MAKONDE WOMEN GOING TO DRAW WATER. FROM A DRAWING BY PESA MBILI
CHAPTER XIII
THE HARVEST OF KNOWLEDGE
Newala, towards the end of September, 1906.
Having witnessed—thanks to Sefu, and to a favourable conjuncture of circumstances—the festive ceremonies of the unyago, I have been trying to study the theory and the details of the whole process of initiation for both sexes. I find this extremely difficult. It is true that I have gradually obtained a complete view of the boys’ unyago, though it cost me endless trouble to ascertain all the rules; but the other part of the problem seems to be absolutely bewitched, so many accumulated obstacles oppose themselves to its solution. Under other circumstances, this might drive the most patient inquirer to despair; but on the Makonde plateau, happily, there is no time for despair, for with this question are associated a hundred others, not less interesting and important, and therefore demanding an answer with equal insistency.
But I see that I must arrange the account of my inquiries and their principal results in a systematic way in order to present them in a form which can be satisfactorily grasped by the reader.
Taken all round, the whole environment of Newala is such as to offer a sort of resistance to every kind of intense intellectual work. Not that we suffer from the heat here, at a height of about 2,460 feet above sea-level, to the same degree as we did in the plain, which had gradually become something like a baker’s oven. It is true that the temperature of about 80° F. indicated by the maximum thermometer in our baraza during the early hours of the afternoon, causes the same severe headache as the 86° F. and over of the plain; but, on the one hand, one gets used to having one’s work suspended by the heat, and, on the other, the natives generally sleep through the hottest part of the day, so that I lose nothing by inactivity at that time. Much more trying is the loss of time resulting from the cumulative effect of a series of other circumstances, which may seem almost comical to those not immediately concerned, and even occasionally prove amusing to ourselves, but which are serious hindrances none the less.
In the first place, we have the daily changes of temperature. In the grey dawn, wrapped up warmly in two blankets, I hear heavy drops falling on the tent-roof, think half-consciously, that it is raining, and doze off again, soon to be awakened by sounds of creaking and groaning which make me sit up with a start. On opening my eyes I see the ropes so tightly stretched that the tough ashen poles are bent over almost into a half-circle. With an imprecation on the careless sentinel, I jump from beneath my mosquito-net, call him up along with the two previously on duty, and make them lengthen the ropes as a punishment. By the time this is accomplished, not without severe exertion, it is quite light, and I do not find it worth while to go to sleep again. Now comes the pleasantest event of the day—the morning bath; at six a.m. the temperature is between 57° and 58°, perfectly Arctic for Africa. The long row of gourds treated the day before with alum contain water which feels ice-cold; and the bath and the rub down afterwards, are truly delicious. Kibwana, in his capacity of valet, has long ago become accustomed to my white skin; but there are plenty of eyes staring through the gaps in the boma palisade or the headman’s fence, in astonished enjoyment of this daily spectacle. When I get out, I find there is not a vestige of rain—it was only the heavy morning dew, dripping from the thick-foliaged mango-trees under which our tents are pitched. The sun is as yet invisible; Newala is shrouded in a thick mist—not even the lofty trees in the burying-ground outside the gateway being recognizable in this rolling sea of white. Instinctively, Knudsen and I put on the winter clothes already described, and I add a muffler in the shape of a folded handkerchief, while he buttons his overcoat up to his chin.
TWO NEWALA SAVANTS