The fetish folk of West Africa

by Robert H. Milligan

At last and before very long, I had the kind of crew I desired. Besides Ndong Koni and Toko, there were three others in the crew of the Dorothy, Ndutuma, Ndong Bisia and a small boy, Nkogo.

Nkogo was one of the brightest of my schoolboys. He sang remarkably well and often led the singing in the school. His beautiful voice was a great help to me in holding services in the towns. He was the most energetic boy I have ever known in Africa. The rest of us grew tired once in a while, but Nkogo never. He was steward, and my personal attendant besides. In the intervals of his own work he was always relieving somebody else, Ndong Koni at the wheel, or Toko at the engine, or the cook in the galley.

Often we had to anchor a mile, or even two miles, from a town, because of shallow water, and go the remaining distance in a canoe, perhaps against a strong current. Nkogo was always the first to volunteer for this extra work, except when it was necessary several times in one day, and then it taxed the strength of the men. Nkogo was opposed to letting another canoe pass us, even if they had twice our number of paddles. He thought it was not loyal to the white man. At such times he would still be racing when all his companions had eased up, or until, as he used to say, “the canoe began to get hot.” Life always presented its humorous side to Nkogo. It was one of my few entertaining diversions to hear him each night recount, to those who had remained on board the Dorothy, the incidents of our visits in the towns and all that we had seen and heard, while his audience laughed. I myself had usually seen the sickness, the suffering, the ignorance, the cruelty and all that saddens the heart. But the real truth of African life required that my account should be supplemented by Nkogo’s observations.

Ndutuma was the willing horse that was often overworked. The heavy end always came to him. It was he who cast the anchor and weighed it; which was exceedingly hard work, until, when the Dorothy had been in Africa more than a year, we got a small anchor for the river and used the heavy one only in the bay. He also had charge of the canoe which we towed. If, upon reaching a town at the ebb of the tide, an acre of black mud of any or every depth separated us from the town, it was always Ndutuma who carried me on his shoulders. He was a large, homely, coarse-featured man, with a good eye and a gentle voice that was the perfect expression of his kindness and good-nature. And he was a direct product of missionary effort. For he belonged to one of the most savage clans of the Fang. His town was burned several times by the French, and some of the people killed, because of their unprovoked attacks upon their neighbours. Ndutuma was one of Ndong Koni’s converts and was a Christian before he ever saw a white missionary. He was at that time about twenty years old.

About two years after his conversion there occurred an event in his life which revealed the quality of his faith. Until that time he was the only Christian in his town and the way was hard for him; but shortly afterwards there were more Christians in that town than in any other. Ndutuma’s wife, preferring a more warlike husband, managed to get herself stolen by a man of another tribe. The chief of Ndutuma’s town, with some of his allies, made war on the offending tribe; but Ndutuma himself did not join them in the war. The result was strange enough, from the American point of view—a whole community enraged over an elopement and hotly pursuing the offenders, while the forsaken husband sat quietly at home singing hymns. In Africa the interest of each man belongs to the whole community, including his interest in his wife.

It was not that Ndutuma was glad to be rid of her. For he certainly did want a wife, and any other that he would get would probably be as bad. Moreover he paid a very large dowry for her and had no dowry with which to procure another. It was Christian principle alone that restrained him. He said he would use all peaceable means to get her back, and even if such means failed he would not shed blood. The hard part of it for him was the brand of cowardice and the bitter reviling from his people for enduring such an insult, and for resigning the woman and the goods he had paid for her. It required far more bravery for him to stay at home than to join in the war. But he was firm; and in their hearts they knew he was no coward. They also learned the meaning of Christian faith. They were still more willing to learn the lesson when several of their young men were killed in this very war, notwithstanding the fetishes which they wore for their protection.

Ndutuma never recovered his wife nor the dowry he had paid for her; so he was left a poor man. But most unexpectedly a rich uncle died and left him four wives. This was wealth indeed, and most young men in such luck would have strutted intolerably before their fellows. But Ndutuma coolly announced that he was not a heathen any more; that he would take one of these women for his wife, whichever of them wanted him, and give the others to his poor relations. He was not a noisy man, and that was remarkable in Africa; but he was a man without a price; who was ready at any time to act upon his faith without regard to consequences. He made enemies among those who were tenacious of heathen customs. Not long after I left Africa he died. His death was wrapped in mystery; and in Africa such mysteries are usually related to poison. I do not know that Ndutuma was a martyr. But he was made of martyr stuff. And many a bloodthirsty man and adulterous woman he led into ways of peace and purity.

Ndong Bisia was one of the most interesting boys that I met in Africa. He was not with me very long, but he was one of those occasional Africans that appeal directly to the affectional side of one’s nature. I have said that the Mpongwe tribe have an instinct for good manners, and are the most courteous people in West Africa. But this Fang boy surpassed them all. He first came to me as a schoolboy. When the school closed at the end of the year I took the boys home with the Dorothy, and I was obliged to stay two days at Fula where Ndong and several of the boys lived. I had asked the Fula boys to do my cooking on the journey. When we arrived at this town, early in the morning, the boys hastened ashore pell-mell to see their friends—all but Ndong. He remembered that I would need breakfast and he stayed to prepare it.

When he had set everything in order, he said: “Mr. Milligan, I am going to town to see my people but I shall come back and have your dinner ready for you when you return from the town.”

He did this for two days. Some few of the other boys would have done the same thing if I had asked them, but Ndong did it without being asked: and it was always so. He was also my best assistant in medical work.