We thanked Chitambo for sending this emissary and gave him strict injunctions to keep the grass around the grave of the Doctor’s heart cleared, so as to save it from the bush fires. And he was to be sure that no man would cut down the tree under which his heart reposed. We showed him as well the signpost that we had built out of two high thick posts, with a crosspiece which we covered with tar.
We left the rest of the tar with him, so that he and his people might use it should the need arise. We also left with him a large tin biscuit box and some newspapers. “On this is printed the white man’s knowledge,” we said, “and if, in future, travelers from their lands should come this way, you and your descendants are to show them this, that they may know that one of them has been on your land.”
As he promised to do all this, he looked at us wistfully and said, “My people too were travelers once, and they went all the way to the sea. But these Engerese, if they come, they should not be long in coming, because there might at any time be an invasion of the Mazitu. And if that happens, I and my people will be forced to fly farther north into the forests beyond the Lualaba.”
Then he added, “The tree might be cut down for a canoe by someone, and then all trace of it would be lost.”
We assured him that they would come soon, the English, but we knew as well as he did that it was a guarantee we could not make.
Our mournful burden secure, we walked past the line of thatched houses, past the Chief’s enclosure, past the cattle pens, and past the granaries, where chickens pecked at stray grains on the ground. The sky above was a brilliant blue. At the head were Amoda and Chowpereh, as the safire. Majwara blew at his horn and beat the drum. Chitambo’s wives ululated in echo. Majwara blew the horn again. The party gave a loud cheer as Chitambo’s people shouted. Chitambo gave a last wave. Turning our backs on his people, we faced north and followed the winding river out of the Bangweulu swamps and into the unknown.
We had agreed that the caravan would travel in the same manner that we had adopted on our approach to Chitambo, the only difference being that instead of a living man who marched in our midst, the Doctor would be a corpse.
In front, leading us as the safire, was Chowpereh, with Munyasere next to him. As the leading guide, Chowpereh carried the blood-red flag of the Sultan of Zanzibar, while, next to him, Munyasere held aloft the Doctor’s flag, the Union Jack. As he had been appointed Her Majesty’s honorary consul, the Doctor had the right to carry before him the flag of his nation. The two flags, fluttering in the breeze, were a gladsome sight before us; they served, we hoped, as protection from the people through whose territories we passed.
Amoda cautioned us that they only protected us in those territories where their authority was recognized. At present, we were too deep in the interior for them to make a difference. We were so far beyond the reach of the Sultan of Zanzibar’s power that his name was but the stuff of fable. Nevertheless, it did us good to see those familiar emblems before us.
Behind Chowpereh came our ten askari bearing twenty guns and rounds of ammunition, as well as their own loads. They each carried a flintlock musket in addition to their rifle. Then came Majwara, as the kirangozi, who set the pace of the march and beat a steady rhythm on his drum that gave strength even to the sorest feet. He occasionally blew his horn to lift our spirits.
After Majwara came us Nassickers, with the Doctor’s papers, and behind us Nassickers came the Mournful Burden. It was carried in rotation by different pagazi, with Susi always making sure that only men of the same height carried it to avoid overburdening the shorter of the bearers.
Chirango, who is far from being the first to volunteer for any unforced labor, offered to carry the Doctor, eagerly presenting himself and offering to carry the “White Bones,” as he called them. He was declined, and came immediately to me that he might carry the “White Papers.”
We had enough men for the papers, I told him, and so Chirango took his place among the lower pagazi, but with a smiling affability that was most pleasing to behold. I must say that such a spirit was a surprise, for he has not always been the most obliging of men.
In the rear, Misozi, Halima, and the children kept up a steady chatter that was occasionally broken up by singing. The women’s load was light, for they carry only their possessions and cooking implements. They also share the carrying of the children when they are too tired to walk.
Amoda was keen to encourage the party to act as normal as possible. As he said, it was important that this be seen as any other traveling party, so though our task was mournful and our burden heavy, Majwara’s horn blew cheerfully and his drum beat steadily, those who attached bells to their feet and loads jingled them, and the women and the pagazi sang. It could have been any other march.
As our line marched, occasionally, I walked back to be with the women, that I might say a word or two to rush them along. Indeed, I have said women are liable to slow down an Expedition, but I must confess that I found their singing pleasant, particularly that of Ntaoéka, who has a sweet and true voice. It transpired that when we came to a particularly swampy part of our path, a few times, I had to help her cross the stream, for she asked for my assistance most pleasantly. I looked to where her man Mabruki was; he had already crossed with the other pagazi.
“Will you help only Ntaoéka and leave the rest of us standing?” said Halima. Faced with that, I had no choice but to help all the women, and their children, across the stream while Halima cackled that I looked stronger than I appeared under my clothes. As I carried Halima’s child, Losi, across, I was pleased to see Chirango drop his own package to come to my aid.
The swampy bit of ground passed, we marched well for a full day, spent the night in a clearing, and marched again until we reached Muanamuzungu’s village just before sunset.
Chitambo, as promised, had sent word of our arrival to Muanamuzungu, who was his brother. They looked as unlike as brothers could look; where Chitambo was fat and genial, his brother was slim of figure and of serious mien. Indeed, when men of these parts talk of their brothers, it is not always certain whether they refer to men of the same blood, or whether it is simply a word loosely used to denote men with whom they have an alliance.
He welcomed us warmly, however, though it was clear that without Chitambo’s approbation, he would have sent us packing. He had already given thought to where we would sleep and showed us to five huts on the edge of the settlement that his people used to store grain after a harvest, but at that time stood empty as it was not harvest season.
We were to settle there for the night, he said, but he was stern in insisting that in the morning, he wanted us gone. We assured him of our intentions to leave as soon as was possible and made preparations for the night. The women cooked an evening meal, we sat and ate, and soon, exhaustion crept over all the party and the camp fell to sleep.
8
21 June 1873
Eighth Entry from the Journal of Jacob Wainwright, written at Muanamuzungu; in which the Party falls Gravely Ill from a Disputed Illness and Wainwright prays for Relief from Grave Afflictions.
After such a determined departure, it sorrows me to report that we have been delayed this entire month by a most grievous illness that has afflicted the whole party. We remain a few days’ walk from where our Expedition started, in the land of Muanamuzungu.
I was myself afflicted most severely and was completely unable to pick up my pen, let alone to write with it. It is for this reason that I have not been able to transmit to this journal timely information on how the party came to be struck down. Indeed, it is only today that I have been able to make up for this lamentable lapse.
On our leaving Chitambo, we were, as I have narrated, welcomed warmly enough by Chitambo’s brother Muanamuzungu. But already on the first morning after our pleasant night on his land, the whole party lay stricken.
It is a strange illness. I have felt it most in my limbs and muscles, as have many of the others. The symptoms we all share are intense pain in the
limbs and face, a great lassitude, and, in the most severe cases, a complete inability to move. Throughout our illness, Muanamuzungu has been as kind to us as his brother Chitambo was welcoming.
The most afflicted appears to be Susi, who has suffered greatly. For him, the disease settled first in one leg, and then, just as he thought he had recovered, it moved to the other. Chuma has pain in his thighs and groin and cannot walk at all. A pagazi called Songolo is also gravely ill; he feels it most in his limbs. Chirango has also been struck. Despite his own illness, he has been tending to me most assiduously.
I am pleased to report that he has expressed some interest in coming to know more of the Mercies of Christ. He may come to be my first convert, a most important convert too should he be restored, as he hopes, to the throne of his land. I am hoping in time to dissuade him from playing the heathen instrument that he plays every night and that he calls the njari. There is something unseemly about the sound it produces. Indeed, when he plays it, it appears to induce a sort of trance in his listeners. Altogether, I have found it all too unsettlingly similar in effect to the pipes of the snake charmers at the Bombay market.
A quarrel threatened to break out between Chirango and Carus Farrar earlier. Carus Farrar and Farjallah Christie, as the men in the party who know the most about physical ailments, have been, when they are not themselves prostrated, seeking to find means to relieve the whole party. To this end, they have been trying to trace the course of the disease, in the hope that identifying its source may help in seeking if not a cure, then at least its alleviation.
Chirango has been loud in his belief that the whole party is suffering the effects of overeating. “Indeed, much meat was consumed when we arrived,” he said, and he pointed to the dangers of eating offal.
Carus Farrar contradicted him sharply: he believes that the explanation for the whole party, and not just one or two, falling ill lies in the marshy swamps through which we have been wading. The mischief, he believes, has been done by the continual wading through water before the Doctor’s death; an illness that came from the water settled then, he believes, possibly from the leeches that clung so tenaciously to us as we crossed, and has been waiting for some slight provocation to flare up. He believes that our tramp to Muanamuzungu, which was almost entirely through the same marshy swamps, turned the scales against us.
Farjallah Christie is in agreement with this conclusion, which he says is well supported by the general absence of illness in the children. Of the children, only Majwara has been afflicted. Halima was most insistent, indeed most hysterical in this matter, that Losi and the smaller children be carried through the swamps, for fear that they would be drowned. It was a long slow progress, carrying first the children, then the goods. That the children have largely escaped unscathed is proof, Carus agreed, that the damage was done by the brackish, swampy waters.
At this, Chirango begged most humbly for their forgiveness and said he would say nothing further to contradict them but do all he could to assist. “Chirango,” he said, “though the most ill among you, ill enough to know what ails him, trusts to those of you who have swallowed the White Man’s knowledge, though he has seen many examples of such cases.”
The women were struck in a similar manner; we can only give thanks that our weakness means that we do not require much food, and thus only eat once a day, with the food being sent over through the kindness of Muanamuzungu. In the meantime, he asked that various of the families take in the six children in our party, on the understanding that they were to help around the homestead in exchange for their food.
Halima is firm in her belief that witchcraft is the source of our troubles, and that at the bottom of it all is Chitambo’s witch doctor, whom she says she saw talking to Chirango on the day the Doctor died. I was quick to dispel her heathen suspicions. Indeed, if Carus Farrar and Farjallah Christie are right about what ails us, then these Bangweulu swamps have truly been a Slough of Despond, and Muanamuzungu has been that good figure, Help, who thrust his hands into the Slough to pull us out.
In addition to this illness, we soon had to contend with another crisis. While we were thus stricken, the heavens opened and a most unseasonal rain fell upon the land, and on us. Rain is most unwelcome to all travelers, but it was particularly unwelcome to us, for it endangered all the work that had gone into preparing the Doctor’s body for the travels ahead.
For the moment, all was safe, for the body had been put in its own hut, together with our packages, and was in no immediate danger from the rains. But it was clear that if the rains continued not only here at Muanamuzungu but also in the future, protective measures would need to be taken to ensure that no damage undid all the careful work of two weeks.
By this time, fortunately, Amoda had recovered sufficiently to take command in the matter. It is to his credit that he came up with the idea to have the canvas covering tarred. Amoda recalled that we had left our remaining stock of tar with Chitambo. All that was needed to do was send for it, and as Chitambo was about two days’ walk, it would be a matter of four days before a messenger went thither and returned to Muanamuzungu.
Chirango, who had up to that point been thought gravely ill, insisted on going, protesting that he was well enough to travel, and indeed, he rallied quite remarkably and accompanied Wadi Saféné and Asmani as they made their way to Chitambo’s village.
They returned five days later with the cask of tar, and with Chitambo’s sorrowful protestations at the delay that kept us here. Amoda oversaw the coating of tar over the canvas surrounding the body. This seemed to answer all purposes. Fortunately, in this interval the rains entirely ceased. But the rains had brought with them yet another crisis.
The rains had fallen with darkness on Muanamuzungu’s suspicious mind, for they had come at a time that they were not expected. The Chief held counsel with his rainmakers and his other men of native medicine and they told him that the rains were an ill omen, a portent of what was to come.
He thus expressed the strongest inclination to see us depart his land. He had given permission for us to camp one night only, possibly two, he said, and after that, his brother had assured him, the strange men who carried with them the bones of the dead would soon be gone from his land. But now the whole party had fallen ill, and like as not, we would have more dead bodies to carry away and he could not allow death to come from strangers to his people.
We were now under the greatest of pressure to move. We met with a stroke of fortune when Carus Farrar, who had become stronger, shot three large buffaloes. We presented these to Muanamuzungu and his people, who protested that it was too much meat and we were to have our share of it. There was much laughter and rejoicing at this unexpected feast. After that, Muanamuzungu was mollified to a considerable degree and exhibited toward us the greatest kindness. Not a day passed without his bringing us some present or other.
The women had sufficiently recovered to make themselves useful in preparing some of the meat for our own travels. Halima, Misozi, and Ntaoéka between them dried as much of the buffalo meat as they could. As I passed them at work, Halima shook a string of meat at me and said, “Ah, if we had only sliced the Bwana small-small like this, he would have dried in no time.”
The woman is incorrigible. I left them to their laughter but was pleased to see that Ntaoéka did not laugh as giddily as did the others. I like the name Judith for her, if she were ever to convert. Judith is just the name I would choose for her.
In his flush of generosity, and gratitude for the two buffaloes, Muanamuzungu gave us a cow and a donkey. The cow was in milk, which led to Halima’s excitedly telling us about the spiced tea with milk that they drank at the Liwali’s house. She would see what she could devise on the road. To my great regret, Muanamuzungu also sent two large drums full of pombe, which were gladly taken up by the men. We agreed that we would set forth at dawn the next day.
We were now fully recovered. Ntaoéka and Misozi departed for the village to bring back the children, in order to p
repare to depart. They were scarcely back from their short walk when came news of a shocking nature. A woman of our party, Kaniki, who had attached herself to Chirango, had taken violently ill and had sunk under the illness. Another three were stricken, Susi and his woman Misozi, and Songolo. They had taken ill after drinking the pombe sent to us by Muanamuzungu. All four were so unwell and vomited such copious amounts that they could barely walk.
It looked as though the illness had spread from the limbs to the bowels. And just as it looked like Susi was recovering, his woman Misozi succumbed to her illness, and within hours, just like Kaniki, was dead. Barely two hours later, Songolo too succumbed.
The whole party was plunged into deep mourning. Though Susi promised to rally, the three deaths were so distressing to Muanamuzungu’s ease of mind that the goodwill we had procured through the gift of the buffaloes had all but dissipated. As unquestioningly as he had embraced us, he now turned on us. We were bearers of ill fortune, he said, and he wanted us off his land at once. And we were to take our dead, all of our dead, with us. We were to leave at once.
9
10 July 1873
Ninth Entry from the Journal of Jacob Wainwright, written at Chisalamala; in which the Expedition reaches the Luapula and Wainwright Prays to Him Above to Incline our Hearts to those who do not yet know His Name and enter the Hearts of all Men that they may turn from Sin.
We have relocated to a small hill that is far from, but within sight of, Muanamuzungu’s land. Though Susi and Amoda pleaded with Muanamuzungu most urgently that our party be allowed to rest a little more, he was resolute in his wish to see us leave his land.
He relented only as far as pointing us in the direction we were to go in. “When you reach that hill,” he said, “you will have left my land. The Luapula will be before you, but where you go, I care not, for you have brought death to my land and I want you gone before you bring the death you carry to my people.”
Out of Darkness, Shining Light Page 14