“Yes; I want to stand” (remain for ever).
“But you will be old by-and-by, and if you live long enough will become very infirm, like that old man,” pointing to a man very old for an African, and thin, and lame, and almost blind, who had come into the court during the foregoing conversation to ask some favour, “and like him you will become lame, and deaf, and blind, and will be able to take no pleasure; would it not be better, then, for you to die when this takes place, and you are in pain and trouble, and so make room for your son as your father did for you?”
“No, it would not. I want to stand all same I stand now.”
“But supposing you should go to a place of happiness after death, and——”
“I no savvy nothing about that. I know that I now live and have too many wives and niggers (slaves) and canoes” (he did not mean it when he said he had too many wives, etc.; it is their way of expressing a great number), “and that I am king, and plenty of ships come to my country. I know no other ting, and I want to stand.”
I offered a reply, but he would hear no more, and so the conversation on that subject ceased, and we proceeded to discuss one not much more agreeable to him, the payment of a very considerable debt which he owed me.
Getting round to the south of Africa we find but little improvement in the matter of the religious belief of royalty, at least according to what may be gleaned from another “conversation,” this time between the missionary Moffat and an African monarch:
“Sitting down beside this great man, illustrious for war and conquest, and amidst nobles and councillors, including rain-makers and others of the same order, I stated to him that my object was to tell him my news. His countenance lighted up, hoping to hear of feats of war, destruction of tribes, and such-like subjects, so congenial to his savage disposition. When he found my topics had solely a reference to the Great Being, of whom the day before he had told me he knew nothing, and of the Saviour’s mission to this world, whose name he had never heard, he resumed his knife and jackal’s skin and hummed a native air. One of his men sitting near me appeared struck with the character of the Redeemer, which I was endeavouring to describe, and particularly with his miracles. On hearing that he raised the dead he very naturally exclaimed, ‘What an excellent doctor he must have been to make dead men alive.’ This led me to describe his power and how the power would be exercised at the last day in raising the dead. In the course of my remarks the ear of the monarch caught the startling news of a resurrection. ‘What,’ he exclaimed with astonishment, ‘what are these words about; the dead, the dead arise?’ ‘Yes,’ was my reply, ‘all the dead shall arise.’ ‘Will my father arise?’ ‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘your father will arise.’ ‘Will all the slain in battle arise?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And will all that have been killed and devoured by lions, tigers, hyænas, and crocodiles, again revive?’ ‘Yes, and come to judgment.’ ‘And will those whose bodies have been left to waste and to wither on the desert plains, and scattered to the winds, arise?’ he asked with a kind of triumph, as if he had now fixed me. ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘not one will be left behind.’ This I repeated with increased emphasis. After looking at me for a few moments he turned to his people, to whom he spoke with a stentorian voice: ‘Hark, ye wise men, whoever is among you the wisest of past generations, did ever your ears hear such strange and unheard-of news?’ and addressing himself to one whose countenance and attire showed that he had seen many years and was a personage of no common order, ‘Have you ever heard such strange news as these?’ ‘No,’ was the sage’s answer; ‘I had supposed that I possessed all the knowledge of the country, for I have heard the tales of many generations. I am in the place of the ancients, but my knowledge is confounded with the words of his mouth. Surely he must have lived long before the period when we were born.’ Makaba then turning and addressing himself to me, and laying his hand on my breast, said: ‘Father, I love you much. Your visit and your presence have made my heart white as milk. The words of your mouth are sweet as honey, but the words of a resurrection are too great to be heard. I do not wish to hear again about the dead rising; the dead cannot arise; the dead must not arise.’ ‘Why,’ I enquired, ‘can so great a man refuse knowledge and turn away from wisdom? Tell me, my friend, why I must not speak of a resurrection.’ Raising and uncovering his arm, which had been strong in battle, and shaking his hand as if quivering a spear, he replied, ‘I have slain my thousands, and shall they arise?’ Never before had the light of divine revelation dawned upon his savage mind, and of course his conscience had never accused him; no, not for one of the thousands of deeds of rapine and murder which had marked his course through a long career.
“Addressing a Namaqua chief, I asked, ‘Did you ever hear of a God?’ ‘Yes, we have heard that there is a God, but we do not know right.’ ‘Who told you that there is a God?’ ‘We heard it from other people.’ ‘Who made the sea?’ ‘A girl made it on her coming to maturity, when she had several children at once. When she made it the sweet and bitter waters were separated. One day she sent some of her children to fetch sweet water whilst the others were in the field, but the children were obstinate and would not fetch the water, upon which she got angry and mixed the sweet and bitter waters together; from that day we are no longer able to drink the water, and people have learned to swim and run upon the water.’ ‘Did you ever see a ship?’ ‘Yes, we have seen them a long time ago.’ ‘Did you ever hear who made the first one?’ ‘No, we never heard it.’ ‘Did you never hear old people talk about it?’ ‘No, we never heard it from them.’ ‘Who made the heavens?’ ‘We do not know what man made them.’ ‘Who made the sun?’ ‘We always heard that those people at the sea made it; when she goes down they cut her in pieces and fry her in a pot and then put her together again and bring her out at the other side. Sometimes the sun is over our head and at other times she must give place to the moon to pass by.’ They said the moon had told to mankind that we must die and not become alive again; that is the reason that when the moon is dark we sometimes become ill. ‘Is there any difference between man and beast?’ ‘We think man made the beasts.’ ‘Did you ever see a man that made beasts?’ ‘No; I only heard so from others.’ ‘Do you know you have a soul?’ ‘I do not know it.’ ‘How shall it be with us after death?’ ‘When we are dead, we are dead; when we have died we go over the sea-water at that side where the devil is.’ ‘What do you mean by devil?’ ‘He is not good; all people who die run to him.’ ‘How does the devil behave to them, well or ill?’ ‘You shall see; all our people are there who have died (in the ships). Those people in the ships are masters over them.’”
With such rulers it is not surprising to find the common people woefully ignorant and superstitious. The crocodile figures prominently in their religious belief. In the Bamangwato and Bakwain tribes, if a man is either bitten, or even has had water splashed over him with a reptile’s tail, he is expelled his tribe. “When on the Zouga,” says Dr. Livingstone, “we saw one of the Bamangwato living among the Bayeye, who had the misfortune to have been bitten, and driven out of his tribe in consequence. Fearing that I would regard him with the same disgust which his countrymen profess to feel, he would not tell me the cause of his exile; but the Bayeye informed me of it; and the scars of the teeth were visible on his thigh. If the Bakwains happened to go near an alligator, they would spit on the ground and indicate his presence by saying “Boles ki bo,” There is sin. They imagine the mere sight of it would give inflammation of the eyes; and though they eat the zebra without hesitation, yet if one bites a man he is expelled the tribe, and is obliged to take his wife and family away to the Kalahari. These curious relics of the animal worship of former times scarcely exist among the Makololo. Sebituane acted on the principle, “Whatever is food for men is food for me,” so no man is here considered unclean. The Barotse appear inclined to pray to alligators, and eat them too, for when I wounded a water antelope, called onochose, it took to the water. When near the other side of the river, an alligator appeared at its tail, and then both sank together. Mashauana, who was nearer to it than I, told me that though he had called to it to let his meat alone, it refused to listen.”