Upon one arm, or both, she wears an enormous cuff, made of heavy brass wire, an eighth of an inch in diameter, coiled into a solid gauntlet, large at the elbow, tapering down to the wrist and spreading again towards the hand. It is made on the arm and is not supposed to be removed. Sometimes it is worn on the upper arm, in which case it chafes the arm, and after a while causes an ulcer. These are also frequently worn on the lower leg. But for this latter purpose they prefer a large brass ring, several of which they wear on each leg, and which they keep brightly polished. A woman if she can afford it, wears as many of these brass rings as she can walk with.
It is strange that they have no love of flowers, and still more strange when one considers their instinctive love of music. Passing through a village and seeing a woman performing her semi-annual duty of combing her hair, I have suggested the decorative possibilities of flowers rather than shirt-buttons. I have even gathered them for her and have put them in her hair, and I am sure they were becoming. But to her they were ridiculous; nor was she moved when I told her that white women in my country infinitely preferred flowers to shirt-buttons.
The men are tattooed on their faces and their breasts; but the markings are light and scarcely disfigure the face. Every man carries at his left side a long, two-edged, sword-like knife. It is a splendid article, which they themselves manufacture. It is carried in a sheath of python-skin, suspended from a shoulder-strap of leopard-skin, though sometimes monkey-skin or goat-skin is substituted. The flint-lock gun had reached there long before our time; and every man had a gun which he carried all the time.
The men are usually tall, athletic and remarkably well-formed, though not as full in the chest as a perfect physique would require. Most of the younger men are good-looking. Many of the younger women have decidedly pretty faces, but they are not as intelligent-looking as the men. Most of the children are beautiful, with sweet, good-natured faces and lovely eyes. Indeed, all of those whom one would call good-looking have beautiful, large and expressive eyes, that can look brimful either of laughter or affection; and the boys, to the age of fourteen or fifteen, have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.
The Bulu people were unmistakably friendly and fluently sociable. It did not seem to matter much that during those first days we did not understand a word they said. The women were more sociable than the men, but the men were more dignified and self-respecting. Most sociable of all was the head-wife of the principal chief. In the usual traveller’s book he would be called a king and she a queen, but these titles are misleading without explanation. This “queen” often used to come to Efulen selling potatoes, half a bucketful at a time, for which she bought more beads. She was getting along in years, but still maintained an air of superannuated gaiety. Upon her back were several ugly scars where his lordship, her husband, had struck her with a cutlass—an unpleasant habit quite characteristic of African husbands. One day, wishing to strengthen the bond of friendship, she presented us with a coil of snake for our dinner, which we declined with profuse thanks. On another occasion, after our house was built, she came with five junior wives of the same chief, and asked that they be shown through our house. I escorted them through the house, as one might escort a party through the White-house in Washington. Shrieks of wonder accompanied their inspection of every article. Finally this head-wife, in lively gratitude, insisted upon dancing in the dining-room for our entertainment. The feet are the least active members in this singular dance. Most of the time she stands in one place; nor does she pirouette like the dervish of Egypt. The dance has not the gladsome hop of the Bohemian dances, nor the swift glide of the tarantella; and of course it is altogether unlike any of our conventional dances. It is an amazing and rapid succession of extravagant gestures, grotesque poses and outrageous contortions. The shoulders and stomach and all the muscles of her seeming boneless body are set in violent motion. If dancing is “the poetry of motion,” this is downright doggerel. She accompanies it with a vocal imitation of their several wooden instruments, as incongruous as the dance itself. She seems to be imitating half a dozen instruments at once, while deaf to either applause or remonstrance on our part she dances on heedless of perspiration and decorum. Finally this lady came to me one day and, offering to leave her husband, made me a proposal of marriage, to the delight of Dr. Good and Mr. Kerr. Shortly after this she went crazy.
We came in contact with a belief regarding the white man’s origin which is widely prevalent, namely, that their dead ancestors have gone over the sea and have become white men. We, therefore, are their ancestors. Dr. Good and I once entered a town where the white man had never been seen. While the people were still standing back, afraid of us, a woman looking intently in my face uttered a cry of recognition, mistaking me for her dead grandfather, or grand-uncle, or something of that sort.
“Are you not so-and-so, of my family?” she asked.
Not being eager to claim relationship, I hastily assured her that I was not.
“Are you a spirit, or are you flesh?” she asked.
I told her I was no spirit, but flesh and bones and as solid as herself; and I invited her to come and put her hand on me.