Matola and his cousin, our common friend, Daudi, belong to the lukosyo of the Achemtinga, but at the same time to the group of the Amachinga.[[59]] The prefix Che, as already stated, is an honorific title for both men and women:—Chemtinga, according to Daudi, was once a great chief in the region of the upper Lujende. The Masimbo lived in Zuza’s district. These take their name from the pitfalls (lisimbo, plural masimbo) in which their forefathers used to catch game. The Amiraji, who lived near Mwiti, derive their name from the character of the country where they formerly lived, which abounded in bamboo (mlasi).[[60]] Another Yao clan are the Achingala, who take their name from the ngala, a kind of mussel, found in the Rovuma and its tributaries, the shells of which are still used as spoons; the reason for the name is said to be that their ancestors chiefly lived on this mollusc.
In the same category as these last we may place the Makua clan of the Wamhole, whose forefathers fed on the wild manioc (mhole), a root still eaten in time of famine. The Makonde clan of the Wambunga derive their name from the tradition that their ancestors ate the nambunga, or fruit of the bamboo. The Wantanda formerly had the custom of cutting the flesh of the game they killed into long strips (nantanda). The Wamunga[[61]] are rice-planters, the ancestors of the Alamande lived on a small locust of that name, and the Wutende are people famous throughout the country on account of a quality for which we are little disposed to give the natives credit—they are always working (kutenda).
Even in the cool climate of Europe it is not altogether easy for the mind to grasp the marriage laws of these clans. Here in tropical Africa, with its perpetual alternations of heat and cold, I find it almost impossible to follow the expositions of old Mponda, my principal lecturer on Civil Law. Moreover, it is very much of a shock to our customary ways of thinking, to hear, for example, the following:—After the Makonde boy has been circumcised he does not return to his parents’ house, but remains in that of his maternal uncle. There he has nothing further to do but grow up and wait till his girl cousins are grown up likewise. If the uncle has no daughters, the nephew first waits till one is born, and, after this event has taken place, he has again to wait. It must be understood that the young man is not supposed to get his board for nothing all this time; he is expected to work pretty hard, like Jacob serving seven years for Rachel. When at last the goal is reached and the cousin is marriageable, the suitor, meanwhile arrived at years of discretion, goes away somewhere where he can earn a rupee’s worth of calico, hands this to his uncle, and takes home his wife. He is not, however, free to live where he likes, but remains at his uncle’s village, and works for him like a bondsman, as before. If, in due course, he has a son, this son, according to Mponda, must again marry a cousin—the daughter of his father’s sister. In the old man’s own concise words: “If I have a sister and she has a daughter, and I have a son, my son can marry that girl. But if I have a brother and he has a daughter, my son cannot marry his daughter, because she is numbuwe—his sister.”
We took our leave of the young girl at the moment when, after passing through the months of the chiputu with their formalities and festivities, she has taken her place among the initiated. According to some of my informants the child’s marriage takes place very soon after this epoch—certainly before the period which we in Europe consider as the beginning of maturity, viz., the first menstruation.
I have no means of checking these statements, so cannot say whether this is so or not; in any case we are just now more interested in the treatment of girls on the occasion alluded to—the more so that this treatment is analogous to that practised in a whole series of other regions. As on the Lower Guinea coast, (in Loango,[[62]] on the Gabun, and on the Ogowe) and in various parts of Melanesia, the girl is lodged in a separate hut, where she remains entirely alone; her friends come and dance, uttering the shrill cry of the ntungululu outside the hut, but otherwise keep at a distance. Her mother, her instructress during the unyago, and the other wise women, however, impart to her the rules of conduct and hygiene:—she must keep at a distance from every one; she must be particular as to cleanliness, must wash herself and bathe, but above all, must have intercourse with no one. This is repeated over and over again, while at the same time eating, singing and dancing go on incessantly.
At the first pregnancy of a young wife, also, various ceremonies take place. At bottom, however, these are only a pleasant setting for a number of rules and prohibitions inculcated on this occasion by the older women. In the fifth month the young woman has her head shaved, and a month later the women make a feast for themselves, and roast some maize for her. Some more maize is then soaked in water and pounded and the resulting paste smeared on her head. Then the husband goes to the bush, accompanied by a near relation of his wife’s, the woman wearing nothing but a small waist-cloth. The man cuts down a suitable tree and prepares a piece of bark-cloth in the way already described, while the girl sings in time to the strokes of his mallet “Nalishanira wozewa neakutende.” The fabric when finished is ornamented with beads, and the instructress hangs it round her protegée’s neck as a charm. This is called mare ndembo, and the same name is henceforth applied to the expectant mother. Next morning all the people are again assembled for the dance—the inevitable ntungululu inseparable from all joyful feelings or festive occasions, mingling, of course, with the singing and hand-clapping. All, however, do not take part in these rejoicings; the wise women and the instructress stand apart from the crowd, in a group round the young wife. “You must not sit on other people’s mats,” says one toothless old woman, “it would injure both you and the child—you would be prematurely confined.”
“You must not talk to your friends, men or women,” says another woman, whose utterance is impeded by an enormous pelele, “that, too, would be bad for the child.”
“You must not go out much after this,” says a third. “If possible let no one see you but your husband, or the baby might resemble someone else. But if you do go out, you must get out of people’s way, for even the smell of them might hurt the child.”
There is, after all, something in these rules and warnings. We in Europe are quite familiar with the idea that a pregnant woman must not see anything unpleasant or terrifying, and ought not, if she can possibly help it, to let herself be impressed by any other face than that of her husband. The other prescriptions belong to the region of sympathetic magic, or action by analogy—the mere possibility of coming within the atmosphere of people who have recently had sexual intercourse with one another may endanger the coming life.
But this is not all,—the most important points are yet to come.