Such was the case with one of the young women who accompany us now, Ntaoéka she is called, and she is by no means ill favored. I have no time for frivolities such as women, but if she were in a garden, she might well be considered its most beautiful flower. She is a Manyuema woman who joined the party when the Doctor fell ill at Ujiji, before we arrived. The Doctor wanted another woman, mainly to keep Halima company, and though she offered herself as an assistant to Halima, the Doctor thought she was too good-looking to move within the party without a man.
“I asked her,” he told me, “to choose between Chuma, Gardner, and Mabruki. She chose to be with Mabruki, though I would have preferred that it be Chuma. He needs a woman to straighten him up.”
When I am ordained, I will be able to more freely comment on how my parishioners live with their wives, but for now, it suffices to say that any person with eyes can see that Mabruki and Ntaoéka could not be more ill suited. She is far superior to him, and is much too good, in fact, to be merely a woman of the road. If Mabruki has any sense, he will make her his wife, but that is unlikely, for he ran away from two women whom he left with child.
Ntaoéka’s looks have often caused quarrels with the other women, particularly with Halima, the Doctor’s sharp-tongued cook. The Doctor was at great pains to ensure harmony between them, though if you ask me, he would have achieved perfect harmony by sending them all packing. It does not help that both of them consider Misozi, who is Susi’s road woman, to be their own particular friend. She is a veritable Pliable, and as did that gentleman with Stubborn and Christian, she bends one way, then another, first to one and then the other, and far from defusing the quarrels between them, she only makes them worse.
Ntaoéka too may as well be called Pliable, though her pliability is not offensive in itself, as it does not arise from a feebleminded nature, but is rather of the kind that always aspires to be agreeable. In this, I feel, she has been failed both by the Doctor and by the man who styles himself her husband, a lazy scoundrel who is happiest when he is in liquor.
She could, with the right man, be molded into a most excellent wife. As the Apostle Paul said, woman, submit to your husband. Of course, she must first accept Christ. And even if she had chosen Chuma, it would not have sufficed, for though Chuma was baptized James, his Christianity is not worn deeply, but rather on the surface. With a Christian husband, Ntaoéka could have been converted. Her name should be as beautiful as her eyes, Esther perhaps, or Ruth, so faithful.
It is heathen women like Ntaoéka that I am determined to save, for then they will save their children. It grieves me deeply to look at Ntaoéka and know that had she only met the right man, she could have been as faithful as Ruth was to Naomi. Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee, she said, for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God shall be my God. And through her faith she bore Jesse, and through him was born King David, the vanquisher of Goliath and the ancestor of Our Lord Jesus Christ.
As I pause for a minute on David and his House, I have wondered often why it is that, in their Gospels, three of the Apostles trace the lineage of Jesus to David through Joseph, when he was, after all, only the husband of Mary, and not the father of Jesus. When I asked the Reverend Wainwright this question, he appeared most impatient with it.
Perhaps this is one of those mysteries like the puzzle of where Cain got a woman to take to wife when he was cast out of God’s Grace and banished east of Eden. There were only four people created then, Adam and Eve his wife; Abel, slain by Cain; and Cain himself. From where, then, came Cain’s wife? Such are the mysteries that will, no doubt, be revealed to me through further reflection and study with those who have discerned these mysteries, and above all, through the operation of Grace.
Nor were these questions I could have discussed with the Doctor. He took far too little interest in such questions, as little interest as he took in the spiritual welfare of his companions. In contrast, he took far too keen an interest in the material goings-on of the party, and in who was sharing a bed with whom. I recall his coming to me a few months ago and saying, “That poor girl, Jacob.”
“What poor girl?” I said.
I looked to where Halima was moving; she had just served him the dough cakes that were the only things his bad teeth could chew.
“Her people were here to say she was dead,” he said, “but all they could think about was their goats.”
I became alarmed and thought he might have had too much sun. But it transpired that he was talking of a girl who had married one of the pagazi the week before, but whose family had spirited her away, only for her to die in their midst a few days ago.
“All that her people want are the goats they were promised in marriage,” the Doctor said. “They come to me, Jacob, and ask for the goats. Oh, our goats, they lament, our ten goats. We want our goats. But no word of mourning at all for that beautiful creature. Oh, our goats!”
He had started to laugh at that point, and I knew by then that when the Doctor laughed thus, he laughed for a long time, sometimes until he coughed and gasped, and tears ran from his eyes. In these moments, he had about him the same look on his face of the acrobat outside the cathedral in Bombay who whirled and whirled for no reason at all.
It was most disappointing. I had thought this man would be filled with the Light of the Redeemer, that he would stand steadfast before all as one who brings with him the Radiance of the Savior. And here he was, procuring women for his men.
I was astonished to learn on my arrival that the Doctor had gone as far as purchasing Halima for Amoda, for she had been the slave of an old Arab at Kazeh. If it had been a case of manumission, and he had freed her for her own sake, there would have been some glory in it, but to procure a slave in this way for one of his men seemed most un-Christlike.
And the Halima in question is a particularly troublesome woman, given to much levity and unable, apparently, to think seriously on any matter. Her propensity for causing quarrels among the women is great. The Apostle James may have been writing about her when he said: even so the tongue is a little member and boasteth great things. Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth! There is yet more reason, other than her clacking tongue, that Halima may cause more. Susi has not troubled to hide his admiration for the woman, he has not troubled to hide it from Amoda, nor from his own woman Misozi.
Were it only up to me, she and the other women would have gone long ago; there is nothing like a woman to hold back an expedition. When Mr. Stanley sent us on the Expedition to relieve the Doctor last August, we marched at a steady pace. I am certain that was because we had no women in our party. With women involved, it is possible to lose a month or more simply from their dawdling. For where there are women, there are children, and the whole is enough to slow progress.
I expressed my doubts about the women and suggested that perhaps they should remain where they were. Misozi immediately rounded on me and said, “And why should we stay behind? What are we to do, without our men?”
Halima cackled and said, “Get new ones, of course.”
This is what I mean about the woman’s tongue. They are God’s creatures, women, and indeed, one should not forget that it was a woman who washed the feet of Christ with her tears; it was a woman who anointed His body at the burial and wept as He was going to the cross and sat by His sepulcher when He was buried. It was women who were first with Him on the Glorious Morn of His resurrection, and it was women who were the first to bring the tidings to His disciples that He was risen indeed, from the dead He was risen.
But woman is also how sin came to the world. Through her weakness, Eve was tempted. The snake chose with the cunning of the Devil. Against Adam’s firmness, the Devil would not have withstood. Were it all in my power, I would have fain sent the women away, every last one of them, and their children too, for I fear that the women will bring us nothing but strife.
6
&nbs
p; 11 May 1873
Sixth Entry from the Journal of Jacob Wainwright, written at Chitambo’s Village; in which Wainwright Contemplates the Pilgrimage before him and Prays that he may reach the Celestial City without meeting Stumbling Blocks, Humiliations, Temptations, and Other Evils, and Above All, that he and his Party may pass Safely through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
The Nassickers have made good progress in ordering and sorting through the Doctor’s papers and possessions. Under my direction, these have been packed into as few boxes as possible, while making sure that each container is not too heavy for one or at most two men to carry between them.
I bargained hard with Amoda to have some of the men handed over to my charge to carry the Doctor’s possessions, for even if the Nassickers were to carry full loads, and not the half loads agreed to with the Doctor, there are simply not enough of us. This only led to a flaring of the old grievance. Amoda shared the anger of the inferior pagazi that we Nassickers were contracted to carry half loads for double the pay given to the pagazi.
He is particularly contemptuous of John Wainwright, who can be found breathing hard after marching of any length. It has been this way with him since we touched land. In our march down to relieve the Doctor, we had heard endless tales of John’s weak heart, John’s weak chest, John’s weak legs, how John suffers headaches in the heat and John’s back aches from carrying anything at all. We learned that we have to give him the smallest load; it was either that or listen to him complaining all the way. And I learned to be ashamed of this man with whom I was connected through our name. I could only be thankful that he was no real brother of mine, and made sure to correct anyone who assumed our kinship.
Amoda considered him lazy beyond redemption. He scorned my writing, but with John he seemed to scorn his very existence. “All that one needs,” he said whenever any of John’s complaints came to him, “is a sound and thorough beating. One that will sort him out like it sorted out Chirango.”
There has already been some unpleasantness between the two. When the Nassickers first refused to carry the loads given them, the Doctor tried to force us into submission, but Matthew Wellington and Carus Farrar were firm in explaining that those were not the conditions on which we had been hired. The agreement was that all the Nassickers were to carry only half loads. For we were more than mere pagazi, we had other skills; for one thing, unlike the pagazi, we all spoke English. After some arguing, the Doctor had conceded the point, adding, with exasperation, “Now I know that educated free blacks are to be avoided, they are expensive and too much the gentlemen for work.”
Amoda was particularly irritable as he considered that the papers we carried were entirely valueless. We could leave some of them behind, he said, but I pointed out how precious they all were. He expressed great impatience at this. “I would rather carry food than paper,” he said.
With the Doctor gone, John Wainwright was entirely in Amoda’s power. He had come to me to say he did not want to go on the march.
“Will you stay here in Chitambo, where you don’t speak the language?” I asked.
He had nothing to say to that. All he could say was that he would not answer to Amoda.
I had my thoughts on persuading Amoda on the papers and hardly listened. In the end, I left it to Chuma to explain to Amoda why it mattered that all the Doctor’s possessions should be borne along with him. With great reluctance, Amoda was brought round to my way of thinking, which was, of course, the right way of thinking.
The only thing we left behind was some of the old newspapers that had not been written over by the Doctor and that Susi suggested should be left with Chitambo, so that he could show proof, if it was ever needed, that the Doctor had been in that place and left his heart behind.
While we Nassickers carry the papers, James Chuma and Abdullah Susi are in charge of the body itself. They will rotate with others on the march. One of the pagazi sent by Mr. Stanley, a certain Chirango Kirango, who had been a troublesome sort of fellow before being given a most deserved beating on the Doctor’s orders, was eager to be one of the carriers, but he was given over to Amoda, Munyasere, and Chowpereh, who are to be responsible for supplies and ensuring food.
Thus have the responsibilities been allocated, and I have earned my place among the expedition leaders. All we wait for now is for the Doctor’s body to be ready for travel. He died twelve days ago and has been drying since then, and Carus Farrar assures us that it will be just under a week, possibly less, before he is fully dry and we are ready to travel.
In the meantime, the leaders have determined upon a path, and it is thanks mainly to Chuma, who is to be our navigator. There is no question that I am the most superior man here, the best read and the one with the best English, but I must own that Chuma is no mean cartographer. This of course is not due to any superior intelligence, but due to his having spent a lifetime traveling with the Doctor.
He has drawn a rough but detailed map that shows where he believes Chitambo is in relation to the sea. He has pointed out to us that the easiest course would be for us to head east as the vulture flies and head straight for the coastal town that is nearest to us, which is the town of Kilwa on the Indian Ocean. We would then commission dhows to sail up the coast to Zanzibar, or else walk along the coastline until we find a convenient crossing, though Susi, who knows everything there is to know about the sea, says the tides in that part may make sailing upward difficult.
Amoda has advised against such a course as it is likely to be beset with innumerable difficulties. It is not the tides or currents that trouble him, but getting to Kilwa itself. For this place is the nearest slave port to where we are.
“Getting to Kilwa would mean that we find ourselves on the same routes that are used by parties of slave traders.”
The men nodded as they considered his words.
“Sure, we have ammunition,” Amoda continued. “But we have just twenty guns, and several flintlock muskets besides. It is not worth it to attempt to fight slavers all while we make our way through these strange lands.
“Add to that the fact that we are carrying the Bwana’s body, an act which is likely to be regarded with great suspicion by all we meet, whether slavers or not. Where we can control matters, we should do so.”
Thus it was agreed that we should take a route that is less likely to be used by slavers, even though such a route may be more tortuous. Accordingly, we are to hold east as far as we can, in a northerly direction, getting as far northeast as we can. When we then find ourselves in the familiar territory of Chungu’s and Kapesha’s lands, which Chuma, Susi, and Amoda went to with the Bwana two years previously, we will then head north, toward Unyanyembe and the Arab settlement of Kazeh in Tabora and from there to Bagamoio, the town by the coast from where we will cross the sea to Zanzibar.
“There is something we must keep well in mind,” Susi said. “It would be well for us if the journey were to end before the start of Ramadan. The pagazi as we all know are mainly of the Mohammedan faith. It would not do well for them to march while they are fasting.”
Munyasere and Chowpereh nodded as Susi spoke.
“Ramadan begins in the month of November,” Amoda said, “and here we are, at the start of the month of May. The journey will have finished long before then, that I can swear on the lives of my sons. If we follow the route drawn for us by Chuma, it will take no more than three months of steady marching, four at the most.”
We were all assured by Amoda’s confidence. For my part, I began to pray as hard as I could that I would pass Our Lord’s birthday, the Christmas feast, in England. I must own to feeling mounting excitement at the prospect of entering the great city of London, to which I have never been, but which shines before the eye of my mind as brightly as did the Celestial City in the mind of Christian.
For in London is my Mount Zion; in London I will be ordained, and ready finally to begin my mission. I know not whether this journey before will take me through the Palace Beautiful, the Delecta
ble Mountains, or the Land of Beulah, but I can, at any rate, pray that I will not meet Apollyon or Beelzebub, or pass through Vanity Fair, nor climb the Hill Difficulty, get mired in the Slough of Despond, or enter the Valley of Humiliation. Above all, I pray with all my might that neither I nor any of my companions will pass through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
7
19 May 1873
Seventh Entry from the Journal of Jacob Wainwright, written at Muanamuzungu’s Village; in which the Livingstone Expedition sets off, preceded by a Mournful Farewell to Chitambo and his People before Marching into the Interior, where Wainwright prays for the Blessings of Providence and Redemption.
The Livingstone Expedition, if I may be so bold as to give this name to our small band of Pilgrims, set off from Chitambo’s before dawn on the sixteenth day of May 1873, in the Year of Our Lord. It was exactly fifteen days after the Doctor’s Death. Such was the determination of the party that we were all up before the roosters gave the cry.
Then we made our final call on Chitambo, who came back with us to our settlement. As he watched the preparations for our final departure, he told us we were to pass through his brother Muanamuzungu’s village. He had already sent a messenger with word, he said. Indeed, we had seen the man being instructed in his message, and heard him reciting it over and over again to himself, so that he remembered it.
I am told that it is the way that the chiefs in these parts send messengers to each other. Their men carry messages of considerable length over great distances, and deliver them word for word. On even longer distances, two or more will go together, rehearsing and reciting to each other the message that they bear.
Out of Darkness, Shining Light Page 13
