CHAPTER IX
THE ELDERS OF EUROPE
More white men from Europe—Fears and curiosity—The white men inquire about us—We tell them of our state—And our oppressors—The knotted strings and their story—“These things are bad”—The white men’s promises—Better times—Soon ended—Rubber again—The old toil—The men of the river—The demands on the villages—The chiefs in power—Chiefs and the sentries—The death wail and the white man—“We are very poor.”
One Saturday evening a big steamer came to the white man’s beach, and soon after the news spread throughout our villages that a lot of white men from Europe—old men with grey hair—had come to see and judge of our condition for themselves, and to listen to what we had to tell them.
Some of us were afraid to go near them; we had not had a good experience of white men in the past, and we kept away. But others were curious to see the elders of Europe, and so they went to take a look at them from a distance, and then came back and reported to us who stayed at home. There were, said they, three strange white men, said to be settlers of palavers, two of whom were in truth old, grey-headed men; one other was a medicine-man. These were accompanied by the great rubber chief, as well as the white men who worked the steamer. They had also heard that we were all invited to go to the steamer on the next day and state our grievances.
Then while we were still talking about it, the white men of God sent to advise us not to hide anything, but to come and tell these white men all the palavers we could remember, giving names, and bringing eye-witnesses whenever we could. They also said that these white men had promised that we should be protected, and that no harm should come to us as the result of our making our grievances known.
This reassured us, and we thought that as these white men were not boys but old and white-haired, they were worthy of respect, and their word should be true. Therefore we gathered together, we and our chiefs, and we told them many, many things—things which grieved and surprised and made them very angry.
We told them how we had to make rubber when the vines were practically finished in our district; how we had to get animals all the year round and in all weathers, and fish, no matter what the state of the river might be; how our wives could scarcely prepare manioca for our own families because of the constant demands of the white men and his sentries. Then, gaining courage, we went on to tell of the treatment which we received from the sentries in our villages, of their cruelties and oppression, their murders and thefts, their wicked treatment of our wives and daughters, and many other abuses which I cannot tell you of.
Many chiefs came from far distant villages and districts, bringing with them long knotted strings or bundles of twigs, each knot or twig representing a person killed or a woman stolen.
Everything we told was written down, and the white men of God told many things, and these also were written down. This went on for two or three days, until at last the old white chief said, “Have you anything more to tell?”
“Oh, yes,” we said, “many things, white man; we can go on like this for three more days, if you want to hear all.”
Said he, “We have heard sufficient; we know that these things are bad, why should we hear more?”
We were given twenty brass rods each, and told that no one would molest us, and that soon these bad things would be ended, as the palaver would be settled in Europe.
So we went home, and waited. We did not expect much, for we had been told the same thing before, and we had given up hoping long ago.
But after long time of waiting changes did come once more. Bokakala’s white men of rubber did not come to us any more, but Bula Matadi (the State) himself came and said that now he would send his own white men to us, and that they were good; and there would be no more bad doings in our villages; as they would recall all the sentries and not send any more out to live with us, and oppress and ill-treat us and our families.
And Bula Matadi really came, and since then we have had better times than before. Having no sentries in our villages, but only our own headmen, makes it much better for us, and far safer for our wives and families who are left at home when we are away in the forest.
For a little while there was no rubber work; we cut posts and bamboos for building, and firewood for steamers, and there was always the food tax which pressed hard on men and women alike. It always has been a heavy task to supply that, and is still—just as much food is needed, and we are so few, so very few to keep up the quantity.
However, we congratulated ourselves on not having rubber to work, when lo! Bula Matadi himself suddenly ordered us to begin working rubber again!
It seems that there is no way of pleasing a white man except by providing him with rubber. I do not mean the white men of God—they are different. But the others, whether they belong to Bokakala or Bula Matadi, whether they live up-country or down, or away on the big river, they are all alike in feeling a hunger for rubber.
So now we are away in the forest for two months, and in our homes for one. The two months are spent in collecting rubber, and making it into long strips to take to the white man. Each man has to make six strips for each month, and take them to the white man once in three months—eighteen strips at a time. Then we get a piece of cloth or a shirt or a plate as payment if the rubber is good and the quantity sufficient; if it is not, then we get very little or no payment, and if the shortage is of frequent occurrence, it may be prison.
We are better off in having a longer time for getting the rubber; but we have long distances to go in order to reach any vines, and then we have to cut them down and sometimes dig up the roots in order to get sufficient of the sap.
And we have more comfort, because, going for a longer time, we make better shelters, and take our hunting-nets and spears with us, and so succeed in getting some fresh animal food. If several of us are in the same part of the forest, it is easy to set up our nets round a herd of wild pigs or some antelopes. Some go in and beat the bush, others wait outside the nets with poised spears, and it is not long before we have some animal for our evening meal.
The people who live on the river bank, and have to be always providing wood for passing steamers, or fish and manioca for rations for Bula Matadi’s soldiers and workmen, and fresh meat for his own table, are really worse off in some ways than we who are now on rubber work, because they must take their portion every seven or fifteen days, and if they fail to do so they are imprisoned.
Then demands are made of some villages to supply fowls and eggs at odd times and in varying quantities. We wonder sometimes what the white men do with so many eggs; they seem to be always wanting them. One of our people who has frequently to supply eggs says that he thinks the white men must be under the impression that we black men lay eggs the same as fowls do, for they are always calling for them, whether or not the fowls are laying!
Now that there are no sentries in our villages the chiefs of the people are expected by the white men to exercise more authority. But during the years of the sentries’ rule the chiefs were divested of every bit of authority, and systematically degraded in the sight of their people. So bad did it become that a chief spent a great part of his time in the chain, or in the bush hiding from the sentries.
Naturally the children and young people lost their respect for the chiefs, and many an old man whose word a few years ago was law has found, to his shame and chagrin, that he is considered as of no importance and his word as valueless.
Sometimes the old men get into trouble for things that are not really their fault.
For instance, a little while ago some one died in a village near the white man’s compound, and, as usual, the people commenced wailing. From evening until far into the night the death wail rang out, and the sound disturbed the white man’s rest. On the next day the chief was arrested and put in prison for not having stopped the noises—and he remained there for three days and nights. He is absolutely dispossessed of his power, no one thinks of obeying him; and yet he is punished for the inevitable outcome of the rule of the sentries in our villages.
It was much easier to kill the authority of the chiefs than it is to give it back to them. Of course, there is one great chief, who wears a medal, and is in constant intercourse with the white men of Bula Matadi. He has plenty of authority—we think too much—and he uses it largely in getting a great crowd of wives and making it difficult for the young men to get any. Being rich, he can pay enormous prices for women, and demand the same. That is one of our grievances at the present time.
It is our custom to pay for our wives to their fathers and guardians, and the present high prices and scarcity of brass rods are making it almost impossible for a young man to get a wife, and this leads to other bad palavers.
We are very poor—poorer than ever, because the prices of food and other things are higher than before, and yet those who provide the food tax do not receive any more for what they supply. Nowadays our women have no heavy brass anklets, gaiters, or neck ornaments; we are often glad to sell the knives, which were our pride in the old days, for rods with which to settle our palavers.
So, although we are better off in some ways since the changes came, we still have our troubles. We are but few and weak, and those who are stronger than we still oppress and tread us down. We are still slaves, and even if our slavery is a little less hard than of old, it is still slavery and still irksome to us and our children.