CHAPTER II
I AM A CANNIBAL’S SLAVE
In the cannibal village—Before the council—Our fate—Desire to please my master—How I succeeded—Our fears and their justification—A sad company—Siene’s murder—The boy who lied—The ordeal by poison—Village strife—The human peace-offering—The haunting dread—Rumours of the white men—A fright—Makweke’s peril—How he escaped—We plan flight—The start—The chase—A near thing—The river reached—Over, and at home again.
When we awoke it was to find the sun already shining, for after the fight and long walk, in addition to the much talking of the night before, our new masters were as weary as ourselves.
It was not long, however, before the whole village was astir and the morning meal eaten. We were glad to eat the manioca which had been given us the previous night, because now that we had rested we felt the pangs of hunger. Needless to say, we watched the people furtively to see what they did and what kind of mood they were in.
We were surprised and amused to see that they washed their hands and faces in the dew which was on the plantain leaves, whilst they were also very particular about their teeth. We, of course, clean our teeth; but if one rubs his body occasionally with oil and camwood powder surely he has no need of water! It only spoils the effect.
When they had finished their ablutions and taken their food the chief and elders of the town gathered together in council, and after a little while we were brought before them. There was much talk, which I could not understand, but as it was evident that they were deciding our fate we stood there in fear and trembling, not knowing but what some of us might be chosen to furnish another feast for them. Finally it was decided that we should be kept in slavery, and we were divided up between the different elders of the town, the chief keeping me and three others as his share of the spoil. And so my name, Bokwala (slave), became true of me and I entered on my life as a slave to the cannibals.
I felt so strange amongst all these people whose language I could not understand, and yet I found that I was expected to enter on my duties at once. Although I had great anger in my heart towards my captors, yet in one way I desired to please them, because by so doing I hoped to make sure of a better time for myself than I should have otherwise. So I set myself to find out what was meant even when I could not understand their words.
When the sun began to slip down a little I noticed that the women commenced to get their fires ready for cooking the evening meal. The wife of my master pointed to me and then to her fire, and was evidently making some request of him which concerned me. He assented and turning to me said, “Dua na epundu.”
I knew he was giving me an order, and immediately rose to obey; but what did he want? I went into the house and looked round and soon spied an axe. Of course, the woman wanted firewood, and in order to get that one needed an axe. So probably “Dua na epundu” meant “Bring the axe.” I picked it up and carried it to my master, who was apparently pleased, for he patted me on the head and said, “Mwana mbai, mwana mbai” (“My child”).
Then, pointing with his lips to the forest, he said, “Ke a lene desa” (“Go and cut firewood”).
I had expected that order, so was ready to set off at once, repeating over and over the few words I had learned, in turn with my own language, so that I should not forget them:—
“Dua na epundu, yela liswa;” “dua na epundu, yela liswa,” I said over and over again, until I felt sure of the words. Then, while I was cutting the wood, “Ke a lene desa, Nco yo tena nkui;” “Ke a lene desa, Nco yo tena nkui;” and before long I found that I had enough wood to fill my basket, so I set off for the village, and was again rewarded by a pat on the head and the words, “Mwana mbai, mwana mbai!”
While I was in the forest cutting wood the hunters had come back and brought some animals with them, so I found every one busy preparing meat for cooking. I, with the other children, sat down and watched, when suddenly one of the women turned to me and said, “Dua na mune.”
I sprang up and rushed into the house, but what I had been sent for I could not think. I sat on the ground and wondered, and again I sent my eyes round the little hut. Ah! That is it! oil, of course. They have plenty of meat, and are going to make palm-oil chop. I seized the calabash of oil from under the bed, and ran with it to the woman who had sent me, and was received with a chorus of “Bia! bia!” (“Just so”), and for the third time received the old chief’s pat on the head, and heard the words, “Mwana mbai!”
I began to feel a little less strange, and to listen for other words, for I had already found that the way to please these people was to be bright and do my best. I found that they called nyáma (meat), tito; bauta (oil), mune; ngoya (mother), ngwao, and fafa (father), sango, and I was just trying to learn these words well so as to remember them afterwards, when the chief called to me, “Bokwala!”
“Em’óne” (“I am here”), said I, in my own language, for I knew not how else to answer.
“Dua na yeka dia,” said he, beckoning me to their group, who were gathered round to take their evening meal, which was just being served. I drew near, and received my share of food, and so I learnt some more words, which meant, “Come and eat food.”
I began to think that my master did not seem a bad sort of man after all, and that perhaps I might get used to my life there; but then I could not help remembering the fight, and that only two nights before these people had been feasting off my people, and would do so again when they had an opportunity, and I went to sleep that night with my mind made up that if ever I could see the least chance to do so, I would escape, even if it had to be alone.
Many days and nights passed in this way, we slaves having to do all kinds of work and being sent on errands continually, sometimes even being told to mind the little children when the mothers went to their gardens. Of course, we looked upon all this as oppression, and felt great shame, for we boys frequently had to do women’s work, and what can be more degrading than that? And I could never forget that I was the son of a chief!
As we learnt more of their language, and began to understand what was said in our presence, we found that there was plenty of reason for fear as to our future, even though we had been kept alive for the present.
When our people were spoken of it was as tito (meat), and fighting expeditions were looked upon as hunts. It was quite usual to ratify agreements between chiefs by the killing of a slave and feasting on the body, and this was even done sometimes when a chief wanted to pay special honour to a visitor. And when we heard these things being discussed and plans being laid for them, we trembled with fear, and wondered how long we should be all there together.
We had not much time to ourselves, for we were kept continually busy, and we dared not talk together very much, because some of the natives of the village could understand our words, but now and again, out in the forest or at night, we were able to tell each other how we were getting on, and to condole with one another over our misfortunes.
Now my master discovered that I was good at climbing and at catching bats, so when the bat season came on he often sent me into the forest to search for some. One day I went out on such a quest and did not return until evening. I took the bats I had caught to the chief, and afterwards went off to the shed where my companions were sitting.
They all seemed very quiet, and scarcely gave me a welcome, and this was unusual, especially when I brought meat in from the forest. I threw myself down amongst them, and looking round the group I missed Siene, a little girl slave with whom I was on very good terms.
“Where is Siene?” I asked of the others.
“O Bokwala,” answered one, “do not ask, we do not want to tell you.”
“But I want to know. Is she ill? Or has she escaped?” I inquired, thinking the latter hardly possible for a girl alone.
“Bokwala,” said one, beckoning me to follow him, “come.”
I followed him to an open space at the end of one of the huts, and pointing to the ground, he said to me, “Look there; that is all that is left of Siene.”
I looked and started back. Could it be? Yes, it was only too true—that dark stain on the ground was blood. And little by little I heard the whole terrible story. The chief had visitors, and he determined on a feast in their honour, and as a dainty morsel was indispensable, he decided to kill and serve up the body of my little girl friend. It was on that very spot where we stood that the deed had been committed. And that dark stain was all that was left of my friend!
That night I was drunk with anger, and so were the other boys. There was no one but us boys and girls to weep for Siene, but we wept until we wept ourselves to sleep for sorrow; sorrow not only for her, but for ourselves as well; for we knew not how soon we might be treated in the same way.
Time passed on, and we grew more and more accustomed to our surroundings, and as we boys proved useful to our masters, we had a certain amount of liberty, and went to fish and hunt frequently, but always for the benefit of our respective masters—nothing we caught was reckoned as our own property.
And we were not always in favour. If anything was lost or stolen, we were accused of the deed; if we failed to obey or understand, we were beaten or punished in some other way; and if one of us was found to have lied, we had to pay the price, which was sometimes a heavy one.
One boy who told his master a lie was found out, and the master with one slash of his knife cut the boy’s ear off, cooked it over the fire, and compelled the slave to eat it. That was a bad master, they were not all like that.
One way of punishing us was by rubbing red peppers into our eyes, and another by cutting little slits in the skin over our shoulders and backs where we could not reach, and rubbing pepper into the sores thus made. They hoped by this means not only to punish us, but to harden us, and make of us brave men who would not flinch at pain.
In the case of accusations of stealing, the most popular way of settling the affair was by the poison ordeal. That was a very frequent occurrence in those days, and still is in parts where the white men do not visit often. It was like this. All the people gathered together, and the chief, witch-doctor, and headmen seated themselves to hear the trial. The persons concerned gave their evidence, and the accused was allowed to make his defence; but if he were a slave, of what use was it? Then the evidence would be summed up, and the decision given that the poison ordeal be administered.
The bark was brought and scraped, then mixed with water, and the draught given to the prisoner. We always took it willingly, for we all believed that it revealed the truth, and therefore were obliged to stand or fall by it. After it was drunk in the presence of the people, all waited eagerly for the result. If the prisoner vomited, and was none the worse, of course he had been falsely accused; if, on the other hand, he fell and died, there was proof positive of his guilt. What could any one want more decisive than that?
Occasionally there were fights between different villages near to us, as well as the warlike expeditions to other tribes. When two villages had been fighting for a long time, and neither could win or was willing to give in, it was generally settled by a peace-offering. At such a time we slaves went in fear of our lives, for it was almost certain that a slave would be hanged as a peace-offering, and possibly his corpse would be eaten afterwards.
With all these fears surrounding us, and never feeling sure of our lives for a single day—no matter how kind some of the people might be to us—you will not be surprised to hear that whenever we got together and could talk a little our conversation always turned to the subject of our escape from slavery. But so far as we could see there was no possibility of getting away.
About this time we began to hear rumours of some strange people who had paid a visit to a village not far from my father’s place, Ekaka. They were said to be white—men like us but with white skins—and they came in a canoe which went of itself, having no paddlers, but emitting smoke from the roof.
At first we laughed and thought it was just a yarn, simply a made-up story; but the rumours became frequent, and we heard that some of the people had actually bought some land and settled down on it. We could not understand about them, so we concluded that they must be the children of Lianza, the great warrior hero of our race, who went down river ages ago and never returned. But these things did not trouble me, for what chance had I ever to get back to my father’s place, or see these people?
One day we had a great fright. A neighbouring chief came with his slaves and children and the elders of his village to visit my master. There was the usual salutation and a little gossip, and then he began to tell his business. He had been settling an affair between himself and another chief, and it fell to his share to provide the feast of ratification, and naturally he wished to do it well.
Now he had no suitable slave to kill for the occasion, which was unfortunate, so he had come to his friend to see if he could help him out of this serious difficulty by selling him a slave.
“No,” said my master, “I cannot help you; I have no one to sell.”
Then there was much talking and pleading. “You have so many slaves in your village, do let us have one, even if only a little one.”
But for some time he held out, and refused to sell, and we who were listening began to hope that we were safe for this time at any rate, until at last we heard the words, “Well, take my wife’s boy: he is small and not of much use to me. Take Makweke.”
Makweke was a little lad whom the chief had given to his wife to look after her two baby girls, of whom they were both very fond. The woman liked Makweke and was kind to him, and not having a boy of her own she treated him better than most of the slaves. So when she heard her husband’s words she whispered to the boy to run and hide, and told him of a safe hiding-place.
Away he went into the bush, and we sat down and waited.
Soon the chief called, “Makweke, dua pelepele” (“Come quickly”), but receiving no answer he called again.
Then his wife answered, “Makweke is not here; he was, but has gone.”
“Call him,” said the chief; “I want him here.”
The woman answered, “I cannot call him; if you want him you must search for him yourself.”
So, receiving the chief’s permission, the people rushed out and searched for Makweke in the houses and all over the village, then in the gardens at the back, but they found no trace of him. Into the forest they went and hunted in every direction, beating the bushes with sticks, and peering up into the big trees, trying to discover his hiding-place; but it was all in vain. The search failed, and they returned to their own village in great anger at being thwarted in their plans.
But I must tell you of Makweke. He ran off to a little distance, climbed a tree, and let himself down into the hollow trunk—the hiding-place of which he had been told. There he was safe, but he could hear the noise and shoutings of the people who were searching for him getting nearer and nearer, until at last they reached his tree, halted, beat the bushes under it and the lower branches with their sticks, and then—what relief!—passed on.
He told us afterwards that he was so scared he hardly dared breathe, and although he knew they could not see him, he trembled with fear as long as they were near.
Late at night, after the visitors had left, his mistress took some food out to him, and told him to remain there until the morning, when probably her husband’s anger would be finished. Then he might come back to the village. He did so, and the affair passed without further trouble.
All this decided us that we would not remain in such a place of danger a day longer than we could help. I was older now, and had grown big and strong, and once across the river I knew that a warm welcome would be accorded to me and any who went with me. Our only fear was of recapture before we could reach the river, but we all felt it was worth risking, so from that time we began in dead earnest to look out for an opportunity of running away.
Not so very long after the chief and some of his people went to pay a visit and remained over night. All was quiet in the village, and no one troubled about us boys, so in the dense darkness of a moonless night we gathered together.
Hastily we made our plans, picked up the little food we had saved from our evening meal, grasped our hunting spears and knives, and slipped away into the bush at the back of the village. We went very stealthily—nya-nya, like a leopard when he is stalking his prey—scared at every sound, starting at the snapping of a twig, the call of a night-bird or the whistle of an insect.
On and on we pressed, not daring to speak to each other, lest we might betray our whereabouts to some unfriendly native, or one who was friendly to our masters, scarcely able to see the path, for the moon had not yet risen, scratching ourselves as we passed thorny bushes, treading on sticks and roots of trees projecting from the ground—and still on—what mattered wounds or weariness if at last we reached the river and liberty?
We made good progress during the first few hours, and were not much afraid of pursuit, as our flight would not be discovered until morning; but by and by some of our party (which consisted of a man and his wife with a little child as well as three of us boys) began to get weary, and it was necessary that we should get away from the main road, lest we should be overtaken. So we turned off into a side road, and at a little distance from it we found a large fallen tree which made a good hiding-place. There we lay down and slept for some time, one of us taking turns at watching and listening.
In the morning we were startled by hearing voices not far off, and as we listened we recognised them as belonging to natives of the village we had left. Yes, they had awakened to find us gone; and now a search party was out scouring the forest in every direction for signs of us. We dared not move nor speak, and how anxious we were that the child should not cry! Nearer and nearer came the voices till they sounded almost close at hand, and then they receded gradually, and at last died away in the distance. We were nearly caught, but not quite!
After waiting for some time, we went out to look round, and on the main road we traced the footprints of our pursuers distinctly; they had passed our footpath by, and so we escaped recapture. From now onwards we had to keep to bypaths, sometimes cutting our way through dense forest, spending our nights under fallen trees or on the ground, hungry and weary; but in spite of all our difficulties we reached the river bank at last.
We were still far from home, but once on the other bank we would at least be safe from pursuit. Our people have a proverb, “Nta fendaka ntandu la mposa e’ola”—that is, “You cannot cross the river by means of a thirst for home.” This is certainly a true saying, so we had to seek for a canoe to take us over. One of our party set out along the bank to see if there were any moored there, as people often go out fishing and leave their canoes with no one to look after them. This was our hope, and it was fulfilled.
Not far away was found a canoe with paddles in it, and no sign of the owners. We determined to watch it until sundown, and then, if no one appeared, to take it and set out. For the remainder of that day we rested, and sought for some food to stay our hunger. How we rejoiced to find some edible caterpillars, which were delicious, and made us feel stronger for our night’s work! Just as the darkness was coming on, when you cannot tell one man from another, we crept along the bank, stepped into the canoe, grasped the paddles, and silently pushed off into the stream.
We boys were delighted to be on the river again, and we did paddle! But had any people been about we might have lost everything even then, for the woman who came with us had been born on that side of the river, and had never been on the water in her life. She sat down in the bottom, clasping her child, and trembling with fear. Every time the canoe gave a lurch she would utter a little half-suppressed scream, and say, “Na gwa! Na kwe bona?” (“I am dying. What shall I do?”). We could not help laughing at her, but it did no good, she was really very much afraid. We got safely over, tied the canoe to the bank, and left it for the owners to find as best they might, and plunged once more into the forest.
Now that we were on the safe side of the river we did not need to be so careful about keeping away from the roads; we only hid if we heard voices, not knowing to whom they might belong. Two more nights were passed in the thick forest, and two more days we spent walking on, just managing to keep alive by eating fruit, roots, caterpillars, or anything we could find that was edible. When we were nearing home we again heard voices not far off.
We listened. Yes, I recognised them. They were people from my father’s village. Accosting them, we made inquiries about our friends, and were glad to find that all was well.
On we pressed with renewed energy, and towards evening we arrived in the village, worn out with anxiety, exhausted from want of food, and ready to drop with weariness; but how glad we were to be there!
And what a welcome we all had! My father and mother received us with great rejoicing—our fellow travellers for my sake—and what a feast was made in our honour! After the feast I told my story, and many were the questions asked and the comments made as the villagers listened.
Thus we arrived back at home, and thus we were welcomed, and on the next day a great dance was held in our honour. And for ourselves, what shall I say? We—we were ready to die of happiness! And yet the day was coming when we would wish that we had stayed where we were, even as slaves of the cannibals.