III.
January 22, 1907.
NATURALLY, in the Congo there is little need of dress. Before the white man’s influence most native men wore nothing but a breech-clout—a long strip of cloth passed between the legs and fastened as a belt around the waist—or else a piece of native cloth made from palm fiber, perhaps a yard in width and long enough to go around the body. This latter garment, technically called a cloth, is still the dress of almost all the workmen and workwomen on white men’s places, but European stuff has replaced the old palm cloth.
The women were usually much less clad than the men, but the style of dress varied from tribe to tribe. The Bangala woman wore, and still wears, a girdle at the waist, from which hung a fringe of grass or vegetable fiber reaching to the knees. The women of some Aruwimi tribes wear a simple cord, from which hangs in front a bit of grass cloth no more than three or four inches square. On occasion, the Bakuba woman wears nothing but one string of beads around her waist, from which hang in front several large brass or copper rings. The Ngombe women regularly go naked.
Where white influence has become pronounced every one wears white man’s cloth, and many have this cloth made up in form similar to those of the Europeans. After a Bantu has begun to be imbued with white man’s ideas he is unhappy until he has a jacket, trousers, and hat. In form and material these are frequently so startling as to cause surprise to the person really accustomed to white men’s clothes. Thus, a man may be dressed in loose and flowing trousers made of the most brilliant calicoes in gaudy pattern. He may have a jacket made of a strip of handkerchiefing which never was meant to be used as material for clothes, but to be cut or torn into kerchiefs.
But happiness is not complete for the Bantu in transformation until he has a white man’s umbrella. Not that he needs it for rain, because when it rains the Bantu always goes into his house and at once falls into a profound slumber which lasts until the rain is over. It is merely fashion, or for protection against the sun, a thing of which the Bantu really has no need. Two boys who were in our employ at Ndombe accompanied us afterwards as personal servants on our long journey up and down the Congo. When the time came to leave them at Leopoldville we took them to the white man’s store and asked them what they wanted as a parting gift. Their selections were eminently characteristic. My companion’s boy at once declared his wish for an umbrella, while my own, of a far livelier and more sportive disposition, wished an accordion.
It is a common complaint among the white men that the native is ungrateful. Many and many a time have we listened to such tirades. You will hear them from everybody who has had dealings with the Bantu. The missionary complains of it as bitterly as does the trader or the state official. All of them unite in declaring that gratitude does not exist in native character. This seems to us a baseless claim. The African is the shrewdest of traders. It is true that frequently he lets things go to white men for what seems to us a mere nothing. But he gets what he wants in return for his goods. He enjoys bickering. His first price is always greatly in excess of what he actually expects to receive. He will spend hours in debating the value of his wares.
No one need seriously fear for the outcome to the black man in open trade with whites. The purpose of the white man in visiting him and dealing with him is a mystery to the native mind. He can understand the value of palm oil and ivory, for palm oil and ivory he uses himself. Why rubber and copal should be so precious is beyond his understanding. He but dimly grasps the purpose of the state and of the missionary. On the whole, he lends himself to all alike, and being naturally kind, tries to please all and do what is expected of him. Still, he knows that he is being exploited by the foreigner, and it is but fair that he should exploit in return—a thing at which he is an adept. Why, then, should he be grateful for what is done for him? He naturally believes that missionaries, government officials, and traders all gain some advantage from their dealings with him; it is his duty to gain all he can in return in his dealings with them. And there is no especial ground for thanks. There is no reason for gratitude.
I presume it is true that on one occasion—perhaps it has been true on many—a native who had been carefully and lovingly cared for through a long and trying sickness, when restored wished to know what the missionary was going to give him. He had taken all the bad medicines and all the invalid’s slops without complaint, but naturally he expected some sort of compensation at the end. Yet the missionary would quote the incident as an example of ingratitude.
It is common to call black Africans dishonest. Here, again, the judgment is undeserved and arises from miscomprehension. The African knows, as well as we do, what constitutes truth, yet he lies, especially to white folk. He has as clear a knowledge of mine and thine as we, and yet he steals from his employer. The explanation lies in the same idea precisely. He thinks we are constantly getting something from him; he in turn must exploit us. The white man is a stranger. Throughout tribal life the stranger is a menace; he is a being to be plundered because he is a being who plunders.
Among themselves, lying is not commended and truth is appreciated; but to deceive a stranger or a white man is commendable. Native houses are often left for days or weeks, and it would be easy for any one to enter and rob them. Yet robbery among themselves is not common. To steal, however, from a white employer—upon whom the native looks as a being of unlimited and incomprehensible wealth—is no sin. It is unfair to stamp the native either as a liar or a thief because he lies to white men and steals from his employer.
Among the Congo natives wealth has weight. The rich man has authority and power and influence because he is rich. There is a servile, cringing, element in the Bantu character which showed itself as plainly in the old days before the white men came as it does to-day. Cringing, toadying, scheming, marked the daily life. While a man was rich he had respect and friends and power. If reverses came he lost them all. None was so poor to do him reverence. Arrogance was the chief element of the chieftain’s stock in trade; servility the chief mark of the slave and poor man. White men who have to do with natives are forced to act decisively. They must inspire fear and respect; kindness is weakness. To permit discourtesy or insolence invites contempt. Perfect justice, firmness, and consistency will give the white men who must deal with natives a respected position which vacillation or mistaken friendliness will never gain.
Emotional to a high degree, the native often passes for affectionate. Affection of a certain kind he no doubt has; many examples come to the mind of personal servants who have almost shown devotion to white masters. On the whole, true affection as we know it, unvarying, consistent, which stands the test of varying circumstances, occurs but seldom. Extremely beautiful and touching, however, is the love which every Bantu has for his mother—a love undoubtedly encouraged and strengthened by the polygamous life. A boy’s relation to his father is nothing; his relation to his mother is the closest tie in human life. He is of her blood. Her relatives are his. The nearest male connection which he has is her brother. Toward him the boy shows particular respect, but toward his mother true love. She is far nearer and dearer to him than wife or slaves. Through his boyhood she is his refuge in every kind of trouble; in young manhood she is his adviser and confidant; in manhood he still goes to her in every trouble and with every question. There is but one person in his whole lifetime whom he trusts. She is ever sure to be his friend; she never betrays his interest.
All early white visitors to dark African populations were profoundly impressed with the respect shown to the aged. This was genuine. The old man or woman was the repository of wisdom. The experiences through which they had passed made them wise counselors. Tribal affairs were decided by the old. This trait of native character, constantly mentioned by all the early writers, tends to disappear in all those districts where the white man’s influence has spread. Such is ever the case. And it is natural.
The white man’s wisdom is a different thing from that of the native. Contact with the white man causes contempt and despisal of the wisdom of the ancients. It is the children who always gain this new wisdom from the whites, and with their eating of the tree of knowledge there comes a loss of all respect for older people. Missionaries in vain will preach the fifth commandment to the children in their schools. The reading, writing, and arithmetic which they learn from books, the new ways and manners and points of view which they gain from contact with their teachers, render all such teaching mere platitudes without vital force. The children educated by white men, must always lose respect and admiration for their parents and the elders of their tribes.
Mentally, the native of the Congo is quick and bright. We have already spoken of his ability in languages and his facility in oratory. He delights in saws and proverbs—condensed wisdom. Hundreds and thousands of such proverbs, often showing great keenness and shrewdness, deep observation and insight, might be quoted. No people with a mass of proverbial philosophy, such as the Bantu and the true negroes have, could be considered stupid. In learning new ways and customs and in imitation of others they are extremely quick and apt. Every white settlement in the Congo has introduced new ways of living, and the black boys who can cook well, do fair tailoring, good laundry work, and personal service of other kinds are surprisingly numerous. Under direction they frequently develop great excellence in work.
In a few years after the establishment of the Free State, the caravan service for transporting freight of every kind from the head of navigation at Matadi to Leopoldville, above the rapids, was admirably developed. The men carried their burdens willingly and uncomplainingly; it was extremely rare that anything was lost or stolen. So, too, they have rapidly adopted military life, and the native soldiers under Belgian training present as great precision, promptness, and grace in executing their maneuvers as many white troops would do.
With both the true negroes and the Bantu, belief in witchcraft was prevalent. Sickness, disease, and death were not natural events. That a man should die in battle or from wounds was understood, but that sickness should cause death was not grasped by the native mind. Sickness and death from sickness were regularly attributed to the evil practices of witches. If a man suffered pains in the head or body, it was because some enemy was introducing a mysterious and harmful object into his system. It was necessary, therefore, to adopt some method of undoing the harm. There were men and women whose business it was to detect the author of witchcraft and to recommend means for saving the victim from his operations. Nothing more serious could happen to a man than to be accused of witchcraft. No matter how rich he was; how high his station; how many or how strong his friends—the accusation of witchcraft was dangerous.
A person accused of witchcraft was usually subjected to an ordeal of poison. It was generally the drinking of a poisoned brew produced by steeping leaves, or barks, or roots in water. If the accused vomited the drink and suffered no serious results, his innocence was demonstrated. If, however, the draft proved fatal, his guilt was clear. It is true that sometimes the witch doctor played false, and, in administering the ordeal, might be influenced by bribes.
This whole matter of witchcraft and the ordeal has been magnified by many writers. It is true that there was constant danger for a progressive man, a rich man, or a great chief. Such men would naturally arouse jealousy and envy, and no doubt accusations were frequently made against them without cause. For my own part, however, I have long believed that the ordeal for witchcraft was not an unmixed evil, and I was more than pleased at hearing a missionary, who has been many years in the Congo, state that, after all, while it was subject to occasional abuse, it tended toward wholesome control of conditions in a community.
It is much the custom for white men to speak of Congo natives as big children. Whenever some custom is particularly unlike our own, they will shrug their shoulders and say: “You see, they are only children.” I believe as much in the theory of recapitulation as any one. I believe that the life history of the individual repeats the life history of the race.
I believe that one may truly say that children among ourselves represent the stage of savagery; that youth is barbarous; that adult age is civilization. It is true that children among ourselves present many interesting survivals of the savage attitude. In a certain sense savages are children. I think, however, from the points in native character which I here have touched, that my readers will agree with me that the adult native of the Congo is no child. He is a man, but a man different from ourselves. He represents the end of a development, not the beginning.