On leaving Mozinkwa's hospitable mansion
we crossed another stream, about forty yards wide, in canoes.
While this tedious process
Was going on, I was informed
that it is called the Mona-Kalueje, or brother of Kalueje,
as it flows into that river; that both the Kalueje and Livoa
flow into the Leeba; and that the Chifumadze, swollen by the Lotembwa,
is a feeder of that river also, below the point where we lately crossed it.
It may be remarked here that these rivers were now in flood,
and that the water was all perfectly clear. The vegetation on the banks
is so thickly planted that the surface of the earth is not abraded
by the torrents. The grass is laid flat, and forms a protection to the banks,
which are generally a stiff black loam. The fact of canoes being upon them
shows that, though not large, they are not like the southern rivulets,
which dry up during most of the year, and render canoes unnecessary.
As we were crossing the river we were joined by a messenger from Katema,
called Shakatwala. This person was a sort of steward or factotum
to his chief. Every chief has one attached to his person,
and, though generally poor, they are invariably men of great shrewdness
and ability. They act the part of messengers on all important occasions,
and possess considerable authority in the chief's household.
Shakatwala informed us that Katema had not received precise information
about us, but if we were peaceably disposed, as he loved strangers,
we were to come to his town. We proceeded forthwith, but were turned aside,
by the strategy of our friend Intemese, to the village of Quendende,
the father-in-law of Katema. This fine old man was so very polite
that we did not regret being obliged to spend Sunday at his village.
He expressed his pleasure at having a share in the honor of a visit
as well as Katema, though it seemed to me that the conferring that pleasure
required something like a pretty good stock of impudence, in leading
twenty-seven men through the country without the means of purchasing food.
My men did a little business for themselves in the begging line;
they generally commenced every interview with new villagers
by saying "I have come from afar; give me something to eat."
I forbade this at first, believing that, as the Makololo had a bad name,
the villagers gave food from fear. But, after some time, it was evident
that in many cases maize and manioc were given from pure generosity.
The first time I came to this conclusion was at the house of Mozinkwa;
scarcely any one of my men returned from it without something in his hand;
and as they protested they had not begged, I asked himself,
and found that it was the case, and that he had given spontaneously.
In other parts the chiefs attended to my wants, and the common people
gave liberally to my men. I presented some of my razors and iron spoons
to different head men, but my men had nothing to give; yet every one tried
to appropriate an individual in each village as "Molekane", or comrade,
and the villagers often assented; so, if the reader remembers
the molekane system of the Mopato, he may perceive that those
who presented food freely would expect the Makololo to treat them
in like manner, should they ever be placed in similar circumstances.
Their country is so fertile that they are in no want of food themselves;
however, their generosity was remarkable; only one woman refused
to give some of my men food, but her husband calling out to her
to be more liberal, she obeyed, scolding all the while.
In this part of the country, buffaloes, elands, koodoos, and various antelopes
are to be found, but we did not get any, as they are exceedingly wary
from being much hunted. We had the same woodland and meadow as before,
with here and there pleasant negro villages; and being all in good health,
could enjoy the fine green scenery.
Quendende's head was a good specimen of the greater crop of wool with which
the negroes of Londa are furnished. The front was parted in the middle,
and plaited into two thick rolls, which, falling down behind the ears,
reached the shoulders; the rest was collected into a large knot,
which lay on the nape of the neck. As he was an intelligent man,
we had much conversation together: he had just come
from attending the funeral of one of his people, and I found
that the great amount of drum-beating which takes place on these occasions
was with the idea that the Barimo, or spirits, could be drummed to sleep.
There is a drum in every village, and we often hear it going
from sunset to sunrise. They seem to look upon the departed
as vindictive beings, and, I suspect, are more influenced by fear
than by love. In beginning to speak on religious subjects with those
who have never heard of Christianity, the great fact of the Son of God
having come down from heaven to die for us is the prominent theme.
No fact more striking can be mentioned. "He actually came to men.
He himself told us about his Father, and the dwelling-place
whither he has gone. We have his words in this book, and he really
endured punishment in our stead from pure love," etc. If this fails
to interest them, nothing else will succeed.
We here met with some people just arrived from the town of Matiamvo
(Muata yanvo), who had been sent to announce the death
of the late chieftain of that name. Matiamvo is the hereditary title,
muata meaning lord or chief. The late Matiamvo seems,
from the report of these men, to have become insane, for he is said
to have sometimes indulged the whim of running a muck in the town
and beheading whomsoever he met, until he had quite a heap of human heads.
Matiamvo explained this conduct by saying that his people were too many,
and he wanted to diminish them.
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