CHAPTER IV
THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS
The coming of more white men—A change in our treatment—Things go from bad to worse—I get tired of collecting rubber—And stay at home—The white man’s anger and threats—I go to a palaver—My rubber is short—I am whipped—The white man’s new plan—Forest guards—Their oppression and greed—We report them to the white man—Results—But the worst not yet.
When Bokakala had been with us some time, other white men came to our country, and they also wanted rubber. “Why do they want so much rubber?” we asked; for we could not see why they should be continually wanting the same thing. That is not our way; we feel a thirst for a thing for a time, but in a little while it is finished, and we want something else. Later on Bokakala left us to go to his own land to seek for strength in his body, and he left us another white man, whom we called “Leopard”; but they were all known afterwards as Bokakala’s white men.
When the day of rubber came round week after week, we took in to the white man our little baskets of rubber balls, and received in exchange salt or beads; or if, as sometimes happened, he had none of these articles left, he would give us a book to keep, and pay us in kind when his boxes arrived. So far we had not had any trouble between us and the white man; he and we were satisfied with the barter we carried on.
But changes came—another white man came to help Leopard in his work, and he was different from other white men, he was not good, so we gave him a bad name which meant “Pillage” or “Brigandage,” though I do not suppose he ever knew what it meant.
Naturally a change took place in the way we were treated, and gradually things got worse and worse.
Now it is well known that no man goes on for ever at one thing without getting tired, and wanting a rest. And when I had been going to and fro to the forest getting rubber for a long time, I began to wish to sit down in town for a little while, especially as by this time Bamatafe had given birth to a little son, of whom I was very proud, as he was our firstborn.
So one week I stayed at home when the young men went to the forest, and when the day of rubber fell I had no rubber, and did not go to the white man’s place.
As usual, our names were called out of a book, and when mine was reached some one answered, “He has not come.” Then the white man was angry, and said that if Bokwala did not come to the next market he would have a big palaver. My friends came home and told me his words, and the next time I went with them and was told that I must never miss coming—the rubber must be brought in regularly without fail, or there would be “chicotte,” or perhaps even prison for those who missed coming.
After that I went regularly for a long time, but on one occasion there was a great palaver to be talked in our village, and it was necessary for me to be present at it. At this time we had to collect a certain weight of rubber and present it at the white man’s place every fifteenth day. It took almost all our time to go to and from the forest and collect the rubber, for it was becoming very scarce.
So when the day came for carrying my basket to the white man I had not the prescribed quantity. I knew that when my turn came to have my rubber weighed the white man would be angry and scold me, but said I, “Lotango nta wak’ontu” (“Reproach does not kill a man”), and I did not expect anything worse.
But the order was given, “Etama” (“Lie down”).
I could scarcely believe my ears—I, the son of a chief, to be whipped publicly!
It was true. I was placed face down on the ground, my cloth turned back, and the twisted hippo hide whip was brought out by one of the servants of the white man.
Down it came on me, lash after lash, cutting clean into the flesh at every stroke, and causing the blood to flow!
I do not know how many strokes were given me then; how could I count? The pain was bad enough, but the shame was worse. Then I was sent off, the blood drops on the sand showing the path I followed, without payment for the rubber I had brought, and with the order to bring a double quantity next time.
For my own sake I tried to do so. I bought some from a man in the village who had managed to amass a reserve stock, but I had to pay a ruinous price for it. I soaked some in water to make it heavier, and next time I was allowed to leave without any punishment.
One day the white man told us of a new arrangement he was making for us rubber workers. A number of men were to be set apart as sentries, we called them, but the white man called them guards of the forest. They were to be taken from amongst our own people, and armed with guns, and they would accompany us on our journeys to and from the forest and protect us, and they would also escort us to the white man’s place when the day arrived for taking in the collected rubber. This sounded well, and as the rubber grew more and more scarce, and we had to go further into the forest to secure it, surely, we thought, a gun would be a protection, and keep our enemies from interfering with us.
Alas! once more were our hopes dashed to the ground. These men, who were supposed to be our protectors, became in time our worst oppressors. Instead of going with us into the forest, they at once appropriated the best houses in the villages for themselves, or if these were not good enough for them, they caused new ones to be erected at our expense. After hurrying us off to the forest alone and unprotected at the earliest possible moment, they established themselves in the village, and lived in such a style as to far outshine any of our chiefs—in fact, taking a delight in insulting and depreciating them and relegating to themselves every vestige of authority which had formerly been vested in the chiefs of our own people.
As soon as ever we young men had gone, they behaved as though everything in the village belonged to them; the few goats we had, our fowls, dogs, food, all our goods and possessions—nothing was safe from their greed, and it was not long before even our wives were not safe if left at home alone.
Things had been gradually getting worse for a long time, and now that the sentries were placed over us were so much worse than ever before that we began to give up hope.
We reported their doings to the white man many times, but we soon found that he and they were as one man, and that if we told we almost invariably lost the palaver before the white man, and then the sentries found means of their own to punish us for having spoken against them.
We frequently visited the other white men when we had the time to spare—I mean those who taught about God—and told them our grievances.
They listened and wrote the things we told them in a book, and tried very hard to get things put right for us; but with a bad white man in charge of worse black men who were all armed with guns and given free scope in the villages, it was little they could do.
On several occasions they did win cases for us, and we always knew that things would be worse if they were not in our midst to see and hear what was done, and to take our part against our oppressors.
“Times were bad!” do you say? You are sorry for us?
Yes, white men of Europe, they were bad, even then; but I have not reached the worst part of my story. Then, if you do indeed feel pity, your hearts will weep for us, and you will be filled with grief and with anger.