The Rabbit, the Lion, and the Wild Pig
There was once a lion that knew all about medicine. He did a good trade with people who came to buy it. One day some people from a far country came and begged him to come with them to heal their sick. So the lion agreed, and set about to get a servant to carry his bundle on the journey. Finding a wild pig near, he called him, saying, “Come, friend Pig, will you go on that journey?” and the pig agreed. So the lion gave him the load to carry.
When they were on the way the lion said to the pig, “Look there, Master Pig, that is the medicine for porridge. If they make porridge for us at the end of our journey you must run and get some of these leaves.” The pig said, “All right,” and they went on their journey.
While they were passing another bush the lion said again, “Look there, Master Pig, that is the medicine for rice. If they make rice you must run and get some of these leaves.” The pig again said, “All right,” and they continued their journey.
When they reached the village of the sick people the lion and pig were well received. In the evening porridge was cooked for them, and the lion said to the pig, “Master Pig, go and get yon leaves.” So Master Pig ran off to get the leaves. When he came back with them he found that the lion had finished all the porridge. So that night Master Pig went to bed hungry. Next evening the people cooked rice, and the lion said to the pig, “Master Pig, go and get yon leaves;” and Master Pig set off in a hurry to bring the leaves. But when he got back, all puffing and blowing, he found that the lion had just finished the rice, and he had to go hungry to bed.
Next day they returned home, and the poor pig arrived at his village in a famished condition, to the great sorrow of his wife and children.
Not long afterwards other people came requesting the services of Dr Lion to heal their sick, and he agreed to go.
Looking around for a carrier he spied the rabbit, and said, “Come, friend Rabbit, will you go on that journey?” and the rabbit agreed. So the lion gave him his load to carry.
When they were on the way the lion said to the rabbit, “Master Rabbit, do you see that bush? That is the medicine for porridge. If they make porridge for us at the village you must run and get these leaves.” “All right,” said the rabbit, and they continued their journey. But they had not gone far when the rabbit stopped, and said, “Where is my knife; I must have left it where we rested. Let me run back to get it.” “All right,” said the lion, “don’t be long.” So the rabbit ran back, pulled some leaves from the medicine bush, and hid them in the load. When he reached the lion they resumed their journey. Soon the lion stopped again at another bush, and said, “Master Rabbit, do you see that bush? That is medicine for rice. If they cook rice for us at the village you must run and get these leaves.” The rabbit said, “All right,” and they went on their way.
But in a short time the rabbit stopped, and said, “Where is my knife? I must have left it where we rested. Let me run back for it.” The lion was very angry this time, and said, “What kind of a servant are you, always losing your knife? Don’t be long.” So the rabbit ran back not to find his knife but to pull the medicine leaves for rice, which he hid in his bundle. When he made up on the lion again they continued their journey and soon arrived at the village.
In the evening porridge was cooked for the visitors, and the lion said to the rabbit, “Master Rabbit, go and get yon leaves.” So the rabbit untied his bundle and produced the leaves. The lion was so angry at seeing the leaves thus produced that he could not eat a bite, and the rabbit had all the porridge to himself. Next evening rice was cooked for them, and the lion said to the rabbit, “Master Rabbit, go for yon leaves.” But the rabbit again just opened his load and produced the leaves, and the lion was so sick and angry that he could not touch the rice, which the rabbit ate all to himself.
Next day they started on their homeward journey, and the first night slept in the same house, the lion in a bed, the rabbit on a piece of bark. During the night the rabbit said out aloud, “He who sleeps on bark will be fresh for his journey in the morning, but he who sleeps in a bed will walk heavily and with pain.” The lion on hearing this got out of bed, saying, “You little one, get off that bark, I myself will sleep there.” So they changed sleeping places. In the middle of the night the rabbit got up and lit a fire while the lion slept. The heat of the fire soon caused the bark to shrivel up and tightly enclose the sleeping giant. Then the rabbit ran off home and left him.
In the morning great roars were heard coming from the house and the people, wondering what had befallen Dr Lion, rushed in and found him struggling to free himself. With their axes they soon had him out, and he went home a hungry and sorrowful beast. When his wife and children saw him looking so thin, they set up a great crying.
And so people who believe that they are very clever, will soon find others more clever than they. The lion thought himself very cunning when he deceived the poor pig, but he found the rabbit too much for him.
CHAPTER XI
FOOD AND ORNAMENTS
The principal dish of the African is a kind of maize porridge made rather thick, so as to hold together in lumps. It is for flour to make this porridge that the women are continually pounding at the mortars. The porridge is always eaten with something tasty to send it down, and is never eaten without this relish. Now this relish may be simply juicy leaves got in the bush and boiled as we boil cabbage, or it may be meat of some kind no matter what, or it may be fish no matter how high, but it is oftenest beans—porridge and beans being the everyday food. African children have but two regular meals in the day and the porridge one is the afternoon meal. The forenoon one may be made of sweet potatoes, or green maize or pumpkins, or cucumbers—anything that does not require much cooking on the part of the mothers. But from early morning onwards the children always have an eye for anything that will help to appease their hunger.
Thus the boys go off early with their bows and arrows to shoot birds, or they may go digging for field mice, or setting traps for any small kind of animal that may be foolish enough to enter them. These little creatures are skinned and roasted, spitted on bamboos, and kept ready for porridge time. At certain seasons of the year a kind of caterpillar is gathered to be roasted to make relish. I have seen children with their hands full of yellow-green crawling things as proud as if they had been a handful of sweets. Then when the sky is dark with locusts the children are glad. Knowing the locusts cannot fly till the sun has warmed them, the boys and girls go out early in the morning and gather baskets full of them. The legs and wings are torn off and the bodies roasted. Then again at the time when the winged white ants are issuing forth from underground to fly off and make another home, the cunning children place a pot over the hole and catch hundreds. These also they roast and consider delicious. Their sweets are very few—wild honey and sugar-cane. They do like sugar-cane, and tear it and munch it with their strong white teeth. It is very sweet and not unpleasant to chew. But a white man must get it cut into little bits for him before he can enjoy it. He cannot eat it as the black people do.
Some of the tribes eat frogs and snakes and land-crabs and snails, but many of them do not. Those who do not eat such things look down upon those who do, and consider them savages and altogether to be despised. Then again in every tribe there are certain superstitious customs as regards food. A mother will warn her child, saying, “My child, you must never eat rabbit. If you eat rabbit your body will be covered with sores.” So this child will refrain from rabbit, and so on with other kinds of meat, each child has something or other that is forbidden to him.
I remember once, when some boys of mine had gone rabbit-hunting, asking a very small boy who had been left behind if he was looking forward to the feast that was to come when the other boys returned, and how he would enjoy rabbit. “I don’t eat rabbit,” he replied, in a disconsolate voice. I asked him why. “Does not everyone, even the white man, eat rabbit!” “Yes,” he replied, “but my mother forbade me to eat rabbit, saying if I did, I would be covered with itch.” I advised him to try but he was afraid. Later on in the day, towards sunset, after the boys had returned from the woods. I saw the little disconsolate one all smiles. He was holding in his hand two miserable field mice, and was as happy as a king. The other boys had remembered he did not eat rabbit, and had put off half an hour to capture some mice for him that he might be able to join in the feast.
Besides the food from the gardens there are many bush fruits that the African children eat. So, as far as food is concerned, the black boys and girls are very well off. They have none of the pleasant things you may buy with your pennies. But then they know nothing of your nice things, and so they do not feel the want of them. Give the African child bananas and sugar-cane and ground nuts, what you call monkey nuts, I think, and he is as happy as you with your toffy and chocolate and other sweets.
When a black boy or girl gets up in the morning, he or she has just a small wash. The real wash comes later on in the day when it is warmer. But they are very particular over their teeth and take very good care of them. In keeping them clean they use toothbrushes which they make out of little pieces of the wood of a certain tree about the length of a lead pencil but rather shorter and stouter. One end is cut and cut into again and again and teased out till it makes a very good toothbrush, and with it the black boy keeps his teeth in good condition. Of course it must be easy for him, because he can open his mouth so very wide.
At the real washing he goes down to a quiet pool and has good fun in the water with his companions. I have often come across little groups of them, and, of course, when a white man comes along the children squat down doubled up to try to hide their nakedness, making themselves just like a group of brown giant frogs. Their feet they clean with broken pieces of rock, and, would you believe it, the soles of their feet, and the palms of their hands are white. It is strange, but so it is. Their feet, too, are very large and strong compared with ours, but their hands are generally very neat and shapely. On these feet they can walk mile after mile and not feel tired. If a small white boy walked five miles on a journey and five miles back he would boast of his endurance. But it is a common thing for a small black boy to walk twenty and even thirty miles in a single day and think nothing about it. In fact, if he could not do it, he would consider himself a weakling.
Of course in cold weather the children do not wash at all, and, in some places, when the grown-up people are not particular, the children wash but seldom. But on the whole they like to be clean, especially after having come into contact with white men, for most white men insist on the black children keeping themselves clean.
A BATHING POOL
If you had a black woolly head, like those of the African children, how would you do your hair? You would find all your brushes useless, and your combs would break on the first trial. They would not be nearly strong enough to get through the mass of short curls. Have the black children no combs then? Oh, yes! peculiar combs they make, the teeth of which point out like fingers, and with these they comb their woolly pates. But it is in arranging their hair that they excel. One boy will train a tuft of hair over his forehead to grow up like a horn. Another will think he ought to shave out bald spaces. Some cut the hair on both sides and leave a ridge in the middle like a cock’s comb, while others tie the hair with grasses into little tufts, and make their heads like miniature cabbage gardens. And after a death in the family the hair is shaved clean off altogether, and the black boy appears with a head like an ostrich egg. Feathers and sometimes flowers are stuck into the hair as decorations.
Teeth, too, come in for some attention. They are not always allowed to grow as nature wills. In some of the tribes the boys and girls teeth are filed by their mothers, each tribe having its own peculiar way of filing. Sometimes all the teeth are cut into little notches. Sometimes only the two upper front ones are done. But the custom is dying out, and many of the children of the present generation are not made to submit to such an indignity. Tattooing is also practised by many tribes. Face, arms, breast, and back are often done. Again difference of tribes is shown by these markings. This is how it is performed. The cuts are first made and allowed a day or two to heal partly. They are then opened up again and charcoal rubbed in. The wounds are then allowed to heal which they do as broad black raised-up lines. These tatoo marks are quite different from what is seen on some white people at home. They are not drawings, but simply little lines, some straight, some curved, done into a certain tribal design.
In some tribes the ears are pierced and the hole made rather large. So large are they in some cases that I have seen a native carry a roasted mouse hanging through his ear.
I have already told you about the ring in the upper lip called the “pelele,” so I shall not mention it again. But some of the women who have given up the “pelele” have taken to wearing a button of lead in one side of the nose, which, from our point of view, does not improve their appearance.
Their persons they adorn with anklets and bracelets of brass. But in places where there are plenty of elephants one finds the girls wearing great ivory bracelets made from the tusks. All kinds of grass bracelets are plaited and worn by young girls who can’t afford to have better ones, and I have sometimes seen a necklace made by stringing parts of locust’s legs and beads together.
Of the beads there is an infinite variety bought from the trader. These are strung together in many ways and made into bracelets and necklaces and various other things which only the patience of African children could produce.
CHAPTER XII
THE AFRICAN’S BELIEF
In this chapter we shall tell about something altogether different from what you have been reading. We shall go into the spirit land of the African children, and we shall try to find out something of what they believe about God.
In the great black part of Africa there are no temples and wonderful gods to write about. There are no old books to be found containing the wisdom of their forefathers written down and preserved through long ages. In fact there is not very much in native African belief that can be made very interesting to white boys and girls. But I shall try to do my best, to let you understand something about it.
Some people at home think that the heathen tribes of Africa know nothing at all about God. But it is not so. They do know something, be it only a very very little. In some tribes it is so very little as to be almost nothing, and shows us how far they have fallen away from a knowledge of their Creator. Let me tell you what some of the tribes here believe about God.
God, our loving heavenly Father, is to them but a far-away spirit whom they call the old, old one, or the great, great one. He made the world and everything in it and sends rain and sunshine, and is all-powerful. But He is very far away from us and takes little interest in the people of the earth.
When people die, their spirits, they say, go to the land of this old, old one. Spirit villages are there, I have heard it said, inhabited by the spirit folk. As a man was on earth so is he in the land of the spirits. So a chief on earth remains a chief in spirit land. Now, the spirits of the chiefs are supposed to be on very intimate terms with the old, old one, and are allowed to do almost whatever they like with the affairs of the people on earth. So it is the spirit of the dead chief that receives the sacrifices and prayers of the people. The old, old one is felt to be so far away and so indifferent that he is passed over, in some tribes forgotten altogether, and the spirit of the chief receives the homage due to the great, great one, because the people feel that he, the chief, has a personal interest in them.
The more famous, generally the more fierce, a chief was on earth in his life-time the more is his help asked for after he is dead, and has gone to the land of the spirits. It is not considered wise to neglect him in case he revenge himself upon the people.
The spirits of the common people are just ordinary inhabitants of spirit land and are of no account, except to their near relatives. A man in private matters of his own may seek the aid of the spirit of his father or of his grandfather. But on the whole, it is the spirit of the chief whom the people knew and were familiar with that is prayed to and receives the sacrifices of the people.
The spirits when they wish to speak to the people may enter into any person and cause that person to rave like a madman. He retires to the darkness of a hut while his fit of madness lasts. His sayings are not set aside as mere idle words, but are remembered and repeated to the interpreter, generally an old person, who explains to the people that under cover of these words spoken in delirium by the person possessed the spirits mean that so and so should be done. Dreams also are thought of as journeyings to the land of the spirits.
Now I think that will be enough about the spirits for you to understand a little of what many of the African children believe about the Great Spirit who made everything. It is only when the children are big that they are told all these things about the spirits. The people do not like to talk about such things, and the children avoid the places where the spirits are supposed to come and visit. They are afraid to give offence to the spirits, I think, and, in fact, all their sacrifices seem to be made with the idea of appeasing the anger and earning the good will of the spirits.
Sometimes the sacrifices are made at the base of a tree. Very often a small hut is built in which sacrifice is offered up. The offerings are of flour or native beer, and at other times of animals. Only small bits of the flesh of the sacrificed animal are offered, the rest of the meat being eaten by the people. The bits offered up are wrapped in leaves and placed at the root of the sacrificial tree. It is the chief who offers up the sacrifice and says the prayers. In times of great calamity large sacrifices are held in which several chiefs join their people together and make prayer to the departed ones. Sacrifices are also made for rain, for success in hunting, for safety in travelling, and for freedom from sickness.
The prayers are generally very simple requests like the following one for safety, “Watch over me, my forefather, who died long ago, and tell the great spirit at the head of my race from whom came my mother.” Here is a short account of a sacrifice for rain. “The chief goes to the spirit hut to offer sacrifice for rain and the people stand round about having brought the meat for the sacrifice. Then the chief begins to complain to the spirits saying, ‘Give us rain and do not harden your heart against us.’ With many other prayers he continues to implore, while the people round about clap their hands, and some of the women sing:—
‘Kokwe Kolole, Kokwe Kolole
Mbvula ya kuno sikudza
Kokwe Kolole.’
which means:—
‘May there come rain, sweeping rain,
The rain here has not come;
May there come rain, sweeping rain.’”
When the rain does come the people believe that it came because they appeased the anger of the great, great one with their sacrifice.
But wherever the Gospel of Jesus is preached the people are learning that there has been offered up for them by God Himself one great sacrifice which has redeemed the fallen sons of men—the sacrifice of His only Son on Calvary’s Cross.
CHAPTER XIII
THE AFRICAN IN SICKNESS
When the children of Africa are well and strong, their lives are carelessly happy, so long as they are not hungry. When they are ill, all the happiness departs, and they become very miserable. You may have thought that because black children can eat almost anything that they are never ill. But that is not so. They suffer, I believe, a good deal more than white children do. For simple troubles they get no treatment at all. They are just ill, they say, and lie on their mats near the fire or sit huddled up over it until they are better. These little complaints are mostly all of the stomachache kind, caused by reckless eating of anything the children can pick up. I have seen black children eat fruit that was quite green and hard—such as would kill little whites—and still live. And when you try to explain that these things can hurt they just smile to themselves and go on swallowing them, for they don’t believe you. Headaches are treated by binding the head round the temples tightly with a piece of string. Sometimes, if the headache is very painful, the sufferer is bled. Little cuts are made on the throbbing temples with a sharp knife and the blood allowed to flow.
It is the mothers who are the doctors and nurses of the children. Very often the sick child is attended by his grandmother. These old ladies are supposed to know a great deal about medicine; and they do know many plants and roots that are useful in simple illnesses. For mumps, which many black children call “masigwidi,” no medicine is given. The mothers tell the children to go to the mortar, put their heads in and call “Mooo!” I don’t know whether this simple remedy is a certain cure or not.
The following method of getting rid of the disease is considered to be very effective. “The person sick with ‘masigwidi’ goes in the evening to the house of another person and claps his hands in salutation. When the inmates reply the owner of the house takes mumps, and the former sick one runs off cured.”
When a child is seriously ill the doctor is called in, as is the case with white children. The disease has gone beyond the skill of the mothers and grandmothers, so better advice must be got. The doctor, when he comes, is first of all paid a fee. A few fowls are caught and handed over to him. Then he begins to treat the sufferer. He keeps his medicine in horns, not having any bottles. And in these horns are many weird mixtures. Like the grandmothers’, most of his medicine is made from plants and roots, yet it is wonderful how well they get on with these simple things. When the patient recovers, another fee is charged by the doctor. But if the child dies, unless if be from some well-known disease like smallpox, death may be attributed to witchcraft. Someone has used bad magic against the patient and nothing could save him.
In the presence of serious trouble, however, these doctors are very helpless, and when accidents have happened and bones are broken, and internal injuries are inflicted, the sufferers are beyond their aid. Here then is the opportunity for the medical missionary from the home land. He is able again and again to help the people when they are most helpless. Thus he gains their confidence, and a way to their hearts for the Gospel of Christ. His work is a daily putting into practice of the teaching of Our Saviour, and the lesson learned from it is not lost on the African.
African children suffer a great deal from ulcers, especially on their legs. These are painful sores that break out on them, and if neglected, as they are, alas! too often, there is grave danger to the limb. Sores on the toes are common. You may see in almost any village, children running about with some of their toes half eaten away. These sores are caused by an insect—the penetrating flea or jigger which bores its way under the skin and seeks in the warm flesh a cosy place to bring forth its young. It generally selects a place under the toe nail as most suitable. When it enters first, the jigger is very small. But in a few days it grows big and may become the size of a small pea. If these pests are not promptly removed, sores break out on the toes and the toes crumble away. Now little children are unable to take them out, and if their mothers neglect to do so, the children lose their toes. I have often seen boys armed with stout thorns picking the jiggers out of one another’s feet. The process I know, from experience, is sometimes painful, for the toe under the nail is very tender, yet the black children seldom wince when the jiggers are being taken out. They are brave little things in the presence of physical pain, but they really do not feel so keenly as you children do. Their feelings are a good deal blunter than yours, and so they do not dread pain as much as you do, for they suffer less.
There are some diseases found among African children that are not found among white children. Of these leprosy, the most dreadful, used long ago to afflict white children too. It is the terrible disease from which our tender-hearted Saviour freed some poor sufferers when He was on earth. Alas! one comes across it now and again among the black races of Africa.
I remember once meeting a leper. He was a bright lad and was attending a class for Bible instruction. Some of the joints of his fingers were gone at the time I saw him, but he had been a leper for some years then. He told me that his father had been a leper, and that he himself began to suffer from leprosy when he was a boy of some twelve years of age. The beginning was like this. One morning he awoke and felt his hands and arms sore as if they had been burned in spots here and there during the night. So he blamed the other boys who slept in the hut for playing tricks on him with a burning stick. But they all denied it. It was the beginning of the fatal disease.
The Africans have no treatment for the leper. He simply lives his life in the village so long as he looks after himself or can get anyone to care for him. But when his disease has gone on year after year, and he is no longer able to walk or do anything for himself, or has no friend to care for him, the people used to have, and still have in many places, a savage way of dealing with him. Back from the village a bit in the bush a little hut was built, and one day the leper was carried out, taken to the hut, shut into it with a supply of food, and left to his fate. Either he perished from hunger or was devoured by a wild beast, or was burned to death by a bush-fire. The natives firmly believe that such lepers are transformed into wild animals.
I once heard how a poor sufferer was otherwise dealt with. He had been ill for years with an ulcer on one of his legs. The sore had been neglected at first and then it got too bad for treatment. But as native doctors cannot cut off limbs as white doctors can, the poor fellow could now do nothing but lie about his village, and depend on his friends to help him. As he got worse and worse, and less able to help himself, his friends became fewer and fewer. At last he became such a source of trouble to the people that the men decided to put an end to it. Accordingly they went up the hillside near and dug a grave with a small niche to one side at the bottom. Then they returned to the village and carried off the helpless sufferer. He guessed at their intention and piteously implored them to desist. “Where are you going with me?” he said. “Do not leave me alone on the cold hillside.” But they were deaf to his appeals. When they reached the grave they quickly lowered the miserable wretch down, placed him in the niche at the side, shut him in with a mat, drove in a few stakes, filled up the grave, and left him.
Not long ago I passed through a village where some years ago I had made the acquaintance of the head man. He was then a hale and hearty old fellow, fond of his joke and his snuff-box. But now what a change. I found his people mostly gone and he himself but the wreck of what he had been. Everything round about had a neglected look. Some disease or other had laid him low and friends had gone. I found him sitting on a mat close to a fire. His poor skeleton legs were firmly bound at knees and ankles with cords made of bark. He had tried many doctors, he said, and had paid for much medicine, and now he had nothing to do but sit and wait for the end. He was too old to visit a white doctor; he was accustomed to the medicine of his own people and would not try that of strangers.
There is a great deal of suffering in African villages silently and patiently borne; and the white doctor can do a great deal to alleviate it. I can assure you children that your pennies put into the missionary box to help to support hospitals in heathen lands are not given in vain; and there is no part of missionary work that more deserves your help. Remember what our Lord said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto Me.”
CHAPTER XIV
MAGIC MEDICINE
In the previous chapter we were talking about doctors and medicine. In this chapter we shall hear more about medicine, but of another kind. Medicine in Africa is of two kinds—one for the lawful purpose of healing the sick, the other for the unlawful purpose of bewitching people and doing other dark deeds. It is when we begin to look into all that surrounds this unlawful medicine that we meet “the heathen in his darkness.”
The black people firmly believe in the power of medicines to bewitch, to enable the possessor to steal or to do some other thing equally bad. Anything that happens for which they cannot account, they ascribe to witchcraft medicine. The white people are supposed to be the possessors of great stores of such medicine, and from that to obtain their power. This belief crops up on all sides in their daily life, for there are unlawful medicines for almost everything. All one requires to know is where to find a dealer in such medicine, and he will make it to your order, no matter what you may want it for. He will give you medicine to bury against your enemy that he may die, or he will make you medicine that will enable you to kill game easily. Everything can be done by the power of medicine.
The darkest part of this belief in medicines is that in which certain people are supposed to possess power to cause the death of others that they may feast upon their dead bodies. Such horrible people are called “Afiti” in this part of Africa. They are supposed through their medicine to have powers of making themselves invisible at will, of going great distances in the smallest interval of time, of changing themselves into beasts, etc. These “Afiti” are supposed to gather during the night round the grave of any recently buried person to call the dead man out and to feast upon him. The bark of a fox or the hoot of an owl at night is said to be the signal call for these wretches to assemble for their awful meal.
When a mysterious death has happened in a village it is at once blamed upon one of the “Afiti.” But who he is nobody can tell. It may be one’s very own father, for the “Afiti” during the day retain their ordinary form, one never can tell. Great fear hangs over the village for each suspects his neighbour of being the cause of the death. Then the witch-finder is sent for. He, or she—for sometimes the witch-finder is a woman—comes laden with medicines and charms and stays in the village. No one now will be seen out of doors after dark in case of being suspected. After learning all the gossip of the village and finding out who was on bad terms with the dead man, the witch-finder proceeds to business.
The people are assembled to the sound of a large drum and stand in a circle in fear and trembling. The witch-finder now begins to dance and spin round and work himself up to a high pitch of excitement, during which he rushes here and there among the frightened people, smells their hands for traces of blood, and finally calls out the name of the guilty person.
Then the poison ordeal is tried. A poison draught is made up with bark from a certain tree and the accused is given it to drink. Should he happen to vomit it up again after having taken it, he is declared to be innocent, and payment is made to him. But should he happen to die, what further proof was necessary? The village is now clear of the evil one, and great rejoicings are made and payment given to the witch-finder. In this way hundreds and thousands of innocent people have met their end in Darkest Africa.
This belief in “Afiti” is one of the most difficult to deal with which the missionary encounters. You try to explain that God never gave people such power over one another, but although agreeing with you outwardly, they secretly cling to the old belief and their faith in the poison cup, for there are among them people foolish enough to imagine themselves possessed of “Afiti” powers who actually open graves and steal bits, especially fingers, from the dead. It is the occurrence of such cases that causes the people to cling to their belief.
Among the negro peoples the makers of medicine are supposed to have power over the spirits and to “bind” them into what are called “fetiches.” A fetich may consist of any convenient-sized object. It may be a small horn or a snail’s shell or a stone. But it has power only when the witch-doctor has imprisoned a spirit in it. This he does of course for payment. And fetiches are made to meet every wish of the human heart. You can obtain them to make you brave, or wise, or cunning, or to prevail over your enemy, or to prevent theft, or to be successful in the chase or anything you wish.
In this part of Africa when a lion begins to prey upon human beings, he is supposed to be one of the “Afiti” who, to satisfy his craving for human flesh, has transformed himself into a lion for the time being. At a certain village on the river Shiré several people had been taken by a large crocodile which was well known because of its boldness. This animal was believed not to be a real crocodile by the people of the village, but to be one of the “Afiti” transformed. After the brute had taken off several people, one of the men of the village determined to put an end to the tragedies. Seizing a spear he boldly went into the water to try conclusions with the monster. But he too in spite of his medicine was taken off and only a reddish tinge on the water marked the spot where he had been seized and dragged down.
Quite recently I asked a boy to go an errand for me. His destination was about fifteen miles away and he could not possibly arrive before dark. But the road was perfectly safe or I would not have asked him to go. At first he did not want to go, declaring he was sure “Afiti” would catch him whenever it became dark. If a fire is seen in the distance where no fire should be, it is at once put down to the presence of the dreaded corpse eaters. I remember another boy who not long ago insisted in maintaining that one night an “Mfiti” had come and sat on his chest for a long time, while he remained in mortal terror lest it should begin to tear him. Explanations of nightmare were of no avail. The boy firmly believes to this day that he had a narrow escape from being devoured.
Some years ago I remember seeing a medicine man surrounded by a crowd of natives. He was telling them that he had medicine to protect him from being hit by any stone that might be thrown at him. His word was just accepted and no native ever thought of lifting a stone to try. When a white man offered to have a throw at him, he objected, saying that his medicine had power over black people only. Another man, I can recall, produced a horn containing a very powerful medicine that enabled the possessor to enter unseen into any house by simply stepping through the wall. He was asked to display its powers on the white man’s house. He also declined saying that his medicine was made against black men’s houses only, which are made of grass, and not against white men’s, that are built of brick.
What a magnificent faith these poor black people have in their magic medicine! If it fails, it fails only because someone is working against them with more powerful medicine still, and a new supply must be got. The belief in the medicine remains as strong as ever. If this unwavering faith could only be transformed in a single day to Him who is the Light of the World, what a change would come over the Dark Continent.
CHAPTER XV
THE DANCE AND MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS
Now I am sure you have learned a great deal about the African people and their children, yet there are two important things I have not written about, and these are their dances and their musical instruments. I had intended to put this part into the chapter on games, but I thought I had better not, although the dance is considered a game by the African children. In the hot season when the moon is full, the whole country side resounds with the beating of drums, and the shrill voices of the dancers are borne far on the warm night wind. There are many kinds of drums from the deep bass to the high tenor. They are beaten with the hands and on a still night the deep boom of the bass drum can be heard for miles interrupted by the short snap of the smaller ones. The time seems at first very irregular, and for a white man difficult to follow. But the dancers move out and in and round about, and keep up the game till sunrise. Unfortunately the dances are not all harmless ones, and the less said about some of them the better.
Of musical instruments the African children have quite a large number. One of their favourites is called a “Sese.” I can best describe it to you by calling it an African mandoline. The body is made out of a large dry gourd and the strings are made by twisting threads together till the desired thickness and strength is obtained. The left hand fingers are used for pressing down the strings which are “tweeked” by the fingers of the right hand. The music is very pleasing when the “Sese” player is a short distance off. The tunes are quite unlike anything white children hear at home, and charm one by their quaintness. I have tried to play the instrument, but of course failed. The boys themselves are not all able to play the “Sese.” Only those who are musical can, and after much patient practice.
Another instrument with which the boys amuse themselves is called the “Sansi.” It is the African piano, and is played a great deal by river boys. The sounding board in the “Sansi” is made out of a flat piece of wood about six or seven inches square and about an inch deep, hollowed out. Two rows of little keys are fixed along this board. The keys are sometimes made of wood but in good instruments are of iron. These keys are all different sizes, and are arranged so as to produce a kind of a scale, pleasing to the African ear and not unpleasant to us. The instrument is grasped in both hands and the keys are skilfully played by the thumbs and forefingers of both hands. Sometimes these instruments are bedecked with beads and pieces of shells which cause a sort of buzzing accompaniment to the music. A good deal of skill is necessary to play the “Sansi” properly, and it is only a boy here and there who can do it well. Like the “Sese,” the “Sansi” sounds more pleasant when a bit away.
The flute is another source of amusement to the African boy. He makes his own instrument out of a piece of reed, but he can appreciate a good tin whistle from across the sea. From the reed he takes the pith and bores three or four holes in the hollow tube, and his flute is ready. The notes produced from the native flute always seem to me to be of a weird melancholy nature. The same three or four notes are blown over and over again, and become in time rather monotonous to the white man.
DRILL REPLACES THE DANCE
Then there is the African violin called the “mgoli.” It consists of a drum through which sticks are passed. There is one string drawn tight over a bridge which stands in the drum. This primitive fiddle is played with a bow. It is not so difficult to play as the others already described, but its music is much more monotonous.
The African boys are also expert at playing on a wooden dulcimer which they call “Nangolingondo.” Pieces of hard wood tuned to the African scale are laid across two pieces of palm stem and are fixed in their places by pegs. Then two players squat down on opposite sides of the dulcimer armed with a stick in each hand. One player leads off with a few flourishes and is joined by the other player whose notes overlap and yet fit into and between those of the first player’s in a marvellous manner. The music is fast and furious, but cannot be kept up for a long stretch at a time. As with the other instruments, this one is heard to advantage some distance off.
The buzzing of a certain kind of beetle is also made to do duty with children as a kind of toy instrument. The unfortunate beetle is caught and fixed up with grass so that he cannot get away, although his wings are free to buzz with as much as he likes. In order to make this beetle-music the insect is held by the grass in front of the opened mouth. According as the mouth is opened so does the buzzing sound vary.
There are many other kinds of African musical instruments, mostly of a very simple kind, giving forth but a note or two peculiar to the African and beloved by him. The children are on the whole not unmusical and can be trailed to sing very sweetly indeed. But I am sure they like their own songs best.
CHAPTER XVI
HINDRANCES TO THE GOSPEL
Now I think I had better not write much more about Africa and its children lest I tire you. There are many other interesting things one would like to tell you but I am afraid this book is already quite long enough. In India and in China and in other lands I am sure it is harder than it is in Africa to win the people for Christ. Yet there are many hindrances too in the black man’s way.
If all Africa is to be Christ’s, then Mohammedanism in the north must be overcome, and must be prevented from creeping down southwards. It is already well over the equator, especially on the east coast, and, if left unhindered, will spread right onwards. But the Church of Christ at home must see that this does not happen, and Christians must put forth all their strength in the cause of their Lord and Master. And you children too have your part to play, a part which is told you in this little hymn of which I have copied two verses:—
“The fields are all white
And the reapers are few;
We children are willing,
But what can we do
To work for our Lord in His Harvest?
“We’ll work by our prayers,
By the offerings we bring,
By small self-denials;
The least little thing
May work for our Lord in His Harvest.”
Another enemy of Christ in Africa is the native’s belief in the customs and superstitions of their forefathers. The old people cling to these, and tell the children that the Gospel is only white men’s stories. They die hard these old superstitions, but they are slowly and surely disappearing before the light of God’s message. To obey Christ means that a great deal of the old life must be given up and put away altogether; and it is here that the struggle begins. Temptations to drift back into the old way of living beset the African Christian on all sides. They come from without and from within, and only the word of God planted in his heart can keep him from falling.
Polygamy is one of the great obstacles in his path. I wonder if you know what that big word means. In words it means that the men may marry many wives, but in reality it means that the women and children are living in conditions that give them but little chance of rising out of the darkness by which they are surrounded. I remember how much surprised I was when told that a certain little girl, who had been at a village school but who was now withdrawn, was married. She was not really married of course, only “bespoken” as it were, by a big bearded man, who already had more than one wife. The girl had therefore been taken from school and was lost to Mission influence. In Africa the girls have but little of the happy girlhood known in England, for they step from childhood right into womanhood.
There is another enemy of Christ in Africa that I do not care to write to you about, because it comes from our own race, but it would not be fair to make no mention of it whatever. The force of example goes a long long way in Africa, and often does a great deal more than words. It is what you do rather than what you say that first attracts the heathen. Now if a careless white man forgets this and like the prodigal son in the far-off country gives himself up to the evil ways of living, he is doing a great deal of harm to Christ’s Kingdom in Africa, and is putting a serious stumbling block in the way of the poor black people. If such white men would but remember that they come from a Christian land and behave towards their ignorant black neighbours as Christian gentlemen this enemy of the Gospel would soon be laid low.
Let me now tell you a little how missionary work among the heathen Africans is carried on. In different missions the work is carried on in different ways, but the end is always the same—that the Gospel be preached to the heathen.
Many of the missions divide their work into four parts. One is called Evangelistic—that is the part of the work in which the Gospel is preached to the people. Another is called Medical because doctors and nurses join in the mission work to heal the sick and help the helpless. Another part is Educational—the teaching of the people in school, so that they may be able to read the Word of God. The last part is called Industrial, for in it the African Christians are taught trades to show them that work is not for slaves only, and to make them useful members of the community.
Of course in every mission you may not find all those four departments of work. Some missions are mainly Evangelistic, others Industrial, but in all large missions in Africa you generally find the four. In the evangelistic work the missionary, fresh from home, is at a great disadvantage till he has mastered the native language. Then this difficulty over, he finds the way open to the black man’s heart. Experience however is showing us more and more that it is not the white man who will evangelise Africa, but the African, and the work of the white missionary is more and more being reduced to the training of the native evangelists who will carry the message of love to the people.
Hospital, School, and Industrial work have, in Africa, been practically forced upon the missionaries. The native of Africa sick is most helpless, and the native of Africa well is most indifferent to sickness in others. Hence the constant ministration to his own sick folks by white doctors and nurses fills him with astonishment, and causes him to think why this should be done. It is a magnificent object lesson to the native of the practice in our lives of the Gospel of Christ.
One of the best gifts that can be given to any race of people is the gift of the Bible in their own tongue. But to prevent the Bible being a sealed book to them, the people must first be taught how to read. So the missionary must turn school-master and teach his people their letters. Here, then, is the beginning of educational work and it is found a great help to the evangelistic. For in school, reading is not the only subject taught. The children learn, as they never otherwise could, the story of Jesus. And the teacher is naturally the evangelist. So preaching and teaching in Africa go hand in hand.
Then there is work such as the African is not accustomed to. He is by no means lazy, as is so often said by ill-informed people; but he has to be taught that work is not for inferiors only. Hence all kinds of useful trades are taught in large missions. The Africans make very good carpenters, gardeners, bricklayers, and printers. In fact, they pick up readily such trades as are taught them. Of course, at their present stage of development, they cannot be compared with white workman, and should never so be compared, but they do exceedingly well so far as they are able.
In thus educating and training their people the missions are endeavouring to make their converts Christians, who can read their Bibles, and who will prove themselves to be useful and industrious members of the community in which they live.
CHAPTER XVII
METHODS OF MISSION WORK
In this chapter, which must be the last, I want to let you see as well as possible a little mission work in the various departments you read about in the preceding chapter. Let me begin with the evangelistic. In a missionary magazine I have come across a description which will suit the purpose very well. Here it is, a visit to a village preaching.
“Our machila carriers are impatient to be off. They are not always so anxious about an early start, but to-day we can sympathise with their impatience, for the hot weather is upon us, and travelling during the heat of the day is anything but comfortable. A start is made at last, and we are now as eager as our ‘boys’ to see the end of the seven or eight-mile journey. It will take us almost two hours to do this short distance—two hours of as unpleasant travelling as one could wish to be saved from, for machila travelling is at the best but a mild form of being tossed in a blanket.
“The carriers keep up an incessant chatter all the way, varied at times with a break into the chorus of one of their machila songs.
‘Gurr-r-r, Mwana wa mkango, Ine
Child of a lion, I am fierce
Fierce am I, child of a lion.
Gurr-r-r, Gurr-r-r.’
Such is the complaint of one of the carriers as he sweats at the machila pole. He imitates, with wonderful skill, the deep growl of the lion, and fondly compares himself for strength to the king of beasts. The other boys with lusty chorus give him every support in his contention, and even we agree, judging from his deep growls, that he must really be what he says he is, and soon the chorus ends.
“But here we are at Chentambo’s village. Our machila men promptly retire under the shade of the nearest tree and stretch themselves out to rest.
“The service has already begun, and, if we want to be in time next Sunday, we must leave very early. Che Bernard is giving an address, the gist of which is the contrast between the old heathen life of superstition and darkness and the new way of the cross, of truth and light and life eternal, of the love of God for fallen mankind, and the great sacrifice of Christ Jesus, our Saviour.
“It is skilfully placed before the audience, much better than could be done by a white man. The people are interested; they understand, and they KNOW that Bernard’s way is the right one. You can read it on their faces. Old customs and superstitions, however, die hard, and to-morrow, perhaps, even to-day many of those eager listeners will be the same careless indifferent lot they were yesterday. But the seed is not falling only in stony places; customs and superstitions cannot always choke it. By and by will come the harvest and the triumph of the Word.
“While Bernard is speaking let us look around. That we are in the school is evident, for there is the blackboard and there the easel. Over on the other side hangs a syllable card. But on Sunday, it is the ‘Nyumba ya Mulungu’ (House of God), and here we are surrounded by such a crowd as never enters school.
“Men, women, and children of all ages are sitting upon the poles which do duty for seats. But when we run our eyes over the crowd we find that the majority are women and children. Of grown men there are few. Where may they be? They may, perhaps, be out of the district, on plantations, at the railway, or down to the river for loads, but they may also be somewhere not so far away, beer-drinking. There is, however, quite a goodly number of youths among our hearers.
“The audience is happy, noisily so. There is no such quiet here as is given to a home preacher. The little fat, brown, shining babies will not be still; they insist upon making themselves heard all through the address, and it is only when one has become most outrageous in his conduct, that his mother thinks it necessary to let him see the trees outside.
“But when the white man gets up to begin to speak, all these tiny brown mortals seem by instinct to plot against him. No doubt his white face is the cause of it, for he is always greeted as only black babies can welcome a white speaker. Bernard however goes calmly on. He is used to this kind of thing and he does not suffer from nerves. So, too with his audience, not a word is lost.
“Crash! down goes a seat broken in two by the weight of some half-dozen ponderous dames. But this is quietly ignored by the rest of the audience, and the heavy ones proceed to accommodate themselves to a seat on the floor, as if nothing out of the way had happened. Then two dogs have disagreed and become unpleasant to one another, till a few vigorous cuffs and a blow from a stick convince our canine friends that to-day they must be on their best behaviour, fit and proper for dogs admitted to such an assembly. But the babies have their own way and perform an involuntary accompaniment all the time of the service.
“Bernard has finished now. He has urged the people to come to a decision to-day, not to put off till the to-morrow which never comes. Now is the time to take a stand on the side of truth and righteousness. Who will take his stand now? And so he leaves his audience to answer his final appeal.
“A hymn, one of the few which the school children have learned, has been given out by Bernard. He reads the first verse:—
‘Mwamva mau a Mulungu
Mukabvomeranji ko?
Kodi musandula mtima
Ndi kumvera Yesu’yo.
Bvomerani, Bvomerani, Bvomerani msanga tu.’
‘You have heard the call of Jesus
And your answer now must give.
Turn to Him your heart so precious,
And obeying learn to live.
Oh believe Him: Oh believe Him: Oh believe Him: quickly do.’
“The singing is robust; there is no absence of sound, and the hymn is enjoyed by all. It may not be the finest of music, but it is living, real, earnest.
“Then follows a short prayer and the service is over. In a few minutes men, women, babies, and dogs are out into the sunshine, and we are enjoying, nay, gulping down the fresh air.
“The hearers’ class has now assembled, and we endeavour to teach a few of the great truths of our faith to this little company of young men and women. To this little class we look for the things of the future. Here at least the ground is not stony. The seed is being sown in good soil and by God’s blessing will bear fruit in the future and become the foundation on which to build another church.
“When the lesson is over we have a few minutes talk with Bernard and some of the boys, to give and to receive words of encouragement in the work. Then once more to our machila and back home, our ‘Mwana wa mkango’ being as fierce as ever.
‘Guwr-r-r. Mwana wa mkango, Ine.
Guwr-r-r; Mwana wa mkango, Ine.
Guwr-r-r; Guwr-r-r.’”
A MISSION SCHOOL CLASS
Now let me send you along with a mission lady to visit a village school, so that you may know a little about the educational work of an African mission. But I am afraid you cannot go to the village so I must let the lady tell of her visit herself. This is what she writes, and had you gone with her you would have seen it all with your own eyes:
“‘Our Donna is coming! Our Donna is coming!’ Thus heralded, we approach the village, a flock of small boys, who have come to meet us, dancing along before the machila, shrieking at the pitch of their shrill young voices.
“‘Our Donna has come!’ announces that we have reached the village courtyard. There stands the school, a little grass shed, with forms like bird perches; and the teacher, conspicuous by his clean white clothes, and Kungauma, the headman, are waiting there to welcome me.
“After a little, a wheezy horn is blown by a stalwart young man, and the scholars begin to assemble. Meantime I pay a visit to the women’s quarters where the older women are busy pounding the maize and sifting the flour. After a few words of friendly greeting, enquires about their work and notice of their babies—for a black mother, as well as a white one, likes to see ‘her bairns respeckit like the lave’—I return to the school. It is full to overflowing.
“A hymn is sung and prayers are said by the teacher; then the classes arrange themselves on their respective ‘perches.’ I begin to examine Class 1, while an admiring circle of fond mothers and sympathising friends squats outside. After going conscientiously through the lessons of Class 1, we go on to Class 2, and I hear them their allotted task.
“But time is flying! I ask what other classes still remain to be examined. ‘Class 3 and an Infant,’ replies the teacher, indicating their whereabouts. I glance at the dozen or so of eager little faces that compose Class 3 and then look towards the ‘Infant.’ He may be such, legally so-called, but to my astonishment I see the stalwart young man who performed upon the bronchitic horn! It turns out later that he is the most advanced pupil in the school and is reading an English book, called the ‘Infant Reader’; hence his name.
“Leaving him and Class 3 for another day, I call the young women and girls to begin sewing. Forty are in my class, and more would like to enter, but I cannot give proper attention to a larger number. One is advanced to enough sew a child’s frock, several are hemming sashes, most of them are at the elementary ‘patch’ stage. As I give out the seams I glance at their hands. Some, conscious of cleanliness and virtue, will voluntarily turn up their little pink palms for my inspection. ‘Mine are clean, Adonna, look at mine!’ while others have to be sent to wash.
“Soon the class is hard at work. Some learn very quickly, others find the management of the needle almost beyond their powers; some need words of praise and encouragement to help them to persevere, while others require judicious fault-finding and criticism to nip incipient vanity in the bud. A few words about the use of the words ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you,’ a few lessons in the elements of gentle bearing to each other—courtesy to my self is never lacking—are taken in very good part, and remembered and put into practice.
“In the course of the day’s lesson, which lasts two and a half to three hours, several may get advanced from the ‘patch’ to the ‘sash’ stage. The price of the ordinary sash is sixpence. (The work done in all the sewing classes is sold later at a little bazaar, and the proceeds are given to some scheme in connection with the native church.) I hear the girls planning how they will manage to buy the sash when it is hemmed. ‘I have fowls at home worth sixpence,’ says one. ‘I have only one fowl but it can lay eggs,’ says another. Some, having no source of income can but regretfully admire, and envy their more fortunate companion.
“About two o’clock I take in the work again, and proceed to do a little simple surgery, the binding up of ulcers chiefly. Anything serious I decline to dress, advising the sufferers to come to Hospital, but the simple sores, which are sadly common, are quite within my powers. It brings me into touch with the people at another point of contact and increases our sympathy.
“The dressings done and the farewells said, I call my carriers, get into my machila, and off we go, my men singing lustily as they bear me swiftly along the native path. The village lies close among the hills, and the path winds in and out through native gardens and bush and long grass, while two streams and a bog have to be forded. On either side rise the ‘everlasting hills’; solemn, grand, restful, beautiful at all times, in sunshine or shadow. In about an hour we leave the native path and turn into the dusty high road, and a very short time finds us again at the mission.”
And now to show you mission hospital work. I have found in the same magazine the story of Gwebede, the Angoni labourer.
“His home was in far Angoniland—the village where his childhood had passed, where he played through many a sunny day, rolling in the sand till he was white, fighting mock battles with big grasses for spears, ‘tying’ little houses of grass and sticks, and lurking in them—all play and no school; and at night time sleeping in his mother’s hut, close to the fire, beside the dogs and the chickens. Now he is a little boy, perhaps ten years old, and when his brothers and uncles and companions are getting ready to go off to work with the white men, Gwebede joins the party. He will work for three months and then come proudly home with his earnings. His earnings will be an altogether unimaginable extent of beautiful white calico. Perhaps it will be enough to pay his mother’s hut tax, and when that is paid they will tuck the yellow-edged paper with the stamp on it safely away among the shiny black grass on the inside of the roof.
“So he trots gaily along the narrow path, carrying on a stick over his shoulder some yellow cobs of maize for food by the way. At night he is very tired, and after roasting his corn and grinding it up with his little white grinders he very soon drops asleep. The party travel for a day or two, and then stop to work for a day at some village to earn food for the further journey. In about a week they reach their destination and see the coffee planters’ broad acres of cleared ground where in rows grow the coffee plants, as big as gooseberry bushes, some of them a little bigger. Then is Gwebede installed with hoe in hand amongst the coffee.
ATTACKED BY A LEOPARD
“Now one morning early Gwebede got up and had just stepped out of the grass shelter where he slept, when a great leopard sprang on him, caught him by the back of the neck in its mouth, and bounded off with him as easily as a cat would do with a mouse. Gwebede’s brothers are waked from their sleep, and look out. ‘A leopard!’ they shout as they seize hold of the red brands of their evening fire and rush out yelling as they run. Into the grass they dash: yonder is the leopard: after him! He is frightened: he drops the boy: he is off!
“Then they carefully pick up Gwebede. Poor little Gwebede! Is he dead? No, but there is a great wound as if the leopard had taken a mouthful away from the back of his head. They take him to their master, who promptly binds up the wound, and sends them off with a letter to the hospital. It is a long distance, and it is late in the afternoon when they reach the mission.
“This was the first we saw of Gwebede. There did not seem to be much hope for him. A little thin boy with a face full of terror, whom the slightest movement made to cry out with pain. He refused to swallow medicine, so we injected under his skin a little dose of that blessed drug that takes away pain, and in a few minutes he was asleep. Then we washed and dressed his wound. A leopard’s teeth are such dirty things that the wound they make is very difficult to get clean. One has to wash and wash and wash for a long time, going carefully into all the holes and corners.
“As the days passed the pain became less, and the wound began to heal. For several days Gwebede cried a good deal, and we had to repeat the dose under his skin to put him to sleep. Then we noticed that he was beginning to enjoy his food, and one day the attendant told us that ‘Gwebede had laughed.’ These were good signs.
“A few weeks later if you could have seen Gwebede you would have seen that he was no longer thin, but getting quite respectably stout, and also that he was constantly smiling. The night attendant noticed, however, that he sometimes started and cried out in his sleep. This is the way with people that have been hurt by wild beasts. For long afterwards they dream dreadful dreams. Indeed, some of them are afraid to sleep alone. They can’t help thinking that a beast will come into the room.
“One day Gwebede’s brothers came to take him home. They said that the whole party from their village were about to start for home. We begged them to leave Gwebede with us to be attended to, and we asked them to come back for him in a month. They said they were afraid to go back without him, because Gwebede’s mother would say, ‘What have you done with Gwebede?’ We told them that Gwebede was not well enough to do without having his wound dressed. They saw also that he was quite happy in the ward. So they decided to go back to their master and do another month’s work, and at the end of the month to come again for Gwebede.
“The month passed, Gwebede walked about slowly and sedately, holding his head in the air because his neck was stiff. He got fatter and fatter, till his face grew like a little round moon—a black moon—full of smiles and dimples. He was the jolliest little boy you could imagine. Then came again the big brothers. Gwebede’s neck was now quite healed. The great open wound had closed up and now there was only a scar left. Soon he was dancing and skipping along the road with his brothers, having clean forgotten the stiffness of his neck, and that was the last we saw of little Gwebede.”
Now that you have heard such a great deal about Africa and its children, and about mission work, are you not glad, my dear young friends, that you are enjoying the privilege of helping to make Christ known among the black people, that you are helping them to learn to read and write, that you are helping them to be taught useful trades, and that you are helping to bind up their wounds and ease their pain? I know that you are. We all want Africa to belong to Christ and in God’s own time it will be so. Meantime we must not faint or be weary although the fight against the powers of darkness be fierce and long. Africa, the dark continent must emerge from darkness at the call of her Lord and Master and take her place among the nations who live in the Light of the Saviour of the world.
“Spirit of truth and love,
Life-giving, holy Dove,
Speed forth thy flight:
Move o’er the water’s face
Bearing the lamb of grace,
And in Earth’s darkest place
Let there be light.”
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.