"I think it lies in this: that the native so readily responds to civilization and improvement, that he comes up to our highest expectation along some lines; and then we, forgetting the generations of barbarism back of him, think he should measure up to our expectations along all lines. When he fails us at some particular point we become disgusted and do not give him credit for the advancement he has made."
There seems to be much truth in the above statement and it has often been a help to me in dealing with natives. There is something else also which must not be lost sight of, and that is that as much as possible they should be dealt with as individuals. Too often the white man thinks the natives are all made over the same mould, and that the characteristics of one are the characteristics of all. He will often not take the trouble to study their individuality, and perhaps he thinks they do not have any. This is not surprising. Europeans often visit New York, remain a short time and then return home, thinking they know Americans, and can be found prating of how Americans do. If people come to such superficial conclusions about such a heterogeneous mass of humanity as exists in the United States of America, it is not surprising that one or two natives in the eyes of many white people stand as a type of all Africans.
The writer has had an opportunity of studying the natives of four or five tribes and has come into contact in various ways with several other tribes, yet she feels that her knowledge of the native character is in many respects superficial and unsatisfactory. It has this to recommend it, however, that it is gleaned at first hand from many years' residence among the raw and semi-civilized Africans.
We have tried to show that the natives differ greatly in their ability to learn in school and out of it, in their habits of cleanliness, and in their readiness to receive the Gospel. As there was a large number of boys about us day by day, we found that they also greatly differed in disposition, as much so as white people, and it was necessary to study the characteristic of each in dealing with them. They soon understand if the missionary respects and trusts them; and they readily respond to such treatment and show by their conduct that such confidence is not misplaced. On the other hand, if they are censured for a fault, especially if they think the censure is unjust, they soon become careless and discouraged. On account of their secluded and simple life they, even the grown ones, are much like children when they first come into contact with white people, and they fail to understand why two persons should treat them differently—why two missionaries or two masters should not have the same way of doing things, the same generosity and the same dispositions.
Child-life of these dark-skinned Africans is in some respects not so different from that of their white neighbors, unless it is in its greater freedom. Until it learns to walk, the child spends much of its time on its mother's or older sister's back, tied by a skin with its face toward the mother. In the early days at Matopo, Matshuba once inquired how our mother carried us when we were children. We said she carried us on her arms. He nodded his head sagely and exclaimed, "That explains it. That is why your noses are long and straight and ours are flat."
Little Nurses. Mianda Village.
On the mother's back the child sleeps and coos and observes what goes on about it. Here it bobs up and down as the mother handles the hoe, stamps or grinds the meal, or goes about her cooking. Here it takes rides as the mother goes after wood or water, or on long journeys to visit her friends. Occasionally she removes it from her back, straightens out its cramped limbs, feeds it, and then places it on the ground to play. It has no garments to impede its progress, and so it soon learns to help itself, crawls about and picks up earth or whatever comes in its way and eats it, no one objecting.
As it becomes older the freedom is still greater, especially if it is a boy. There is no school to confine him, no hard lessons, no table manners, no daily washings, oftentimes. He runs, he hunts, he fishes, he plays often the long day through, together with the other little ones of the village. He has no clock to tell him the time of the day, except the great orb above him, and this he learns to read with surprising accuracy. As it sinks in the west, he comes with his assegais and faithful dogs, and with a rabbit or some birds, carried on a stick across his shoulders, proudly displaying his prowess in hunting. He makes bows and arrows, popguns, plays hockey and other games, makes clay animals, wagons, and many other things. In fact, some native boys are genuine artists, and it is a pleasure to watch them deftly mould animals of various kinds.