About ten miles from Olenda’s residence was a village belonging to a chief named Angouka, and remarkable for the manner in which the plantain was cultivated. In one plantation there were about thirty thousand trees, set about five feet apart. Each tree produced five or six shoots, but the cultivators cut away all but two or three of the finest, in accordance with true arboricultural principles. On an average, thirty pounds’ weight of fruit were grown on each tree, and the natives managed so as to keep up a tolerably constant supply by planting several varieties of the tree, some bearing fruit in six months after planting, some ten months, and others not until eighteen months, the last being the best and most fertile.
While describing the journeys of certain travellers, mention is frequently made of the porters and their loads. The burdens are carried in rather a peculiar manner. The men have a sort of oblong basket, called “otaitai,” which is made of canes woven closely along the bottom, and loosely along the sides. The elasticity of the sides enables it to accommodate itself to various-sized loads, as they can be drawn together if the loads should be small, or expanded to admit a larger burden. Three broad straps, made of rushes, are fixed to the otaitai, one passing over each shoulder of the porter and the other one over his forehead.
Some of the ceremonies employed by the Ashira are very curious. Each chief has a sort of salutation, called “Kombo,” which he addresses to every one of importance whom he meets for the first time. For example, when M. du Chaillu met Olenda, the head chief of a sub-tribe of the Ashira, a singular scene took place. After waiting for some time, he heard the ringing of the “kando” or sacred bell, which is the emblem of royalty in this land, and which is only sounded on occasions of ceremony.
Presently the old chief appeared—a man of venerable aspect, and very old indeed. His woolly hair was perfectly white, his body bent almost double with age, and his face one mass of wrinkles. By way of adding to the beauty of his countenance, he had covered one side of his face with red and the other with white stripes. He was so old that he was accompanied by many of his children, all old, white-headed, and wrinkled men. The natives held him in great respect, believing that he had a powerful fetish against death.
As soon as he had recovered from the sight of a clothed man with straight hair, steady eyes, and a white face, he proceeded to make a speech which, when translated, was as follows: “I have no bowels. I am like the Ovenga River: I cannot be cut in two. But also, I am like the Niembai and Ovenga rivers, which unite together. Thus my body is united, and nothing can divide it.” This address was rather puzzling because no sense could be made from it, but the interpreter explained that this was merely the kombo, and that sense was not a necessary ingredient in it.
According to the etiquette of the country, after Olenda had made his salutation, he offered his presents, consisting of three goats, twenty fowls, twenty bunches of plantains, several baskets of ground-nuts, some sugar-cane, and two slaves. That the last-mentioned articles should be declined was a most astonishing phenomenon to the Ashira. This mode of salutation is finely represented in an [engraving] on the next page.
The villages of the Ashira are singularly neat and cleanly, a most remarkable fact, considering the propensity to removal on the death of an inhabitant. They consist mostly of one long street, the houses being built of bark, and having the ground cleared at the back of the houses as well as in the front,—almost the only example of such industry in this part of Africa. Paths invariably lead from one village to another.
The Ashira are a tolerably industrious tribe, and cultivate the land around their villages, growing tobacco, plantains, yams, sugar-cane, and other plants with much success. The tobacco leaves, when plucked and dried, are plaited together in a sort of flat rope, and are then rolled up tightly, so that a considerable quantity of tobacco is contained in a very small space.
Of course, they drink the palm wine, and, as the method of procuring this universally favorite beverage is rather peculiar, it will be briefly explained. The native, taking with him an empty calabash or two, and a kind of auger, climbs the tree by means of a hoop made of pliant creepers; tying the hoop loosely round the tree, he gets into it, so that his back is pressed against the hoop and his feet against the tree. By a succession off “hitches,” he ascends the tree, much as a chimney-sweep of the old times used to ascend the wide chimneys, which are now superseded by the narrow, machine-swept flues, lifting the hoop at every hitch, and so getting up the tree with wonderful rapidity. When he has reached the top, he takes the auger out of the little bag which is hung round his neck, and bores a deep hole, just below the crown of the palm. A leaf is then plucked, rolled up in a tubular form, and one end inserted into the hole, the calabash being hung just below the other end. During the night the sap runs freely into the calabash, several quarts being procured in a single night. In the morning it is removed and a fresh calabash substituted. Even in its fresh state the juice is a very pleasant drink, but after standing for twenty-four hours it ferments, and then becomes extremely intoxicating, the process of fermentation being generally hastened by adding the remains of the previous day’s brewing. The supply of juice decreases gradually, and, when the native thinks that the tree will produce no more, he plugs up the hole with clay to prevent insects from building their nests in it, and so killing the valuable tree. Three weeks is the average juice-producing time, and if a tree be forced beyond this point it is apt to die.