[CHAPTER XVI]
THE WOMEN MINERS OF BANJELI
From Nambiri as far as Kugnau, our next stage, there is no road, nor practically any trail; only an immense variety of native tracks, leading anywhere and everywhere. The country is so thickly populated, that to pick out the right route is very difficult, and well-nigh impossible without a guide. I went on ahead, with the guide, from Tschopowa; and Schomburgk, who was to follow on later, instructed him to "close the road." This means that whenever the guide came to a cross trail, or a fork in the road, he was to place a piece of stick across the wrong one, thereby "closing" it to the next traveller who came along, assuming him to be bound in our direction. This, however, the guide neglected to do in several instances, and as a result Schomburgk wandered off the right track and got lost.
We crossed the Oti twice during this stage. The first crossing was a somewhat difficult one. Not only were the banks covered in dense jungle, but the path dipped down a very steep angle for about fifty feet in sheer depth. I had to slide down assisted by my hammock boys, and we had to exercise considerable care in order to get the horses down, and safely across. I had a magnificent view of the river, which is here about three hundred yards wide from bank to bank, but it being now towards the end of the dry season, the actual stream was greatly shrunken, revealing the presence of many islands, both up and down. These islands were covered with thick tropical vegetation, the haunt of innumerable birds. In the rainy season, all but a few of the higher and larger islands will have disappeared beneath the risen waters, which then fill the whole channel from bank to bank, and bank high.
The second crossing of the Oti was even more picturesque than the first. It is here much broader, the banks are lower, and there are many villages scattered about, from all of which came detachments of natives to swell the welcome given to the first white woman. In the end there must have been fully a thousand of them round my hammock, in front and behind, shouting, dancing, and singing. The din was terrific, the heat and dust awful. I felt I would have given almost anything if they would only go away, and leave me in peace; and yet it was, of course, impossible to get angry with them, or even be anything but polite to them, their good intentions were so obvious. Some time after our arrival Schomburgk turned up, hot, tired, and cross, and rated the guide soundly for not having closed the road. He had, it appeared, gone completely astray, and had been wandering about all over the place.
There is no rest-house at Kugnau, so we had to use our tents. But there was no shade, the trees just about here being merely dwarf ones, and the daytime heat rendered sleep out of the question. Then at night came hordes of ferocious mosquitoes, some of which got under my mosquito-net, and well I knew it. It was the duty of Asmani, Schomburgk's personal boy, to attend to my bed. He was quite a youngster, a long lanky slab of a boy, with arms on him like a chimpanzee's; but he was so willing and good-tempered, that he was a great favourite with all of us. He could not be made to understand, however, the importance of tucking my mosquito-curtain in all round under the mattress, so as to prevent the ingress of the bloodthirsty little pests. I got so tired of talking to him about it, and so weary of sleepless nights, that at last I used to send him regularly to report himself to Schomburgk whenever I was bitten by mosquitoes. It was very comical to see him go up to make this report in the morning, his usually jolly, round face, long and woebegone. "Master," he would say, "two" (or three or four, &c., as the case might be) "mosquitoes in the 'little mother's' bed last night." "Ah!" Schomburgk would remark, with becoming gravity. "Then you must be punished." And he would give him two, three, or four light slaps on the face, one for each mosquito. They were just such smacks as one gives in play to a child, and of course did not hurt him physically in the least, but they hurt his dignity, for Asmani, in virtue of being Schomburgk's personal servant, was "head boy" of the caravan, and the other boys, whom he regarded as being more or less under him, used to take a solid delight in crowding round and sniggering their approval whenever he rolled up for his "mosquito slaps."
I have said that Asmani was a willing boy. In fact, he was too willing. When one gave him an order, his eagerness to obey led him to rush off at top speed before he half understood what was required of him. The results, very often, were ludicrous in the extreme; and occasionally not a little annoying. Asmani got to be known, very early in the trip, as the "cockroach," on account of his erratic, rapid movements; and towards the end of our journey, whenever he was making ready to bolt eagerly off before he had properly comprehended our meaning, it only became necessary to cry out to him, while lifting a warning forefinger, "Whoa, Asmani; don't cockroach!" in order to arrest him. He was one of that type of servant—now, I am afraid, rare in effete Europe—who regards his employer's interests as his own. Consequently, he was not a great favourite with the other boys; who held, for the most part, views widely divergent from these. To Messa, our cook, more especially, he was the very reverse of a persona grata, for when Messa would come to tell me, say, that the tea was all gone, or that he required more sugar from store, Asmani, if he happened to be anywhere near, would be sure to give vent to an incredulous, long-drawn "Oh-h-h!" Whereupon Messa would glare at him, and presently there would ensue a rare hullabaloo from behind the cook-house; Asmani and Messa "having it out."
It was while we were resting here that an incident occurred which showed how easily an inexperienced European may be led astray in his dealings with the natives, and so cause trouble without being at all aware of it. It had reference to the Konkombwa cowrie-shell helmets, of which mention has already been made. These beautiful and unique objects always attract the immediate attention and admiration of European travellers, who naturally try to acquire one or more to take away with them. But the Konkombwa value them highly, and are usually, and for the most part, very unwilling to sell them, even though tempted by what is, for them, a very good price, either in coined money, or in brass or copper rods, which they greatly prefer.
I have heard it hinted that, in the old days, Europeans were not too careful of the rights of the natives in regard to their acquisition of these curios. Now, however, strict orders have been issued by the Duke of Mecklenburg that the Konkombwa are not to be unduly pressed to part with their helmets or other trappings. They may be bought. But the sale must be a genuine one, a fair price must be paid, and above all, Europeans are warned to make certain, before purchasing, that the Konkombwa are willing to sell, and that no secret intimidation has been used to compel them to do so by the interpreters, soldiers, &c., attached to the caravan.