Congo life and folklore

by John H. Weeks

A few days after the return of the trading caravan, the whole town was startled to hear that some one had stolen two pieces of cloth from Old Plaited-Beard’s house. He was most emphatic and circumstantial as to when and where he had left the cloth, and the disappearance of the pieces. He borrowed a strong fetish from a friend, beat it soundly to arouse it to action, held it three times above his head that its spirit might rush through the air in pursuit of the thief, held it also three times head downwards near the ground to enable the fetish spirit to run along the earth after the robber, and then hung it by the neck to the roof of his house. Then the old man waited a day or two, but the cloth was not returned.

Old Plaited-Beard fumed in pretended rage about the loss of his cloth, and at last accused Bakula of stealing it. The lad indignantly denied the charge.

The old man said: “Ever since you met that white man in Tonzeka’s town you have been a different lad. You do not enter into our fetish palavers, you laugh at the witch-doctors, you destroyed the power of my charms so that I did not kill a single animal through the whole of the hunting season, you bewitched my carrier, thus causing the breaking of all my crockery ornaments, and now you have stolen my cloth.”

“I am not guilty of any of these charges,” stoutly maintained the lad. "I have not stolen your cloth! Search my house if you like, for since our return from the trading journey to the coast I have not been to a market, nor have I been out of the town except to bathe in the river, so I have had no opportunity of disposing of the cloth. It is true that since the white man put medicine on my wound, and talked to me about God’s palaver I have lost my faith in charms and ‘medicine men.’"

A great crowd by now was surging round the two principal persons in this strange scene, and a howl of derision went up from scores of throats when the brave lad daringly avowed his disbelief in charms and witch-doctors.

“He is a witch! Give him the ordeal!” shouted some. “Kill him!” screamed others, “or he will bewitch all of us.”

And women held their children tightly to their bosoms, and begged them not to follow the example of “that wicked boy.”

Satu came hurrying up to learn the cause of all the excitement, and when the whole case was laid before him he felt a great pity for the lad, and determined that he should have fair play; for he liked him, and had admired his smartness in trade, and alertness in games, dancing and hunting. Besides, he knew that his accuser, Old Plaited-Beard, hated the boy for some unknown reason.

When, therefore, the mob again demanded either the ordeal or death for the undaunted boy, the chief at once said: “No, let us search his house as he desires, and if we find the cloth in it, then we will have a palaver and punish him according to our laws.”

A rush was instantly made for Bakula’s house, where he lived with his mother; but no one entered until the chief actors arrived, and then Satu, Old Plaited-Beard, Bakula, and one or two others entered the house; and after searching about the hut for a very short time Old Plaited-Beard pulled the two pieces of cloth from a corner of the roof, in the dark inner room, where they were concealed by some grass.