Fifteenth Entry from the Journal of Jacob Wainwright; in which the Expedition, having met with an Enterprising Chief, crosses the Wilderness of Chungu and the Mountains of the Lambalamfipa.
The news of the approaching Englishmen gave purpose to our journey at a time we needed it. Notwithstanding Kumbakumba’s geniality and hospitality to our party, it said something about the miasma of evil that surrounded him that the terror of his name died away the farther northeasterly we traveled.
We saw again the sights that have become so familiar to us but that, no matter how often we see them, remain as odious as the first time we saw them: the bodies tied to trees, slave sticks, skeletons. My congregants and I said prayers over each body, but that was all we could do for these poor souls. Would that we could have done more.
We were welcomed with delight by the young chief Chungu. He came to meet us, dressed in Arab costume and a red feẓ He had nothing but good memories of the Doctor, for when the Doctor had explored these regions before, Chungu had been much impressed with him. It delighted me in the extreme to see that he willingly cast off all superstition and regarded the arrival of the Doctor’s body as a cause of real sorrow. He insisted that his people mourn the Bwana, and so for a whole morning, they gathered to keen over the corpse.
Chungu’s country lay in a territory that was most propitious for the hunter. Munyasere, along with Wadi Saféné, Carus Farrar, and Asmani, had some luck in hunting, and a fine buffalo was killed near the town. According to the laws of Chungu’s land, he as Chief had a right to a foreleg. Our men pleaded that this was no ordinary case, and that hunger had laws of its own. Munyasere and Saféné begged for our party to be allowed to keep the whole carcass, and Chungu not only listened but willingly waived his claim to the Chief’s share.
I was pleased to have the opportunity for intercourse with Chungu, for I found that he spoke Suaheli well and clearly. Indeed, I found him to be a man of a superior mind and fine understanding. He had heard, he said, of the wonders of Zanzibar and wanted some of those things here in his land. He had spoken too with the Doctor and had been impressed by knowledge that came from books.
He appears to be a worthy leader, this Chungu. He took me on a tour of the villages that are under his control. I found them to be places of great industry. The women are constantly busy making homespun cloth, which they dye themselves, while from the numbers of hunting dogs and elephant spears that one sees all around, no further testimony is needed to show the character that the men bear as great hunters.
The only shadow over the week we spent in Chungu was Chirango. Though we had agreed that the best moments for me to spend with Ntaoéka were those moments just after our prayer meetings had ended and the dark surrounded us while Chirango kept watch, I found that every time I approached Ntaoéka, even outside of the times we had agreed, he was there, offering his smiling assistance.
We had a good rest at Chungu’s before departing amicably from him. The steep descent to the Lake now lay before us. It was a light march to get down to the neck and indeed, the men carrying the Doctor’s Body for this section of our journey could well have sprinted with it all the way down. As we rounded the southern end of the lake of Tanganyika, I made note of Chuma’s observations that the Lovu River ran in front of us on its way to Tanganyika, while the Kalongwese flowed to Lake Moero in the opposite direction.
We stopped to wash ourselves in the waters of the Lovu. As I completed my ablutions, I noticed the figure of John Wainwright, who stood far off from the others, gazing sightlessly at the water. I approached him and said his name. He did not answer me. I called his name again, and still, there was no response. I moved to touch him on the shoulder. He gave the startled look of one coming out of a trance.
In a voice quite unlike his normal one, the kind of voice one hears in a dream, he said, “Would it not be wonderful to go into this river and see how far it goes, to follow it all the way to its end?”
“You are beginning to sound like the Doctor,” I said. “If you ask Chuma, he could tell you where it goes, without your having to go into it.”
“Going into it is exactly what I wish to do: to fall into this water and let it carry me where it will.”
“But you will drown,” I said.
“That may not be a bad thing,” he said. He looked away from me and though I tried to talk to him, I could no longer reach him. I left him standing there, looking at the water.
* * *
I returned to camp to find the men arguing about whether they could eat a creature that Munyasere had shot. There had apparently been much celebration when Munyasere killed the beast. It was a creature such as I had never seen before, with a hairy brown hide and white sharp tusks protruding from its mouth. Chuma said it was known as a wild pig.
On hearing Chuma’s pronouncement, the Mohammedans of the party were extremely unhappy. No pig in the world looked like that, they argued. When Amoda said that it was not like an ordinary pig, but was a creature that ate only grass, the Mohammedans appeared greatly relieved. They turned to Wadi Saféné for his ruling. Before his travels, Wadi Saféné had spent three years in a madrassa, and he is the closest that the Mohammedans in the party have to an imam. He also acts as the muezzin of the party and leads them in all the prayers.
“If it eats grass,” Wadi Saféné said, “then it is no pig; for no pig eats only grass. If it eats grass, it cannot be haram. In any event, the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon His name, says that it is no sin to eat a pig when such an action will save a man who is starving to death. But I am certain that, from what Amoda says, this is no pig.”
Toufiki Ali and the other Mohammedans were quick to give their approbation, for such an interpretation meant that this was a pig that could be eaten by every Mohammedan. For my part, I believe it was hunger that allowed them to overcome their scruples, because, with its piglike shape and long snout, from which protruded two small horns, the creature was certainly ugly enough to be a pig.
* * *
We cooked the animal over an open fire. Pig or no pig, it made a fine meal, though we all regretted the want of salt. The cooking smells must have attracted hyenas, for we saw a pack of them prowling on the edge of the camp. In the firelight, their eyes glinted in their sand-brown bodies.
“You must watch this fine trick,” Chirango said. “This is how we take care of hyenas back home.”
From the ground, he took up the animal’s hide, still dripping with fresh blood. In his other hand, he carried a spear. Walking a short distance away, he hung the hide from a tree branch and planted the spear in the ground just below the hanging hide.
He came back to the fire and said, “Watch.” Soon enough, we saw a hyena approach the tree. Tempted by the smell of blood above the tree, it jumped up to get at the hide, and fell onto the protruding spear. It gave a loud bellow of pain. It attempted to flee, but the spear held fast. In panic and terror, the creature tried to move this way and that as it sought to free itself from the merciless spear. The animal would have died an agonizing death if Susi had not taken up Munyasere’s rifle and walked in the direction of the creature. A shot soon sounded and the cries died out. Chirango treated it as a great joke, but I must confess that I was unable to look at him.
16
8 October 1873
Sixteenth Entry from the Journal of Jacob Wainwright, written in Baula; in which Wainwright has a Consultation of a Curious Nature with the Doctor’s Cook as the Party of Englishmen Approaches.
We have now reached Baula, and are just days from Unyanyembe. There is news that the party of Englishmen is close at hand. The Arabs we have met here tell us that among them is Oswell Livingstone, the Doctor’s son. The men have been reported to be on the approach to the Arab settlement at Kazeh.
It is more than likely that when they hear of the charge in our midst, they will join us and take over the expedition until we reach the coast. Seen from every perspective, the approach of the Englishmen is most welcome, for it will resolve a matt
er that has been pressing since Chawende. It is now known in these parts that we are carrying with us the body of a dead white man, and with that knowledge has come ringing accusations of witchcraft and sorcery.
Only the news of the attack at Chawende has protected us, for it is known that we are armed. But as Munyasere reported just before we reached Baula, the supply of ammunition is dangerously low. If we should meet another attack such as that at Chawende, it is not certain that we will prevail.
We were almost tested as we crossed the Manyara River, which Chuma informed me was making its way to Lake Tanganyika, for we met with a party of Wagogo men who were hunting elephants. We were relieved to see that they were armed only with their dogs and spears. Although they treated us well, exchanging honey and other food for beads, we thought it best to keep these men in ignorance of the fact that we were in charge of the Doctor’s dead body.
We managed to convince them that we were merely a party of traders on our way to the coast. The prospect of the white men in our party is thus to be welcomed, for this will go some way to insulate that fear, for it is often believed that the witchcraft of the whites is superior to that of the blacks. Many in these parts believe that the whites live under the water, which explains their pale skin and waving hair. Then there are those who believe that the whites are cannibals; indeed, the Doctor himself often joked to me about the many mothers who had forced better behavior on their children by threatening that the Doctor would eat them if they did not behave.
It is the thought of such superstitions that strengthens me in my resolve. To think of the lightness of Christ chasing away the Darkness of Satan! The Brightness of My Lord, the Redeemer, chasing away the Fear of Superstition! But that is for another day.
Just as we came to the Likwa River, we saw a long string of men on the opposite side filing down to the water. They were elephant hunters and ivory traders, and had come straight from the coast through Unyanyembe. The Doctor’s death, they said, had already been reported there by natives of Fipa. With no small satisfaction, we learned from them that the story we had heard that the party of Englishmen had reached Unyanyembe was true.
Chuma has reminded me of a matter most pressing. In just under two weeks, it will be the Mohammedan Fast of the Ramadan. It will weaken the party considerably if the majority cannot eat while marching. I have known in Bombay that the Ramadan is a period of great lassitude, with eating possible only after the sunset.
Chuma had persuaded the Nassickers, without informing me, that they were to observe the Ramadan. I was extremely displeased not to have been consulted, but as he explained, it is to build the morale of the party. For how can we march as one body if one-third is eating and the other two-thirds are not? This threatened to be the subject of a great quarrel until Amoda came up with a solution.
Chuma’s idea was a generous one, Amoda conceded, but there was yet another way to mitigate the ill effects that the fast would have on the group. This was to march at double the pace, so that by the time Ramadan came, we would be as close as we could be to settlements. Then those who chose to fast could fast, while the rest could do as they chose. This we agreed, and so it is that we found that our pace quickened until we were melting two days of the previous outward journey into one.
I have been commissioned by the expedition leaders to write an account of the distressing circumstances of the Doctor’s death that is to be transmitted to the party of Englishmen. Four of the men will travel ahead with the letter, while we follow behind.
Heading my letter “The Livingstone Expedition,” and dating it 10 October 1873, I addressed myself thus: “To the party of Englishmen,” I wrote. “You will have heard the sorrowful news of Doctor Livingstone’s demise. We are now approaching Unyanyembe and have heard of your presence there. Our party is low on provisions. Please advise us whether we should approach the town, and if so, whether we should fire guns. Yours, Jacob Wainwright, Scribe.”
Chuma took this letter and, with Adhiamberi, Mariko Chanda, and Munyasere, pressed on to deliver it to the English party. The rest of us were to await his return here at Baula. From here we will make our way to Kasekera, and by then, we will know from Chuma what awaits us in Unyanyembe.
About an hour after Chuma and his small party left, Chirango came to where I sat under the shade of a tree and said, “There is one to see you, Mwalimu.”
In delight, I thought it was Ntaoéka. The quick pace of the march had meant that our prayer evenings were momentarily suspended, and thus I had had but little chance to commune with her. But there had been chances here and there, for Chirango had contrived in different ways to make some meetings happen.
But it was Halima who walked up to me in a state of great agitation. She has been a lot less animated since the death of Losi, and has gone about with a subdued air, but here she seemed to be the old Halima again, though she spoke rapidly, and in great agitation.
She began without preamble. “You are a man of learning,” she said, “you have learning that is almost as much as the scribe who was sent to help the Liwali once. But he was nothing to look at, you know, weedy and hunched he was, with a voice to scratch the ears.”
“Halima,” I said.
“. . . ended up married to a niece of the Liwali’s, didn’t he, but they did not last long in Zanzibar. The heat affected him something awful. It is not for everyone, Zanzibar, particularly when the sun is high in the sky. Even the cats suffer, I have seen as many as two dozen dropping just like that, all faint from the heat, and then they swell up and burst, and oh, the smell. He called it Stinkibar, Bwana Daudi did, it is the first English word he taught me, and he said it was because Zanzibar smells so much. Stinkibar.”
I looked at her without speaking as she continued, “But what are you doing, talking to me about smells and dead cats?”
“I have no particular interest in cats,” I said.
“Well, then, why you want to know about them is a mystery, but enough of that. I have something of great moment to talk about with you. I want to ask you about what awaits me in Unyanyembe.”
“What awaits you in Unyanyembe?” I asked.
“Bwana Daudi’s son. He is sure to claim me for himself, or perhaps even to sell me to someone else, perhaps to another white.”
She then narrated her familiar history of being owned by first this master, then that one. Did the law not say that a slave was the property of the heirs once the master died, that is how it had been when her second master the qadi died and she ended up with the Arab merchant who had bought her from one of the qadi’s sons. Now that Bwana Daudi had died, she was surely the property of his son, who had no doubt come to Unyanyembe with the sole purpose of claiming her, along with all of Bwana Daudi’s guns and books and clothes and strange instruments and what have you.
I looked at her with pity and exasperation, but it was the Doctor that I felt most angry with. “Did he not tell you that he bought you as a form of manumission?”
“What is manumission?” she asked.
“You know surely that there are four principal ways in which an enslaved man can get freedom: through being freed by a master, through manumission by another person or his own efforts, and through a court petition if there is particularly cruel treatment to him by the master.”
“Well that has nothing to do with me then.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“You keep saying a slave man can get his freedom. You talk only of the men. What of me?”
“It is the same thing for women,” I said. “The same rules apply to all slaves, children too, though naturally, children are unable to manumit themselves.”
I spoke thus but I must own that I was not entirely certain on this point. I had never heard of a manumitted slave woman; certainly, all of the freed slaves who made their way to the Nassick school were boys. Perhaps my hesitation showed in my voice, for I saw that she was unconvinced.
“Did Bwana Daudi not explain to you that he was buying your freedom in
the same way that he bought Chuma’s or Majwara’s freedom? He did not buy you for himself, he bought you for yourself. It was not purchase. It was manumission.”
This was clearly an entirely new idea to her, that she was free not because the Doctor was dead, but because she had been free since the Bwana had purchased her in Kazeh. I could certainly understand why Amoda would not lay stress on this matter, but I could not comprehend why the Doctor had not explained better to her. But perhaps he had, and the contemplation of her freedom was simply too big a question for her weak mind to take.
I believe I managed to persuade her that neither the merchant who had sold her to the Bwana nor the Doctor’s son had any kind of claim on her, nor was it at all possible that a man who lived in England would make a journey from that land that had abolished slavery just to claim her.
“You have done me good, that you have,” she said. “If I can do you good in turn you let me know, indeed, I can do you good right now, for you must know all that goes on between Chirango and Ntaoéka.”
As I looked at her in some puzzlement, Chirango came up to join us. Seeing him, Halima once again mumbled her thanks and walked off. Chirango’s face indicated that he wished to enter into some sort of intercourse with me. But I made an excuse about needing to pray until he finally walked off. I am trying to stay as far from Chirango as possible.
That matter of the hyena showed a most unpleasant side of the man. I have not held a service in many days. I do not know whether it is he who has changed, or I. It must be me, for he is as obliging as ever but something in his manner feels oppressive to me. It is almost as though he is too obliging, too agreeable, too willing to come to my aid, to the point of being suffocating. Every time he smiles, it is as though my heart contracts in fear.
17
9 October 1873
Seventeenth Entry from the Journal of Jacob Wainwright, written in Baula; in which the Expedition Divides as the Party plunges into Deep Mourning and searches in Vain for a Lost Companion as Wainwright Prays to Him Above to Teach us to Number our Days, that we may Apply our Hearts unto Wisdom.
Out of Darkness, Shining Light Page 19
