Some of the largest and best populated villages are now reduced to a few huts, the majority of which are inhabited by sick folk. Men and women of all ages and little children all alike take the disease, and all alike die.
In the old days, if a person died in one hut, a child was born in another to take his place and name; but now—every day the death wail is heard, every day funerals are taking place—but it is a rare event for a child to be born. You see just one baby here, and another there, and that is all! And therefore we have come to say, “We shall all be finished soon, all get the disease, none recover. If we are to have it, we shall have it: what more?” [[110]]
Perhaps you think we should take medicine for this sickness, but we can find none of any use. The white men of God have tried many kinds of medicine: medicine to drink, and also the kind which they put into one’s arm with a needle; but these only did good for a little while, and then the sickness was as bad as ever. Our own people have tried their own medicines, our witch-doctors also have tried to cure it by means of their fetishes; but all alike are useless. We often ask the white men if their doctors have found the medicine; but we always get the same answer, “No, not yet.” We wonder that the white men with all their wisdom have not found it: if they have not, who can?
The white men of God are continually teaching us that in view of all this sickness, now is the time for us to settle the palaver between us and God by believing in His Son Jesus, so as to be ready if death comes to us. And then our witch-doctors step in and say, “Is not this closing of the eyes in prayer, which these white men have taught our people, the cause of the sickness of sleep?”
What can we do? We go and hear the teaching, and it is good: we agree to it. Then we hear what the witch-doctors say, and for [[111]]a while we absent ourselves. And all the time the sickness goes on and increases. O white people, will you not pray to your God for the medicine? will you not try and send it to us soon, that this desolation may be ended, and some of us be saved alive? [[112]]
CHAPTER IX
The Elders of Europe
More white men from Europe—Fears and curiosity—The white men inquire about us—We tell them of our state—And our oppressors—The knotted strings and their story—“These things are bad”—The white men’s promises—Better times—Soon ended—Rubber again—The old toil—The men of the river—The demands on the villages—The chiefs in power—Chiefs and the sentries—The death wail and the white man—“We are very poor.”
One Saturday evening a big steamer came to the white man’s beach, and soon after the news spread throughout our villages that a lot of white men from Europe—old men with grey hair—had come to see and judge of our condition for themselves, and to listen to what we had to tell them.