the giant pelted them with stones.running in rainstormAll the people laughed and shouted over the ill fortune of the two selfish sisters. Nkunda, where she lay curled up at her mother’s side, fingered her beads and wondered if the youngest sister’s beads from beneath the waterfall could have been any prettier than these. In the part where the giant came in, the story sent delightful shivers down all their backs, for they could every one remember storms in which the great wind had shaken the trees like an invisible giant and the rain had come pelting down like stones. Sometimes, after a storm, the path of the wind through the forest looked like the track of a huge giant who had gone walking up and down, twisting off boughs and rooting up trees merely to show what he could do. During one of these storms the temperature often falls from thirty to forty degrees in half an hour.Nkunda had seen a silvery jackal skin and a copper-fringed robe among her mother’s treasures, but one thing in the story puzzled her. “Mother,” she said softly, “what is gold?”The Alo Man heard her and smiled. “Have you never seen gold?” he asked.The children shook their heads. Gold was not found in that part of the country.Then the Alo Man explained that in thestreams of other parts of the country the people found lumps of a shining yellow metal softer and more beautiful than iron, for which the traders would pay much cloth and many brass rods. When the headman heard what they were talking about, he showed the children a little bright round bangle on his arm, and told them that that was gold. It was really, though no one there knew it, a half-sovereign lost by some trader, or perhaps given in mistake for a sixpence, which is exactly the same size. The headman had kept it, first because of its beauty, and then because a trader had told him that it was worth as much as ten pounds of rubber, or more than a hundred pounds of palm kernels, or a load of palm oil, or about thirty-five pounds of coffee. Nkunda thought that the little piece of gold was rather like a magic stone.
Therewas great chattering in the village over the unloading of the packs with the various wares brought from the market. The marketing arrangements of wild Africa are very curious. There are four days in a Congo week,—Konzo, Nkenge, Nsona, and Nkandu,—and on at least one of the four days a market is held somewhere near every important village. All markets held on Konzo are called Konzo markets, those held on Nkenge are called Nkenge markets, and so on. Each of the four kinds of markets is in a different place, but there is one of the four within five miles of every town. In the village where Mpoko and Nkunda lived, the people had to go four miles to the Konzo market, nine to the Nkenge market, sixteen to the Nsona and twenty to the Nkandu, but this last market was quite near the next village downstream.
Some of these markets were noted for certain goods. Mpoko’s mother could always depend on pigs being on sale at the Nkenge market, and whoever had a pig to sell would be likelyto take it there. At the Konzo market, four miles away, were good pots, calabashes, and saucepans, some of which were made by women in their village, for one of the old grandmothers was rather famous for her pottery. Other markets were known for palm wine, iron work, oil, or some other specialty, and besides these things cassava roots, peanuts, kwanga (native bread), palm oil, beans and other vegetables, grains and fowls were generally sold in all markets.
market
Besides these markets, larger markets were held occasionally, from one to another of which the traders traveled with things not made in the country. Besides the brass rods, blue beads were sometimes used as a kind of money, a farthing string of a hundred beads being passed from hand to hand; or it might be used to buy food in small quantities, ten or fifteen blue beads three eighths of an inch long andabout a quarter of an inch thick being used as small change.
A great deal of produce was simply swapped from one person to another. A man might gather a quantity of some produce like tobacco, rubber, raffia, palm oil, or grain, at one market and another, and take it finally to the great market to exchange for beads, brass, calico, or whatever else he found there. Salt is so rare in some parts of Africa that it is used for money, and a man will work as a porter so many days for so many bags of salt. When the people make salt on the shores of an inland lake, they have to gather the salty sand and wash it out in pots specially made, with little holes in the bottom into which the salt water runs; then the water is dried away over slow fires and the salt scraped off the sides of the kettle. It takes less time and labor to earn salt ready made than to make it in this way. Salt is also made from grass ashes.
The packs of the village men had in them not only salt, but many pieces of gay-colored cloth, beads, and wire. Nkunda felt that hers was the best share of all, when her mother called her to have hung round her neck a string of bright red coral beads. No other little girlhad a string half so pretty, Nkunda thought. The more she fingered the little, smooth, scarlet drops of her necklace, the more she admired them.
Seeing her delight, the Alo Man grinned and showed all his white teeth.
“Perhaps they will bring you luck,” he said, “as the youngest sister’s beads did in the story.”
Of course, after that, every one wanted to hear the story.
The Alo Man settled himself cross-legged on a mat, all the listeners squatted down within easy hearing distance, and he began the story of the String of Beads.
I often am reminded [he said] of the three sisters who lived in a land many days’ journey from here. Each of them had a string of beads, but the youngest sister, her beads were of red coral, and the others, their beads were only common cowrie shells. Naturally, they hated her, and one day when they had all been bathing in the river, the older sisters hid their beads in the sand.
“See,” said the eldest sister as the youngest sister came out of the water, “we have thrownour beads into the river, where there is a strong water-goblin who will give us back twice as many. Throw your own beads into the river and then you will have two strings of coral beads, and two is always better than one.”
“Except when you have a lame foot,” said the other sister, giggling.
The youngest sister believed what they said, and threw her beads into the river, and they went down, down, down to the bottom of the deepest pool and did not come up again.
Then the two elder sisters laughed and took their own beads and hung them round their necks, and filled their water jars and went home.
“How foolish I was,” said the youngest sister, sadly. “I wonder if the river would not give them back to me if I should ask very politely?”
She began to walk along the bank, saying, “Water, water, please give me back my beads, my pretty beads!” And the water answered, “Go down the stream! Go down the stream!”
[The Alo Man made his voice sound exactly like the gurgle and splash of the ripples.]
She went on a little way and asked the river again to give back her beads. And again theriver answered, “Go down the stream! Go down the stream!”
The youngest sister went along the river bank until she could no longer see the village. She had never been so far away from it before. At last she came to a place where the river leaped over a great cliff. Under the waterfall was a hut with an old woman sitting at the door. She was bent and wrinkled and very, very ugly, and she looked up as the youngest sister looked down at her from the bank.
“Do not laugh at me!” said the old woman. “I am ugly now, but once I was beautiful as you are.”
“I am not laughing at you, good mother,” said the youngest sister. “I should like to do something to help you.”
“You are very kind, my child,” said the old woman. “Will you be so good as to bind up my wounds and give me water to drink?”
landscape with cabin
The youngest sister took a strip of her garment and bound up the old woman’s wounds and fed and comforted her as if she had been the old woman’s own daughter. Scarcely had she done this when the old woman caught her by the arm. “My child,” she said, “you have come to a place where a terrible giant lives.Every one who comes down the river is in danger of falling into his hands. But do not be afraid; he shall not hurt you. Hark! there he comes now, like a great wind that brings the rain.”
Sure enough, the wind began to blow, and the rain poured, and the lightning flashed, and it grew very cold. The old woman hid the youngest sister behind a wall.
Then the giant came to the bank of the river.
“Some one has come to the hut,” said he, in a great roaring voice. “I am hungry. Bring her out and let me have her for my supper.”
“But you must have your sleep first,” said the old woman.
“Yes,” said the giant, “it is true; I am very weary.”
Then the giant lay down and went to sleep.
When he was sound asleep the old woman led the youngest sister out from behind the wall, and hung round her neck a string of beads more beautiful than any she had ever seen, and put rings of gold on her arms and on her ankles. Around her waist she hung a kirtle of the softest and finest kidskin, with copper fringe, and over her shoulders she threw a silver jackal skin. In her hand she placed a magic stone.
“When you reach the river bank,” said the old woman, “press the stone to your lips. Then throw it over your shoulder, and it will return to me.”
The youngest sister did as the old woman told her, and very soon she reached the place where she lived with her two sisters. They looked with the greatest surprise at her beautiful dress and ornaments and asked where she had found them. When she told them an old woman had given them to her, they said, without waiting to hear the story, “We too will go to the old woman,” and throwing their beads into the river they ran along the banks, calling to the waters to return them.
After so long a time they came to the hut where the old woman sat. The giant was no longer there, and the old woman was sitting crouched in the doorway as before.
“Do not laugh at me,” said the old woman. “I am ugly now, but once I was young and beautiful as you are.”
The two sisters laughed at this, and ridiculed the old woman, and called her all the jeering names they could think of.
“Will you not bind up my wounds and give me water to drink?” asked the old woman.
But the sisters said that they had never heard of such impudence.
“Where are the bracelets and beads you have to give away?” asked the elder sister.
“Where are your mantles and kirtles with fringe?” asked the younger. “We come for these, not to waste our time on you. We must make haste and go home.”
“Indeed, I think you must,” said the old woman, “for this place is the home of a giant who comes in the form of wind and rain, and I hear him coming now!”
Then the hut sank under the waters, and the maidens found themselves standing on the bank without even their own beads to deck themselves with. That very moment they heard the wind and the rain sweeping through the trees, and they turned and ran as fast as their feet would carry them, back to their own village, while the wind and the rain howled behind them and the giant pelted them with stones.
running in rainstorm
All the people laughed and shouted over the ill fortune of the two selfish sisters. Nkunda, where she lay curled up at her mother’s side, fingered her beads and wondered if the youngest sister’s beads from beneath the waterfall could have been any prettier than these. In the part where the giant came in, the story sent delightful shivers down all their backs, for they could every one remember storms in which the great wind had shaken the trees like an invisible giant and the rain had come pelting down like stones. Sometimes, after a storm, the path of the wind through the forest looked like the track of a huge giant who had gone walking up and down, twisting off boughs and rooting up trees merely to show what he could do. During one of these storms the temperature often falls from thirty to forty degrees in half an hour.
Nkunda had seen a silvery jackal skin and a copper-fringed robe among her mother’s treasures, but one thing in the story puzzled her. “Mother,” she said softly, “what is gold?”
The Alo Man heard her and smiled. “Have you never seen gold?” he asked.
The children shook their heads. Gold was not found in that part of the country.
Then the Alo Man explained that in thestreams of other parts of the country the people found lumps of a shining yellow metal softer and more beautiful than iron, for which the traders would pay much cloth and many brass rods. When the headman heard what they were talking about, he showed the children a little bright round bangle on his arm, and told them that that was gold. It was really, though no one there knew it, a half-sovereign lost by some trader, or perhaps given in mistake for a sixpence, which is exactly the same size. The headman had kept it, first because of its beauty, and then because a trader had told him that it was worth as much as ten pounds of rubber, or more than a hundred pounds of palm kernels, or a load of palm oil, or about thirty-five pounds of coffee. Nkunda thought that the little piece of gold was rather like a magic stone.