There are many kinds of pots—large water-jars, the large cooking-pots used for making porridge, and the small ones for boiling its accompaniments. The women, having procured the right kind of earth, break it up on a stone and knead it with water till it attains the proper consistency; then they mould a round lump, make a hole in the middle and work away at it with their hands and now and then a bamboo splint. No wheel or mould is used. Sometimes an incised pattern is made while the clay is soft. When finished, the pot is stood in the shade for a day; then they put it out into the sun, and when dry, burn it in an open wood fire. I am nearly sure, however, though, most unfortunately, I did not make a note of the fact at the time, that I once saw something like a small oven in use for the purpose. Pots not expected to stand the fire are considered fit for use after drying in the sun, and will hold water satisfactorily, though apt to grow soft if kept continuously wet. Smaller pots are sometimes coloured red by mixing oxide of iron with the clay; sometimes they have quite a good glaze, and the red surface is variegated with black bands. A large water-jar always stands inside the hut, which is filled up every day when the women fetch water from the nearest stream. They carry a large earthen or calabash jar on their heads; on the River this is balanced on a thing called a ngoti, which is a little wooden stand, with a saucer-shaped depression above and one below, something like a flat double wine-glass (the frontispiece will give a better idea of it than any description), the upper concavity fitting the jar, and the lower one the head. I suppose this eases the pressure on the head, like the grass rings or pads (nkata) used by all who carry heavy loads; but at first sight it seems as if it would add to the difficulties of carriage.
A long-handled gourd is carried along as a dipper, to ladle the water into the jar, and after it is full, a few leaves, or a twist of grass, are put on the top to keep the water from spilling. I have seen flat wooden crosses used (I think in Cornwall) for the same purpose.
In places where there is danger from crocodiles, as in some parts of the Shiré, the women carry a gourd at the end of a long pole, so that they can dip the water from the top of a high bank, and run no risk of being seized. Accidents of this kind have frequently happened to women stooping at the water’s edge to fill their jars. The crocodile seems to turn round and knock people over with a swing of his tail, if he cannot get near enough to seize them with his jaws. A letter written in English by a native a few years ago, related a tragic occurrence of this sort—how a man, going down the river with his wife, and camping for the night on a sandbank, awoke in the morning to find that ‘the woman had gone away with a crocodile!’
SALT-MAKING
Salt is so much in demand, for reasons already adverted to, in this part of Africa, that its production is an important industry. Its principal centre is near Lake Chilwa, but inferior salt is made in places at a distance from that lake, for home consumption, by burning various grasses and other plants. In either case the process is the same. The ashes, or the salt earth dug up from the banks of the lake, are put into a flat basket, preferably an old, worn nsengwa, and water slowly poured on and allowed to drain through into a pot placed beneath to receive it. ‘The water so strained through is saltish,’ says the Rev. H. Barnes, speaking of Likoma, ‘and is used with food to flavour it. In some parts this water is boiled till it is boiled away, and the result is a very white salt.’ Sometimes the water is allowed to evaporate without boiling; I do not know if this is done at Chilwa, but the salt brought from thence is distinctly grey—certainly not white. People come in small parties from a distance, and live at the kulo, or salt-pit, where the earth is dug, till they have finished making all they want. The process is a slow one; it usually takes a month to make eighty pounds of salt, as large numbers of people do not engage in the work at once. They pack it in matting bags holding about twenty pounds’ weight apiece, and carry it down to Blantyre and elsewhere for sale. A ‘salt ulendo’ is always sure of a speedy sale for its wares.
People who make salt at home—it is generally the women—do not, as a rule, take the trouble to boil or evaporate it, but use the liquor as it is for cooking.
Besides Lake Chilwa, there are some places near the mouth of the Ruo, whence salt is obtained, and some is said to come from the neighbourhood of Lake Nyasa, but this last is bitter and more like saltpetre. Sir A. Sharpe describes the process of salt-making in the saline swamps of Mweru, in very much the same way as the above, only the apparatus is different—‘funnels made of closely woven grass rope’ taking the place of baskets. Evidently these funnels or strainers are specially made for the purpose, showing that the industry is more specialised.
CHAPTER IX
LANGUAGE AND ORAL LITERATURE
Structure of the Bantu languages. Riddles. Songs. Music and dancing. Story-telling.