But indubitably white men possess great
magic, uncertain in its extent.
That is as far as I should care to go, without much deeper
acquaintance, into the attitude of the native mind toward the
whites. A superficial study of it, beyond the general principals
I have enunciated, discloses many strange contradictions. The
native respects the white man's warlike skill, he respects his
physical prowess, he certainly acknowledges tacitly his moral
superiority in the right to command. In case of dispute he likes
the white man's adjudication; in case of illness the man's
medicine; in case of trouble the white man's sustaining hand. Yet
he almost never attempts to copy the white man's appearance or
ways of doing things. His own savage customs and habits he
fulfils with as much pride as ever in their eternal fitness. Once
I was badgering Memba Sasa, asking him whether he thought the
white skin or the black skin the more ornamental. "You are not
white," he retorted at last. "That," pointing to a leaf of my
notebook, "is white. You are red. I do not like the looks of red
people."
They call our speech the "snake language," because of its hissing
sound. Once this is brought to your attention, indeed, you cannot
help noticing the superabundance of the sibilants.
A queer melange the pigeonholes of an African's brain must
contain-fear and respect, strongly mingled with clear estimate
of intrinsic character of individuals and a satisfaction with his
own standards.
