Native life in East Africa

by Karl Weule

The fifteen beds are already much dilapidated; some are quite broken, and others show but scant traces of the neat arrangement of straw which distinguished them at first. The great heap of ashes beside every bed shows that the little patients try to protect themselves against the cold at night by keeping up a good fire. They all look thoroughly neglected, and are thickly encrusted with dirt, dust and ashes from head to foot, so that the bath which concludes the ceremonies in the ndagala, and therefore the novitiate of the candidates, is not only a long foregone pleasure, but a direct necessity.

In the centre of the hut we see the branch of a tree set up in the ground. It is painted in various colours and hung with strips of skin, tails of animals and skins of birds. This is called the lupanda, and from it the whole ceremony takes its name, the term unyago being applied to initiation ceremonies in general, that of lupanda to the boys’ “mysteries” only. Nothing more is to be got out of the old man, so that I shall have to find some other informant, especially with regard to the girls’ unyago, which, by all I hear must be at least as interesting as the lupanda. Part of my wish was unexpectedly gratified a day or two later. The jumbe, roused to enthusiasm by the fee received for his services, came to us in great haste just after dinner. We have pitched our camp on a spot with a beautiful view but imperfectly sheltered from the evening gale, at the edge of the bush on the highest point of the hill. Knudsen at first pleaded, as on previous occasions, for the occupation of the baraza; but our old enemy the whirlwind, which of course surprised us just as the pea-soup was being dished up, soon brought him to a better mind. As we were dozing under the banda, a shelter of branches and grass, such as every mnyampara and his men can set up in a few minutes, pressing our hands from sheer habit to our aching temples and thinking of nothing—unquestionably the best occupation in these latitudes—the jumbe came running up, shouting from afar that a chiputu was going on at Akuchikomu’s. The bwana mkubwa and the bwana mdogo might see a great deal if they would go, but the women were shy and timid, and the carriers and soldiers could not be allowed to come with us. In a few minutes we were on the road, Moritz and Kibwana being heavily loaded, as this time I brought not only my large camera, but the cinematograph, too long inactive, from which I hoped great things. The walk was a longer one than on the previous day, the road at first leading north-eastward along the crest of the ridge, and then turning to the west and descending into the green valley of a babbling stream. Before reaching the valley we found the road barred by a huge circle of huts—structures of the most primitive kind consisting merely of a few poles driven into the ground, upright or slanting, and joined at the top by a horizontal cross-piece, the whole thatched with the long African grass. But these sheds were arranged with almost mathematical precision in a continuous circle of over fifty yards in diameter. This is the real place where the festival—not, however, the ceremony we have come to see, but the lupanda—is held. Here the long series of observances begins with dancing, feasting and singing, and here, when the boys return after their three or four months’ absence, recovered from the operation and initiated into the mysteries of sexual life and the moral code of the tribe, the closing celebration takes place. So out with tripod, camera, and plates. Though but a beginner in photography when I started, I have long ago by dint of continual practice become a fundi who can take his twenty or thirty negatives in a few minutes. One glance at the two little mounds of ashes occupying fixed positions in the arena, and then we were off again.

By two in the afternoon we had reached a miserable little Makua village; indeed, it scarcely deserves the name of a village, though the inhabitants of its two or three wretched huts had taken upon themselves to entertain the whole neighbourhood. In fact, a large crowd was assembled, consisting chiefly of women and girls, the men being decidedly in a minority. This alone would be sufficient to stamp the festival as one belonging peculiarly to the women.

The structure where this ceremony was to take place was typically African, not over large, but quite sufficiently so for the object in view. The natives thoroughly understand the art of putting up buildings admirably suited to the purpose they are to serve, and also quite pleasing in style and shape, out of the cheapest materials and with the simplest appliances, in a very short time. This hut was circular, with an encircling wall of poles and millet-straw, between six and seven feet high. It was about thirty feet in diameter, with two doorways facing each other, and a central post supporting the roof. The women were just entering in solemn procession, while the tuning up of several drums was heard from the inside. The jumbe’s hint as to the shyness of the women was abundantly justified; those who caught sight of us at once ran away. The participants only grew calm when we had succeeded in getting up unseen close to the outer wall of the building and there finding shelter in a group of men disposed to be sensible. It was, however, even now impossible to sketch any of the women. I am in the habit, wherever I can, of jotting down in a few rapid strokes every picturesque “bit” I come across, and here I found them in unusual number. Since I left the coast, labrets, nose-pins, and ear-studs have become quite hackneyed, but hitherto I had come across no specimens of such size or racial types so markedly savage and intact. When one of these women laughs, the effect is simply indescribable. So long as her face keeps its normal serious expression, the snow-white disc remains in a horizontal position, that is to say, if the wearer is still young and good-looking. If, however, she breaks into the short, giggling laugh peculiar to the young negress, the pelele flies up with an abrupt jerk and stands straight up over the ivory-white and still perfect teeth, while the young woman’s pretty brown eyes flash with merriment, and the weight of the heavy wooden plug sets up a quick vibration in the upper lip, which is dragged out by almost a hand-breadth from its normal position. Then the baby on the woman’s back (nearly all of them are carrying babies), begins to cry piteously under the searching gaze of the strange white man; and, in short, the whole spectacle is one which must be seen to be appreciated—no pen can describe it.

Our place was well chosen, and enabled us to survey the whole interior of the hut without let or hindrance. I noticed three youths sitting on stools of honour in a reserved part of the hall, and inquired of the jumbe, who stood beside me, obligingly ready to be of use, who those three little shrimps were? It appeared that they were the husbands of the girls whose chiputu was being celebrated that day.

LAUGHING BEAUTIES

And what is chiputu? It is the celebration of a girl’s arrival at womanhood; but that is a long story, which we have no time to investigate just now, for the drums have struck up, in that peculiar cadence, heard at every ngoma, which no one who has visited East Africa can ever forget. At the same moment the closely-packed throng of black bodies has already arranged itself for a dance. With a step something like the gait of a water-wagtail, they move, rhythmically gliding and rocking, round the central posts, at which three old hags stand grinning.

“Who are those?” I ask.

Those are the anamungwi, the instructresses of the three girls; they are to receive the reward of their work to-day. “See now, sir, what is happening.” For the moment nothing happens, the dance goes on and on, first in the way already described, then changing to one which is not so much African as generally Oriental: it is the so-called danse du ventre. At last this too comes to an end, the figure breaks up in wild confusion, one snatching in this direction, another in that, and everyone gathers once more round the anamungwi. These are no longer smiling, but comport themselves with great dignity as they have every right to do. One after another, the women come forward to hand them their gifts, pieces of new cloth, strings of beads, bead necklaces and armlets, and various items of a similar character. “That is all very fine,” their looks seem to say, “but is this an equivalent for the unspeakable trouble which the training of our amwali, our pupils, has given us for years past? We expect something more than that!” However, the festive throng are not in the least disturbed by this mute criticism; people all chatter at once, just as they do in other parts of the world, and everyone is in the highest spirits.