TWO MAKUA MOTHERS
At last we have finished writing down and translating the text. The mothers have watched us in complete silence—not so the babies, who all seem to suffer from colds, and breathe noisily in consequence. The assertions made in so many works on Africa, as to the happiness of the native in early childhood, do not stand the test of reality. As soon as the mother gets up after her confinement, which she does very soon, the infant is put into the cloth which she ties on her back. There it stays all day long, whether the mother is having her short woolly hair dressed by a friend, enjoying a gossip at the well, hoeing, weeding, or reaping in the burning sun. When she stands for hours together, pounding corn in the mortar, the baby jogs up and down with the rhythmic motion of her arms, and when she is kneeling before the millstone grinding the meal into fine white flour, or squatting by the hearth in the evening, the rosy morsel of humanity never leaves its close and warm, but not altogether hygienic nest. The rosiness does not last long. No provision in the way of napkins being made, the skin soon becomes chapped and deep cracks are formed, especially at the joints, and the terrible African flies lay their eggs on the eyelids of the unfortunate little ones, neither father nor mother ever raising a hand to drive them away—they never dream of making this effort for their own benefit! No wonder that the little eyes, which in the case of our own children we are accustomed to think of as the most wonderful and beautiful thing in organic nature, should be bleared and dim. Fungoid ulcers (the result of “thrush”) are seen protruding in bluish white masses from nose and mouth. The universal colds are the consequence of the great difference of temperature between day and night. The parents can protect themselves by means of the fire and their mats; the child gets wet, is left lying untouched and uncared for, becomes chilled through, and of course catches cold. Hence the general coughing and sniffing in our baraza.[[27]]
A FRIENDLY CHAT
The women having noticed that the first number on the programme is finished, the same solo voice as before begins once more, softly and not unmelodiously. “Seletu, seletu, songo katole, tung’ande songo katole.” This song, too, alternates between solo and chorus, like the previous one. I already know enough Yao to translate the two words, songo katole; their meaning, “Bring the songo” (snake) makes me curious as to that of the rest. And rightly so, for how anyone can invite a person to bring up this, the most poisonous reptile in East Africa, whose bite is instantly fatal, is at present a mystery. I restrain my curiosity, however, till I have heard the next song, which might be considered as merely a continuation of the first, as the air is the same, and the only difference is the introduction of another animal—the lion. The words are as follows:—
Solo: Seletu seletu, simba katole.
Chorus: Seletu seletu, simba katole.
Solo: Seletu seletu, simba okoto.
Chorus: Seletu seletu, simba okoto.
I have a good ear, but unfortunately have had no musical training whatever, and have never regretted this so much as I do now, here in the interior of Africa, especially now that my phonograph is hors de combat. This would not have mattered so much, had I been able to enter the simple melody at once in my note-book, but, as it is, I shall have to dispense with a record altogether. In both these songs the line sung by the solo performer is repeated by the whole chorus, and this alternation goes on for an indefinite time, till the performers are tired out.