“Mbali—a long way off—Bwana,” he answers, lengthening the vowel to signify inexpressible distance.
“How far?”
“Well—about two hours.”
“Oh! you call that far, do you? you mshenzi! if you were going to a beer-drink, twenty hours would be karibu sana. Off with you now, and come back at eight to-morrow morning.” But neither at eight nor at any later hour was there any sign of the noble father from the Makonde bush. It was not till the fifteenth day after the preliminary consultation that he appeared, bringing with him a little girl of five or six. I did not at first remember him, but at once recalled his previous visit when the child, overcoming her natural shyness, held out her foot. Nothing was to be seen but a horrible mass of dirt and sand cemented together with blood. I started at once on the cleansing process, with the help of Stamburi, my trusty hospital orderly; and when at last the foot was laid bare, we found that the whole ball was eaten away to the bone—whether owing to jiggers, or through the cumulative effect of various other circumstances, my medical knowledge is insufficient to decide. When at last I glanced at the father, I saw him staring like one hypnotized at a leg of antelope intended for the next day’s dinner, which Knudsen had hung up just over my table. Having recalled him to reality, I bade Moritz give him the softest part from the skin of a recently killed wild pig, and told him to make a shoe, or at least a sandal such as are certainly not unknown in this country, as he must see for himself that the child could not walk through the dirty sand with her freshly-bandaged foot. He had his knife with him—let him get to work without delay! We two practitioners devoted ourselves once more to the treatment of the wound, which was in truth a terrible one; and in a little while the bandage was put on as correctly as we knew how. A second look at the father showed that he was still staring at the raw joint, as intently as if he had really eaten his way into it. It is a good thing, after all, in such cases, to have the kiboko within reach. In another quarter of an hour the well-wrapped foot was protected by a very serviceable pigskin slipper. But that is the last I ever saw or heard of the gentleman, and he never so much as thanked me either for the treatment or for the thrashing.
MAKONDE CHILDREN
Boys and girls, as a rule, reach the age of eight or nine, perhaps ten, before any event of importance interrupts the even tenor of their lives. Then the assembly of the men, which when the harvest is over, meets daily in the baraza, decides where the unyago is to be celebrated in the current year. Since all the adjacent districts have now taken their turn in bearing the expense of the ceremony, it is a point of honour that our village should invite them this time. The resolution is soon carried into effect; the moon is already on the wane, and the celebration must take place before the new moon. The unyago presents exactly the same features in all the tribes of this region. The men erect a circle—larger or smaller as circumstances may require—of simple grass huts in an open space near the village. In this space the opening and closing ceremonies are performed; the huts are intended for the candidates to live and sleep in. Such an arena, with all its appurtenances in excellent preservation, was the circle of something over fifty yards’ diameter which I was enabled to photograph when visiting the echiputu at Akuchikomu. The charred remains of a similar lisakasa, as the system of huts is called in Yao, were to be seen near the road on this side of Akundonde’s—the relics of a former festival.
MASEWE DANCE OF THE MAKUAS IN THE BOMA AT NEWALA
It is inherent in the nature of the whole institution that both boys and girls should be passive throughout. They sit silent, inactive and motionless in their huts while, on the first night of the festival, the grown-ups feast and drink and enjoy themselves in the wild masewe dance. Next day the boys, each one in charge of his instructor, are conducted to the bush by the chief director. There they sleep one night without any shelter whatever. For a short time, on the following day, they may do as they please, but during the remainder they have to set to work with their anamungwi (teachers) and build the ndagala. As soon as this airy construction is finished, one after another of the boys is laid on a very primitive couch of millet-straw, and the jua michila performs the operation. For weeks the little patients lie there in a row, unable to do anything to accelerate the slow process of healing. Not till this is complete and the subsequent moral and other instruction has begun do the wari, as the boys are now called, acquire the right to take part in public life. In the high spirits engendered by the pride of their new position, they indulge in many a mad freak. Woe to the unhappy woman or girl who, ignorant of the situation of the ndagala, strays into this region of the bush. Like a troop of mischievous imps, the boys rush on her, tease her, perhaps even tie her up and ill-use her. According to tribal custom, they are quite within their rights in so doing, for their abode in the bush is supposed to be utterly unknown to women. When he goes out into the pori the boy is dead to his mother,—when he returns, he will be a different person with a new name, and nothing to connect him with his former relationship.