Bakumu at Ease: Steamer Chairs and Pipes for Three
Bakumu at Ease: Steamer Chairs and Pipes for Three
III.
January 22, 1907.
NATURALLY, in the Congo there is little need of dress. Before the white man’s influence most native men wore nothing but a breech-clout—a long strip of cloth passed between the legs and fastened as a belt around the waist—or else a piece of native cloth made from palm fiber, perhaps a yard in width and long enough to go around the body. This latter garment, technically called a cloth, is still the dress of almost all the workmen and workwomen on white men’s places, but European stuff has replaced the old palm cloth.
The women were usually much less clad than the men, but the style of dress varied from tribe to tribe. The Bangala woman wore, and still wears, a girdle at the waist, from which hung a fringe of grass or vegetable fiber reaching to the knees. The women of some Aruwimi tribes wear a simple cord, from which hangs in front a bit of grass cloth no more than three or four inches square. On occasion, the Bakuba woman wears nothing but one string of beads around her waist, from which hang in front several large brass or copper rings. The Ngombe women regularly go naked.
Where white influence has become pronounced every one wears white man’s cloth, and many have this cloth made up in form similar to those of the Europeans. After a Bantu has begun to be imbued with white man’s ideas he is unhappy until he has a jacket, trousers, and hat. In form and material these are frequently so startling as to cause surprise to the person really accustomed to white men’s clothes. Thus, a man may be dressed in loose and flowing trousers made of the most brilliant calicoes in gaudy pattern. He may have a jacket made of a strip of handkerchiefing which never was meant to be used as material for clothes, but to be cut or torn into kerchiefs.
But happiness is not complete for the Bantu in transformation until he has a white man’s umbrella. Not that he needs it for rain, because when it rains the Bantu always goes into his house and at once falls into a profound slumber which lasts until the rain is over. It is merely fashion, or for protection against the sun, a thing of which the Bantu really has no need. Two boys who were in our employ at Ndombe accompanied us afterwards as personal servants on our long journey up and down the Congo. When the time came to leave them at Leopoldville we took them to the white man’s store and asked them what they wanted as a parting gift. Their selections were eminently characteristic. My companion’s boy at once declared his wish for an umbrella, while my own, of a far livelier and more sportive disposition, wished an accordion.
It is a common complaint among the white men that the native is ungrateful. Many and many a time have we listened to such tirades. You will hear them from everybody who has had dealings with the Bantu. The missionary complains of it as bitterly as does the trader or the state official. All of them unite in declaring that gratitude does not exist in native character. This seems to us a baseless claim. The African is the shrewdest of traders. It is true that frequently he lets things go to white men for what seems to us a mere nothing. But he gets what he wants in return for his goods. He enjoys bickering. His first price is always greatly in excess of what he actually expects to receive. He will spend hours in debating the value of his wares.
No one need seriously fear for the outcome to the black man in open trade with whites. The purpose of the white man in visiting him and dealing with him is a mystery to the native mind. He can understand the value of palm oil and ivory, for palm oil and ivory he uses himself. Why rubber and copal should be so precious is beyond his understanding. He but dimly grasps the purpose of the state and of the missionary. On the whole, he lends himself to all alike, and being naturally kind, tries to please all and do what is expected of him. Still, he knows that he is being exploited by the foreigner, and it is but fair that he should exploit in return—a thing at which he is an adept. Why, then, should he be grateful for what is done for him? He naturally believes that missionaries, government officials, and traders all gain some advantage from their dealings with him; it is his duty to gain all he can in return in his dealings with them. And there is no especial ground for thanks. There is no reason for gratitude.
I presume it is true that on one occasion—perhaps it has been true on many—a native who had been carefully and lovingly cared for through a long and trying sickness, when restored wished to know what the missionary was going to give him. He had taken all the bad medicines and all the invalid’s slops without complaint, but naturally he expected some sort of compensation at the end. Yet the missionary would quote the incident as an example of ingratitude.
It is common to call black Africans dishonest. Here, again, the judgment is undeserved and arises from miscomprehension. The African knows, as well as we do, what constitutes truth, yet he lies, especially to white folk. He has as clear a knowledge of mine and thine as we, and yet he steals from his employer. The explanation lies in the same idea precisely. He thinks we are constantly getting something from him; he in turn must exploit us. The white man is a stranger. Throughout tribal life the stranger is a menace; he is a being to be plundered because he is a being who plunders.
Among themselves, lying is not commended and truth is appreciated; but to deceive a stranger or a white man is commendable. Native houses are often left for days or weeks, and it would be easy for any one to enter and rob them. Yet robbery among themselves is not common. To steal, however, from a white employer—upon whom the native looks as a being of unlimited and incomprehensible wealth—is no sin. It is unfair to stamp the native either as a liar or a thief because he lies to white men and steals from his employer.
Among the Congo natives wealth has weight. The rich man has authority and power and influence because he is rich. There is a servile, cringing, element in the Bantu character which showed itself as plainly in the old days before the white men came as it does to-day. Cringing, toadying, scheming, marked the daily life. While a man was rich he had respect and friends and power. If reverses came he lost them all. None was so poor to do him reverence. Arrogance was the chief element of the chieftain’s stock in trade; servility the chief mark of the slave and poor man. White men who have to do with natives are forced to act decisively. They must inspire fear and respect; kindness is weakness. To permit discourtesy or insolence invites contempt. Perfect justice, firmness, and consistency will give the white men who must deal with natives a respected position which vacillation or mistaken friendliness will never gain.
Emotional to a high degree, the native often passes for affectionate. Affection of a certain kind he no doubt has; many examples come to the mind of personal servants who have almost shown devotion to white masters. On the whole, true affection as we know it, unvarying, consistent, which stands the test of varying circumstances, occurs but seldom. Extremely beautiful and touching, however, is the love which every Bantu has for his mother—a love undoubtedly encouraged and strengthened by the polygamous life. A boy’s relation to his father is nothing; his relation to his mother is the closest tie in human life. He is of her blood. Her relatives are his. The nearest male connection which he has is her brother. Toward him the boy shows particular respect, but toward his mother true love. She is far nearer and dearer to him than wife or slaves. Through his boyhood she is his refuge in every kind of trouble; in young manhood she is his adviser and confidant; in manhood he still goes to her in every trouble and with every question. There is but one person in his whole lifetime whom he trusts. She is ever sure to be his friend; she never betrays his interest.
All early white visitors to dark African populations were profoundly impressed with the respect shown to the aged. This was genuine. The old man or woman was the repository of wisdom. The experiences through which they had passed made them wise counselors. Tribal affairs were decided by the old. This trait of native character, constantly mentioned by all the early writers, tends to disappear in all those districts where the white man’s influence has spread. Such is ever the case. And it is natural.
The white man’s wisdom is a different thing from that of the native. Contact with the white man causes contempt and despisal of the wisdom of the ancients. It is the children who always gain this new wisdom from the whites, and with their eating of the tree of knowledge there comes a loss of all respect for older people. Missionaries in vain will preach the fifth commandment to the children in their schools. The reading, writing, and arithmetic which they learn from books, the new ways and manners and points of view which they gain from contact with their teachers, render all such teaching mere platitudes without vital force. The children educated by white men, must always lose respect and admiration for their parents and the elders of their tribes.
Mentally, the native of the Congo is quick and bright. We have already spoken of his ability in languages and his facility in oratory. He delights in saws and proverbs—condensed wisdom. Hundreds and thousands of such proverbs, often showing great keenness and shrewdness, deep observation and insight, might be quoted. No people with a mass of proverbial philosophy, such as the Bantu and the true negroes have, could be considered stupid. In learning new ways and customs and in imitation of others they are extremely quick and apt. Every white settlement in the Congo has introduced new ways of living, and the black boys who can cook well, do fair tailoring, good laundry work, and personal service of other kinds are surprisingly numerous. Under direction they frequently develop great excellence in work.
In a few years after the establishment of the Free State, the caravan service for transporting freight of every kind from the head of navigation at Matadi to Leopoldville, above the rapids, was admirably developed. The men carried their burdens willingly and uncomplainingly; it was extremely rare that anything was lost or stolen. So, too, they have rapidly adopted military life, and the native soldiers under Belgian training present as great precision, promptness, and grace in executing their maneuvers as many white troops would do.
With both the true negroes and the Bantu, belief in witchcraft was prevalent. Sickness, disease, and death were not natural events. That a man should die in battle or from wounds was understood, but that sickness should cause death was not grasped by the native mind. Sickness and death from sickness were regularly attributed to the evil practices of witches. If a man suffered pains in the head or body, it was because some enemy was introducing a mysterious and harmful object into his system. It was necessary, therefore, to adopt some method of undoing the harm. There were men and women whose business it was to detect the author of witchcraft and to recommend means for saving the victim from his operations. Nothing more serious could happen to a man than to be accused of witchcraft. No matter how rich he was; how high his station; how many or how strong his friends—the accusation of witchcraft was dangerous.
A person accused of witchcraft was usually subjected to an ordeal of poison. It was generally the drinking of a poisoned brew produced by steeping leaves, or barks, or roots in water. If the accused vomited the drink and suffered no serious results, his innocence was demonstrated. If, however, the draft proved fatal, his guilt was clear. It is true that sometimes the witch doctor played false, and, in administering the ordeal, might be influenced by bribes.
This whole matter of witchcraft and the ordeal has been magnified by many writers. It is true that there was constant danger for a progressive man, a rich man, or a great chief. Such men would naturally arouse jealousy and envy, and no doubt accusations were frequently made against them without cause. For my own part, however, I have long believed that the ordeal for witchcraft was not an unmixed evil, and I was more than pleased at hearing a missionary, who has been many years in the Congo, state that, after all, while it was subject to occasional abuse, it tended toward wholesome control of conditions in a community.
It is much the custom for white men to speak of Congo natives as big children. Whenever some custom is particularly unlike our own, they will shrug their shoulders and say: “You see, they are only children.” I believe as much in the theory of recapitulation as any one. I believe that the life history of the individual repeats the life history of the race.
I believe that one may truly say that children among ourselves represent the stage of savagery; that youth is barbarous; that adult age is civilization. It is true that children among ourselves present many interesting survivals of the savage attitude. In a certain sense savages are children. I think, however, from the points in native character which I here have touched, that my readers will agree with me that the adult native of the Congo is no child. He is a man, but a man different from ourselves. He represents the end of a development, not the beginning.
IV.
January 23, 1907.
HAVING some of the more marked characteristics of the Bantu in mind, let us consider the conditions and circumstances of the white men in the Congo. There are, of course, but three classes—state officials, traders, and missionaries. Practically, the state officials and the traders are in the same condition; the missionary is so differently circumstanced that he must be considered independently.
Few persons can imagine the trying climate and the serious diseases of the Congo region. It is claimed that Nigeria is worse. It may be, but, if so, I should wish to keep away from Nigeria. Fever, of course, abounds in all the Lower Congo districts. If one escapes it for a time it is so much the worse for him when finally he succumbs to the infliction. It is only malaria, but it is malaria of the most insidious and weakening sort. A man is up and working in the early morning; at noonday he takes to his bed with fever; at night or next morning he may again be at his daily work.
It seems a trifling thing—a disease which often lasts less than a day. But the man is left weak and nerveless. The next attack continues the weakening process. Finally, with blood impoverished and strength exhausted, he dies. Of course, the remedy is quinine. Careful people going into the Congo begin to take their daily dose of this specific at the beginning of their journey, so that they may be fortified against attack before arrival. For the most part the English missionaries take two, three, five, or six grains daily throughout the period of their stay. Some foreigners prefer ten grain doses on the 1st, 11th, and 21st of every month. Few really refuse to take it, and such usually find an early grave.
The disadvantage of this constant dosing with quinine is the danger of the dreaded hæmaturic fever. This dread disease rarely attacks a person until he has been a year in the Congo. It is commonly attributed to the system being loaded up with quinine. The instant that its symptoms develop, the order to cease taking quinine is promptly issued. Among the European population of the Congo, hæmaturic fever is regularly expected to have a fatal issue. It is more than probable that the use of wines, beers, and liquors predisposes the system to a fatal result. Plenty of missionaries die of hæmaturic fever also, but the appearance of the disease among them by no means produces the panic which it does among continentals. Perhaps one in five or six cases dies, two of the remainder flee to Europe, the other three recover. But the disease is no trifling matter, and must be seriously taken.
Few persons realize the frightful effect of the tropical sun in Central Africa. When Jameson came down the river from the ill-fated Yambuya camp, natives on the shore sent a flight of arrows against his paddlers, not knowing that a white man was present with them in the canoe. To show them that such was the case and prevent further attack Jameson stood in his canoe and waved his hat at the assailants. It is unlikely that he had it from his head more than a minute or two, but in that time he was stricken with the fever which a few days later caused his death.
Glave, after spending six years in Africa at the state post of Lukolela, returned in safety to his native land. After some years he revisited the scene of his earlier labors, entering the continent on the east coast and passing in safety to Matadi. While waiting for a steamer he was making a short journey on the river in a canoe. His head was exposed for a mere instant to the sun, and Glave was shortly a dead man.
One who has been on three different occasions in the Congo once remarked to me that he could see no reason for the strange and frightful modes of suicide adopted by Europeans who wished to end their lives. All that would be necessary is to seat oneself upon a chair or stool in the open sunshine for a brief period. Yet the Bantu goes out every day with no hat upon his head, and with no apparent bad results. And when he has the fever one of his quickest means of restoration is to seat himself in the open sunshine. Of course, the Bantu does not have the fever as frequently or as severely as the white man.
The Bantu suffers much, however, from sleeping-sickness. For a long time it was believed that this strange disease was peculiar to the dark populations of Africa. The disease formerly was local, and while frightful in its ravages, was not a serious matter. To-day, however, it is extending up and down the whole length of the main river and throughout the area drained by many of its main tributaries.
In its approach it is slow and insidious. The saddest cases are those where the victim attacked was notably intelligent and quick. The subject becomes at first a little moody, and from time to time has outbursts of petulance and anger out of proportion to the exciting cause. These outbursts become more and more common, and assume the character of true mania, during which the person may attack those around him, even though they are his best and dearest friends. It is frequently necessary to tie him, in order to prevent injury to others. Presently the person is affected with stupor, shows a tendency to sleep, even at his work; this increases until at last he is practically sleeping, or in a comatose condition, all the time. In this latter stage of the disease he loses flesh with great rapidity, and presently is naught but skin and bones. At last death takes him, after he has been useless to himself and others for a long time.
The sleeping-sickness is not confined to the Congo Free State, and at the present time its ravages are felt severely in the British district of Uganda. The disease has been investigated by learned commissions, but no satisfactory treatment, at least for an advanced stage of the trouble, has been yet discovered.
There is a tendency among physicians to connect the transmission of the sleeping-sickness with, the tsetse fly. It is, “of course,” a germ disease—such being at the present all the fashion. A medical friend in New York tells me that the Japanese have made recent important investigations of the sickness, and that their line of treatment gives greater promise of success than any other. Latterly the disease has attacked white people, and a number of missionaries have died from it or been furloughed home for treatment.
Whole districts of Bantu have been depopulated. We were shown the site of a Catholic mission until lately highly prosperous; the place has been deserted, all the natives under the influence of the mission having died of the sleeping-sickness.
Malaria, hæmaturia, sun fevers, and sleeping-sickness are the most fearful scourges which the white settler in the Congo faces.
We could, of course, extend the list of strange and dreadful diseases, but have said enough to show that every white man who goes into the Congo country does so at a serious risk. No one is quite immune, and the number who even seem to be so is small. No one is ever quite well, and every one is chronically in a state of physical disorganization.
The climate and the actual diseases are bad enough. They perhaps would lose a portion of their terror if the food supply were adequate, wholesome, and nutritious. Even the missionaries use little native food. The state officer and trader use practically none. The chopbox is an institution of the country. Its simplest expression is found at the trading-post of some company where but a single agent is in residence. Once in three months the steamer of his company brings him his chopbox outfit. There are usually two long wooden boxes, one of which contains a great variety of tinned meats, fish, vegetables, and fruit. I never had the least idea until my African experience how many things were put in tins. The second box contains flour, oil, vinegar, salt, and spices. The quantity is held to be sufficient for the three months. In addition to the actual food supply, there is a quota of wine in demijohns and of gin in square bottles.
No one who has not had the experience can imagine the frightful satiety which comes upon one who has fed for weeks from chopboxes.
It is true that “the boy” does his best to serve a palatable dinner. It is true that sometimes a piece of elephant or hippopotamus, a guinea fowl or grouse, some buffalo or antelope, or fresh fish or fowls are brought in by the natives as gifts or trade. But even with this help the poor company agent has the same food, meal after meal, day after day. Frequently the tinned stuff is old and really unfit for eating; but the quota is none too large for his three months’ period. Sometimes the flour or macaroni is moldy, having been soaked through with water in the hold of a leaky steamer. The food is not attractive nor substantial. The state officer, the company agent, in Central Africa, is underfed and badly nourished.
Not only does the white man in the Congo suffer physical disorganization; he also suffers mental disintegration. The memory of white men in the Congo weakens. This is a matter of universal observation, and my attention has been called to it repeatedly. A disinclination to any kind of intellectual activity takes possession of one, and only by the exercise of strong will-power can he accomplish his daily tasks and plan for the work of the future. There is a total lack of stimulus.
When to the weakening effects of fever and other illness, and to the depression caused by innutritious food, we add the influence of constant dread of coming sickness and of native outbreaks, it is no wonder that the white man of the Congo is a nervous and mental wreck. At home, accustomed to wines and spirits at his meals, he finds it difficult to discontinue their use. Beer ought to be completely avoided in the Congo; there is no question of its injurious effect upon the liver. Wine may be taken in the evening, and a very little spirits in the night after dinner, without noticeable bad results. But many of these lonely men pay no attention to wise rules of drinking, and through constant dissipation lay themselves open to disease and death. Nor are they always satisfied with intoxicating drinks. The use of opium in different forms is common. Many a time have company agents or state officials come to me and asked for some remedy from my medicine chest, for sudden and distressing pains. In every case it has been a preparation of opium which they have taken.
V.
January 24, 1907.
WITH physical and mental disorganization there must, of course, be moral disintegration. Even the missionaries in an enlightened country like Japan constantly complain of the depressing influences around them.
Such a complaint, to my mind, is preposterous when applied to Japan, but it is easy to understand with reference to Central Africa. If there is but one agent at the station, he rarely sees another white man. Day after day, and all day long, his constant contact is with the black folk. There is nothing to appeal to his better nature. He must pit himself against the scheming and servile native. He must look out for the interests of the company. He must scheme, browbeat, threaten. Chances for immorality abound.
Constant sight of cruelty begets cruelty. Alone in a population so unlike himself, his only safety rests in his commanding at once fear, respect, obedience. He frequently possesses governmental power. The only white man in a large area of country, he must insist upon the fulfillment of the requirements which are passed down to him from his superiors. There are no white men living who could pass unscathed through such a trial.
The wonder is not that from time to time company agents and governmental officials are encountered who are monsters of cruelty. The wonder is, with the constant sapping of the physical, the mental, and the moral nature, that any decent men are left to treat with natives.
Of course, there are almost no white women in the Congo Free State outside the missions. The director-general at Leopoldville, the railroad station agent at the same point, a commandant at Coquilhatville, and two of the officers at Stanleyville have their wives with them. It is possible that there are some of whom I am ignorant, but it is doubtful if there are a dozen white women of respectability in all the Congo—except, of course, the ladies in the missions. Almost without exception, the other state officials and traders have black women.
These black women of the white man are to be seen wherever the white man himself is seen. A man usually selects his black companion shortly after reaching the Congo and supports her in his own house, where he treats her on the whole with kindness. He considers her an inferior being, but treats her like a doll or toy. She is dressed according to her own fancy and frequently brilliantly and more or less expensively. She rarely forces attention upon herself, but where he goes she goes. If he travels on the steamer, she is there; if he makes a trip through the rubber district, stopping night after night in native towns, she is ever one of the caravan. She is true to him and on the whole, though there has been no marriage, he is true to her.
Frequently, a strong affection appears to spring up between the couple, and the hybrid children resulting from the relation are almost always loved and petted by their white father. Not infrequently, the little ones are taken home to Belgium for education, and are generally received with kindness by their father’s parents.
On the steamer which brought us back from Congo were two Belgians, one with a little girl, the other with a boy slightly older. The children were well dressed, well behaved, pretty and attractive. And it was interesting to see the affectionate greeting that was given them by their grandparents on their landing at the dock in Antwerp.
At one post, where we were entertained for several days, the lieutenant had his two little daughters, 3 and 5 years respectively, at the table with him at all meal times, together with the other two white men of the station and his two guests. The little ones were extremely pretty and gentle. At the table it is their custom to sing between the courses. Their father almost worships them. While the children are thus constantly petted in public and appear on all sorts of occasions, the black woman rarely if ever sits with her white man at the table or enters the room where he is laboring or receiving guests.
We have described the condition of a single agent at a station. At many stations there is more than one. At first sight, it would seem as if the lot of the agent who with one or two others is at a station would be far happier than that of the lonely man whom we have pictured.
There are, however, two results of the environment to which we have as yet not alluded. On my return to Brussels, after my visit to the Congo, a state official who has never been in Africa asked me with interest and some evidence of concern whether in my judgment it was true that those in Africa were always a little crazy. I told him that I believed such to be the case, and quoted to him a statement made by an old Afrikander: “We are all a little crazy here; it is the sun. You must not mind it.” Men on the slightest provocation will fly into the most dreadful fits of anger. A little cause may bring about catastrophe.
The second curious result suggested is the fact that everything appears much larger, more important, and more serious than it really is. A slight, neglect, or insult of the most trifling character becomes an enormous injury. With this unsettled intellectual condition and this constant tendency to magnify and enlarge an injury, we almost always find where two men or more are associated in Congo stations frightful hostilities and enmity. One would think that the common feeling of loneliness would unite men and cement friendships. On the other hand, every subordinate is plotting against his superior. Cabals are formed; injuries planned and developed.
Of course, we understand that criticism, plotting, undermining occur wherever human beings live. But the thing develops to an extreme among the white men of the Congo. When a man has an outside visitor ready to listen to his complaints he will spend hours in pouring out his woes. The most innocent actions and words on the part of his fellows will be warped and misconstrued; imaginary insults and neglects will be magnified, brooded over, and reiterated.
It would be a mistake to think that the men who go to the Congo are bad. Missionaries assert that the quality of those who come to-day is worse than formerly, which may be true. When the Congo enterprise was first launched, sons of good families, lured by the chance of adventure or pining for novelty, enlisted in the service of the state. Probably the number of such men going to the Congo is lessening.
To-day, when all the terrors of the Congo are well known, when the hardships of that kind of life have been repeated in the hearing of every one, rich men’s sons find little that is attractive in the Congo proposition. But I was constantly surprised at the relatively high grade of people in low positions in the Congo state. Most of them are men of fair intelligence; some, of education. Not only Belgians, but Scandinavians, Hollanders, Swiss, and Italians, go to the Congo in numbers. They are not by nature brutal or bad; doubtless they were poor, and it was poverty that led them to enter the Congo service. The term for which they regularly enter is three years. No man from any country, could stand three years of such surrounding influence without showing the effect.
In passing, we may call attention to certain curious facts of observation in connection with the strangers who come to Congo. We might suppose that the Scandinavians would particularly suffer physically in going from their northern latitudes into the tropics. On the contrary, it is precisely the Scandinavians who seem most readily to adapt themselves to their surroundings. Almost all the captains of steamers on the Congo River are Norwegians or Swedes.
A record astonishing and presumably unparalleled is presented by the Finns. On one occasion, I was sitting in a mess-room where it proved that each member of the company spoke a different language—French, Flemish, Swedish, Finnish, Spanish, Dutch, German, and English were all represented. On my expressing interest in there being a Finn present, the gentleman of that nationality stated that he and fifty-four of his companions came to the Congo State six years ago; that they were now ending their second term, and that fifty-one out of the original number were still living. I presume the statement was true, and, if so, it is as I have stated, unparalleled. Another member of the company told me later that the case was far more interesting and striking than I realized, as three out of the four who died were drowned, not meeting their death from disease.
There is a tendency for the population of a nationality to flock into the same line of work in the Congo State. Thus, a large proportion of the Finns in question were engineers upon the steamers. The Italians are largely doctors, and one meets with Italian physicians in every quarter of the country.
I have already stated that those who go to the Congo insist that in Nigeria the climatic conditions are still worse for health. If they are no worse, but just as bad, we should find the same disintegration in physical, mental, and moral ways. It is easy to criticise the lonely white man in Central Africa; to stamp him as brutal, cruel, and wicked. But the Englishman occupying a similar position in Nigeria, or even in Uganda, must present the same dreadful results of his surroundings. I suspect that our American young men, isolated in remote parts of the Philippines, show the same kind of decay. Any nation that insists upon bearing the black man’s burden must pay the price.
Belgium is the most densely populated land in Europe. It, if any European country, needs room for expansion. Leopold II. claims that his interest in the Congo from the first has been due to a desire to provide an opportunity for Belgian overflow. I am loath to attribute to that monarch so much sagacity. It is, however, true that as a colony of Belgium, the Congo Free State will ever receive a large number of young men who hope, by serving a term in Congo, to better their condition. They realize the dangers and deprivations, but they expect at the end of their three years to come home with a neat sum of money in their possession; with this they think to establish themselves in business for life. Unfortunately, these bright hopes are rarely realized. They start for home in Europe with the neat little sum of money. For three years, however, they have had no social pleasure, have spent no money.
Arrived in the home land, old friends must be entertained. The theater, the saloon, the dance-hall present attractions. Before he knows it, the man has spent his little hoard in foolish pleasures, and has naught to show for his three years of labor. He hates to return to Congo, but the fact that he has been in Congo stands in the way of his securing steady and normal employment in Belgium. At last, without money and without work, after a bitter struggle, he decides that there is nothing left but another term in Congo. If he was a state employé, he decides that he will better himself by entering into the service of a company; or, if he were in the employ of a company, he thinks another company or the state will better appreciate and pay for his services. It is a fatal assumption. The moment that he presents himself before his would-be employers and speaks proudly of his experience in Congo as a reason for his hiring, suspicion is at once aroused that he must have left his earlier employment under a cloud. He is told to call again, and inquiries are set on foot with his old employer, who, irritated at his employé’s desertion, gives as unfavorable report as the case will warrant. On returning at the appointed date, the applicant is either told that his services are not wanted, or is offered wages below what he before received. Angered at this lack of appreciation, he goes back to his old employer and offers his services at the old price. This is refused. And the discouraged seeker for work is compelled frequently to accept, in spite of an experience which would make him more valuable, lower wages than he was accustomed to.
VI.
January 25, 1907.
UNDOUBTEDLY the finest houses in the Congo are those at missions. The grade of living in these mission stations is also of the best. This has led to strange criticism by many travelers. One of the latest to visit the Congo State speaks with surprise, and apparently disapproval, of the English missionaries “living like lords.”
Yet it is certain that the missionaries, if any one, should live well. The state official and the company’s agent go to the Congo with the expectation of staying but a single term. The English missionary goes there with the purpose, more or less definitely fixed, of spending the remainder of his life in his field of labor. No matter how well he is housed or how good his food, he must meet with plenty of inconvenience and privation. If he is to accomplish anything for those who send him, he should be as comfortable as the circumstances will allow. More than that, the English missionary regularly takes with him his wife, and any white woman is entitled to the best that can be had; it is a poor return for what she must necessarily undergo.
There was, of course, mission work in the kingdom of Congo more than 400 years ago. It had an interesting history, it had its periods of brilliant promise, and apparent great achievement. The work was spent, its effect had almost disappeared, when recent explorations reintroduced the Congo to the world. Stanley’s expedition aroused the interest of the whole world.
The missionaries were prompt to see the importance of the new field open for their labors. In 1878 three important events in mission history took place. In February of that year Henry Craven of the Livingstone Inland Mission reached Banana; in the same month, the Catholic church decreed the establishment of the Catholic mission of Central Africa, with what is practically the Congo State as its field of operations. In the same year Bentley, Comber, Crudington, and Hartland, representatives of the Baptist Missionary Society, made a settlement at San Salvador, a little south of the Congo River, which became the center from which extended the most widely developed and influential mission work of all the country.
Since that time the representatives of many other missions have undertaken work within the Congo State—which, of course, in 1878 had not yet been established. Some of these flourished for but a brief time; others have continued. At present there are within the Congo limits missionaries of at least eight different Protestant societies—representing England, America, and Sweden—and Catholic missionaries representing five different organizations.
By far the greatest number of the Protestant missionaries are English, even though they may in some cases be representatives of American boards. They naturally carry with them into their stations the English mode of life, traditions, atmosphere. Though the currency of the Congo Free State is reckoned in francs and centimes, they talk all business and quote all prices in shillings and pence; in making out an account everything is calculated in English money, and it is with a certain air of gentle remonstrance that they will convert the total, at the request of the debtor, into Belgian or Congo currency. Their importations all are English; they take their afternoon tea; they look with mild but sure superiority upon all differing methods around them. Few of them really talk French, the official language of the country; still fewer write it with any ease or correctness.
It would seem as if one of the first requirements of a society sending missionaries into a country where the official language is French and where the vast majority of the officials, with whom the missionary must deal and come into relation, know no English, would be that every candidate for mission work should be a competent French scholar. Otherwise there is danger of constant misunderstanding and difficulty between the mission and the government. No such requirement seems to be made.
Unfortunately, there is a strained relation amounting at times to bitterness between the state officials and the English-speaking missionaries. This feeling is general, and there are curiously many specific exceptions. Thus, there are certain missionaries who, by their immediate neighbors among officials, are highly spoken of; for example, the manner, the ingenuity in devising and planning work, the promptness and energy, of Mr. Joseph Clark at Ikoko, are constant themes of admiring conversation on the part of officers at the Irebu camp, and Mrs. Clark’s dress, linguistic ability, and cookery are quoted as models to be attained if possible.
At first I thought these officials were poking fun, but soon became convinced that they were speaking in serious earnest, and that it was not done for effect upon myself was evident from the minute details into which the praisers entered. I found an almost precisely similar condition of things at Lisala camp, near the mission of Upoto, where Mr. Forfeitt’s wisdom and knowledge of the natives and Mrs. Forfeitt’s grace and charm were frequently referred to. At Stanleyville, also, one heard constant praises of Mr. Millman’s scholarship and Mr. Smith’s skill in photography.
In all three of these stations, the officials would talk dreadfully of British missionaries in general, but for the local missionary they seemed to feel an actual regard. To a less degree, and tinged, of course, with English condescension, there was frequently expressed a feeling of reciprocal regard from the missionary’s side. While the representative of the state on the whole was a frightful creature, merely to be condemned, there were usually some local officers, known personally to the missionary, who presented streaks of excellence.
While it is true that a well-built house, and as good meals as can be prepared within the Congo, operate to keep the missionary in better health of mind and body and morals, yet even he feels the disintegration due to the environment. He lives a fairly normal life. The presence of a wife and woman of culture and refinement in the household is a great blessing. Children, of course, are sent home for education and to escape disease. The result is there are no little ones in the mission homes, but, apart from this serious lack, the influence is helpful and healthful.
The missionaries, probably all of them, are abstainers. There is no question that their refraining from wines and liquors is a physical and mental advantage. In the nature of the case, they are constantly subjected to moral restraints, which are lacking to the state official and the company agent. For all these reasons the missionary stands the country much better than any other group of white men.
A white missionary is rarely if ever the sole representative at a station. With a definite continued work, in its nature inspiring, with congenial companions, and the encouragement of others working in the same cause, his lot is often a happy one. But even the missionary has fever, dies of hæmaturia, or must hasten back to England with incipient sleeping-sickness; he, too, becomes anæmic and nerveless; he becomes irritable and impatient; the slightest provocation upsets him, and he magnifies every little grievance, as do his white neighbors in other lines of work.
On the whole, the missionary is the only white man in the country who seriously learns the language of the natives among whom he works. He devotes himself with eagerness to its acquisition. A newcomer in the country, his first desire is to gain sufficient knowledge of the language to teach and preach to the people in their own tongue. Many of these missionaries have written extended grammars and dictionaries of native languages, and the number of translations of portions of the Bible and of religious teachings into these languages is large.
It is true that the mere stranger is sometimes doubtful as to the reality and thoroughness of the missionary’s knowledge of his people’s language. He hears the missionary give a distinct order to the native, and, behold, the boy does the precise opposite. This has happened too often for one to be mistaken. The missionary shrugs his shoulders and says in explanation that the blacks are stupid or cuffs the boy for inattention. The fact probably is that the missionary gave a different order from what he thought. The black is really shrewd and quick to grasp the idea which the white man is trying to convey to him.
Whether it is true that the white man often gains sufficient control of the language to make himself completely understood by the natives or not, it is absolutely certain that much of the reading of translations into his own language by the native is pure fiction. At one mission which we visited, it was the custom after breakfast for the houseboys of the mission to come in to family prayers. Each was supplied with a translation to be read in the morning’s exercise. The boys, seated on the floor, read brief passages in turn. They might, through mistake, skip a whole line or completely mispronounce a word, indicating a total lack of understanding of the passage read, and yet it was done with the same air of satisfaction that would accompany a task well done. My own boy, Manoeli, used to cover whole sheets of paper with meaningless scrawls in pencil, and with an air of wisdom, which he unquestionably thought deceived me, he would at my request proceed to read line after line, and even page after page, of stuff that had no meaning. And even if I stopped him and turned him back to some earlier point, he would begin and go on as if it really meant something. I was constantly reminded by these boys at prayers of Manoeli’s pretended reading of fake writing.
On the Kasai River steamer many of the Baluba boys and girls had books from the Luebo mission. These were mostly elementary reading books. Nothing pleased them better, especially if any one seemed to be paying attention to what they were doing, than for a group of them to gather about one who played the teacher. With an open book before him and a cluster of six or eight about him, looking carefully at the syllables to which he pointed, they would call out in unison the sounds represented. It was done with gusto, with rhythm, almost with dancing. It seemed to show remarkable quickness in recognizing the printed syllables.
After I had seen the thing three or four times I myself took the book in hand and centering the attention of the group upon one syllable to which I pointed, I would start them by pronouncing a syllable several lines below; once started, though distinctly looking at the thing to which I pointed, they would call out the complete list, one after another, in proper order, but never the ones, of course, to which my finger pointed and which they pretended to be reading. In other words, these Baluba boys and girls knew their primer by heart and repeated it like parrots, with no reference to the actual text. I must confess that I have little confidence in the ability of most Congo mission boys and girls to read understandingly the simplest of the books with which they deal.
There are different types of Protestant missions. At Leopoldville there would probably be no mission but for the fact that it is the terminus of the railroad and the place from which the river steamers start. The natives directly reached by its work live for the most part on the mission property, in quarters much like those upon the old plantations of the South. They receive their rations weekly and are paid a monthly wage. Early in the morning the rising bell is sounded and morning prayers take place. Work begins and all are kept busily employed upon the grounds and buildings. Noon hours of rest are given, and at evening work for the day stops. There are various religious services and classes meeting after supper on different evenings of the week. The presence of great numbers of workmen and soldiers of the state at Leopoldville introduces conditions not helpful to mission labor. It is necessary, however, to have a force at hand able to help missionaries going up or coming down the river, transporting their baggage and freight, and doing other service constantly called for at a point of receipt and shipping like Leopoldville.
The mission’s work is not confined, however, to the town, and teachers are sent to neighboring villages to teach and conduct classes.