The jungle folk of Africa

by Robert H. Milligan

I have sometimes found a town in a state of preparation and eager inquiry through their casual meeting with native Christians. One day I sailed with the Evangeline to a town fifteen miles away, called Elen Akidia—Dawn of the Morning; for it is built upon a hill that rises above the surrounding bush so that they can see the first light of day. I stayed in the town over night. In the evening a large audience gathered in the palaver-house, which was lighted by a tiny lamp. It had no chimney, to be sure, but still it was the boast of the town. They had been learning for several years of the Christian religion from ill-instructed natives, but I do not know that any Protestant missionary had ever preached there. They listened so attentively and earnestly that I talked to them for more than an hour. Then, being tired, I went out and sat near by in the dark, but they remained, gravely discussing what they had heard. The chief in closing said: “We have done all these things that God hates. We have beaten our wives and made them work like slaves. We have been cruel to children, and we have neglected the sick. But I think God will forgive us when we tell Him we did not know. We have lived in great darkness; but now the light has come; we must change our ways. And you women, you need not be puffed up because the white man took your part; for you are the cause of most of our troubles. We must all change our ways. I hope the white man will come back soon and help us; for we need help.”

The grave tone and serious manner of the speaker, with the dark and silent night surrounding, all deepened the impression of his words, which seemed the most pathetic I had heard from heathen lips; and often again I went to Elen Akidia—Dawn of the Morning.

I once visited a town where there was a sick woman, close to death and in great agony. She had become ill suddenly, and the people, not knowing the cause, concluded she was a witch, or rather that she had a witch. The witch in her had turned on her, and was eating her. For the woman had convulsions, and that was a sign that the witch was eating her. They were now able to account for the death of several children in the town; this woman had, without doubt, bewitched them. Her spirit, being “loose from her body,” had gone out in the night, and while the children were sleeping, had eaten them. Next morning the children appeared to be well, but they immediately began to fail, and after a while they sickened and died.

I found the woman lying on a bed, consisting of nothing but poles laid upon the ground, although the town was near the coast, and they were long accustomed to better beds. The town was built in a mangrove swamp, and the mosquitoes were so thick that to be exposed to them was torture that one could not long endure. But this woman’s bed had no mosquito net, although all the other beds in town were thus furnished. Every little while her body was convulsed, and her features distorted with pain. I gave her some medicine, although I had no idea what was the matter with her; for I had only been in Africa a short time. I was sure that the medicine did her no harm, however, and that is the principal consideration. But it served to teach a moral lesson. I told my boys to make a fire in her house, and I tried to make her comfortable. Her friends refused to help me.

“The woman is a witch,” they said, “and the sooner she dies, the better.”

When I had made her more comfortable I began to talk to her about God and her need of pardon. At first she seemed destitute of any spiritual instinct. The chief regret that she had about dying was that she did not want to leave her goods. Her goods! a brass bracelet and leg ring; a few yards of calico, perhaps; a little oil for the body, and what else but mosquitoes? But there are crises in which the mind is not subject to the ordinary limitations of time, but in a few hours lives through the experience of years. The woman gradually grasped the idea of God’s love and the possibilities of the future. A great and mysterious change came over her, and she said: “I have been a wicked woman. What shall I do?” I told her of the cross of Christ. And, like the penitent thief, in agony and pain, she too ceased cursing and began to pray. That night, as I lay in a house near by, I heard her repeating in broken sentences: “Me ne ye mam abé. Me ne ye mam abé. Atat, kwege me ngongol, Atat. M’abune Jésu. M’abune Jésu.”—I am sinful. I am sinful. Father, have mercy on me. I believe in Jesus. I believe in Jesus.

I left the town before morning, and two days later she died, still saying: “Atat, kwege me ngongol. M’abune Jésu.”

Even the sincerest converts have need of the most patient instruction in the morals of Christianity. Many white men seem to make a business of scoffing at the moral attempts of the native, when God, who looks upon the heart, probably approves. The first earnest inquirer among the Bulu at Efulen was a man named Zanga, whom Dr. Good was daily instructing. One Sunday, when Dr. Good was in Zanga’s town, he found him working, and he told him the law of the Sabbath day. Zanga had already learned of it, but he did not think that the work he was doing was forbidden, because Dr. Good had not mentioned that particular work. He at once stopped, and promised that henceforth he would keep the Sabbath in all reverence. The next Sunday Dr. Good found him again at work, putting a thatch roof on a house, and he again corrected him.

Zanga replied: “Why, you don’t call this work, do you?” But he stopped it, as before.