An Englishwoman's twenty-five years in tropical Africa

by George Hawker

For the rest the reader must be content with a selection of passages from Mrs. Lewis’s correspondence, which I am not without hope may suffice to convey, in their cumulative effect, a realistic impression of life at Kibokolo.

“November 13, 1899.—Alice wonders how I should like to be doing servant’s work. As a matter of fact that is what I am chiefly doing these days since coming here. No, none of the San Salvador people are with us here. We have two wretched workmen from another town, our own boy Veza, and John Pinnock’s boy Kinsengwa. That is our staff of workmen, with another man who originally came from Zombo, but is leaving at the end of the year. Then we have Kumbu and Zika, two boys about twelve, who have been with us some time at San Salvador and wished to stay with us; Kidimbu, a little boy of about eight, who comes from Nkaba, where Nlekai is working, and John Pinnock’s Mayowela, a little fellow of seven. I have two girls, Talanga and Salune, aged respectively, perhaps, eleven and thirteen, and between us we do all there is to be done, cooking, washing, mangling, ironing, and the regular routine, besides some ground clearing and sewing; and I have school with those six in the afternoon. Of course, being so small, they can do nothing without help. All my mornings have to be given up to household matters; but these things are important, without which we cannot keep in health, so I don’t consider it is time wasted, although it is not so much to my taste as preaching and teaching.

“Yesterday was Sunday, and Tom and I went to another town to hold a service. The chief there rejoices in the name of ‘Lion’s tail,’ and is the most sensible chief about here, though he is not much interested in God’s palaver yet. Kinzala, his town, is about an hour from here. I went on Pinnock’s donkey (who, by the way, has his head in at the door now). It is rather awkward riding sideways on a man’s saddle, but I can manage it. We had not a large congregation as there was a funeral near, but our great object just now is to make friends. There was a nice little baby present who would come to me and didn’t want to leave—the first in Zombo who has made friends, and I was quite pleased, for I miss all the little people at San Salvador who were my special friends. It was such a broiling day. I got so sunburnt that I am the colour of a lobster to-day. It was 90° in the shade yesterday. To-day it is raining and thundering incessantly. The weather just now is very trying, and in our grass-house, of course, we feel it more, not having proper doors and windows, so that the house is very draughty and one has to be very careful not to take cold.

“In the afternoon yesterday I went round the town and got into conversation with some women. One woman, when I asked her if she wouldn’t come to meeting to hear ‘God’s palaver’ said, ‘But I have nothing to pay so how can I come?’ That, of course, gave me a good opportunity of telling her about the free gift of God’s love to all the world. This woman has been very friendly, and is the only one, so far, who has invited me into her house.”

“April 10, 1900. (A circular letter to children.)—Since I last wrote to you we have removed from our old home at San Salvador, where we spent so many happy years, and are settled here at the new station—my husband and self and Mr. Pinnock. I expect you will have read in the Herald about the opening of the new chapel at San Salvador, which Mr. Lewis had just finished before we left, and also about our arrival here. We were very sorry to leave all our dear friends, and on the day we parted we felt very sad indeed. But we are glad to be allowed to tell of God’s love to those who have none others to tell them of it, and we often have nice letters from our old girls and boys in San Salvador, and sometimes some of the men come as carriers with our mails, so we do not forget one another....

“Well, now, I am sure you want to hear something about our work here. You must remember it is very different from that at San Salvador. At present we are living in grass-houses, with just the sand for a floor. We have no chapel, only an open porch, where we meet on Sundays, and every afternoon I have school, a very small one, in our room, which has to serve all purposes except sleeping. We have only been here six months, and the people, although they begin to know us a little, still cannot understand what we have come for. They say, ‘These white men do not buy rubber or cows; they do not come here to rule, and they want us to come and talk with them and to send our children. They must want to buy our spirits and send them to the white man’s country. We are not going to be caught! We will keep our women and children away, and while we will not offend them because they are very powerful, we will just watch to see what they are up to.’ Some time ago there was heard a peculiar rumbling sound, like a very slight shock of earthquake. When they heard it they said, ‘That is Lewis’s train, taking the spirits away.’ Some of the men had been to Tumba and seen the train there.

“For some weeks now the country has been very unsettled, and the other towns threatened to come and fight our chief, Kapela, and his people, because they kept a white man in their town. Just then there happened, as is common in March, to be a lull in the rains, and their farms were getting dry. Now that April is in the rains have begun again. But the people put this down to us. While they were unfriendly we stopped the rain; now the palaver is nearly over we have brought it again. Poor creatures! how we long for the time when they shall open their hearts to receive our message of a loving Father and a tender Saviour and know that all things are ordered by Him. We have made a beginning; we have four little Zombo boys on the station, and I should like to tell you how we got them. When we had been here two or three months we thought it was time to make an effort to get children to school. So we asked all the chiefs of the district to meet us one day as we had something to talk to them about.

“They had been expecting this, and fifteen came with their followers—altogether over a hundred men assembled. We had made preparation for their entertainment, had killed and cooked a goat, opened some tins of sardines, and got some townswomen to cook ‘luku’ for them. Then we made three or four large jugs of lemonade. They would not enter the house, so we spread mats for them outside, while we three sat under the eaves. Then Mr. Lewis told them once more the reasons for our being here, and that we wanted to teach their children. Those near could come daily; but we wanted some others to live with us, so that they might know our ways and might learn to read in God’s book. There ensued a long discussion. One after another the chiefs spoke, some saying that was not what they wished for. They wanted a trader who would help them to get rich. Finally they went off to consult among themselves. When they returned most of them said they were willing to give us some boys, some did not speak, while others said they would let us have some carriers, but did not want their children to come to us. What was the good? However, they settled a day when they should bring some boys, and then we invited them into one of the houses to eat. But no, they would not enter; so the ‘chop’ was brought and they eat it as they sat, only one or two refusing to partake, as to ‘eat goat’ in Kongo means to acknowledge the one who provides it as your chief. I wished we could have photographed the scene, but we thought it might frighten them.

“On the day appointed only two parties turned up—Kapela, our head chief, and one other. Kapela brought three little boys and two young men, but as the latter have wives and families we said they could come daily to school. The three boys were delighted, and when their relatives’ backs were turned began to dance for joy, and very proud they were when I rigged them out in new shirts and cloths.