This chapter is by way of a thumbnail sketch of all the other chapters to give you, the reader, an insight into the overall plan before detail partly obscures it.
Month by month from about the age of eleven, until I went to War in 1915, I had leaflets about Livingstonia and its fine tribes and people from the Rev Chrichton. Steadily, my scrapbook of African stories grew. I had a Nyasaland map: dotted on it were all the Outstations, the names of active missionaries, the founder, Dr Robert Laws, some of his medical workers: Rev Dr Walter Elmslie, Rev Charles Stuart, Dr Chisholm, Dr Donald and his wife Dr Agnes Fraser, Dr Turner and Ministers: D.R. Mackenzie, A.G. MacAlpine, R.D. MacMinn, the Young brothers, T.C.Y. and W.P. There were also many other gifted people who freely gave of their skills and knowledge such as builders, joiners, stone-masons, engineers, printers, teachers, nurses and many loyal wives. Also an ever growing host of forward-looking and thinking Africans such as:
Yakobi Harawa, Edward Boti Manda, Peter Joli, Kenneth Kaunda, William Mkandawiri and all the many broadminded Chiefs who were receptive to new ideas.
These Greatheart adventurers, by freely offering love and instruction, had brought peace and tranquility to a land that for generations had been torn by tribal war, slavery and disease. The more I read about Livingstonia, the greater my longing grew to be there and work with my boyhood heroes.
In 1912 Dr Laws was made Moderator of the United Free Church of Scotland. I went to hear him preach about Livingstonia when he came to St Pauls Church, Dundee. From that moment on, my sights were firmly set on service in Nyasaland and to the Livingstonia Mission in particular.
The Great War came in late 1914 and even after I enlisted the Rev Crichton wrote regularly to me in the trenches and so I was able to quench my thirst for information about African missionary work during lulls in the fighting and amongst the worst carnage imaginable from the Battle of Loos in September, 1915, to a score of others, up to the final one at Mons in
1918.
Soon after my demob in January, 1919, the Rev Thomas Crichton, then Minister at West Calder, had a letter from Dr Laws wondering if I was well, finished with the Army and of a mind to be a missionary at Livingstonia. When the Doctor knew that I was, he invited me to Glasgow, to be interviewed by Dr Laws and the formidable eighteen-member Foreign Mission Committee.
It was an interesting meeting. One old minister asked about my army career. I said calmly, ‘Sir, you were too elderly to fully understand what battles, wounds, comrades killed at one s side, hunger and thirst, could do to a man’s spirit and soul. If you mean drink, smoking and other evils, I say here and now, I am clean and I am proud to say so.
The old minister came over to me and patted me on the back. ‘You really read my thoughts.’
I was appointed Assistant Horticulturist, Agriculturalist and Head of Forestry Department at Livingstonia.
Many years later, after Dr Laws had died, the Rev Chrichton’s family gave me the following letter that their Father had received and treasured from the Doctor.
39 Merchison Crescent
Edinburgh. 21 Feb, 1922
Dear Mr Crichton,
Thank you for your letter of the 16th inst.
The F.M. Comm. met this afternoon and Alexander Caseby was appointed to Livingstonia for the Agricultural Dept. at his motivation. He will be required to take some time at Forestry and some other things perhaps, before he goes, so that it may be some months before he leaves, but this will give him time to prepare all the more for his future. He is appointed for a term of five years in the first instance, but all being well and he fulfilling the high character you give him, I hope he may find his life’s work there as I have done.
I saw him in Glasgow and was favourably impressed by him and the spiritual side of his character showing itself in faithful work in what must often have been very trying circumstances.
I have not his address to hand, not sure whether he is with you or not. I wish him Godspeed.
With all good wishes.
Yours sincerely
Robert Laws.
I had to attend college in Edinburgh and they needed some proof of my study ability before allowing me to undertake the gruelling scheme of study I had set for myself and Mr Seath, my Headmaster at Dairsie School, obliged with the following handwritten reference:
It gives me much pleasure to bear Testimony to the Character and scholarly attainments of Mr Alexander Caseby.
He was a Scholar at my School for a number of years. During that time he distinguished himself in all his classes, but was particularly brilliant in English, Writing, Composition and Arithmetic. His attainments were of no mean order. He gained a Bursary which enabled him to join the Harris Academy, Dundee, for three years. At this Academy he also distinguished himself. He joined the Army when quite young and saw much active service in France.
He is a young man of blameless character, of an amiable and cheery disposition and very obliging.
He is also smart and intelligent, has any amount of push and I am certain whatever appointment he may obtain, he will perform his duties to the entire satisfaction of all concerned. He is a deserving young man and I wish him all success.
Schoolhouse, Dairsie. 22nd Sept., 1919
William S. Seath.
For the following two years I spent nine hours of each working day meeting the College course demands, plus an extra nine hours each weekend studying Theology. The course was supposed to be three and a half years duration, but I passed all examinations in two years at the Edinburgh and East of Scotland College of Horticulture, Agriculture and Forestry.
It took my 80% War Disability Pension in one lump sum, plus a Mission Committee Grant and all of my own savings, to complete my training. When the Foreign Missions Committee saw all my five excellent reports they awarded me a mission salary and £40 for a holiday. As I was engaged to a delightful young lady the money was spent on a holiday together in my mother’s former Rodgers home in Lundin Links. Mother came with us and acted as our hostess in the house she was born in. This was my first real holiday in many years.
I was often in touch with Dr Robert Laws and he was soon looking for help with the recruitment of other key personnel he needed, as the following letter from his Edinburgh address shows:
Edinburgh, June 7, 1922
Dear Mr Caseby,
I have to go to Aberdeen on Friday, leaving Waverly by the 10.25 and passing Dundee at 11.53. I wonder if you would see me there as the train does not stop at Leuchars.
I should be able to get from you then your latest regarding a builder if one may not be had in Aberdeen. We want a good, earnest, Christian, young unmarried man who is a good workman and able to teach others. The character he has from his fellow churchmen is of as much importance as that from his employer.
I do not know at present of any opening for an electrician or gardener but there may yet be one for the latter, but I do not know of such just now.
There may be some other work I should like to speak to you about when we meet.
With kind regards,
Yours sincerely,
Robert Laws.
When my training and short holiday were completed, Doctor Laws told me that he had booked me on an ocean liner to Africa and to my surprise I found that I was to be his cabin companion.
We had a whole month, discussing a score of subjects. He wanted to know all about my experiences in the World War:
battles, privations, my attitude to German soldiers.
‘Doctor,’ I said, ‘let us forget about the first two points, as to the third, I did not hate any German. They were only doing their duty for their country, as I was for mine.’ This seemed to satisfy him.
Another day he took out a notebook and asked, ‘Would you like to know some of your duties at Livingstonia?’
My reply was, ‘I will be delighted.’ I took out my notebook and he went on to say the following without stopping.
‘Priority. You must learn the language. You will have a staff of between 200 and 500. Livingstonia area is 52,000 acres. The Government Department allows supervision of 1,000,000 in nineteen separate mission areas. Most of our 52,000 acres includes agriculture, afforestation, horticulture, 200 herds of oxen for transport, ploughing and other purposes. You will provide food for 300 African apprentices, pupils and estate labourers in the form of their staple diet of maize flour, wheat and barley flour, rice, cassava, beans, potatoes, sweet potatoes, pumpkins, meat, vegetables and all kinds of their fruit. Additionally, the European staff will need milk, meat, fruit, butter and all kinds of vegetables.’
He continued almost without a pause for breath. ‘You will also manage an electrically powered grinding mill with a yearly output of 500 tons and supply the flour to Europeans living within a radius of 150 miles.’
A very tall order indeed. Really, I thought the Doctor was bluffing until I realized that he was speaking of his vision for the distant future and not the present situation. He was setting targets for me to aim at!
When I reached Livingstonia in 1922 and did a stocktake I found the following African employees: three agriculture students, four gardeners, nine estate workers, ten foresters, ten food-producing allotments, ten acres of cotton, twenty varieties of fruits and a hundred kinds of shrubs, flowers and ornamental trees.
On the ship in a nearby cabin were a William and Mrs Smith and their four-year-old son Billy who were also bound for Livingstonia. My mother, thoughtful as ever, had planted a tin of biscuits in my cabin trunk and so every time little Billy came round to our cabin I gave him a biscuit. When asked where he had been he said, ‘To see Bakey!’
Bakey was his shortened way of saying biscuit. When I later went to his house at Livingstonia he would shout, ‘Daddy, here comes Bakey!’ My new nickname stuck and from then on all my missionary companions called me ‘Bakey’.
My senior in the Homestead was a very pleasant partner. He had accomplished much, but could not travel far, owing to a wife in delicate health. He gave me his best African supervisors, half of his office and a good linguist. I was so happy. In a large house nearby, I shared accommodation with Mr John Brown, an engineer and Mr Bill Johnstone, a builder. We had our own houseboys, our own rooms, a joint African cook and common dining-cum-rest-room. To me, with language classes, office duties, arranging work, travelling, classes and private study it proved to be a busy time. I worked a sixty-four hour week on average and harder in early 1924 for I had to prepare for my bride to arrive!
Nowadays, when one thinks of a Bridal Carriage, one thinks of a horse-drawn trap, an early Ford car, a white Rolls Royce, or a splendid car, bedecked with paper flowers and hooters sounding. Away back, on 30th April 1924, my bride came to church in Livingstonia, Central Africa, in a one-wheeled bush car, held steady by two long poles on either side of the seat and propelled by two radiantly smiling African men. The distinguished missionary, Dr Robert Laws, gowned in his Church of Scotland Moderatorial Robes, performed the ceremony. My bride, Miss (Minie) Williamina MacFarlane, a native of Angus, travelled a long way to the church and got there in time!
Her journey took her from quiet and rural Dairsie, in Fife, Scotland to Southampton; for sixteen days to Cape Town on an ocean liner, followed by six days in a train to Beira. Waiting at Port Herald station there was a quick tropical rainshower and Minie opened out her umbrella that had been unused since leaving home to be covered with the confetti put there by Meg, her sister, weeks previously. Her red-faced effort to clear up the mess attracted many fellow travellers to her aid, some befriended her for part of her journey and she was let through customs without checks.
After this incident she spent one more day in another train taking her to a place where she could catch the ferry over the wide Zambezi River, then train again for one day to Blantyre, 120 miles by car over bumpy dirt track rutted roads to Fort Johnstone, three days in the lake steamer to Florence Bay and finally 11 miles by the said bush car to Livingstonia, 3,000 feet above sea level, in Central Africa.
After the wedding breakfast, we set off by bush cars to a sun dried, thatched hut, twenty-five miles away. That evening we gave the Africans a feast: roasted bullock, 4 cwts of maize porridge, 2 cwts of rice pudding and an orange for each. The next day with one hundred Africans, we planted thousands of Douglas Fir and Eucalyptus trees.
In the honeymoon hut there was a gun, so my bride was not afraid. Lions and leopards roared at night, hyenas grunted and there were many unfamiliar and frightening jungle noises. One thing she did not know was there was no ammunition. We have never regretted that memorable day now so many years ago. True love has always ruled our hearts over our heads.
My work went on apace until 1926 when Dr Laws asked me for a progress report after my first four years. When I reminded him that he had all my fifty monthly reports, he replied, ‘I require you to summarize them now, for the Sir Hilton Young Commission.’ He looked at me not bothering to think it necessary to spell-out the significance of the Commission findings for the future of our Mission in particular and the progress of the whole country towards independent Government in general.
I looked at him and could tell that he felt the matter to be very important and would tolerate no further discussion. My mind flashed back to a crippled Sergeant-Major telling me in 1915 that as a soldier I had to obey every command without question on the assumption that superiors knew what was best from an overall picture of events.
I reminded myself that I was a soldier again, this time for Christ. I swallowed the pride that had made me question his motives, because I had thought only of the vast amount of work that I would have to do to meet his needs. I put out my hand, he took hold of mine with his renowned iron grip. We smiled at each other and he said sincerely, ‘Thank you, Mr Caseby.’
My clerk put out all my files in orderly fashion and I added all my private notes and we set to arranging the information required. My men knew I needed quietness to regroup all my papers and left me free of other duties to do my analysis and report writing. Overall the figures showed that by 1926 we now had: three African lecturers and twenty-two students speaking fluent English, sixteen gardeners, forty estate supervisors, eighteen foresters, 200 X 5-acre allotments, 40 X 10-acre holdings, 800 X 4-acre wheat growing holdings, 100 acres of cotton, 500 acres growing maize, beans, ground nuts, cassava, rice etc., thirty acres of tea, cocoa, bananas, fifty acres of oil palms, dates, citrus fruits and twenty acres of shrub fruits.
During the said four years my team had cleared twelve acres on a large mountain to enable the planting of 1,500,000 cyprus trees. In the process of achieving this we had to train ten teams of oxen to help us construct and keep under repair some sixty miles of roads and 200 bridges.
The workers under my charge were supplying about 1,000 tons of wood fuel annually for all Latu Lake steamers and for house fuel. In 1922 a major effort had been expended and 1,000 tons of grain had been bought from 300 miles around to feed staff and Africans. By 1925 we were nearly self-sufficient despite rapidly increasing demands, as only 200 tons had to be removed from far distances and by 1926 the records showed the import of just forty tons of bought-in rice.
Before I left my office each afternoon my clerks would go over with me details of duties for the following day. All work started with prayers at five forty-five a.m. when the day was cool and had to cease at, or before, three p.m. because of the excessive heat. Each morning some 300 Africans turned up looking for a day’s work, many came regularly, we rarely turned any away.
A typical day’s orders and duties were: ten women bringing thatching grass; twenty men, road repairs, landslides and bridges; fifteen men to carry sawn timber; ten men on flower beds; ten men on forestry plantations; forty women carrying food to dining halls to feed all the workers on meal, beans, melons, pumpkins and fruit during the working day; fifteen two-men bush cars, or machilas, to transport doctors on their rounds or missionaries on their assignments and their luggage as necessary; ten men trained to slaughter and dress ox, sheep and pig; two men making string from sisal; three women cane weaving; ten women pounding cassava; two men on cemetery work; one gun-boy who was a crack shot to work where hyenas, hogs and small game were destroying crops in experimental areas; fifteen men on ox wagons to transport the output from quarries, brick works, cultivation areas and timber yards.
Each week my wife supervised the dressing and jointing of the slaughtered animals, having learned from her father and the distribution of meat to all European homes. She also worked with the African women and taught them her dressmaking skills, acquired during her long dressmaking apprenticeship in Cupar and meanwhile learned their techniques, language and ideas. They admired her, for she tried to be one of them and was a country lass at heart who loved the
things of nature as they did. Many native women gathered from our equal-partnership marriage relationship that their role could change for the better if they involved themselves in the learning and training opportunities the Mission offered to them.
In addition to all of the above there were many African students learning to write and read in their own language in its newly created Roman alphabet, forestry workers, carpenters, engineers, watchmen and cattlemen.
The Doctor was very pleased with the final report that we sent off. For those who are interested, the full report will be found in the National Library of Scotland, numbered 7887, titled ‘Report on the Agriculture Department’, 1923 to 1926.
Other monthly reports that I issued up to 1929 showed more rapid and encouraging progress in every area already mentioned. The following chapters tell of the joys and heartaches, perils and adventures, the fears and the excitements our small but growing family experienced by our missionary and Central African friends.
There follows a fuller account of how my wife and I tried to work for God’s purpose to become real to our dear African comrades.
Before going to Central Africa, many articles of clothing, bedding, equipment for the tropics, canned foods and medicines, had to be bought and packed in boxes and trunks for the voyage. It was all exciting. Many farewells had to be said, some for the last time, including to my darling mother, then the journey to London, after two days’ sight-seeing, to Southampton and the steamer. Then a fine cabin, which I shared with The Rev Dr Robert Laws. He was the perfect companion. With him I was on a new adventure to a peaceful land, to a Missionary enterprise, to uplift backward people, to teach them crafts, to love them and to lead them forward to a better future and to make their land a haven of peace and prosperity.
In the cabin one day, Dr Laws said to me, ‘Mr Caseby, bear in mind you will meet hazards in Central Africa: heat, fevers, insects, loneliness, frustration and hidden perils of the jungle!’
‘Dr Laws,’ I replied, ‘I have spent the best part of four years in gun pits; waded in mud; frozen for days on end; fought in a score of bloody battles; many times, plagued with lice and rats; seen men blown to bits at my side; suffered wounds and gas; known hunger, thirst and fear. . . your hazards do not frighten me.
There was a long pause, the Doctor looked straight into my eyes — ‘Brother in Christ, we understand each other.’ From that moment there was a bond of goodwill and affection that never faltered.
I was not a good sailor. In my early days, the Tay and Forth Ferries and trips ‘doon th’ waater’, to Rothesay, gave me headaches and upset tummy. During the First World War I made six channel crossings: each time I was seasick. The sixteen days on the SS Ghoorka were interesting, except for the first and last days, when I had to keep to my cabin bunk.
Cape Town was an intensely interesting place. When we arrived two delegations, one white people, the other Africans, called on Dr Laws. Later than day, I accompanied Dr Laws to a civic reception and at nine p.m. to a gathering of 500 Africans, black ministers, headmasters, businessmen, doctors and a lawyer. All praised Dr Laws for his missionary vision —all were his converts and responsible Christians. I was thrilled to be at Dr Laws’ side — a raw recruit in evangelism and I noted all that was said by the Africans.
I had friends in Cape Town. I stayed one night with them and they had dinner with me one evening on the Ghoorka.
I was escorted by Major Welch (friend of Dr Law), to orchards, plantations, farms, hatcheries and a school. At each place I was introduced as ‘One of Dr Laws’ pupils for Livingstonia’. Africans came and welcomed me; most of them were born in Livingstonia. One day with my Chief, I visited a newspaper office and the printing works.
The liner moved up the coast. We halted at Mossel Bay and had a pleasurable steamer trip around Seal Island where we saw hundreds of seals of all sizes.
Port Elizabeth was an attractive place. We made short excursions inland to visit fruit orchards, a huge poultry farm and an African church, where hundreds danced and cheered and sang a hymn in praise for Dr Laws.
At East London, cargo was unloaded and new goods taken on board. A deputation, headed by Dr Shepherd of Lovedale Mission, came on to the Ghoorka and later, Dr Laws’ party were entertained to lunch in an hotel. In the afternoon, a Conference was held in the hotel lounge. It was an eye-opener to me, to see white delegates coming in by the front entrance and the black Africans entering by a side door. I was taken by a white planter (car driven by an African) to a fine estate, in which there was a number of enclosures, with ostriches, guinea fowl, turkeys and geese.
A three day stop was made at Durban. It was a city of great charm and the people most friendly. I was told every second white person was of Scottish extraction. I attended an African Conference — a most enjoyable event. As I had relatives at Berea and Claremont, I called on them and had a happy six hours going over loved ones at home and Scottish affairs. The Department of Agriculture (at the request of Dr Laws) took me on a whistlestop tour of smallholdings, farms, ostrich ranches, experimental areas, two African villages and a school. At a village I was welcomed by a very black African by the name of Robert Burns. He bubbled over with merriment and laughter.
A hurried visit was made to Petermaritzburg. The place was so different from other places I had visited — Africans were well separated from whites and the coloured quarters squalid. The. reservation areas, for so-called natives, shocked me.
Laurenco Marques did not appeal to me. Portuguese soldiers were posted at points around the harbour. The dock workers were Africans, the snake charmers Indian. A deputation of three civic heads came on board and spent half an hour with Dr Laws. Gifts were exchanged: a cheque for, Livingstonia from the visitors, while Dr Laws handed over a bulky parcel — books, perhaps Bibles!
We all disembarked at Beira. Portuguese officials hurried up; the gangway of the Ghoorka to the reception room to welcome Dr Laws. Their welcome was sincere.
With a twinkle in his eye, the aged Missionary said, ‘I knew your parents. I knew you as boys; now I am proud you have not forgotten me.
One of the officials was detailed to look after my interests and ‘enhance my knowledge’. The Savoy Hotel was our abode. After a second reception and meal my guide took me to the beautiful Botanic Gardens, then a hurried tour to cotton plantations, orchards, tobacco fields, maize, groundnut and pineapple areas.
The following forenoon, I was impressed with a hand weaving factory, tobacco curing plant and a fowl hatchery. By the time my Beira visit was over I had a good idea of crops, methods of cultivation, propagation of citrus and other tropical fruits and the way to raise tea, coffee, cocoa, forestry trees and many other warm country plants and flowers when I reached Livingstonia.
I had heard from Missionaries on furlough about the engines fuelled by timber that pulled trains from Beira to Port Herald. Now I knew — the stop-go, stop-go, excuses for damp timber. It was a slow journey. In uphill places, passengers were only too pleased to get out and walk as the engine puff-puffed up inclines.
The railway track was a fine piece of engineering, made in the low paid, pick and shovel days. At intervals, a white cross was noted, or a group of railed-in graves — the silent story of sacrifice in making the rail road.
The voyage on the Ghoorka was pleasant and clean, with sea breezes and calm: on the train—dust, dirt, heat, flies and thirst.
It was a relief to reach the Zambezi River, to get out of the train and into the river steamer. How lovely to sit down in an air-conditioned saloon at a well appointed table; so different from makeshift meals in a swaying train. Being tired, we slept well in bunks and for the first time under a mosquito net.
The steamer crossed the river by night and in the morning all had to go through Customs and then into a train, moving at a steady pace, to Blantyre. There were stops and at each place cheering Africans and officials, genuine in their welcome to Dr Laws. What a difference from Dr Laws’ first entry into the country in 1875— dense jungle for hundreds of miles, a handful of adventurers, European and Indians — a vast land of darkness, poverty, tribal strife, slavery, witchcraft, disease and evil in its darkest form. It is left to African historians to write the mighty achievements of unafraid Dr Laws.
At the railway station (and surrounds of Blantyre Station), there were masses of cheering people. One man and one man only, was the centre of adulation — the indomitable Dr Robert Laws. Government officials, African chiefs, council authorities, representatives from every church and denomination, leaders in commerce and industry were present to welcome Dr Laws.
To a young, inexperienced missionary like myself I marvelled and was very proud of the wonderful reception accorded to the man who had been my hero for thirteen years. The aged missionary was deeply moved. He thanked all for their kindness, ending with, ‘May God Bless and preserve you all.’
My few days in Blantyre proved very busy. Alexander Burnett, horticulturist to Blantyre Mission, had arranged many tours to estates and plantations within forty miles of the city — cotton ginning and tea blending plants; coffee processing and maize storage; flour mills and afforestation; seed nurseries and machinery workshops; food stores and co-operative establishments; schools, hospitals and churches. I made many friends, both Africans and Europeans.
Four hundred miles ahead lay Livingstonia. In trucks, sidecars, cars and a mini bus, missionaries, planters and traders set off for Fort Johnstone. The going was rough: bad roads, twisting and winding, bumpy bridges, dust and humid heat. At Zomba, a short halt, while the Governor and members of the Legislature, read welcomes to Dr Laws, then off again to the lake steamer. We boarded the SS Domira to the cheering of thousands of Africans.
We were on our last lap. The ship was clean, cabins small, dining room cramped — the atmosphere one of friendship. We (the recruits) saw our first crocodiles, hippos, storks, herons, pelicans and many other birds. A stop was made at Cape Maclear, the spot Dr Livingstone had reached. With Dr Laws, I stood on the hallowed spot. I also saw the ruins of the first Mission, in 1875. We made a brief halt at Likoma, centre of the Church of England Universities Mission. An impressive place.
Kila Kota was another active Mission of the Church of England — again I was fortunate to visit many active establishments. At Nkala Bay, we were among our own Missionaries and a sphere of church evangelism. The welcome to Dr Laws was one of love and affection — large gatherings, singing hymns of praise.
The last stop was Florence Bay. It was exactly as I had pictured it for years. Thousands of people were on the shore —cheering, singing, dancing — a marvellous tribute to a great man. All the way up the 3,000 feet hillside, eleven miles to the Livingstonia Plateau, masses of happy, delightful Africans.
Scotland to Livingstonia, Central Africa — my vision of hope for thirteen years — an accomplished fact. This was my home.
All my life I have been an early riser. It was no difficulty for me to rise at five forty-five a.m. and start work at six a.m. The sunrise in Central Africa is very beautiful. Dr Laws had a saying, ‘Stay in bed after sunrise and you’ll be tired all day.’ A true saying. Every morning before six o’clock, all workers assembled for a simple act of worship, some words of scripture, a short prayer and Blessing. Twice each week, instead of scripture, an African hymn was sung, a really inspiring event, for Africans are sweet singers. After devotions, work was detailed to certain groups — I always had over a hundred workers, men and women of character and honesty. They had a fine sense of humour.
The Livingstonia Mission was a pretty place: fine houses, well spaced with gardens, fine church, school, clock tower and post office, carpentry, engineering, building, printing and agricultural concerns — all very vigorous — theological college, high school and hospital. Each department had its own staff and first class African clerks. The Plateau had wide tree-lined roads and pockets of flowering shrubs and fir trees. Being 3,000 feet up the air was pleasant by day, chilly by night. The quarters for married tradesmen and key African leaders, were selective and well designed. So too, the quarters for boarders, up-to-date and clean.
The marvel of Livingstonia was the water supply. Each house had running water, so also did a score of other areas, all drawn from a mountain side miles away. There was complete harmony between the missionaries and the African tribes.
Wild animals prowled around in the bush — lions, leopards, hyenas, warthog, snakes of all sizes and antelope of all kinds. The three main hazards were mosquitoes (malaria), ticks (fever) and jiggers (insects that pierced hard skin, causing infection). Quinine tablets were taken every day by all white people to ward off many kinds of fevers. There were many birds of prey — eagles, vultures and hawks. Plumage birds were exceedingly beautiful — the colourings have to be seen to be believed, especially in tiny birds.
My first love is what I was specially trained in: agriculture, horticulture and forestry. Let me add here that all missionaries, specialists in their own sphere, were fortified in the knowledge that they were all partners in one great crusade, to bring the dynamic message of ‘The Good News’ to the people of Central Africa. Our job was not so much to preach but to witness by our daily living, our skill and patience and our love for a really charming race of Africans.
Walking down the main broad avenue, lined with Millanje Cedars, a fine sense of peace came over me. My locus of service was well defined: the hills to be clothed with trees; the scrubby bush land to be cleared, later tilled and planted to grow food; men to be trained, to branch out to teach others, so that the lovely land may blossom forth and all the people rejoice in God-given harvests of plenty.
On this particular day of reflection I met the resident African Minister, Rev Edward Boti Manda. He was a friendly and lovable man. Greetings over he said, ‘We are all very happy you are to plant many trees, lay down smallholdings, grow cotton, improve food crop growing and train high school students in all these things.
I knew this was to be part of my work in the 52,000 acres held by the Mission for development. I knew what Edward had said was part of my instructions from Dr Laws while in Edinburgh. Was this my introduction to bush telegraph?
Edward led me off the Cedar Avenue and along a path about half a mile long. He stopped. ‘Look all around you,’ he said softly. ‘What do you see?’
‘A valley of dense jungle on one side, a tiny village; on the other, a badly kept cemetery!’ I replied.
Edward smiled. Long ago Dr Laws told the Divinity Students: ‘In Scotland, we have a saying, “Clean up the back garden first and others will take notice”.’
‘Thank you, Edward,’ I said softly. ‘Your request will have my attention. I know exactly what to do!’
I was assistant to Mr Archie Burnett. He was married, I was single, so we came to a satisfactory working arrangement. He would supervise most work on the plateau, except for work I specialized in and I would have a free hand to travel and organize developments of special land for trees, tea, coffee, maize, mountain rice, training of oxen for farm work, market gardens for vegetables, orchards for fruit and plantation for cotton.
With Rev Edward Boti Manda as my guide and his son William as my clerk, I called a conference of chiefs and their headmen.
First, according to custom, there was a meal. An ox was killed, baskets of maize prepared and after a lapse of four hours, all took part in the family meal.
The conference was an outstanding success — the first full meeting of chiefs and headmen — sixty in all — in the history of the Mission to consider one subject: ‘Agriculture’. After I had outlined my programme, interpreted by Rev Edward Boti Manda, I retired to my tent for one hour. All my plans were passed, full co-operation promised and I was given an African name, ‘Mwakuyu’ (the planter of trees).
A century earlier, a famous Chief Mwakuyu told his people —‘Plant trees so that succeeding generations may have huge logs for canoes; when land crops fail there are many kinds of food in the mighty Lake.’
In an area fifty miles deep into the land and fifty miles along part of the lake shore, I held a dozen conferences in seven months and from all the deliberations a map was plotted with areas of priority marked in green.
At a tree planting ceremony, on the date of Dr David Livingstone’s birthday (19th March), Dr Laws called me to his office for a talk. I had my daily log book and maps. He read, turned over page after page, took notes on a jotter. I said, ‘Dr Laws, I have a full copy of all my journeys and work for you as I promised on the steamer Ghoorka coming out.’
He looked up, half smiled, ‘I was just wondering if you had remembered your promise.’ No words of encouragement, no pat on the back, just a crisp sentence, ‘You are settling in very well.’
I had indeed settled in, totted up nearly 1,000 miles on foot or bush car; twelve conferences, with chiefs and headmen; soil tested fifty-two areas, discovered beds of nodular lime stone; twenty nursery beds made and 500,000 seeds of all kinds of trees, shrubs and coffee planted; started four blind men in string-making from sisal, collected a band of trustful students to help me with the vernacular; passed my first exam in the language; had two bouts of malaria and God be praised, not one cross word with anyone.
My army training in the First World War, to hear much and say little, coupled with my passion for self discipline and routine, gave me a sense of inward peace and the vision I had had from my youth, to be a missionary, in every meaning of the word — sincere dedication. Oh, yes, I must say, all I promised Rev Edward Boti Manda was completed — the dense jungle was cleared for afforestation, the tiny village cleaned up and the cemetery completely transformed to a serene place of beauty.
I greatly admired the Africans. I trusted them and they held me in high regard. My old friend, Very Rev Dr Donald Fraser; once said to me, ‘Remember, Caseby, the African has microscopic eyes, he thinks hard and has the capacity to weigh a person up — especially a white one — in a matter of seconds.’ I found this to be true.
One season, just before the rains came, I told my students I intended visiting a certain fertile valley — about six miles away
— the next day. As we assembled, one of my pupils called Vurayata, said, ‘Please do not go today, the rains will break, the dry stream beds will get flooded and we may not get home.
I knew ‘Vurayata’ was the name given to a rain-maker. As the sky was perfect blue, without a cloud and the sun shining bright, I replied, ‘My plans are made, let us go.’
We made good time walking, laughing and saluting people by the way. Reaching the valley, I was very delighted to see
large area cultivated and sown with fir seeds. I felt proud of my workers and told them so.
We were plotting out another area about noon when drops rain fell on us; then, out of a cloudless sky, torrential rain. Never before had I experienced such a deluge. Within minutes we were soaked to the skin. I could not move, water rushed around my boots. Africans lifted me on to a lonely rock but the rock was unsafe. I was lifted off in time as the boulder tumbled down the hillside. The students surrounded me, but the muddy flood water was swirling around my ankles. After twenty one minutes, the rain ceased. We all laughed. I looked at my friend Vurayata. ‘You were right, I have learned my lesson. I’ll not run the risk again!’
We slipped and slithered on our way home, only to find no rain had fallen on the Plateau. The Africans have strange rites and customs, some are good, some are bad — from that moment I had respect for many customs that saved me from harm many times. One thing I noted during the storm: eagles, hawks and smaller birds of prey were active. They swooped and dived, carrying off snakes, rabbits and rat-like creatures in their talons — they reaped a fine harvest of creatures driven from their hideouts by the so-called cloudburst — I saw no cloud for rain.
One day, sitting in my office, writing up my diary, Vurayata said, ‘Rumbles came from the mountains, beyond the Lake (forty miles away) — come outside, something is going to happen.
As requested, I invited my students to follow. Far down on the lake, a dark smudge seemed to be moving and moving fast. It grew in size and white spray was evident in its wake. In a matter of seconds the smudge had grown into a mighty mass. It rose from the lake, high into the air, then with a crack like thunder the mass broke up and plunged into the mountainside below us. The crash was like the bursting of a salvo of shells during the war and the devastation as great. Huge trees were splintered to matchwood; a column of water many feet high cascaded down to the lake. Tens of thousands of fish of all sizes struggled in the murky mass. It was a whirlwind of great magnitude, lifting millions of gallons of water high in the air, then releasing the volume onto the mountainside. Africans —hundreds of them — carried away the fish. When I arrived with my students, fish were still plentiful, especially eels and snake-like creatures. The cloudburst shattered everything over a five acre area. Fortunately, no human being was injured.
One morning, for no particular reason, I turned from my set plan and made for Mr Archie Burnett’s house. As I was about to walk up the veranda steps, I saw two-year-old Blossom Burnett playing with a deadly snake. I tip-toed to the back of the house and told Archie. My plan was for Archie to take off his boots and move quietly towards the veranda and snatch up Blossom, while from the front, I would deal with the snake. The plan worked and with a wallop from a broom handle, I smashed the snake’s head. It was a miracle the child survived, for the Africans told us it was the wickedest, fiery tempered, poisonous snake in the bush.
Strange to say, Blossom was involved in another snake incident. Six Europeans, including Dr Laws and myself, were in a room next to which Blossom was in her cot asleep. One of the ladies whispered to us that there is was snake on Blossom’s pillow. Being the youngest, I slipped off my mosquito boots, hurried to the cot, snatched up the child, while one of my. colleagues dispatched the snake. It too, was a deadly poisonous snake.
Travelling with my students regularly from place to place I learned from them many customs, met a number of witch doctors and experienced many taboos. One man lived on the lake shore. I liked him as a man but did not approve of his drunken habits and some evil rites. He was always frank and often I appreciated his advice.
One such day the lake was like a millpond, so instead of walking to my destination I took a boat with four strong oarsmen. We had not moved far when many voices were shouting from the shore.
‘Come back, Bwana Mwakuyu, the Chief must speak to you!’ We turned and made for the Chiefs Compound. He looked upset.
‘Don’t go on the lake today, do not go by road.’ He told me that something dreadful had happened in the high mountains last night: a cloud broke and at this moment water is moving towards the lake. We talked about many things, until someone.. shouted, ‘It comes! It comes! It’s angry! Very angry!’
The Chief took my arm. ‘Come here and see!’ Rushing and crashing came a solid column of water, three or four feet high. It followed the Chitimba River course, smashing everything. It reached the calm waters of the lake—soon the lake was turbulent, masses of tree trunks, cattle, goats, sheep, wild animals, grass huts. Far, far out into the lake, mountainous seas, muddy and stinking garbage. No canoe, small boat or steamer could survive the fury out in the lake.
To me it was a true deliverance. I had survived many furious battles in the Great War; now through the instinct and intervention of an African Chief, four sturdy oarsmen and myself had been saved from a tempestuous sea.
I asked the Chief, ‘In what way may I show my gratitude for your great kindness. An ox, or sheep, or goat, or all three?’
A big, big grin came over his face, then in solemn voice, ‘A Bible and a cake of soap!’
I met his demands and, more satisfying, we became close friends. He became a Christian.
Mr Archie Burnett was the boss: I was his assistant. We worked in complete harmony and respected each other very much. As the weeks passed I noted a nervousness in Archie. I put it down to a recent bout of fever and I urged him to take his wife and child to the quietness and restfulness of Karambetta, about a dozen miles away and I would see to everything. My boss was quite overcome with my generous offer.
‘It’s more than that,’ he said. ‘I’m worried about my wife’s: health. She is getting weaker and may require treatment in Scotland — you know what that means.
I just did not know what to say. Our co-operative effort was’ in full swing and a long range plan was actually written up; plans for many developments, agreed to by Chiefs and accounted for in the Mission budget. Archie had other things on his mind.
Many cattle, sheep, goats and wild animals had died from East Coast fever and transport of goods was halted. I laughed such things off but Archie was nervous and worried. He asked me in for breakfast at eight a.m. next morning to talk things over. After early morning service, detailing two hundred workers to particular jobs, we left for breakfast. No sooner had we arrived when we heard a scream, a mouse was caught in a mouse trap. We soon settled that and Dan, the cook, re-set the trap and placed it on the floor. In a second, a playful kitten had its paw in the trap. More screams!
Before serving up the wheatmeal porridge, the pot fell off the stove, the toast was burned, the frying pan caught alight and the bacon was truly blackened. To crown it all, the coffee was made with cold water!
These little things did not upset me but highly-strung Archie was very angry and his wife was shouting from the bedroom. After I had managed to get everyone calmed down, we had quite a pleasant breakfast of paw-paw fruit, bread and marmalade and coffee which I made.
By noon that day Archie had a relapse — a fresh attack of malaria. Little Blossom too, was kept to her cot with fever and Mrs Burnett’s condition had deteriorated. Dr Laws and two medical missionaries were brought in and their conclusion was that all the Burnetts be invalided home by the first available steamer. All at once I was in sole charge of a vast establishment. I was bewildered, for the Foreign Mission Commission had promised I would get special leave in August 1925 to get married. This was just impossible, so I was told to make immediate arrangements for my bride to travel to Africa and all expenses would be paid.
The Burnetts had ten days to pack. The wives of other missionaries came and packed the Burnetts’ goods. I bought some furniture — two beds, wardrobe, tables, chairs and most of the kitchen utensils, as Dr Laws told me to move into the Homestead as soon as possible and rearrange all the work. I sat up late at night — fourteen hours each day, except Sunday, for nearly a fortnight, until I had every detail of the Department mapped out. All the other missionaries came to my aid. The clerks promised to do extra work without pay and everyone of my students lined up.
Everyone — Europeans and Africans — had been so kind. I knew I would succeed. The experience in World War One proved a great asset. I was trained to keep calm, not to over estimate difficulties, to weigh up every problem before acting and above all, to take on added responsibilities cheerfully.
The day the Burnetts sailed from Florence Bay, on the lake for home, Dr Laws asked me what my plans were. He was anxious to help, along with the Rev A.G. MacAlpine.
My notebook read: 50 miles of road, 70 bridges require attention — detail 40 workers; 19 carriers for goods from steamer to Plateau; 25 workers to carry sawn timber 15 miles; 50 workers for afforestation projects; 11 men to cut logs for steamer fuel; 10 men on gardening; 6 buyers for maize, rice, sweet potatoes and cassava flour from North territory 80 miles away, to travel by boat; 20 men to assist in building work.
Dr Laws took my notebook and asked how he and Mr MacAlpine could help? I told them everything was in hand, that all people were detailed and at their tasks. ‘In three days time I must get to smallholding areas, forty miles away. I will be pleased if you can help then.’ Dr Laws promised to see to the flour mill and rations for the school and apprentice boarders; Mr MacAlpine to the vegetable workers and transport of food.
I returned from my five day marathon trip to Mountain Holdings to find everything at the Homestead in top gear and all promised work fulfilled to my satisfaction.
In an industrial Mission like Livingstonia, every missionary must prove to the Africans that every effort is planned for their good. The Africans are polite and shrewd people. Far, far too long, their country was shrouded in darkness and doubt. Strife was common amongst tribes and evil rites played a big part in destroying harmony in single tribes.
Men and women, mostly from Scotland, became missionaries and travelled to Africa, not to exploit but to explain; not to parade as superiors but to prove equality; not to demand but to share; not to cause friction but to show unity, goodwill and peace. In all my work I treated the African honestly and in deepest faith and in so doing my burdens were eased and all under me knew I, and most missionaries, had dedicated ourselves to uplift every African in sincere work, patient perseverance and all the time prove we were Christians with Christ’s love for everyone.
Cable messages passed between Livingstonia and Edinburgh and Edinburgh and Livingstonia about my bride’s travel arrangements to Africa. All was settled satisfactorily.
One cable, however, arrived at the Station. Dr Laws brought word that my beloved Mother had died. She lived for and loved her family and was proud of my calling. She always encouraged me and though dead, her memory would be my inspiration as long as I lived. Her charming manner forever lives in my mind. The day my bride left Scotland I knew she would be with me within a month, so I set myself three tasks before she arrived, near the end of April 1924:
Even Dr Laws smiled when he knew my three projects. What he did not realise was that my long spell in the army, enduring many battles, hardships and suffering had made me resolute, tough and ambitious to carry through all I had set my heart to do.
Travel in Central Africa had its limitations. Travel was by Machilla (hammock), bushcar (one-wheeled chair, propelled by a man in front and one at the back) and on foot. I loved walking and was selective about my boots and socks. So too dress — khaki shorts, shirt and light jacket, topped by a pith helmet. I had acquired from Mr Burnett a two-stroke Triumph motorcycle. The trouble was petrol: it worked out about 6/— per gallon, so it was only on urgent errands I used it.
One thing that gave me great pleasure was showing around Government officials. In turn, I had the Government agriculturalist, forestry officer, geologist, surveyor and district medical officer. All in turn made reports to the Governor, with the result, except for education, I was the only missionary to receive a grant for Agriculture, Horticulture and Forestry. This was good news, but something more was promised:
selective seeds of maize, mountain wheat, cotton and rice. With this in view I called together twenty key workers. I increased their wages and promised a bonus for well laid out gardens and bush clearance areas. Each key worker was allowed only five assistants and the contract would run for one year. The results far, far exceeded my expectations. It was an example of trusting the workers, giving them guidance and scope and a fair deal for their labours. I recouped my original outlay, plus bonus, with a substantial profit.
A cable arrived intimating Miss MacFarlane, my bride, had sailed from Southampton, so excitement grew from many quarters. Our Homestead home was furnished, rush mats specially made, inside and outside painted and the flower garden lavish in a wide assortment of shrubs and flowers. Fortunately, an American Commission — the Second Phelp Stoke Commission — had chartered a steamer to visit Livingstonia. My bride was invited to join them at Blantyre, so in April 1924, Miss MacFarlane held the record for the fastest journey from Scotland to Livingstonia, of twenty-six days. (Flying time now is twenty-six hours.) Great crowds of Africans lined the lakeside as I brought my bride ashore. She had a full throated welcome and may I add, many gasped at my bride’s beauty. The Rev Edward Boti Manda, the Rev Yaphet Mkandawiri, along with the beloved Uraia Chirwa, voiced their sincere welcome.
Uraia, the African friend of all Missionaries for fifty years, said fondly, ‘Bwana, you have brought us a braw, braw lass.’
I had made all arrangements for a hundred workers to carry visitors’ luggage and convey all white people to Livingstonia. It was a large cavalcade that moved up the mountain side, eleven miles, 3,000 feet, to the accompaniment of song and radiant joy. At the Institution, all missionaries and their ladies, headed by Dr Laws himself, expressed a hearty welcome ‘to all who come for a little and the ONE who comes to stay.
We were married by The Very Rev Dr Robert Laws, D.D., attired in his robes, as one time Moderator of the U.F. Church of Scotland. The church was packed, it was a delightful service and our Marriage Certificate was signed by two of the American Commission, Dr Jesse Jones and one of the greatest of all American negroes, Dr James K. Aggrey. A fine morning meal was provided for all the guests, then we set out on our honeymoon, to a sun-dried brick building, with thatched roof, twenty-five miles away. We had bush cars and twenty carriers. On the banks of the Kaziwiri River the lady missionaries had prepared an excellent meal for us. It was such a quiet, peaceful place and of great beauty. All along the route there were cheering crowds and when we arrived at Mburunge, hundreds of excited Africans were present.
The journey took six hours. Again, a delicious meal was ready for us and by the time the meal was over the sun was setting. The Africans shouted delight as we moved towards the area where I had arranged a meal for the Africans. An ox was killed earlier in the day and cooked in thirty huge pots. Rice and maize was also prepared for two hundred Africans. First, the Chief offered his word of welcome, then a hymn was sung and I offered prayer. The men sat in one place, women in another and the meal was served in small baskets. To add to the flavour I gave 2lbs of salt and an ounce of pepper. This was very much appreciated. The Africans love salt. Later that evening bonfires were lit, out came the drums and dancing of all kinds took place and singing too. Prayer concluded the celebration at ten p.m.
For some weeks before our wedding I had a number of men on a special project, clearing bush and scrub from an area where once a stream flowed. Owing to indiscriminate felling of trees, the stream dried up and the villagers moved a few miles away. The day after our wedding, along with some of my students and forestry workers, a score of us, including my bride and myself planted many thousands of trees. Workers also planted trees for another three days and all the trees came from my own nurseries.
During our honeymoon we visited many villages, schools, smallholdings and thatched churches. Chiefs and headmasters had prepared ground and with the aid of my students, hundreds of trees were planted. While travelling through the jungle we came across isolated huts — the homes of outcasts, suffering from leprosy. Some were pathetic to look at. All the food they had was scraps left on a huge rock by passers-by. The sight of the lepers and story of their plight, saddened my wife, so we hit on a plan. Near our honeymoon plantation we would erect a ‘leper village’ with our own money.
Within six weeks the village was completed — surrounded by a reed fence. There was a stock of food — maize, rice, cassava and beans — hens, goats, sheep and a watchdog were also provided. A well was dug and half an acre of ground tilled. Ten lepers were housed to start with. A prominent African Christian, once an evangelist, now a leper, took charge of the colony. We sent him peach, orange, lime, lemon, loquat and grapefruit trees and a selection of vegetable and flower seeds. Lot was the evangelist’s name. When he could not walk to other huts he crawled, reading the Bible, praying, comforting fellow sufferers. He never complained. Once I heard him tell other lepers, ‘You will find great joy if you trust Jesus. He is my Friend and Saviour— I want each one to trust and love Him.’ It was our delight to see the leper village grow. ‘Fine gardens, fine orchard, fine flowers, fine trees,’ was the tribute of a neighbouring Chief.
He would not go into the leper colony, but he sent liberal supplies of food and prepared canes as walking sticks. He wanted to send beer and tobacco — but I would not grant such things for lepers.
Honeymoon over we made for Livingstonia. At one point we met visitors, Dr David Livingstone’s daughter, granddaughter and baby great-granddaughter. They were on a tour of the Mission Stations.
During our honeymoon we worked out a plan so that my wife could take an active part in all my work. In our beautiful home we entertained our key supervisors and told them of our pact. They were charmed and as usual promised whole-hearted cooperation. Between my wife and me a sound partnership was forged, to prove to the Africans we were their friends at all times.
In one of my experimental areas, on the lake shore, a plot of a new strain of maize disappeared. Half an acre, about ready for harvesting. It was eaten by an elephant. The following day a planter caught the jumbo in a pit. It was shot, dragged out of the pit and cut up. The stomach revealed nearly 1,000 pounds of maize! My supervisor asked for a gun. I did not believe in guns. I told him maggots, caterpillars, locusts and weevils destroy more crops than all the animals put together. No one mentioned guns again.
In 1924 the Livingstonia Mission Council met when missionaries from all outward stations held a conference. It was a happy time for everyone concerned. My wife and I arranged all transport from the lake and we had two guests for a week. One of the leading discussions centred around Dr Laws and the Jubilee of the Mission and his own in October 1925. My commission was to arrange an exhibition of African arts and crafts, agricultural products and build access roads to all my small holdings, afforestation areas and market gardens. An extra piece of work was to cut and trim a hundred trees as supports for a new conference hall, six hundred stout bamboo poles as rafters and thatching for the whole building. As sixty European guests were expected from many Missionary Societies in Africa, I would be responsible for all transport of all visitors from two special steamers and their return after the conference was over.
After the 1924 Mission Council, I gave each colleague from distant stations 1,000 mixed fir trees and a selection of twelve fruit and shrub bushes. In 1924, from my nursery beds, I gave to missionaries, European planters and Africans, 350,000 two-year-old trees — most were coniferous — and in the seedbeds one million baby trees were growing. I wanted the Jubilee year (1925) to be a record planting season in Central Africa. At a place called Karamteta, 15 miles inland from Livingstonia, I had a squad working under efficient students. Some 250 acres of bush were cut down and burned, trees uprooted; the only implements used were the African jemmy and a long-handled hoe. I had a new two roomed wattle and daub thatched rest house built on the site and planted 100,000 trees to act as water inducers, over a dry stream bed. Most of the land would be for tea and coffee plantation, pineapple sections and an orchard with twelve varieties of fruit. My wife and I paid a visit to the leper colony, increased to sixteen patients. A friend in Scotland, reading my story of the courage of Lot Harawa, sent me £10, sufficient to feed the sixteen patients for one year. We both had a soft spot for lepers.
We returned from our short working holiday refreshed. On my office desk was a letter from Dr Laws marked ‘urgent’. It was written that day at eleven a.m.: I was reading it at eleven thirty a.m. It was to say a French expedition travelling from Lake Chad to Mozambique would pass through Livingstonia Mission area in ten days time. I was requested to make sure that the seventy-five mile stretch of mission roads with bridges and culverts was strong enough to take caterpillar cars, each about half a ton. The specially designed cars were from the French Citreon works.
That afternoon, two hours after arriving home, I had swift-footed messengers sent out requesting supervisors in six districts to report for urgent work with ten men each at various points between Livingstonia and Deep Bay. I also explained that each man was to be in possession of a good hoe and an axe.
Early the following day I set out on my motorcycle to examine bridges and culverts and to give first-hand instructions and to meet the workers. I found all men busy and eager to do a good job. So far only ox wagons, motorcycles and two ‘Ford’ cars had passed along the bush road.
First, all overhanging branches were cut down and all bridges and culverts had to be remade, all narrow roads had to be widened and all bends enlarged. Four twenty-feet river spans were handed over to the carpentry department. One hundred people worked from dawn to darkness. It was an enormous undertaking. Praise must be given to the Africans, uncomplainingly they toiled to satisfy me.
On the seventh day from receiving orders, I was in Dr Laws’ office reporting all work completed on the seventy-five miles. As I was talking to Dr Laws, a phone message came from the leader of the expedition at the lake shore, to say he had made rapid progress and would arrive that evening. The leader, M. Haardt, requested accommodation for his team of seven. The accommodation was soon found, so I was about to set out to meet the motorcade when my chief clerk told me the ‘funny’ crawling cars without wheels were two miles away. To quote the leader, ‘the lake and mountain road was so good, we moved fast!’ The Frenchmen were pleasant men — three drivers, an artist, two mechanics and the leader. One driver was a journalist and his log book was crammed full of notes. We had two men as our guests.
The team stayed three days, repairing machines, sightseeing and selecting ebony and ivory work from the carpentry department. On the second afternoon, Dr Laws held a reception in the Stone House, the ladies on the station providing the meal. Our guests were reluctant to leave, we were sorry to see them depart. They had no difficulty in travelling over the remaining thirty-five miles over roads, bridges, corners and culverts. A very large bridge was made over a swift flowing river by our mission engineer.
Later, Dr Laws had a letter from M. Haardt, saying the seventy-five miles of mission road was the finest in their travels through Central Africa and the cost for all work the cheapest, working out at SIX SHILLINGS per mile, including one cwt of salt as a gift to the African workers. Mission time was not added to the cost and material used was free. I was very happy with the crash programme, for it solved one of my anxieties, the reinforcement of the whole road system, especially with the mission jubilee less than one year ahead. To this end I appointed three men to patrol the whole road — seventy-five miles — each man had twenty-five miles to clear culverts, lop branches and to report to me at once any major fault. It proved a successful experiment; the road was kept open all the year round, something quite new. The same operation applied to plantations and nurseries; trusty men were established in each place to encourage irrigation in dry weather; to clear fire breaks and in the wet season, to prevent flooding and soil erosion.
One afternoon Dr Laws came into my office, note book in his hand. Casually he remarked, ‘Mr Caseby, how many separate jobs are there in your Department?’
I took out my ledger and the Doctor wrote down, ‘Agriculture Department’ — ‘10 team-trained oxen; 200 cattle, 100 sheep; 8 goats; 12 pits; 10 students; 180 workers at the moment; 100 arable acres of cotton, maize, wheat, cassava, sweet potatoes, potatoes and ground nuts; 2 to 6 animals slaughtered each week for Europeans and boarding school; 600 small-holdings.’ ‘Forestry Department’ — ‘one million seedling trees, in nurseries; areas of tea, coffee, cocoa and palms; 12 plantations; 40 workers; 1,000 tons of wood fuel for Europeans, steamers and boarding school.’ ‘Horticulture’ — ‘16 gardeners; 6 orchards; 8 kinds of fruit; 4 market gardens.’ ‘Sundries’ —‘Working flour mill; building grain bins; buying foodstuffs; delivering food, meal, vegetables, fruit to Europeans; 76 miles of road; 200 bridges and culverts; supplying carriers for missionaries travelling; carriers for steamer; oversight of cemetery; 10 lectures to students weekly; arranging work for two squads of blind people making string, rope, baskets and mats; also motor cycling 200 miles each week, supervising work and every day preaching to some group for 10 minutes.’
Dr Laws closed his book. ‘A lot of useful work.’ A slight pause, ‘I need twenty men with food at four o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ll be away ten days.’ After another long pause, ‘I need 500,000 bricks urgently — within a fortnight — get started on this order – tomorrow.
The bricks were made by one hundred workers in a fortnight.
During the few days I spent in Blantyre in 1922, a senior member of the African Lakes Commission told me to keep in touch with the various officials in Government Departments, as they liked invitations from missions in particular. I was given the names of officials who would help me in my work. A week after my arrival at Livingstonia and knowing what my duties would be, I wrote (with Dr Laws’ permission) to various people in Government Departments in Zomba. Three officials came up by steamer and we had long interviews, visits to valleys, hillsides, lakesides and mountains. One man studied flora and fauna, another geological aspects while the third was with me taking soil samples, studying streams with a view to irrigation and the layout of land for new villages and for growing crops.
One day in late 1924, Dr Laws phoned and asked if I was free to call at his office. Was it to be another unusual assignment, I thought. When I arrived the Doctor’s desk was clear except for one document. I noticed at once it had the Government Crest on it. The Doctor looked relaxed, had a smile — quite unusual —so my feeling of tension left me. Slowly, my ears heard the words, ‘The Director of Agriculture is interested in creating smallholdings for Africans, in upland areas, for mountain wheat, mountain rice and similar foods. Will it be possible for you to hold a survey?’
All at once I felt completely relaxed, for since I had the conference with the three officials nearly a year earlier, the survey had been carried out with one of the oldest missionary teachers on the staff. I asked the Doctor to excuse me for a quarter of an hour until I motor cycled to the Homestead for the information he required.
When I got back the Doctor said dryly, ‘I just hope it is the information I need — the Director’s letter is a long one.’
The usual pause, then I spoke, reading mostly from notes:
‘The survey mentioned in the director’s letter is well advanced. Along with Mr Cullen Young (T.C.Y. for short) and some of my students, we studied the uplands. I have planned 100 5-acre holdings; 40 10-acre holdings and about 400 2-acre holdings, to be operational by 1926. One third will be put down in various root crops this year, one half of the holdings will grow wheat and rice (mountain varieties) in 1925 and all holdings available for wheat, rice and catch crops by 1926.’
I could see Dr Laws was annoyed. He snapped, ‘Mr Caseby, why did you withhold this survey from me – I am the Principal!! His words came slowly, then the deliberate snap, ‘What have you to say?’
I opened my diary. ‘Doctor, you received the report from my own hands six weeks ago!’
He jumped up — very smartly for a man seventy plus in years, opened a filing cabinet, took out a folder marked ‘Homestead’. He thumbed some documents and got my report. ‘Yes, it’s here, please accept my apology. It has completely escaped my attention.’ He read for a few seconds. ‘It’s a fine report, you have put in a lot of time and effort— please report progress from time to time, our food supply depends on this.’
We talked and laughed about many things and as I was leaving the dear old gentleman remarked, ‘Come to think about your trip with Mr Young, I thought it was a shooting expedition?’
I looked into the Doctor’s face, ‘Doctor, I had my share of shooting between 1915 and the end of 1918. Killing is not one of my hobbies.’
My wife took an increasing interest in the duties of many departments. Having a grip of the vernacular, she endeared herself to men in charge of outside jobs — especially the gardens and duties where women were concerned. She accompanied me on most journeys, entering wholeheartedly into all activities. On long journeys we travelled by night, it was cool in the moonlight. We usually had twenty followers — carriers, students and guides. William, the gun boy, was always in the rear of the column; in front, ourselves, with a man carrying a hurricane lamp. William was a first class shot. He had an old 303 army rifle. He was allowed two bullets at a time, I usually had another dozen in my haversack. He shot antelope for food, sometimes a leopard. The carriers and students loved travelling with us. They knew there would be fresh meat with their maize porridge.
As we came to a village or hamlet (even after midnight), the Chief or Headman with villagers, would meet us on the path and hand over gifts — chickens, eggs, maize cobs and food for the carriers. In turn, my wife distributed beads, trinkets, safety pins and salt, while I handed round a snuff box with scented snuff, something they enjoyed. For the elderly we usually had soap, a piece of dried meat and matches.
One very hot day the cook told us a very tall man — a white man — was walking up the lake road, towards the Homestead. All the ‘bush telegraph’ told us was, ‘the man is taller than any other man, dressed in khaki and very tanned’. I got on my motorcycle, as we liked to welcome all strangers before they reached the mission. I met the visitor, a Dutchman on a walking tour around the world. He was 7 feet 2 inches. We sat talking for a few minutes in a shaded place. He showed me his passport, a wonderful document, also his log book with hundreds of postal franking stamps. I asked him to come to our home. He said, ‘Only for meals. I prefer sleeping on the ground.’
My wife told Dan, the cook, to make an extra meal. Some of my workers fixed two double tents together, waterproof sheeting and straw matting on the ground. It was a super tent indeed. By the time the traveller arrived, a bath was ready. After his bath, he changed into fresh clothes, then washed his khaki trousers, jacket, vest and socks and fixed them on a line under an orange tree. He came indoors and ate a hearty meal, washing it down with cup after cup of black coffee, followed by about a dozen peaches and apples. We had thousands of ripe peaches. He talked about his adventures through Europe, Egypt, Sudan, Kenya and Tanganyika. We listened and later from his English diary, a valuable document, I found everything he said chronicled. His newspaper cuttings and photographs of himself intrigued me.
Before dinner that evening I saw him write up four diaries all in duplicate: Dutch, English, French and German. The duplicates were sent to Geographical Societies in each country mentioned and a fifth hand-written on, to America. He posted five letters from Livingstonia and as he had no money, I paid the postage. He had a lovely camera, watch, compass, an engraved ivory bangle and hand-tooled purse of pig skin leather. He needed £5. In exchange he handed over his camera to me as security. He expected money from a bank down south in Blantyre. I said place £5 to my banking account in Blantyre and I will return your camera by the first steamer. It was a deal. My wife and Dan, the cook, packed a hamper with all kinds of tasty food.
As he was leaving he asked for some biltong, which was dried smoked meat. ‘I’ve given your carriers their native food.’
I said, ‘Dried smoked meat has a dreadful taste!’
‘Not to me,’ he replied, ‘I have no sense of taste or smell.’ Some climax to the excellent dishes the cook had carefully prepared.
I loved to go on investigative probes into parts of the mission estate that had not been visited before my day. There were areas that had excellent hardwood trees. The only way to reach them was through slimy, stinking swamps inhabited by countless snakes and other creatures and insects. One blank on my map I was anxious to fill in, so I set out for the lake shore with some of my students and trained workers. The Chief of the district was first informed with a request to provide guides to lead us the best way through the swamps or around them. From my army training I never left things to chance. I took all interested parties into my schemes.
One other concern was to have quiet lectures to my students on Bible study and a better way of presenting The Gospel to others through our daily work.
The medical staff at Livingstonia kept telling me that I was prone to fevers, especially malaria. I was warned to take quinine regularly, make full use of mosquito nets at night, to wear long mosquito boots after sundown, not to work too hard and avoid murky, humid, swampy areas near the lake.
After travelling by road and small rowing boats, we reached a secluded shady spot on the lake shore. The Chief and his guides were waiting for us. They had gifts of ivory bangles, rush mats and eggs. In return I handed over salt, vegetable seeds, large beads and squares of calico. It was a very friendly introduction and I told the Chief my aim was to drain part of the swamp for a rice catch crop. I wanted a river higher up on the hills to have irrigation channels zigzagging to a twenty-acre bush land, so that the whole area, when cleared, would grow maize and ground nuts, have a tree nursery bed (including coffee and tea) and, if possible, a new village built where workers under my supervision would enlarge the acreage. The Chief was overjoyed. In return I promised to pay his government tax (10/—) and 1/6 each week in cash. One of my students wrote down the agreement.
For a couple of hours I surveyed the area and as it was getting hot, 110 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, I retired to my cool tent to write up notes and rest and later in the cool of the late afternoon, to have a conference with all the parties concerned. My notes written up, I lay on my camp bed. As I was thirsty, the cook brought me a large juicy paw paw. It was very refreshing, but the eating caused me to perspire. In less than a minute I was shivering, plus violent throbbing headaches. I knew what was wrong — an attack of malaria. One of my students came in to report progress, when he noted I was flushed, pouring with sweat and eyes bloodshot. He advised me to go to bed.
‘Leave everything to us, Bwana, we will complete the work,’ he said.
As I was twenty-five miles from the Institution, I considered the advice sound, so I undressed and was soon under the mosquito net. My student attendant, who was also the cook, brought me warm fresh lemon drinks, but as I was agonisingly hot one second, freezing the next and then violently shivering, I only took a sip of the liquid. An hour later I took a double dose of quinine and the lemon juice. I got off to sleep.
When I woke up it was dark, my head was buzzing and all my body was pained and hot. I managed to raise myself up and I saw my faithful African attendant squatting at the entrance of my tent. Outside there was the glow of afire. I listened intently, someone was speaking outside, not far away.
‘Lord look upon our Bwana, make him better — Lord make him better.’ I knew the voice, one of my students — they were praying for me.
How very proud I felt for these men, my faithful chocolate coloured Africans. Here was a revelation of their loyalty, their regard for me – praying together — ‘Lord look upon our Bwana and make him better.’ I lay back on my bed. For a moment the pain, shivering and distress seemed to disappear as I listened to the little prayer meeting outside my tent. I was caught up in the intercession. ‘Lord make us faithful workers, keep us loyal in all we do and say, make our land Christian for Jesus Christ’s sake . . .‘ I felt my own faith was weak in the light of the passionate prayers of my African friends. The prayer over, silence, except for the noisy crickets and croaking frogs. Again my head throbbed and body shuddered (only those who have had malaria understand what I mean) — the suffering was agonizing.
The attendant at the door of the tent came towards me. ‘How are you, Bwana? Please tell me how I can help.’
I asked for a tumbler of hot lemon and within seconds it was handed to me, under the mosquito net. It was refreshing. I took more quinine and once more lay flat on my back on the camp bed. I felt a little better. The fire outside was cracking merrily. From the jungle various animals were grunting and snarling, but I was not afraid, as loyal men were protecting me, loving men were praying for me still. I slept again and only woke up when the sun was rising. I felt a little better. I called my attendant — like a rocket he was at my side, raised my mosquito net and wondered how I felt. At my request he brought tea and buttered toast — I managed a little.
As the attendant removed my tray, he said, ‘Mr MacKenzie, the planter at Vintukutu, is coming with a machilla team, to take you over to his home.
This was a surprise to me. Two students had walked during the night to tell Mr and Mrs MacKenzie of my bout of fever. True to his word, my friend ‘Mac’ arrived at 7 o’clock and an hour later I was in a covered hammock, carried by two of my students who insisted on doing so. On the journey I learned from my senior student that all the survey was complete, all the information documented and the chief had agreed to start work at once. A valuable survey had been finalized by my trusty Africans.
On reaching Vintukutu, Mrs MacKenzie ushered me into her guest room and after a warm bath I was back into a comfortable bed, in an air-conditioned room.
By a swift courier (runner), I sent word to my wife and a note to Dr Laws telling him my survey was completed and I was at Vintukutu with malaria for two days.
I travelled back most of the way by bush car (unusual for me), as I did not want to risk another attack. All my students and supervisors were hard at work when I got home. My wife had everything up to date, so I had another two restful days at home writing up the full survey from notes.
The projected plan was a great success – in all, forty acres were reclaimed from the massive swamp and as much again from the mountain bush, with two irrigation channels five hundred yards long. The chief, who had agreed to follow my survey, called on me to say, ‘Do you require bamboo poles?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Six hundred.’ The bargain was struck for: cash £1, a nanny goat, twelve hoes, six axes and a 21b tin of salt.
The journey, the survey, the malaria, the prayers, the thoughtful Africans, the kind MacKenzies, the return journey and the supervision by my wife of all the Homestead work, is a lesson of missionary endeavour and African co-operation at its best.
My missionary work had something of army regimentation about it. I enjoyed difficult tasks, the exploration and expansion never risked before. To assist me I had gained the confidence of all walks in African life, from chiefs, headmen, African ministers and headmasters, travelling evangelists and all classes of society in native villages. I found morals high, manners good and honesty a marked way of life. Gatherings with chiefs was always pleasurable to them and happy for me. I could speak their language and to make sure no mistakes or misunderstanding took place I had my head clerks and students with me.
One such conference was fruitful. My students thought my ideas too ambitious (such hadn’t happened before), so I had a picnic prepared, with a mouth-watering meal for a dozen chiefs and influential Africans from a wide area.
After the meal I explained my plan: the erection of a complete village, with African craftsmen at work; also I wanted fifty samples of African timber. It was a big proposition, so I left the company to thrash out details with two of my students and one clerk to write down all discussions. I provided all visitors with sleeping quarters and food for the night; the conference to resume the next day at six thirty a.m. I had a copy of all the resolutions passed and suggestions offered when we met next day. More people were present, including three African ministers: Rev Edward B. Manda, Rev Yaphet Mkandawiri and Rev Yoram Mpanda.
The proposals were amazing to say the least. A hamlet of four dwelling houses, each different in character, also a rectangular building to house African craftsmen at work. A small hut to show women at work, also open-air booths where others would exhibit their distinctive arts. There would be a primitive ‘spirit temple’, a miniature church and school. I was astounded at the variety of crafts suggested — animal skin curing; basket, mat and chair making; bark and cloth weaving; string and rope industry; ivory, ebony and head craft; pottery; iron works — hoes, axes, spears, picks and knives; production of dyes; wood carvings; native food processing; fire making and chicken coops. Other ideas were agreed to: building canoes, painting, sculpture, stone work and tribal weapons and dresses.
It was nearing noon, so we all walked to a site on the playing field near the school and one hundred yards from where the huge conference hall would be. Many people had told me before going to Africa, ‘The African is slow: he needs days to reach a conclusion; he cannot think when hungry; he changes his mind overnight and he cannot be trusted.’ To me this was utter rubbish. I had proved the opposite. At noon that day a meal was ready for all who took part and before leaving, each person received a packet of coloured beads, a bobbin of thread and a box of matches. To the senior chief I handed over a large slab of Sunlight soap to divide up. How it was done, I do not know — all were satisfied.
When I told Dr Laws about my conference and handed over to him an interim report, he was highly delighted. He asked about the cost of the food for the ‘two score’ conference members. I said £1 would cover everything.
His reply was, ‘It’s quite modest. You certainly have all the chiefs on your side. Add the amount to your Homestead account!’ We were about to part, he turned and with his strange wink, ‘You are the first to report progress!’
An invitation came to us to visit the Ekwendeni mission. Rev Charles and Mrs Stuart wanted advice on developing new areas for food supplies, moreso, as two of my students came from their mission and would be appointed to the new development. Dr Laws was pleased to let us go, as we had been working long hours on many projects and the change would do us good. The Doctor agreed to superintend all my schemes during my absence.
We travelled during the night, arriving at Mburunji, the rest house where we spent our honeymoon the previous year. A large crowd awaited our arrival — the bush telegraph moves fast. We had a round of calls, a short service and rested in the late afternoon and evening as we planned to move on at midnight.
Before leaving that night, I asked the villagers to assemble near our house for a special treat in the open air. A screen was fixed up and I gave a magic lantern show, interspersed with gramophone records. The pictures were Biblical ones at first, then comic slides that made the audience roar with laughter, followed by pictures of animals, cattle, sheep, dogs, a lion then a leopard — there was a scream, some natives ran to huts. By the time I had an elephant on the screen only our carriers, students and staff were present. It was my first and last magic lantern show in the open air at night.
The second day’s journey was new country for my wife. At one place, at four in the morning, we halted beside a huge tree for a light meal. A large fire was blazing and our carriers huddled around it. Four or five candles were also lit, so still was the air. William, the gun boy, kept a watchful eye and a hearing ear just on the edge of the group, while the hurricane lamp lad stood a little way on the other side. Next day we learned that a lion was actually feasting on an antelope behind the huge tree while we ate our meal. William, the gun boy, kept the secret from us until after daylight and we were over the Rukuru river.
As the sun was rising, a well-known chief — Chief Chimarumwantu — met us with scores of his followers at a clearing. The chief was tall, fine looking, had an enormous belly and was twenty stone in weight. He was full of laughter and fun; his enormous belly bobbed up and down as he chuckled. He had many wives and twenty-five children. He introduced his first love and wife, a beautiful, charming person. She handed us gifts; in return we handed over ours. It was the accepted practice to give and then receive. While we were talking two students who had surveyed the chiefs domain for cereals and afforestation, came and reported to me. I was delighted, as one of the students was Chimarumwantu’s son., so I appointed him supervisor of the project.
It was nearing noon when we reached the Rukuru Gorge and suspension bridge. The river was low but running swift. The long narrow bridge was made of bamboo. It swung to and fro, 110 feet below was the deep gorge and crocodile-infested river. The bridge was slender and had no sides. I had crossed it a few times, but my wife was uncertain. I ran across and back again. At last my wife plucked up courage and crossed.
When she was on the other side, a student remarked, ‘Mamma, crocodiles wait down there for someone to fall!’
A big surprise awaited us. Not far inland from the river, an Indian trader met us. He was Tara Rann. I had corresponded quite often with him about honey, beeswax, ghee (clarified butter) and vegetable oils — corn, groundnut and bean. He was a familiar figure among planters and traded freely with Africans in calico, coloured beads, enamelware and trinkets. He had a delightful meal ready for us, all delicious Indian foods. We decided, as it was noon and we had been on the road for over eight hours and were too full of fine food, to have our tents erected. Under a shade, we sat outside on deck chairs, beside a folding table with a tea set. All at once I had a strange feeling to which my wife agreed — the whole place became deathly quiet. Not a bird flew. No animal voices were heard. A short distance away all our carriers were lying flat, faces to ground. In a flash the sun was obscured, the ground began to tremble and quake, the crockery on the table tumbled on the ground and within a split second another rumble. A sickly quivering feeling came over us. As soon as the earthquake passed the sun shone, birds flew, monkeys chattered in a nearby copse and Africans moved around. Our African attendant picked up the crockery (nothing was broken) and apologized for being late with the tea. We did not mention the earthquake. According to African custom we remained silent on what had happened. It was our first earth tremor, less than twenty seconds. It made us feel queer.
We bedded early on our camp beds in our tent. Outside the usual jungle racket — crickets, frogs, animal chatter and grunts in the thickets. To such music, safe under our mosquito nets, we fell asleep. Oh yes! William, the gun boy, was nearby. So too, our carriers beside a log fire.
The expression I often use, ‘William, the gun boy’, is an endearment, for William was a charming person. At the end of the First World War, William was a member of The Kings African Rifles. He was smart, alert, confident and very brave.
Once, in Tanganyika, an officer called out, ‘You, rifleman. Man this post, boy, let no one pass.’ That night a shot rang out.
When the officer arrived a dead zebra was five yards from the post. William did not fail in his duty, but the question arose —did the zebra stray or was it driven by Africans towards William? Africans are fond of flesh.
A few miles from the end of an exhausting journey my wife and I heard a shot. Yes, it was William. A large antelope had crossed his path and for our safety William, the gun boy, shot the animal. Africans are fond of meat and that evening, the end of the trek, they had it in plenty. We shared part of it too, a huge roast was carried to our host and hostess at Ekwendeni.
After sipping lemon drinks we retired indoors for baths, change of clothing and lunch. Our stay was short as I had so much to do. With Mr Stuart, students and Rev Peter Tole, Mrs Stuart and 1 surveyed one thousand acres. Willing villagers came to our aid with hoes to mark holdings, test soil, map out nursery beds and afforestation sites.
Forenoons and afternoons we visited schools, clinics, villages, helped in short services and went into huts to chat with elderly people. We visited the very sick and beyond the villages, colonies for outcasts — lepers, blind, maimed and youngsters suffering from fits. The outcasts chose to stay in outside areas, they were well provided for with shelter and food and when necessary medical care. In the evenings I met with various groups of Africans. The highlight was Sunday services in Ekwendeni — a magnificent church, designed and built by Rev Charles Stuart.
The church was packed. Outside, hundreds were standing, all waiting for the second service. The Rev Peter Tole, known as the sweet singer of the ‘Ngoni’, sang a solo. It was superb. Peter conducted devotions, Mr Stuart preached the sermon —direct evangelism without padding. We did not know the ‘Ngoni’ tongue with its strange clicks, but from our own Tunbuka, we were able to follow what was said.
The father of President Kenneth Kuanda of Zambia was a popular minister — he led the devotions in the second service —we did not hear him, as I was conducting the English-speaking service, for English-speaking Africans and students. Over one hundred attended. After the service I invited questions — they came fast.
‘Why did you come to our country?’ ‘Did you know about us before you came?’ ‘Could you not work in Scotland?’ ‘Would you be prepared to die for Africa?’ ‘Do you make money like planters?’ ‘Do you dislike our customs?’ and ‘Do you try to live the pattern of Jesus every day?’
I was glad Rev Charles Stuart was at my side and he heartily agreed with my prompt answers. In a sense it was an ordeal.
The work assigned to me at Ekwendeni was over. I was proud of my students. The last day we drew up all the various reports into the survey — measurements, soil testing, research into weather and animals and all kinds of present crops, trees and bush vegetation. Dr Laws had a copy.
One of my best students was Chief Jere’s son. He was keen to be appointed supervisor. When his course was finished he was put in charge of the whole scheme. I supplied him with seeds, plants and trees and it is pleasing to report most of the survey for food production and water supplies paid a large dividend. Within four years I was buying large quantities of all kinds of foodstuffs — carried by Africans eighty miles away — to support the increasing numbers of school boarders and apprentices at the Overtoun Institution at Livingstonia.
We were sorry to leave Ekwendeni and the Rev and Mrs Charles Stuart and their lovable people. We had a grand send off. Our return journey was a speedy one. A letter— carried by a team of runners met us — it was an urgent message to say two steamers, the Queen and the Chauncy Maples were arriving a week early, so would we hasten our return.
All plans were changed, visits to mountain areas were cancelled and a crash programme arranged. We covered the seventy-odd miles in two days, using four relay teams to wheel our bush cars. It was hard going by day and partly by night. We reached the Homestead about mid-day. After baths and meals my wife was at my side, in the office, by three o’clock. I found everything done and up to the minute — Dr Laws had completed his promise.
My wife looked over the Queen’s manifest of goods. I looked over the second steamer’s cargo. We needed two hundred and fifty carriers, as no ox wagons were allowed movement owing to cattle fever. By five p.m. (within two hours), all was arranged:
carriers would set out to carry goods to the lake shore. At four a.m. I set out with them walking, a long column of carriers — the lamp carrier in front, the gun boy, William, in the rear. It was sunrise when we got to the lake. At six o’clock I checked and found every carrier present, all goods intact, so I ordered 40 lbs of rice and 30 lbs of beans to be cooked at once for all who had accompanied me. The Africans had kept their word as a gesture of thanks; the food was a token of my regard for all.
When I walked over to the ‘rest house’, for breakfast, the local chief was waiting with fresh trout and a dozen eggs. The chief has a weakness for scented soap, curry and mustard. I had some of each for him — he was very pleased. As we talked, my cooks had a delicious meal ready: filleted trout and some scrambled eggs, toast and coffee. I was just finishing my breakfast when a ship’s ‘hooter’ was heard from the north, also a ‘hooter’ from the south. I knew both captains would go ‘full steam ahead’ to get unloaded first. With military-like precision, both ships were unloaded and loaded, one hundred carriers given loads and as three Europeans arrived by steamer, I had bush cars for them. I walked with my workers. The sun was setting when we all arrived at the mission. I had walked twenty-two miles, been on the go for seventeen hours —I was tired.
The Central Africans have a long tradition of customs , rites and folklore. Morals were very high, fidelity jealously guarded. Men had more than one wife, some many, all women to be married had a dowry, paid to their parents — seldom money, mostly in domestic animals, hoes, blankets (bark cloth), mats and food. The bridegroom collected his dowry from his father, his uncles (father’s brothers) and even from his grandfather. The elderly, wise men — on the bride and groom’s side — met, weighed up the prospects of the bride as to her size, weight, age, muscle power for hoeing a garden, cooking and child bearing. The groom, on his fitness, general intelligence in tribal affairs, the art of hunting and the number of brothers and uncles he had. The bride and groom did not court together — always from a distance. The marriage took place after the dowry was paid. The wedding was a simple ceremony, the couple meeting, then walking around the inside of the cattle kraal, viewed by the elderly men, the respective parents and friends.
From the moment of marriage the couple were prevented from speaking or seeing their respective parents-in-law. I have known one of my workers on a journey seeing his mother-in-law. He would immediately retrace his steps from where he started that day, wash under rushing water, then run to join others at work.
A man, to show his authority over his wife, would give her a good beating, otherwise the wife would become suspicious that her husband loved another woman. Husband and wife were closely tied to the children in love and the children respected their parents in every way. The only sad moment came when a wife gave birth to twins; it was the husband’s duty to drag his wife and twins from the hut into the dense bush. If they survived twenty-four hours from the hazards of insects, snakes and wild animals, they were brought back — the evil was averted.
If a husband died, the wife became the property of her brother-in-law. If the wife died, the husband took as his wife, without ceremony or dowry, his late wife’s sister.
When Africans became Christians, all the customs disappeared. If the man had two wives, the second one was given back to her parents with the dowry. Christian marriage was a very solemn occasion, entered into after mutual friendships with all concerned and devoid of all the taboos. Christian education brought many benefits to married couples, the home and family united in love.
To tribal Africans there are many rites and ritual, in many forms, which play a big part. People in a village do homage to the Headman. He keeps the peace, instructs on problems and is looked upon with respect. In a group of villages — from ten to one hundred — there is a chief. His word and findings are final. He always acts in conjunction with headmen. The chief takes a long time to reach a conclusion; he hears all the rights and wrongs of the case. Although not bound, he may call in the Witchdoctor, as to a type of punishment, even to the point of a poison ordeal, if a person is found guilty. I have sat through a trial and marvelled at the skill of the chief, listening with great patience to the evidence, arguments and detailed accounts from both sides. Nothing is written down, all is remembered. Deliberations over, the chief and his advisers retire and on resuming the case, pronounce their decision. Freedom or punishment begins at once.
There are special rites for initiation (coming of age); observation of rains; sowing; harvesting; eclipses of sun and moon; protection of property; outcasting of deformed and insane; rites concerning animals that are classed clean and unclean; purification by water from waterfalls and numerous rites associated with the dead and their burial. Some bodies are anointed before being wrapped up in a sleeping mat. There is only one entrance to a hut — a dead body is taken out by breaking a hole in the wall opposite the entrance. The graves vary according to the tribe. Some bodies face south or north or east or west. When a grave is dug, two dugouts are made, one side for the corpse, the other for clay pots filled with food, a spear, knife, hoe and axe. Some tribes bury the dead head down, feet up, in a narrow hole. Other tribes break all major bones of the dead before wrapping the body in mats and burying it deep.
The last person to die in a hut is buried in the hut. Pots of food are placed outside the hut entrance. A strict vigil is kept near the pots of food. The animal, large or small, that eats the food, also takes possession of the departed spirit. The hut is burned down and never used as a house again. The site demands a branch of a bark cloth tree to be planted as a symbol of veneration to the dead.
Special rites are observed in body markings: cutting slits over face and chest, rubbing in material like soot to give raised impressions, filing teeth, piercing ears, nose and lips for ornaments, trimming hair into tribal pleats. Each tribe observes its own rites. Many rites are universal, adhered to with reverence. Fast disappearing are the rites performed by Medicine Men and Witchdoctors. I have seen both at work, also Sorcerers. Each has a special sort of wizardry and magic dealings with spirits good and bad.
An African brought his young daughter to me one evening. She was in a state of collapse, trembling all over. Said the father
— ‘Please, Bwana, destroy the evil spell cast on my child. The Witchdoctor is one of your workers.’
After a lot of questioning, I got an inkling where the man was working.
The father whispered, ‘In a small clearing, near the cemetery, “Mvars” has his booth, with many pots, dried animals and insects, magic waters and powders.’
Just as it was getting dark, with two faithful Christians I made my way to the isolated spot. As I moved through two thorny acacia bushes, I heard an uncanny, weird grunt. As I forced myself through the thorns, I got a glimpse of ‘Mvars’, the evil one. I grabbed a pot, threw it and it smashed on his back. Howling eerily, he disappeared into the bush. I kicked over small pots, smashed bigger ones, broke everything I could see, on posts, twigs and bamboo poles. I collected many strange looking things to take back to my office. My two companions looked on but said not a word until we were near home.
‘Sir, many frightened Africans will sleep without fear tonight
— you have broken the spell.’
When I got back to the house, the man and his daughter, our house staff and a blind man who worked for me making string fishing nets, clapped their hands. They could not say ‘Thanks’. Knowing custom, I wished all ‘Goodnight, my friends’.
Next morning, as we were holding our act of worship before starting work, I spotted Mvars. I pulled off his shirt.
‘See,’ I said to all around. ‘Mvars is marked by one of his own pots. He is a fake and a coward and a cheat.’ No one spoke. I dismissed Mvars and on every face there was a smile of relief.
The African is a born singer. Words to suit the occasion are put to the familiar tunes. They have poems about births, marriage and death; about seasons and the heavenly bodies; poems about food, hunger, thirst and want; about work, play, hunting, fishing and many games; about love, hate, jealousy, fear and fates; poems about war and peace, slavery, torture and death by animals. The folklore is extensive and the tunes produced to suit the mood of the singer. Africans make their own musical instruments, the best known is the drum. On the drum, messages are sent throughout the land — a kind of Morse that is repeated by drummers for miles around. Bamboo recorders make fine sounds; string (gut) instruments reach high notes; gourds in various sizes have distinctive notes. At an African concert with instruments, singing and dancing the folklore of the past, comes to life.
The coming of the white man has changed the old ballads into pop-like utterances. The old folks keep reminding the young ones about the ‘good old days’ folklore, of famine, disease, tribal warfare, bush fires, animal hunting with spears and bow and arrows; lovely songs concerning great fish in the lake, huge animals roaming the mountains, monster birds into the air and giant snakes wallowing in the swamps that swallow people.
One of the great joys of my life is that God spared me and protected me all through many battles of World War One and led me to Central Africa as a missionary. Yet, more than that, He gave me a wife whose life coordinated with mine: to help forward the evangelization of a fine class of people. Our driving aim was to prove that, given a chance, the African could rise to the occasion and play an important part in world affairs. The Livingstonia mission had thousands of acres of land and my: object was to utilize the land to the full for the food of Africans.. To teach new methods of cultivation, to bring in new varieties of plants, to turn the dense jungle areas into fine villages, fine, holdings with lots of domestic animals. To respect the Africans was not enough. For many generations the tribes had longed. for peace, ample protection and a sense of being loved. To this end I toiled and had full support from the people I was proud to serve.
I was always experimenting; finding better ways and cheaper ways to produce something worthwhile. To this end I carefully selected ten Africans, ministers, teachers, clerks, carpenters and a chief. I gave each an exercise book and a pencil. I told them to write down questions on any subject, questions dealing with tribal life, customs, welfare, mission work, attitudes to missionaries, planters, Indian traders, about conditions laid down by Government, questions on family life, pagan rites, Christianity, promotion of education to all, regardless of sex and opportunities to travel abroad. There were more outlines, but I wanted the team to express their own views in crisp sentences. I gave the ten men two weeks to write up what they had in mind, at the end of which I would provide a meal and also let each one choose a 5/— book from the bookstore. For this purpose, I had money in hand from well-wishers at home.
Our second meeting was a revelation. The information far exceeded anything I had hoped for. The answers were something valuable and unique. Not only had they written down over a hundred questions, but they had frankly discussed and noted down the answers. The team had kept their bargain. I fully kept mine to the joy of all concerned.
The programme was so exciting I called in two of my colleagues, Rev A.G. MacAlpine and Rev T. Cullen Young, both theologians. They were amazed. Questions and answers that had puzzled every missionary for twenty years and more, all secured within a fortnight. The evidence was so far-reaching I was requested to verify some subjects. This was done within another week. My sincerity had broken down many ingrained hopes and fears and in a polite and frank manner, they had responded. I became very knowledgeable about the African mind. I found my African friends dependable, upright, a people with very high morals. Yes, I had witnessed days of great importance, the kindly openness of a great people.
With the New Year of 1925 over, the two days of relaxation gave way to a period of intense activity. Dr Laws had sent out many invitations to Missionary Societies, Government Officials, planters and distinguished African leaders to attend Jubilee Celebrations in October 1925. Later, a conference was held on the station, all Europeans were present to arrange in detail about the great event and especially as to where each visitor was to stay.
All my plans were well advanced. Drawings and sketches of the model village and suitable quarters for exhibits, material for the conference hall was already at hand. One very big problem was uppermost in my mind: food for the thousands of Africans expected from hundreds of miles around. We settled one headache: where the sixty Europeans would stay, also where 10,000 Africans would be housed.
Dr Laws was highly pleased with the conference — he requested each missionary to put their plans in writing and deliver them in seven days, also to give written progress reports to him monthly, up to July.
The day after the conference, a boy delivered a note from Dr Laws: ‘Come and see me at once!’
When we met, he said, ‘Mr Caseby, we have overlooked something. Where are all the thousands of Africans to sleep?’
All his life Dr Laws was a man of action and he liked all his colleagues to possess his drive. In my khaki shirt I had two breast pockets with buttons. In one pocket I had a day-to-day diary, in the other a ‘work ahead’, plus ‘problem’ booklet. I read from my diary.
‘I had a meeting with chiefs and headmen two months ago. Each chief has agreed to provide lodgings for 100 visitors, each headman for 50 visitors, the boarding house 200 visitors. Mr Caseby to extend the Homestead village for an extra 200 adults.’
Before I had finished, the Doctor was ‘breathing down my neck’. I expected a ticking off. Instead, the dear old man said politely, ‘Thank you, Mr Caseby, you really have everything settled for 10,000 Africans.’
‘Yes, doctor,’ I said. ‘I’ve also made arrangements with chiefs and headmen along the lake shore to house and feed 10,000 more, if necessary, for one week.’
The problem was solved. What I did not tell the Doctor was that he had a copy of what I had just said in the Homestead file in his office.
Days of great importance lay ahead. After Easter services 1925, I held a discussion group with all Africans working with me for the happy event of 12th October 1925. Later, the model village buildings for crafts, booths for exhibits, miniature church, school and allied industries, were pegged out.
The material required was carefully worked out. They included: 500 bundles of thatch, 500 bundles of reeds, 1,000 strips of bamboo, 200 tons of clay (all erections would be wattle and daub), 3 miles convolvulus, 50 rush mats, 200 poles 12” X 3” and 28 lbs of vegetable or bark dyes. Everything about the buildings had to be African — no nails, nuts, bolts, sawn timber, string and European paint to be used. All my people joined in the work. It was great fun. One morning at six a.m. I dug the first sods for the village, read a portion of scripture and offered a prayer, then work was started. Everyone knew what to do, twenty key workers supervised.
My office was large so I set aside one part to receive curios on loan. A clerk wrote down every item day by day as goods came in. The office became a miniature museum. So many articles piled up I had to appoint a night watchman.
The model village soon took shape like all other erections under my department. Overnight there was a sudden delay. The scourge of animals, East Coast Fever, struck a second time in fifteen months. Oxen drawing wagons bringing materials, food and ship cargoes died on the hillside. The fever spread like a bush fire, destroying cloven hooved animals, domesticated and wild. I had to send out students to outlying districts to recruit 250 people to hoe ground, as I had no trained oxen to pull ploughs. I had another fifty people drawn from forty miles inland, people formerly trained by students to plant trees and essential catch crops. Method, quick thinking, regimentation and patience all played a big part in overcoming difficulties. What had seemed to be a calamity three weeks earlier, turned out to be a blessing.
I had a great desire to have a store of food at the Overtoun Institution, Livingstonia, that would ensure ample food for all who lived on the Plateau. To this end I built large bins, each to hold ten tons. At certain other areas — on the lake shore and at five other places inland — plans were also drawn up to have barns to store food in case of famine. I had experienced a two and a half month period when the villagers had only one main meal in a day and so hungry were many youngsters that the precious seed kept for planting was eaten. With fever among animals and illnesses among the people, it was difficult to hire extra workers to carry food to the needy.
Mr Uriah Chirwa, a splendid African who toiled with Dr Laws and shared in all his adventures for nearly fifty years asked me to visit a new boat he was building at Florence Bay, on the lake. To my surprise I arrived for the launching at which I offered a prayer, asking ‘God to Bless all who sailed in it and may it be the means of bringing food, rescue and travellers for the well being of the people!’
It was a splendid piece of craftsmanship and had taken four years to build. Nearby, for the special occasion, was another fine boat, owned by Rev Yaphet Mkandawiri and yet another smaller craft, the property of Chief Solomon. Later that afternoon I asked Uriah, Yaphet, Solomon and Mark (skipper of the mission steel skip) to my rest house for a cup of tea and cakes. All were excellent English speakers, so we spoke in English. We all had note books and pencils. I said, ‘Friends, I trust you all. I hope you will trust me. I need lots and lots of food to fill all my bins and barns. Across the lake there is surplus food. At the north end of the lake there is surplus food. Will you do your best to bring what I need in your boats. I promise you good prices. I never want to see hungry Africans, especially hungry children, again.’
As usual I left them to talk for half an hour while I walked to the cut wood centre where large stocks of wood fuel was stored for the steamers. When I got back four smiling faces greeted me. Uriah was the spokesman.
‘Bwana, we will do everything possible to help you. You have given us a free hand, we will bring the food.’
I told Mark I would require the mission boat and six men, in four days’ time to visit Deep Bay. The others understood.
Next morning the three ships were on the sky blue waters of the lake on a rescue operation. The boats would do what hungry people and dying cattle were unable to do. Again, this was cooperation at its best.
Monday was a lovely day, so my wife, ‘Boyd’ our dog and I set out for the lake. The boat was in order, sails all in place for a trip to Deep Bay. A squad of men had marked the boundary of the mission ground and I was keen to see some cleared acres which I hoped would prove a source of food — beans, maize and rice in particular, with cassava, melons and pumpkins as catch crops.
It was delightful skimming across the lake on calm water. Mark (the man in charge of the boat), indicated we were nearing a spot for good fishing, so rods were made ready. The first cast was about to be thrown when Boyd (dog) turned sick and like a flash jumped overboard. The boat was turned to get hold of him, when a huge crocodile was spotted moving towards us. One man slipped over the side of the boat and caught Boyd by the collar. Willing hands hauled both on board. The oarsman thrashed the water while others hoisted sails. In a few seconds we were leaving the crocodile behind and within another ten minutes we had a dozen fine trout. With the sails an awning was erected, as shelter from the sun.
My wife rested there in the shade while I inspected boundary markings and cleared land. I was very pleased with all I had seen and better pleased when my students told me they had bought fifty bags of rice, enough for 10,000. The students heard that a band of Africans, under an Indian leader, were moving towards the north with the rice. They intercepted them, made a bargain which was favourable — the lot for £10. As I did not have money with me I wrote a letter to a planter inland to pay the Indian and I would settle with him later.
We soon had the grain on the boat and we set sail for Florence Bay and then the eleven miles up the hillside for home, a long and happy day.
A few days later we learned a trap had been set for the crocodile that had followed our boat — perhaps it was our dog Boyd he wanted — and it was caught. Its length was eighteen feet and in its insides, ornaments were found. It solved a mystery: the disappearance of three women, missing for one week. No doubt the women had visited the lake for water.
Three weeks later, the boats of Uriah Chirwa, Yaphet and Chief Solomon set out. They were back within days of each other. At daylight one morning, I sailed out to Uriah’s boat, it was a pretty sight. Five tons of maize, rice, wheat, ground nuts and beans; also ten 10-gallon drums of honey; 100 lbs ghee (butter) and ten gallons of ground nut oil. A very valuable contribution to the European and African food supply. It was enough to give nearly five hundred workers and boarders a balanced diet for six weeks. Uriah Chirwa’s boat was a great attraction. Canoes came long distances to see it, so I called everyone present to be quiet for a few minutes, then I held a quarter-hour service — something all joined in.
After the Benediction, I had a fine opportunity to talk to all the canoe owners.
‘Bring good fish out of the lake. Smoke them African fashion. Also bring fresh trout — you will be paid well.’
Within a fortnight 2,000 smoked fish came to my office, also 100 lovely fresh trout, average weight 2 lbs, which was a treat to the mission staff. Again I made a contract with the canoers.
‘Bring me smoked fish, every month, about 1,000 and in the month of October bring me 3,000 and also fresh trout for Europeans.
The boat belonging to the Rev Yaphet Mkandawiri also arrived with food. Yaphet was a good Pastor. He had a wide parish and was anxious to uplift his people, especially the young people. He was fond of children. Yaphet was also a keen business man. We both had a common interest — trust, friendship and fair dealings.
When at the lake, a student carried my lunch hamper, so Yaphet and I had a meal in the rest house — sandwiches, lots of coffee and fruit. Our talking over, we rowed out to his ship. A fascinating variety of foodstuff met my gaze. Hundreds of large pumpkins, baskets of fruit, mango, orange, lemon, apple, bunches of bananas; sacks of grain, drums of oil, baskets of sweet potatoes, beans, boxes of eggs, scores of chickens, bundles of cured antelope meat, dried smoked fish and bags of cassava flour. There were also neat packets of dried locusts, insects and flying ants, great delicacies to Africans.
Sitting on the deck, well shaded from the hot sun, we bargained. It was to be money and barter. After two hours we clinched a deal. The barter was sawn boards, tools, hoes, calico, nails, seeds, young trees, including fruit trees and two ploughs.
In his best professional manner, Yaphet wrote out the deal in duplicate, which we both signed. Within minutes a flotilla of small boats and canoes had all my welcome purchases on shore and stored in secure buildings.
That evening I got home tired. First there’d been the chill of the mountain air then the cool of the Plateau and the heat of the lake shore. I’d walked over thirty miles and was on the go for sixteen hours. I’d made successful deals and for the first time, ample food for everyone.
The next morning when I reported to Dr Laws, his first words were, ‘Any pumpkins on this trip, Mr Caseby? I told him hundreds.
‘Ah, I do love pumpkin pie.’ The usual pause. ‘Any smoke trout? Yaphet is an expert at that.’
For the third time in a week I walked down to the lake, as Chief Solomon’s boat had arrived. His boat was small but he had 1½ tons of maize, 100 corn on the cob, 200 lbs dried meat and 100 stalks of sugar cane. Then he produced a little bag: 10 lbs of coffee beans. Small cargo, but a welcome one. There was no disputing about the deal. It was for cash.
I asked Solomon: ‘Will you come to the Plateau for your money tomorrow?’ He agreed.
‘Will you call on your lake shore subjects to carry all your goods up to Livingstonia tomorrow? For your kindness I will give you three fever-free sheep.’
It was a deal and by nightfall next day, all the ship load was safe in my Homestead.
One of the great wonders to all outsiders was the way the Livingstonia missionaries, by peaceful means, brought together tribes who had hated each other for centuries. Yet one thing was not solved, the attitude of Africans to the outcast —the maimed, epileptic, mentally retarded and the leper. To this end, I set myself the task to break down the barrier. In all my travels I sought out the deaf, dumb, blind and anyone who was looked upon as possessing an evil spirit, according to African custom.
My task was difficult to start with as the outcasts were hidden and could not be found when I made enquiries in villages. However, I managed to get a number together to work in gardens, make string and nets, mould pottery, shell ground nuts, sweep up, carry loads and pound food. As each ‘outcast’ made progress and earned a wage, they were accepted. I never refused my help to the downtrodden and lonely men and women. To all, I extended a hand of friendship and gave them a welcome, especially the non-Christians.
I was fortunate in finding Christian Africans — men and women — to teach all the unwanted outcasts simple lessons and simple crafts. I specially wanted a stand at the Jubilee Celebrations to have exhibits to prove to Europeans and Africans that everyone had a part to play in advancing civilization. In a short time my interest and patience was rewarded.
For a long time I was working on average sixty hours each week and the strain began to tell. I had headaches, shivers and feverish periods.
My wife was as keen as I was on all plans and projects. She was loved by the Africans. Sometimes she got work going where I felt there was delay. It was an honour for my wife. She carried instructions from me and the staff and workers readily obeyed her. Africans do not take orders from their women folk.
Dr Laws and my missionary colleagues were alarmed about my many attacks of low fever. They all offered to help but I tactfully declined, saying all my instructions are in writing, my wife knows exactly what to do and she is ready to act. Maybe I was selfish but I had toiled like a regimental soldier in all my plans, schemes and projects. I really treasured all my many developments, so all the work was put on my wife’s shoulders.
It was only when pressure was put upon me by Dr Laws to rest completely for one week that I agreed on condition my wife would supervise all my plans.
I did rest indoors and enjoyed a lot of reading, writing home and drawing up future concerns. It was a week too when colleagues came for a chat, for I was so engrossed in work I only saw them for short periods at Sunday services and midweek European meetings. The four Africans who worked so closely with me called each day for a ten-minute talk about problems that required attention.
I was always keen on photography — I developed my own prints and enlarged some films. Peter, one of my clerks, often watched me taking pictures and took a great interest in my camera and how it worked. I thought it would be a good idea to send Peter out to some projects and take snaps. On return he said he had taken eight pictures at eight different places. He was keen to know if the snaps were good so I showed him how to develop and print. The prints were all good. Each showed an advancement in work and the African who was in charge. It made me happy to see my instruction so faithfully done by men at a distance. It was a case of mutual trust. I presented Peter with my original ‘Brownie’ box camera, along with two spools.
He made very good use of his new ‘toy’, taking snaps of Africans and selling them!
It was a fortnight before I was back on light duty. My wife had every stage of the work advanced. I could afford to slow up for she understood the projects and the African workers.
In the second week of September 1925, all Europeans were called to the Stone House. Dr Laws offered a short prayer, then he said, ‘My colleagues, I expect from you a factual report that all projects for the celebrations are complete, except for brushing up.’
My report was the last called for. I placed it on the table before the Doctor, also the original plans, accompanied by facts and figures. I spoke for a few minutes about the exhibition village and then Dr Laws unfolded for the first time to my colleagues what the exhibition would hold.
He stopped. ‘Explain everything yourself, Mr Caseby.’
I read from my report nearly 1,000 individual exhibits for arts, crafts and paintings in the large hall.
To my surprise, the Doctor asked, ‘Have you included trained joiners, apprentices and school craft work?’
‘No, sir. Every exhibit, ivory, ebony, string, mat, horn, stone, iron, copper, pottery, bone, pebble and fossil and many others are all native village craft, without any outside help. There are also a hundred types of spears, shields, bows, arrows, axes, hoes and hunting nets. All exhibits will be clearly marked with the tribe they belonged to and the village they came from.’
The Doctor ticked off items on his paper and when I had finished he lifted up his fine bearded face. ‘Thank you all. It’s a case of wonder upon wonder for our festivities.
We parted from the meeting feeling very satisfied that all was in order for the Jubilee celebrations in one month’s time. As we walked from the Stone House an African teacher whispered, ‘The newly erected Hall for the main celebrations has collapsed.’
We hurried to the scene. The Doctor joined us, looking very very upset and distressed (the first time I had seen him in this mood).
Who is to blame for this?’ he asked his assembled colleagues.
No one spoke. The Doctor knew very well he alone was to blame. He had refused advice from missionaries who were competent carpenters and builders, about his plan. I had supplied all the necessary material. It was on the site well ahead of time and there my duty ended. We were all vexed for our beloved Principal as he gazed at the ruin of his dreams — it was his first failure in fifty years as a missionary. He looked in my direction.
‘Excuse me, Doctor, we are united to have the building erected at once. I propose Mr Tom Gordon to take charge!’
He looked straight into my face. ‘When will you start?’
‘Now,’ I said. ‘We are ready.’
Within minutes the thatch and bamboo lacings were removed from the fallen roof and rearranged. Before nightfall the whole site was cleared.
Just after six o’clock next morning, Mr Gordon, with a team of carpenters and apprentices, were at work. By midday I had a squad of thatchers at work, also a score of women mudding the reed walls. It was splendid team work, an effort to prove to Dr Laws our loyalty and affection for him.
Within three days the hall was complete, beautiful and very substantial — a credit to all concerned. The Africans worked with great enthusiasm, something that made us happy. Like all Africans, the natives of all our mission stations had a profound regard for Dr Laws and they worked with a will to prove it. After all, it was the greatly loved Doctor who brought light, liberty, healing and peace to their land.
Wonder upon wonder, indeed. Amazing salvation to thousands upon thousands of many tribes of Africans over a period of fifty years — Dr Laws, the ‘superman’, a Christian gentleman, a man supreme in wisdom and power.
October 1925 dawned bright, the sky was blue, the heat intense though mellowed by a mountain breeze. At six a.m. I had a squad of workers tidying up the avenues, cleaning up flower and shrub plots, watering shaded plants, cleaning windows and removing deadwood. At the exhibition centre my wife was busy with the huge variety of arts and crafts, displaying them to advantage. My ‘witch doctor’ friend, completed his little ‘spirit temple’, with its numerous pots of ‘secret medicines’. One of my students supervised the section where blind, maimed, dumb, deaf outcasts would show what they could do. Another student arranged the area where six men would be curing skins and one working on cattle hides to make attractive leather goods. Two senior students toiled hard on the products section, another on forestry, displaying a miniature tree nursery bed and a selection of tree seeds on a stand. My head gardener had his lovely display: fruit, vegetables and flowers. Selected Africans, husbands and wives, with children, ochered and adorned the various huts, hen runs and storage bins.
The Rev Edward Boti Manda offered his services, which I gladly accepted, in displaying all that was necessary for the tiny church and school. A village headman, a trained blacksmith, had a special place to work at his craft. Near the ‘smith’ there was a team of carvers in wood, bone, ivory, ebony, also two clever Africans making pottery and sculpture in soft stone. Never before had so many crafts been brought together in one place. I was indeed pleased, not one African had disappointed me. What is more remarkable, not one single article or tool was missing or stolen.
European missionaries, African ministers and teachers, planters and commercial traders arrived on foot, by bush car, in machillas, motor cycles and one Ford car; also three steamers made special trips up the lake. I had to rely on African ‘bush telegraph’ for most of my information. Only the captains of the steamers gave me advanced information and exact times of arrival.
Fortunately, I managed to meet and welcome every visitor, including the Governor, Chief Secretary to the Legislative Council, Provincial Resident, Commissioners from all the African Missions (except Roman Catholics who declined) and representatives from European and African Associations. The programme was carried out without a hitch.
On the evening of the official reception, Dr Laws was the centre of well merited praise. As he stood up the whole gathering rose and applauded. Thousands of Africans outside joined in the acclamation. Many eyes were wet with tears, for this was the most momentous event in the whole history of Central African missions and African civilization.
When the Grand Old Man spoke, his first words were for the long line of consecrated missionaries and devout Africans who had toiled unselfishly down the years to make Central Africa have peace. Five strikingly dignified Africans stood near Dr Laws — five ordained African Ministers and nearby, another African, a supporter of Dr Laws for fifty years, Yuriah (or Uriah) Chirwa. Yuriah was known as the African with smiling eyes. As my eyes met his he winked and I winked back.
For four days there were various meetings, all a build up to the great day, 12th October. On the Jubilee conference morning, before many Europeans were up, my wife and I were up before dawn, supervising the provision of fruit, vegetables, meat, milk, fuel to each European household and food for 10,000 Africans. My staff rose to the occasion; they had been up at four a.m. making up orders. At five o’clock the African butcher said, ‘I have killed and dressed eight sheep. Do you need more!’
The day before the conference, my chief clerk told me about loud singing coming from the lake road.
‘They will need food, sir. Let us ask God in prayer for more flour.’ His prayer was short and sweet — ‘Lord, if the people are hungry tell them to each see what they are carrying first and we will do our best with Your help.’
I am happy to report no one, black or white, spoke of being hungry. There was ample for everyone.
The day before the actual celebrations I had three hundred workers with hoes clearing a twelve feet wide strip, eleven miles long, around the Plateau, as a fire prevention belt. It was very interesting to see the Africans work, hoeing and singing. I was not taking any risks with hundreds of strangers in the area —some living in makeshift erections. A spark could easily start a fire by mistake. Two actually started but were put out within seconds.
On the same day I had squads of men examining all roads, paths, bridges, irrigation courses and stream banks to make sure everything was in first class order.
At four o’clock in the afternoon of 11th October 1925, all my sixteen key men reported to me in person that all work was complete. I was extremely happy, for there were times when sudden calls for workers from other departments made me anxious.
In the centre of the football field the carpentry department erected a special elevated stand around which many thousands of Africans of many tribes and Europeans would see all that was going on. On the stand, a blue flag with a white dove in the centre fluttered in the breeze. It was the same flag that flew from the mast of the little steamer Illala in 1875 — the flag of peace that challenged darkest Africa fifty years earlier.
It is difficult to describe Livingstonia on Jubilee Day. African women in colourful dresses, men neat and tidy, well-mannered children, happy and wondering what the fuss was about. From early morning, drums of peace beat out a message of hope from mountain tops around. Cheerful Africans, rejoicing in song, often hymns; groups dancing until the mission bell sounded, calling for quiet.
The procession to the stand was dignified, orderly and quiet. Dr Laws, in his robes and hood, the Governor in white uniform, missionaries, African Ministers, teachers, white tradesmen, chiefs, headmen and a joint choir of Africans from distant mission stations.
It was an eventful day for Dr Laws as he was appearing in many roles, his latest being First Moderator of the newly formed Church of Central Africa Presbyterian.
One man stood close to Dr Laws, Mr Uriah Chirwa, the African who served all fifty years with Dr Laws. To mark the occasion, Rev W.P. Young presented Uriah with a cheque, a gift from his many white friends at home and on the mission field.
As on 12th October, 1875, the vast assembly joined in the 100th Psalm, followed by prayer and all in unison, The Lord’s Prayer and the Benediction. Speeches were made by Africans and white people — all told of the dramatic change that had taken place and the long sustained service of Dr Robert Laws. To me, the grandest moment was when the Governor read a telegram from King George V, naming the towering mountain above the plateau as Mount Laws and the award of the decoration C.M.G. —Companion of St Michael and St George.
The acclamation was loud and long. The venerable old man stood erect, deeply moved by the words spoken and decorations given — a tear ran down his cheek — it was a moment never to be forgotten by all who were there. All who knew the Doctor realized that behind his rugged exterior there was a heart of genuine tenderness, affection and humility.
The Doctor raised his right arm and at once there was dead silence from the great gathering — not even a child cried. All at once thousands of eyes were beyond the unpraised arm. In the clear sky a great eagle hovered. Did the mighty king of all birds come from the newly named ‘Mount Laws’ to salute a courageous, unafraid adventurer? The Doctor’s reply was one of thanks to God for the opportunity of service; gratitude to the long line of colleagues — black and white; pride in the known and unknown; donors who supported his work; gratefulness to chiefs, headmen and their delightful people; to government officials, white planters and traders and above all, sincere thanks to Jesus Christ and His Mighty Power in answering prayers. He concluded (in a quivering voice), ‘May I say in deep humility, I have tried to be a servant of my Royal Master, Jesus Christ.’
The Governor and his wife, Director of Agriculture and his wife and other officials, visited my exhibition village, arts and crafts centres, booths and other side shows. According to schedule the visit was to last fifteen minutes — it lasted over one hour. No one present had ever seen such an array of purely African work.
The Governor’s wife confessed to my wife, ‘It’s the first time I have been in a native hut!’
The Governor told me, ‘In all my years in many parts of Africa, this is the largest and most interesting exhibition I have seen. I never realized the Africans were so clever.’
The Director of Agriculture just could not believe there were 1,036 exhibits under agriculture, horticulture and forestry, with all their by-products. He asked a K.A.R. soldier to count them again. So along with the other 1,000 exhibits they had to be counted!
The Governor and his wife admired many objects. I took a. note of all they admired and had them boxed and presented to them. On leaving the Governor said, ‘Your exhibition was wonderful.’ Lady Bowring, ‘Amazing,’ and the Director of Agriculture, ‘A perfect eye opener.
Dr Laws put his hand on my shoulder, ‘Good — very good show. Thank you.’
Celebrations ended I saw the officials safely back on the three steamers. Others were supplied with free plants and shrubs of all kinds, on their way to different locations. Every exhibit lent was either sold or given back to donors. Not one thing was missing, not one thing stolen, not one complaint about lack of food. The Africans had lived up to their reputation as hard working, honest, upright and truthful men and women.
A few days after the celebrations were over I walked up to the Doctor’s Office, handed over my report of 3,000 words, a dozen line illustrations and a complete list of the 2,036 exhibition items. He looked it over and smiling, he said, ‘Splendid, just what I wanted. You are a good writer. It will be easy to type. Thank you very much.’
In Africa, as in all countries, moments of celebration come combining great excitement with genuine regard. The event passes and ordinary humdrum activities must become routine again. Life settles down.
In most cases visitors came to Livingstonia by steamer and I had to arrange for passengers and luggage to be brought safely the eleven miles, 3,000 feet up the hillside, to the station. I was often asked to spend a sum of money on the workers. The sum would not be large and by agreement with Dr Laws. I was allowed to spend it on food for all who took part. Over the Jubilee celebrations I had a few pounds handed to me by grateful travellers.
In the period just before the rains break the ground is very hard and work slacks off, so in consultation with Vurayata, the ‘Rain Maker’, it was arranged to invite all my staff, key workers, students and all the workers that could be spared, along with chiefs, headmen, ministers, teachers and medical assistants (they performed valuable work), to a picnic on the lake shore. I had these things in mind. Food was cheaper from my store at the lake. No transport — all could wash and clean up in the lake and wild game was plentiful along the shore and an abundance of lovely fish in the huge lake.
It did not take long for word to get around to some five hundred people, not counting children brought by women workers. A small committee of four was set up to make all the arrangements.
No. 1 was to arrange for pots of all kinds to be on the site I had chosen. No. 2 would be in charge of fuel — dried wood and fixing up fires. No. 3 was to act with William, the gun boy, in killing huge antelopes, carrying in the carcasses and dressing the meat and No. 4 was to work in conjunction with me, for rice, cassava flour, maize flour, pumpkins, beans, ground nut oil and salt, mustard, chillies, curry, pepper and dried horse radish.
‘No food so good without proper seasoning,’ one chief told me. From the gardens my men were told to bring or buy on the shore for me fruit of all kinds. As strong drink was not allowed, I had arranged with an ‘Hotel Keeper’, who had a booth, to have large drums or pots of lemon and honey drinks available free. I would supply the ingredients and she would be paid for her work.
The great day came. Some had travelled thirty miles. They were weary and dusty, so soap was given to one man and one woman to give out to all who wanted to wash, also their clothes. There was a huge line of bathers, men and women apart —scattered a mile along the shore. Clothes dried within minutes. Men and women combed their hair into various tribal forms. At a given hour drums began to beat, ‘Come to the cook-house door’. Each one carried a basket or pot for the meal.
Slowly the party settled down on a sloping sandy bank, with a background of palm trees and citrus trees. The people had waited six hours for the meals to be cooked. It was the moment of thanksgiving to all my faithful men and women who had toiled for nine months to make the Jubilee celebrations a success.
Beside my wife and me stood the Rev Edward Boti Manda. I said only a few words of greeting, then asked Edward to give out a native hymn and ask a blessing on the meal. The hymn was a beautiful one, then the prayer — dear Edward, his prayer was long, very long. I thought he was going to name every one of the 2,036 items in the exhibition.
My mind was back at the church picnic when I was a boy and the minister with his endless prayer naming all the fish in the sea! I touched Edward’s arm to attract his attention and he looked down. ‘Amen,’ I whispered.
Edward took the hint and concluded with, ‘We thank God for Bwana Mwakuyu and his wife. Amen.’ The picnic party gave a full throated Amen.
The picnic was an outstanding success. Lots and lots of good things to eat, helping after helping of porridge (from various cereals) and ½ lb of lean meat, with lashings of hot seasoning, followed by pumpkin, fresh fruit, cooked green bananas and maize cobs and sweet lemon and lime drinks. The sun was about to set — some of the elderly chiefs and headmen were so full they dozed and fell asleep. Some began to sing. Edward was full too and sleepy. He whispered, ‘A full stomach makes a person feel friendly, happy and drowsy.’
We moved to the rest house for our evening meal. We wrote some letters and by nine o’clock we were under our mosquito nets and soon asleep. We had to be up at four a.m. the following morning as we had the week end meat, fruit and vegetables for the staff to prepare and, at two o’clock in the afternoon, four hundred workers to pay.
During the picnic I gave a sealed envelope to Chief Solomon requesting he should open it, read the message and if necessary take action. The next afternoon just as I had paid all the workers, Chief Solomon came towards me in my office.
He was smiling as he told me, ‘I carried out your order sir. I made up twenty-seven good meals, wrapped them in banana leaves and delivered them to elderly sick, mental cases, blind, deaf, lepers and your friend with the withered legs. Three of the meals, maize and cassava porridge with gravy I gave to ill children.’
So my message telling Chief Solomon to give food left over to the needy was carried out to the letter, perhaps the only decent meal the twenty-seven outcasts had for a long time.
The chief, with a twinkle in his eyes and his usual broad smiled asked me out to the compound. The Rev Edward Boti Manda had a smile too. Beside him were a number of baskets, live chickens tied by the legs and a woven mat. Said Edward, ‘These are gifts, brought by the people yesterday for Mrs Caseby and yourself—just a bit of kindness and thanks.’
In the baskets, eggs, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, ground nuts, pineapples, cape gooseberries and loquats. In a small basket, trinkets of bone, ivory and wood and in another, varieties of flour. Really an interesting assortment. Not much in money value, but a sacrifice from many workers, something my wife and I greatly appreciated. I asked Chief Solomon and Edward to convey our thanks to all.
I kept the chickens, eggs and tomatoes for our own use and the mat and trinkets for our collection. The remainder was handed over to my clerks to pass on to the very poor and sick.
My diary always lay on my desk. My movements were written in and my future travel to steamers , other stations and all the location sites were all according to plan. There was also a large paper clip to which all letters and messages that came in my absence were clipped.
One evening, as I was entering everything up in my diary, my three clerks, William, Peter and Matthew, came up the stairs. I greeted them as they had been out checking up work.
‘Well, my good friends, what is it this evening — a complaint or a request?’
‘Please, sir, in your diary you are to go to the Tunda Hill and the grain storage bins. It is a bad day to go, for every ten moons the iron stone rocks are struck by lightning and rocks are scattered everywhere. At the same time a corner of your house could be hit by the storm, sometimes the cattle kraal. The place where Mr T. Cullen Young keeps his cattle is on iron stone —the storm passes that way.
I turned up my diary. I has fixed 19th November to work down the mountain side on the grain bins at Tunda.
‘What day should I go?’ I asked Peter. (Once I had disobeyed his prediction and was caught in a severe storm.)
‘Go on the 16th or 17th, but not 19th. That is good,’ replied Peter.
‘May I go to Tunda also?’ I agreed.
It was a perfect day on the 16th. We reached our appointed place, checked everything and were back by the late afternoon. We were on the lake for the steamer next day with a fair amount of cargo. That evening all the cargo was carried to the plateau. I was home by seven in the evening — thirteen hours to go.
November 18th was a really lovely, sunny, hot day. In the evening, my wife and I stood on our veranda, watching a storm out on the lake — thousands of lightning-forked flashes, wild fire and non-stop thunder, cloudless sky, humid atmosphere.
At four p.m. I said to Peter, ‘What a fine day.’
He looked straight at me. ‘Please, sir, the day is not finished until the sun goes down!’
After dinner, at seven o’clock, we were back on the veranda. The storm was nearing. Through the flashes dirty black clouds were moving our way. There was one deafening bang and sure enough, it was on Tunda Hill; rocks tumbled down the hillside. Earlier, I had told Rev T. Cullen Young that Peter had told me about Tunda Hill, my house, the cattle kraal and the situation of his kraal.
‘My dear Caseby, I have been here over twenty years. I have no time for airy-fairy stories by Rain Makers,’ he told me. I said no more.
I sent for my two night watchmen and told them to take cattle, sheep and goats out of the kraal and herd them into the compound.
The storm raged. The noise was louder than a hundred cannon firing salvo after salvo, just like battle long ago in France. We bedded at nine thirty, but from the kitchen, Boyd, the dog, was whimpering which was unusual for him.
We were awakened about midnight by a terrible crash. The house seemed to shake and a wall plank above our bed blew out. I jumped up. I heard feet, the watchmen were calling —‘Bwana, your house has been struck, the kraal too, but all animals are safe. Bwana Young’s kraal has been struck and all his animals are dead.’
I dressed. The damage to our house was slight, cattle kraal, part of the brick wall damaged, corrugated iron ripped. Mr Young’s stockade was on fire, animals dead, a gaping hole in the ground three feet deep, six feet across — lodestone lying around.
Picnics and storms are part of life in Africa. I never heard Vurayata once tell ‘airy-fairy’ stories!
When the rains break with eight to ten inches each day for a week, then, on and off, showers, it is a remarkable sight to see the baked cracked brown earth come to life. Mushrooms of an enormous size burst before one’s eyes. The first African to spot the mushroom places crossed sticks beside it. No one will ever touch it. It belongs to the man who first spotted it.
The workers always give warning a week previously that they must go home to hoe the family plot. To make sure I had my quota of workers for essential work, I made arrangements with the various chiefs and headmen to find women to hoe the gardens belonging to my key workers and I would pay them. Every Saturday I allowed my key workers to go home to plant the seed. The arrangement worked.
When the soil was workable, the chief’s drummer beat out certain unmistakable notes, for they sounded for one purpose only each year. It was a call to ‘Sharpen the hoe’. The chief raised his hoe, struck it into the ground, turned over the sod, crying, ‘Sharpen your hoes. Sharpen your hoes,’ then the hundreds of subjects followed his example, hoeing the ground, shouting, ‘Sharpen your hoes!’
Certain men laid their hoes aside after the first bout of hoeing; some cut down saplings and shrubs with axes and others took up positions as spearmen. The sight of any animal called all spearmen together to kill or ward off danger. The work was hard and continuous for five hours, but the falling rain kept each one cool. The stint over, the chief provided light refreshment. In some cases it was anything but light. The potent beer made men drunk— and saved a few meals. Now the chief had a very large holding cultivated. Appointed men planted the maize, cassava shoots and ground nuts. Women put in the seeds of melon, pumpkin and sweet potatoes.
It was from the chief’s example in 1922 that I had an idea to do the same. In 1923 I had five hundred men and women with hoes, twenty-five men with axes and spears. As cash payment was not desired for each worker, 1 pint of bean seeds, 1 pint of maize seed, twelve shoots of cassava and 1 lb of cold maize porridge was given to each person. In addition, the chiefs received packets of tomato and carrot seeds. Everyone was pleased. I was delighted.
My labour scouts went around areas recruiting men and women for afforestation work when most crops were in and in some cases where catch crops were ready. As one scout said, ‘No one refuses to work for Bwana Mwakuyu.’ I was greatly honoured, for I always treated Africans as human beings. I respected each one.
One day I called all my students and key men together in my office and explained how I wished work to be done and what the priorities were. One student was delegated to each of the twelve afforestation areas and eight key men to the small holdings.
This plan was necessary as recent attacks of malaria had forced me to slow down. The medical staff warned me to relax and cut down exhausting work. It was a case of my wife in command of administration and Dr Laws to check on project areas. I found it difficult to rest, knowing all that I had planned. Others who were working out my tree planting and extensive seed sowing either came daily to report or sent detailed accounts of how work was progressing. I decided to walk down to the large vegetable and fruit gardens and walk around.
Alas, it was not to be. The doctor caught me. I was escorted back to the house, examined in bed and he gave me an injection. That was that. The headaches and fever persisted for three weeks and I lost two stones in weight.
Mr Tom Gordon had a motor cycle and sidecar. He kindly took me to some of my important planting areas. In my scheme of planting, one hundred men working two yards apart, moved forward. I had long bamboo poles painted white as guide marks. Students with chain measurements moved the poles two hundred yards apart, when one was planted. I was very proud of my fourth year students as they were successful in carrying out every task with superb skill. In fact, every one was in advance of my targets.
On Arbour Day, the anniversary of David Livingstone’s birthday, 12,000 more trees were put in the same day, in a hundred different places (thirty miles radius), by chiefs, headmen, teachers and ministers. The day was set for the start of a mammoth planting — one I had envisaged four years earlier. In nursery beds the three and a half year plants were 12” to 15” tall — cedars, with a record for growth. At the twelve appointed places the rain was slight, the temperature was right and a gentle breeze was blowing from the lake — indeed, a state of weather that usually lasted for a fortnight, to quote what my friend, Peter the Rainmaker told me. Five hundred people who had watched my plans work for three years, were all ready for work. What was more, there were two bonuses this season: 1/-for sustained work over a fortnight and 1/- for the neatest job. Two shillings was a lot of money in those far off days, when the average wage was 5/6 for men, 4/6 for women — per month.
By the end of March, 1,000,000 trees were planted and every small holding sown with maize, rice, wheat, beans and groundnuts. My long range project, as outlined in 1922, was now an accomplished fact. Many of the staff scoffed at the idea. The Government Director of Agriculture, Horticulture and Forestry wrote (in 1922), ‘Your projects sound good on paper. To carry them to fruition with African participation is another matter I’m afraid.’
The Africans I had trusted and respected had completely fulfilled my hopes. With confidence I left my wife, clerks and students to do the work and I ceased to be anxious. On medical advice, I did rest in bed, happy in the thought that all understood my plans.
In other fields of activity on the lake shore, work was ahead of schedule. Chief Solomon and my students saw to that. All that I had previously surveyed was in production and more ground was cleared in excess of my plan. New varieties of seeds were put in for the first time. The Government Director of Agriculture sent me a good supply of Egyptian Seed, much superior to the American seed.
In the fine humid atmosphere of the lake the cotton came through, progressed well — some boll weevil was encountered, but we managed to contain it. An African gave me the recipe that a witch doctor used to cure rashes and kill ticks, so I had a lot made and it worked wonders, not only on cotton boll weevils, but it cured bean mite and the butterfly maggot on brassicas. It worked well on carrot fly and broad bean fly. Early crops were secured at the lake shore on many plantations. They were harvested and other seeds and plants put in. I was only allowed infrequent visits to certain sites, nurseries and plantations, usually in Mr Gordon’s motor cycle side car, or by bush car. I was told not to walk, as excessive sweating brought on my headaches and fever.
In May 1926, all my responsible workers brought me detailed reports of everything — it really was an inventory — of crops, acreages; various plants; propagated by bud, graft, layer and ‘Gootee’; cotton prospects; stocks of food on hand; and a list of all animals; carts; ploughs; other implements; and contracts on hand. For three days at home I drew up all my lists in duplicate. On the fourth, I was at my very lowest with a crippling bout of malaria. It was the cruellest so far, yet when I seemed to come round, I remembered I had been in worse situations in World War I. My wife was the perfect understudy, she did not lose grasp of any situation in my work and she was always the ideal comforting companion.
I revived to see record crops harvested. I was wheeled around my dear gardens and orchards; everything seemed to be in profusion, smiling at me. I was even taken to see the cotton being ginned; bales of cotton taken to the lake steamers by freshly trained teams of oxen. Students brought me samples of tea, coffee, cocoa pods and date palms. I was very very happy with my visions and hopes but the exhausting work, four years of it, had exceeded my expectations, but seriously undermined my health.
Violent recurring bouts of malaria undermined my strength, the only cure, large doses of quinine, failed to check the fever. In five months my weight was reduced from 12 stone 4 lbs to under 9 stone. One thing I wanted to do was to present my students with their proficiency certificates. Their written examination papers (the exams were supervised by a planter), were returned to The Director of Agriculture at Zomba. Judge my delight when certificates, some with merit, were sent to me
— all my students had passed. The very first of their kind in the history of the mission. I got out of bed, dressed, was wheeled up to my office and in the presence of Dr Laws and others, I presented the awards. My diary was on my table. I wrote in the awards to my twelve students, adding my gratitude for their skill in these words: ‘I thank God for having served such loyal people, all the Glory be Thine dear God.’ It was my last entry.
That night, I was very ill indeed, injections were needed to make me sleep. In the morning my wife sponged my fever brow
— ‘Darling, you are very ill, we are going home.’ She was so sweet — she had all the work to pack all we required for going home but she never faltered.
June 1926, I was very ill. It was a time of great sorrow for the Africans, for there was loyalty and true regard between the African and ourselves. The great strides forward ended so abruptly.
On the day we left the Homestead, hundreds of Africans followed us to the lake shore. I was in a Machula (hammock), carried in turn by eight sturdy men.
As we moved towards the little boat to take us to the steamer, three African ministers, Edward Boti Manda, Yoram Mpanda and Yaphet Mkandawiri said in one voice, ‘Have you a message for us?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘God tells me I will be back again to continue His work among you!’
When Edward repeated my words, a great cheer came from the crowd — ‘Amen! Amen!’ they cried.
Captain Ross had everything comfortable for us on the steamer and somehow I felt much easier. The motor journey from Fort Johnstone was exhausting. A cosy bed awaited us in Blantyre. The Chief Medical Officer for the country called and examined me on Dr Laws’ request. He gave me two bottles of tablets, one the latest for malaria, the other he called ‘nightcaps’. The Medical Officer was most sympathetic. We stayed three days at Blantyre. The quiet was beneficial. At Port Herald we boarded the Zambezi ferry boat.
Instead of a few miles crossing, the river was in spate, so we had to stay on deck for 120 miles, through uncharted waters. Fish and other aquatic creatures were leaping around the boat, including slithering crocodiles and massive hippos. Our first meal was tinned fish — of all things! Eight hours later we were in a reserved compartment on the train. The Medical Officer’s tablets helped me, for I had sleep for the first time in weeks. I had ham and egg, toast and coffee for breakfast. My wife, however, was off food, she could not take coffee. As we neared Beira in the evening, she was very unwell and sick. Fortunately, we were rushed through customs and taken on board the Union Castle liner, the Shipping Agent saw us to our cabin and promised to inform the ship’s surgeon. When my wife was bedded, I rang the bell for the steward, asking him to fetch the surgeon to be told he was not on board and was expected to join the liner at Loreco Marques. I called on the ship’s purser who told me a nurse was at hand. A stewardess made contact with the nurse. The nurse came at once — my wife was very ill and sick.
‘It’s not malaria,’ the nurse told me, ‘though the pulse and temperature are abnormal.’ I could not do much.
The nurse and stewardess stayed all night in the cabin, changing sheets, sponging my wife down and giving her sips of warm water. When we reached Loeco Marques I spotted the surgeon coming on board. I told him my name and of my wife’s sudden illness.
He brushed me aside, ‘I’m not on duty until Durban. I’m seeing no one. I’m going to enjoy fishing for sharks from here to Durban — goodbye.’ The purser, nurse, stewardess and the chief officer all pleaded with the surgeon but his answer was
‘NO.’
On the second day out at sea, my wife drifted into a coma —the nurse was so good — ‘your wife is very very ill.’ I made for the spot where the surgeon was fishing — he saw me coming.
‘Don’t come near me,’ he bellowed, ‘I’m seeing no one until Durban.’
I am usually quiet, but I lashed out at the surgeon, I was mad at his incivility. I called on the purser, lodged an official complaint to be forwarded to the Captain and made arrangements for us to leave the liner at Durban.
The nurse, stewardess and steward helped my wife down the gangway and into a taxi. I offered each a gold sovereign but they all refused. The taxi took us to an hotel — but every room was booked. I phoned a cousin at Claremont, some miles from Durban. Mrs Murray told me to come at once by taxi, she would have a doctor waiting. My cousins, Mr and Mrs Murray, had a bed ready, the doctor at once diagnosed ptomaine poisoning. He rushed in his car to a chemists, hurried behind the counter and before I had got my breath back, we were going at top speed to the house.
‘After the first dose of this liquid,’ he told Mrs Murray, ‘have basin and towels ready, for Mrs Caseby will be violently sick.’
No sooner said than done. My wife was violently sick the whole night, accompanied by diarrhoea. The doctor was in attendance five times in twenty-four hours and three times each day for three days, by which time my wife was up, feeling greatly improved and taking light diets. My cousin said, ‘Do you know, Alex, Dr Sully charges one gold sovereign each visit, his bill is fourteen sovereigns already, plus another sovereign for the bottle of medicine?’
After two more visits Dr Sully said to me, ‘Has Mrs Murray told you I charge one sovereign a visit?. . .‘ He continued, ‘It’s quite true, but I never, never, charge missionaries. I love what they do so far away ungrudgingly. I wish I had the courage to be one.’ Then with a broad smile he remarked — ‘When you return to Nyasaland, after your holiday in Scotland, perhaps you’ll send me some Nyasaland stamps — I love collecting stamps.
I can report here that on our return to Central Africa a year later, I bought a full range of Nyasaland stamps at Comba, the Head Post Office and posted them to Dr Sully. In his reply he complimented me that out of many hundreds he had treated free and requested stamps for his collection, I was the only one to do so.
After a fortnight, we said thank you and farewell to Dr Sully and our relatives and boarded the Union Castle liner Arundel Castle and sailed for Cape Town. The sea was calm, the food good and by the time we reached Cape Town we were feeling greatly improved. We were fortunate to have cousins in Sea Point, paid them two visits and they came aboard the Arundel Castle and had dinner with us. We also toured Cape Town buying gifts for home.
Every cabin in the Arundel Castle was booked and at times the fun was fast and furious on the voyage home. There were grand concerts, lectures, cinema shows, games, dancing and treasure hunts. The daily and nightly tablets, the sea air, resting in deck chairs by day and mornings and evenings, walking round and round the decks, the good food and pleasant companionships for twenty-one days made us both quite fit. We both put on weight.
The journey from Southampton to London and on to Edinburgh and home was pleasant and without incident.
It was good to be home in Scotland. So many faces and places were familiar, yet lots of things had changed. Except for three years hard training at home and four ten-day furloughs from France in World War I, I had spent ten years in foreign lands. My father looked his age, my parents-in-law had aged; so many friends had died; others were scattered all over the world. The roads were wider; big luxury buses running; farms had changed from horses to tractors; new industries took men from the farms; homes and shops were modernized; schools had a new look; and also church attendance had fallen! There were many motor cycles and motor cars, clothing had a new look, ‘cat whisker’ wireless had arrived. People looked unhappy.
The restful voyage from Cape Town to Southampton had worked wonders. I put on one stone in weight and only once since leaving Africa had a bout of malaria upset me. Acting on instructions from the Foreign Mission Committee, I visited the surgery of Dr Berkeley Robertson, who gave me a thorough overhaul. He cautioned me to rest as much as possible. My general condition was good, but after what I had suffered in Africa, malarial fever was never far away. All lecturing and deputation work had not to be undertaken for two months. He gave me a bottle of five grains of quinine (in Africa I had to take twenty grains), also a box of tablets to sharpen my appetite, as I had to put on another stone to reach my average weight.
The last four months of 1926 passed quickly, we visited friends and they visited us. In January 1927, I was back in Dr Berkeley Robertson’s surgery. From Dr Robertson and another specialist in tropical medicines I was tested for nearly one hour, blood, skin and urine tests and X-rayed a few times. Within a week I was given the all clear, physically fit, average weight reached and informed that, with care, I could engage in deputation work by mid-February.
Mid-February was very stormy, blizzard blowing. To Fossoway and Blairingone, I had to follow snowploughs and walk through drifts, but I had full congregations and £30 from Blairingone for missions.
Dairsie Parish; Forfar West; Tayside (Angus); Logie; Denbeath; St Andrews, Buckhaven; Kingskettle and Fruchie were twelve churches visited, not counting Bible classes. Sunday Schools, Woman’s Guilds, nearly fifty addresses in five weeks. Many of my meetings were reported in the newspapers and after one service, I was asked to write about my work in Africa for the People’s Journal then The Telegraph and Post and The Fife News. I found the writing most interesting.
I was a member of the General Assembly of the United Free Church of Scotland in May 1927. My colleague in Livingstonia, Dr Donald Fraser, was Moderator. I was down to speak at the Foreign Missionary Breakfast on the Thursday morning. My brother John (Headmaster in Aberdeenshire) was also a member of the assembly, so we stayed in an hotel. During the night I was called from bed to answer the telephone. I was told my wife had given birth to a daughter. As if by magic, the whole Waverley Hotel delegates were up, coffee was served in the lounge, so our daughter, Margaret Smith Raitt Caseby’s health and that of her mother were celebrated from coffee cups at three o’clock in the morning. I was punched and teased about my responsibilities as a daddy, a ragging I took in good faith. No one slept that night.
At the Missionary Breakfast the Chairman announced, ‘Some missionary in our midst is a daddy for the first time.’ After the cheering a loud voice boomed, ‘Get on your feet, Caseby!’
I did get on my feet, there was more applause. When it died down I said, ‘Thank you one and all, mother and daughter are fine, so am I.’
Fortunately, I did not have to address the meeting; a Missionary from India exceeded his ten minutes, so I was excused by the chairman on the grounds that ‘My voice was heard earlier.’
It was not long before I packed my case and made for home to my wife and pretty daughter. I was so charmed to see them and find both well. I had birthday presents for my wife and baby — one was for 25th May (daughter) and one for 26th May (mother).
In early June, we spent happy, happy days in the country. My eighty-seven-year-old grandmother, took her great granddaughter in her arms and crooned a lullaby. It was so sweet.
At the end of June, I was a speaker at a conference in Dunblane Hydro at which I received the promise of £350 to build a grain store at Livingstonia. At Dunblane, Right Rev Dr Donald Fraser took me aside and asked, ‘Caseby, will you find time to fulfil these special engagements before you sail for Africa?’ I just could not say no to my good friend Donald Fraser, so I agreed.
The churches were wide apart, Brandon Street Church, Motherwell; Bellshill; West Calder; Dumbarton North; Kelty (Oakfield); Memus; Clova; Cortachy; Auctermuchty and a second visit to St Johns, Cupar. I was happy to inform Dr Fraser in August that I had visited all places he had detailed for me.
Our final days at home were fully occupied — Margaret was baptized in Gauldry Church (the church Dr Laws appointed me as one of his colleagues). We made a round of our loved ones and many came to see us. Naturally, Margaret was the centre of attraction, many wondered — ‘How can you take such a lovely child to far away Africa?’
Many friends did not understand that Central Africa was to us and our daughter, Home.
We were all fit. I had had my final medical check up in Glasgow and a large box of quinine tablets — two 5 gram tablets each day until I reached Livingstonia — and double the dose thereafter. Our furlough was a happy one, greatest of all gifts our darling daughter Margaret. For the record, I had the joy of addressing nearly a hundred meetings.
The final fortnight of our furlough passed quickly. With ‘Good byes’ over, we were soon heading for Southampton, where we boarded the palatial Union Castle liner, MS Caernarfon Castle. We had a comfortable port cabin.
Margaret was the youngest child on the ship and it was only natural everyone made a fuss of our daughter. She had a smile and her own baby language to all, especially the menfolk. Sandy Powell, the comedian, bought her a large cuddly black pussy cat which is still treasured to this day. Relatives met us at Cape Town and Durban.
The remainder of the journey was uneventful, until we reached Blantyre. At the Mandala Hotel the manager handed me a letter marked ‘Urgent’. I recognized Dr Laws’ handwriting. We were distressed to learn that the Doctor was on his way home, an invalid. He wanted to see me at once.
After a bath, quick change and a meal, I was taken to Dr Macfarlane’s house. I was given strict instructions to speak to the dear old man for twenty minutes. I was shocked to see Dr Laws looked so ill. The Doctor spoke of Livingstonia, his unfulfilled hopes and the breaking of so many sacred ties.
Dr Laws had one special request. In 1875 (November), he saw a tiny black baby lying on a banana leaf, under a shady tree. The mother was hoeing not far away. He picked up the baby and said a Blessing over her — ‘God Bless this child and make her a blessing unto others.’ He wanted to hold our Margaret, a white child and repeat the same Blessing.
The following afternoon, just before the Doctor boarded the train (leaving Africa for good), he took our baby in his arms and with great emotion, blessed her with the same eleven words, concluding in a whisper, ‘First a black child, now a white child. Amen.’
Later that evening at Blantyre Station, as I said goodbye to my much loved Chief, I saw this man of courage, endurance, patience and unquestioning faith, in a new light — great tenderness, tears streaming down his face. The great crowd of Africans and whites were in tears too. It was a moving experience.
We were glad to be on the move again, by car and the steamer, Domira, to Florence Bay.
As we came ashore we were given a great welcome — in the forefront, the three African ministers, Edward, Yoran and Yaphet. This time the spokesman was Uriah Chirwa. He said, ‘We are all happy you are back home with a beautiful baby daughter—we all prayed for your return.’
It is not easy to describe the Africans. There is something built into them that is honest, loyal and loving. At the Homestead, Dan the cook, Ellen and Alice, were waiting to start work, also Robert, the ‘boy of all jobs’. During our absence a hurricane had lifted the roof off our house. Repairs had been completed, except for painting and clearing up. Baby Margaret was now three months old. Ellen took charge of her, they were very fond of each other. The day after our arrival —twelve hours — all the key men (except one who had gone to South Africa), were on the veranda. Matthew spoke.
‘As we promised, we are here to work for you again. We are happy to see you.’
Within forty-eight hours I was at my office desk and before nightfall I had a grasp of every situation. I was happy to see the foundation laid for my barns (the money promised at Dunbiane had arrived). I made some alterations to suit growing needs. Underneath the four separate granaries, open spaces were reserved for new implements, ox wagon carts and timber fuel. From my key men I had depressing reports. The hurricane had played havoc with one cattle court and levelled some of my finest eucalyptus trees — about 10,000 of my very first seedlings — the Australian seed I got at Durban in 1922. Another shock: a fir plantation of nearly 1,000,000 trees ruined by lire. Trees about eighteen feet tall, an area of desolation. The third disappointment: my one hundred acre cotton belt had not been planted and was back to jungle land. Many fine holdings had fallen into neglect owing to improper supervision. However, other reports were more encouraging.
Each of my students had remained at their posts and progressed beyond my hopes. The coffee, tea, fruit, vegetables and tree nurseries were not only maintained, but greatly increased. Only one thing made me angry — and I was helpless to rectify the mistake. One of my favourite and pet schemes some years previous was the cultivation of 130 acres of virgin lands at Karamteta, where I had built a rest house and initiated extensive nurseries of tea, coffee and some 1,000 grafted fruit trees. Dr Laws had rented this land to a European planter, with option to buy in five years. In one sweep, one of the finest Livingstonia assets with valuable plants, all in excellent order was out of my control. It was most unfortunate for me.
To get first hand knowledge of the vast mission estate and the productive areas outside it, I planned another large conference of chiefs, headmen and important Africans, who had worked for me years previously. The usual feast was held, lots of cooked beef, rice, maize, beans and pumpkins. The African ministers and headmasters were also among my guests. It was a very happy conference — many taking part. A long range programme was drawn up for extra food to fill my new barns.
I had special contracts drawn up and signed by chiefs and headmen for 1). Supplies of fuel timber. 2). Extensive fire-breaks around every important area. 3). Cultivation of 500 acres for extra holdings and afforestation plantations. 4). Contracts with chiefs to be responsible for road and bridge repairs and 5). The supply of workers up to 200 on special occasions. The contracts were printed in English and the vernacular. The conference, plus all the food and small gifts —safety pins, yards of elastic, soap, darning needles, salt, snuff, beads, buttons, pencils, notelets and small mirrors etc., cost me over £2. Had I visited each chief and headman in turn, it would have taken me the best part of a fortnight at a cost of £25. There was one special provision in all contracts to people outside my pay-roll, ‘payment only to be made when work was completed and inspected by myself or any other missionary acting for me’. The Africans knew I kept my word and I am happy to say everyone I had contracts and special arrangements with were faithful and discharged all their duties to my satisfaction.
The day came when it was necessary for me to travel to one of the most productive areas, some twenty-five miles from Livingstonia. My wife and baby Margaret were going also. A special shaded cot was made for little Margaret. Two sturdy men volunteered to carry her. She was asleep when we left, cosy in her cot, covered by a mosquito net. All carriers moved forward quickly and quietly.
We were ten miles from our starting point when Margaret woke up, happy, cheerful and full of smiles. We halted for breakfast, delicious fruit, coffee, toast and marmalade. Many eyes looked lovingly on our pretty little daughter, especially the local chief. After a long look at the baby, he looked at me, ‘Please, sir, do you love your wife?’ I smiled and nodded by head. ‘Do you love your baby?’ was his next question. His face looked anxious and worried.
‘I dearly love my wife and baby. Why do you ask?’ I said.
He called me aside. ‘Two nights ago a mad leopard attacked a woman and injured her. Last night the same animal attacked a boy and killed him. You are travelling on the same leopard’s path. Don’t take risks, please go back home with your wife and baby, then travel on your motor cycle alone.’
When he had finished, I reminded him we were people of faith. Our duty is to go forward, we only go back in an emergency.
‘So be it. You will have my body guard and I will go with you also.’
Later, I asked my senior supervisor as to the whereabouts of William, the gun boy.
‘When he heard about the mad leopard and the danger, he hurried forward, sir,’ he said.
After breakfast we set out, my wife in a bush car with Margaret sitting on her knee. I walked. We were flanked by fine looking, tall, lovable men carrying spears. As usual, they sang songs about the pretty Mamma and the pretty ‘Mwana’ (child).
Some miles on we halted near the home of one of my foremen students. He invited us to visit his home and ‘estate’. His wife made tea, so we had a snack meal. Yoram (the student) asked me to look over his house. It was neat and his ‘estate’ was an acre garden surrounded by strong fencing. His crops and shrubs and fruit trees were very good, also his cedar trees. I was very proud. I had taught him and I could not find fault in any way, everything was perfect.
We made a detour to meet an ailing headman, which put two miles on our journey. At one point we heard drums beating and people rejoicing. I asked Ellen (Margaret’s nurse), ‘Why are the people rejoicing?’
‘It’s the leopard, sir — the man-eating one. William your gun boy has killed it.’
She was out of breath. ‘It’s a big one: one hundred inches from nose to tip of tail. A real beauty.’
This was bush telegraph at its best — everything told in detail. I asked the chief to come and tell me the story. His face was full of smiles.
‘William, your gun boy, is brave. He hurried before you on the path. He bought a goat, killed it, dragged it bleeding, zigzag across the place where the woman was attacked and child killed. Then he lay on the ground waiting. The leopard came out of the bush, found the blood scent, followed it until it came to the goat. William fired, it bounded and fell dead at his feet.’ After a deep breath the chief continued, ‘Your friend Yoram did not want you to pass the place where the leopard died. He took you on a roundabout way to the main path.’ The chief clasped my hands. ‘Our reward is to see your baby and your wife safe, both smiling and happy.’
My travels took me into some strange places. I loved going off the beaten track into unexplored places, places that had a bad name or at some time had a curse put upon them by a witch doctor. To such a place that was a blank on the mission map. I asked my men to take me. As some carriers murmured, I left them to make up their minds, saying I would be back within an hour when I expected a dozen men ready to accompany me. I got my men, but one man asked a question.
‘If some unknown sorcerer casts a spell, which one of us will suffer?’
I replied, ‘Let the curse or spell fall on me. I will deal with it.
There were handshakes and smiles all round. All moved off contented and happy.
After two days travelling, walking about fifty miles, we moved from the recognized path into dense jungle. It was proper bush lands, men in front had to cut down tangles of convolvulus, some of it as thick as an arm. There were times when the sun was shaded by masses of thick foliage. Monkeys, baboons, warthogs, antelope, snakes and millions of insects seemed everywhere — all alerted by our invasion. Progress was slow for a few miles until we came to a place with thousands of giant cacti and twenty-foot-high ant hills.
Beside an anthill stood a tall man, dressed in bark cloth skirt. In one hand a long spear, in the other an oval skin shield. Over his right shoulder a bow and round his waist arrows. He was motionless. My men halted, not a word was spoken. I walked alone towards the man, spoke words of greeting and offered the
man my hand. He grasped it in African fashion, a huge grin spread over his face.
‘Welcome,’ he said twice, then handed me his spear. I took it and handed it back.
At that, my men rushed forward and warmly greeted the stranger. Snuff was handed round and every face had a smile. One of my students said, ‘There is no curse, no spell. Let us follow the stranger who calls himself “Nkongono”.’
I followed Nkongono for one mile or more until we came to a stockade inside of which were a few huts, hen coops and a clearing of some twenty square yards. Nkongono stopped at the clearing, two men came from the huts. I greeted them, so too my men.
One man spoke. ‘Nkongono is our headman, he is brave, speared two lions, slain buffalos single handed; by profession a blacksmith, maker of spears, axes, hoes and shields.’
Nkongono then spoke, ‘My father is old, he is a CHRISTIAN.’
I was led to the very old man. He had a strong face, clear eyes. We spoke for a few minutes. I offered a short prayer, then gave the old man one shilling. He kissed the coin and turning to another African said, ‘Take it. Buy a Bible for one who can read it tome.’
Before parting, he told me there was an old woman who was his age some distance away.
Led by Nkongono, we turned back, moved towards the hills, crossed a stream, scrambled through very dense bush and sure enough, on the fringe of the jungle was a small round hut, quite unprotected, inside of which I saw a small frail white haired lady lying on a mat. She had many sores, her eyes were deep set in her head, her lips were cracked. Her clothing consisted of a string of large pebble beads around her body. Her companion was a young woman. From my ‘Red Cross’ box I gave ointment, dusting powder, bandages, safety pins and aspirins to the young woman who was a great granddaughter. One of my men boiled some water. I made tea in my pint jug, added sugar and some condensed milk. The dear old lady sipped up the tea, possibly the first sweet tea she had ever tasted. I handed over some tea, sugar cubes and small tins of condensed milk to the great granddaughter, also some money. As there were only dry beans and a little millet in the hut, I promised to provide dried meat, maize flour and other items the following day. I offered a prayer in the hut. By this time other African women had arrived, kneeling outside. Another man took up the prayer when I had finished. He said, ‘Lord, hear our prayer for our dear sister, a faithful Christian since missionaries came to our land.’ I was glad I met the old lady about to die.
Her son, who had arrived leaning on the arm of another African, told me his father was once a collector of slaves for Arab traders. Each pebble around his mother’s body represented many slaves his father had sold many many moons ago before missionaries came. He asked me if I would like the pebbles. I said I would.
About a month later the old lady died. The son kept his word. I got the pebbles, but I gave the son 5/-. My wife had to disinfect the ‘chuckie’ pebbles, boiled them in soda and they are to us a reminder of a grand old African woman and the evil slavery days of long ago.
Nearly one hundred samples of soil were taken in the bush lands we explored. Two students in talks with local Africans took note of the variety of trees and listed a number of wild animals.
Before I left, the tall handsome Nkongono asked me if I would like to meet the witch doctor. I was led, with one half-frightened student, by Nkongono to a hideout in the dense jungle near to an outcrop of rugged rocks. The sorcerer was small and ugly — his hut and surrounds were clean. Everywhere were pots — large and small — and willow baskets hung from trees. In one basket I noted the cast-off skins of snakes. In another an assortment of warthog, hyena and animal teeth. The sorcerer backed as I approached with outstretched hand. My two Africans were about to close in when I said, ‘Stay where you are. I need this man as he needs me.’
The ugly little man, whose name was Marundi, spoke. ‘Let me wash my hands.’
I replied, ‘Oh, no. We’ll wash our hands in the same pot.’
This was done, then we clasped hands and greeted one another. My student brought salt. I put a pinch of salt in Marundi’s hand. I took a little, we both tasted the grains. All disquiet disappeared. We had a long talk, the outcome being we found nearby other huts with naked men, blind, deaf, dumb, crippled, insane, disfigured and diseased.
‘I claim all these people,’ I said firmly to Marundi. ‘Bring food and water at once for them and I will pay you one shilling.’
There was no panic, my demand was met, the outcasts enjoyed the cold maize porridge and water. The sorcerer got his shilling.
My last request was, ‘Lead all your hostages, everyone to Livingstonia, dress them in bark skirts. If you fail to do so, I will report you to the District Magistrate for evading tax.’
My bush exploring mission was over. Many barriers were broken down, many people made happy. As agreed, the witchdoctor brought his band of outcasts. I found them homes and work. Nkongono and Marundi became my workers. When soil tests came back from the Ministry of Agriculture in Zomba, all results were favourable.
In co-operation with two chiefs and two headmen, a squad of one hundred men cleared the jungle of bush, saplings were uprooted, ground hoed and planted, huts were built near the cacti. In all, twenty acres cleared, sixteen huts built, an irrigation system laid down, a stockade for cattle, sheep and goats erected in the first year.
By the third year, eighty acres were under cultivation. One chief had a new village established, soil from the ant heaps made secure wattle and daub houses. What was once a dreaded, discredited and mysterious jungle, became a lively happy area. Nkongono returned to his trade as a blacksmith, this time as a well-paid servant of mine, making iron goods. Marundi worked for me on roads and bridges, all the outcasts found light work, ample food and shelter and to crown it all, my outlays were repaid in a variety of cereals, nuts, pumpkins and mats, and all additional food and comforts for the boarded students and apprentices. Such is the strange errands and satisfying results that come from quiet evangelism.
Travelling either in groups, by motor cycle or on foot with a companion had its perils and upsets, often in strange ways. The Rev Frank Ashcroft, Secretary of the Foreign Mission Committee, Edinburgh, visited the various mission stations in Central Africa. I was requested to go to the Rukuru river to meet the Secretary and escort him to Livingstonia. The river was two days’ travelling distance away. Mr Alexander Burnett from Blantyre mission was also in Mr Ashcroft’s party, his duty being to take a 16 mm film, the first of its kind, of the various Livingstonia mission stations.
After I had welcomed the visitors we sat around at a table lent to me by a neighbouring chief, under a huge tree. My cook had prepared a meal of antelope steaks, sweet potatoes, fresh maize and a fruit salad of eight fresh fruits, followed by coffee, biscuits and cheese. The meal over, Mr Burnett set up his tripod cameras to film Mr Ashcroft and me at the table. No sooner had Mr Burnett said, ‘Now,’ than a large green snake wriggled over the Secretary’s boots. What a commotion! He jumped up, rushed in the direction of the camera, knocked it over and ruined the film. The snake was very much afraid, tried to escape, but I stamped on its head with the heel of my boot, so ended the careering snake. It was about two feet long, beautifully marked and according to one of my senior students, quite harmless. The excitement was over in less than a minute, only to restart when a hawk swooped down between us and in a split second carried off the dead snake. It was amusing to see Mr Ashcroft’s face. He was really afraid.
‘Get us back to the main road, Caseby. This place is most unhealthy,’ he commanded.
On my way to the river I requested a number of people to round up zebra or other game and report to me in the late afternoon when I would return with my guests. In the language of the Africans, ‘They were moving too fast with their bodies, their hearts were trailing behind.’
At a prearranged point we halted to rest. At that point a dozen animals thundered across the path, about twenty yards from us. Mr Ashcroft was white with fear, but he was also glad to see wild animals in the bush land. Some miles on, a snorting warthog crossed our path in a clearing, a unique sight, as warthogs usually come out at night.
We reached our rest house in the late afternoon. I had arranged with local chiefs and headmen to come with their people to meet ‘The big Chief from Scotland’. Between two and three hundred Africans turned up.
At a central spot Mr Burnett set up his camera. Again I arranged my herdsmen to drive cattle, sheep and goats near to the camera and among the Africans. Mr Ashcroft was delighted and the film was a great success.
After we had washed and changed our clothing we sat down to dinner, after which we moved outside around a huge log fire and watched a team of Africans dance. It was an excellent sight with colourful dancers, men in war paint, shields and spears, women in ritual costumes, folk singers and children singing songs. The final item was a warrior dancing around and at times through the bonfire. All the dancers and singers received gifts and a meal.
I had been on my feet, walking, talking, arranging programmes for eighteen hours. My last instructions were to my carriers, to be ready to move off next morning at five o’clock.
Poor Mr Ashcroft; he just could not understand why he had to get up at four o’clock. He had difficulty in finding his clothes with the aid of a hurricane lamp. He got tangled up in his mosquito net, then a lizard was in his boot. He shouted, ‘A snake, Caseby,’ as he hopped around in one boot.
We had to abandon the thought of breakfast, as Mr Secretary saw ants running across the table. We had some fruit, then at five o’clock sharp we set out once again. Baboons and lesser monkeys chattered and scurried from tree to tree, to the delight of a now wide awake Mr Ashcroft. Scores of pretty and not so pretty birds fluttered overhead. A common sight to early morning travellers. When I was not near my guest I had interpreters with him to explain exactly what was going on.
Earlier, when we were having a meal, William, my gun boy, informed me that lions and leopards were in the area, so I told him to keep close to me and to arrange one or two spearmen to be around the Secretary’s bush car.
We were not far on our way when a leopard was spotted on a hillock, near which were a dozen carriers that William, the gun boy and I had to pass. As previously arranged, I had rerouted Mr Ashcroft and Mr Burnett, escorted by a crowd of singing and chanting Africans from a close-at-hand village. Without any warning the leopard bounded between the carriers. I took the gun and as the brute made a left turn to head back to the hillock I fired only one round which hit the frenzied creature in the hip. It rolled over and over. William took the gun, with two extra cartridges, stalked the leopard and shot it dead at close range. When the animal was first sighted William could not shoot, as the carriers were crouching, so I had to try my luck. It was the only time I used a gun in Africa. It was discovered my shot had shattered the leopard’s hip joint.
About ten minutes later, when we joined Mr Ashcroft and Mr Burnett, they were unaware of what had happened, but all the Africans knew. After the first shout, ‘Leopard’, they sang loud and clapped their hands.
As it was nearing midday and very hot, I ordered a halt at the Rumpi river, a well-known and well-shaded stopping place. My cook had a delicious fruit salad ready, which we all enjoyed. We also gave oranges and lemons to the carriers. In all my travels I always saw to the carriers’ needs.
Mr Burnett unpacked all the camera equipment, setting up his camera on the flimsy bridge, against my suggestion. He wanted Mr Ashcroft and all the Africans to file past, as he wanted long range and close up pictures. We followed instructions — I was in front with William, the gun boy, a bedecked chief, Mr Ashcroft in his bush car, with sturdy spearmen on either side. To me it was farcical, so unreal on a clearance area and by a swift flowing river. The cameraman kept turning the wheel, very excited that at last he was getting a picture worthy of a great occasion: ‘The Big White Chief from 121 George Street, Edinburgh, risking his life in Darkest Africa.’
It was too good to be true, something happened. The camera on the tripod lifted and in a flash Mr Burnett and his camera were in the cool waters of the Rumpi river. Willing hands soon had Mr Burnett out of the water and the tripod and camera salvaged, but the damage was done, the film was ruined.
As Mr Burnett changed his clothing and looked cold, we sat under a shade and drank tea. We were about to move on our last lap to Livingstonia when he heard the sound of a motor cycle. It was Mr Tom Gordon with his B.S.A. motor cycle and sidecar. He soon reached us and amid loud cheering Mr Ashcroft got into the sidecar. Mr Gordon was a first class driver, but the mountain roads were just dirt tracks, so the Secretary had the roughest ride of his life.
Later in the year Mr Ashcroft wrote to me saying, ‘I hope I am never called upon to go through another two days like the one from Rukuru to the Rumpi river. They were more frightening than exciting.’
In my reply I said, ‘No man was ever so well protected as you were. All white people, missionaries, planters and government officials faced greater hazards every day. It was just part of a day’s work.’
Mr Burnett did get his precious camera cleaned and on the following day, on a bush path near the Overtoun Institution, he filmed me with a crowd of my workers, with hoes, axes and spears and this was how the scene opened in the completed files of Livingstonia. All the exciting early shots were ruined.
Mr Frank Ashcroft spent a few days at the station viewing every aspect of the work, admiring the fine buildings, the extensive variety of projects over a vast area and perhaps greatest of all, delighted to see the industrious Africans and their zeal for education and at all levels embracing Christianity and finding enduring peace.
In tropical countries there are hazards from many creatures that do not exist in Scotland. One gets accustomed to them and at all times avoids risks, when possible.
Dr Robert Laws once told me, ‘Wild animals can find plenty to eat, without attacking human beings. Only old, frail and shortsighted animals attack anyone and anything to keep alive.’
Dr Laws was an authority on wildlife in Africa. His word was sound, after all, he had lived and travelled in Central Africa for nearly fifty years before I met him. He was a crack shot, with a record of most animals from an elephant to an antelope.
Leopards were numerous in and around Livingstonia plateau. They hid in dense bushes and up in trees. Lions made excursions about the mission station. Their temperament was quite different from the unpredictable leopard. A lion only attacked when cornered. In all my travels in Central Africa I did not see one lion, although, on one occasion, I passed through a pride of lions playing in the scrub land, seen by Africans, but not by me.
One evening my wife and I were returning from a nearby cottage and I carried a lamp and a spear. Our beautiful mastiff dog Boyd moved cautiously in front of us, his ears cocked. All at once he lay flat on the ground at our feet. He whined. We stopped. A few hundred yards before us was a crouching leopard, his eyes shining in the lamp light. My wife took the lamp. I lifted Boyd and hitched him on my shoulders, then holding the spear in my right hand we walked forward at our usual pace. The leopard did not move as we passed him without looking back. One hundred yards up the path the inert body of the dog wriggled, a sign his fear was over. He dropped to the ground and bounded home. He licked my hand as we met him on the veranda steps.
Another evening my wife and a visitor were walking up the same path. A short distance behind I walked with the husband of our visitor. All at once we saw a leopard walk a couple of feet behind the ladies. We all kept on walking and talking — the brute slipped into the bush. Had anyone panicked we would have been mauled.
A third incident comes to mind. Our toilets were twenty yards from the house — a fourteen feet deep hole, covered by a boxed seat. The building was of close-knit reeds, muddied on the outside. The roof was thatched. One evening I was in the toilet when I heard a leopard. I lit the hurricane lamp to the full, moved outside — perhaps too cautiously — for I tripped on a stone and in a second I was sprawling on the ground in darkness, the lamp snuffed out with the sudden fall. Up I jumped, only to fall again, my trousers fell down and tripped me. I was up again and soon up the back door steps to get another surprise. The leopard had rushed up the back door steps, through the lobby and seeing a fire in the sitting room from the open door, dashed out the front entrance and down the veranda steps. In its mad rush it left the lobby mat in a crumpled heap. Yet my wife was in the sitting room unaware that a leopard had sniffed near her. She heard the noise but thought it was the dog playing with the cat. The dog and cat were both sound asleep in a small room off the kitchen.
In all three cases, William, the gun boy, was called in. He set traps and waited patiently and was successful in killing the three leopards. In each case the skins were cured and sent home to Scotland. One is on the floor of our sitting room.
Walking one day with a group of Africans, the leader, a chief, stopped suddenly. He spoke one word and in a flash I found myself surrounded by men. Baboons were making a frightful chattering noise up in the trees. Knowing the customs, I did not ask why we had stopped. Then there was a rustling noise and a few low barks. A pack of wild dogs, led by a dark one, were on the prowl. Lions, leopards, hyenas, even buffaloes, dreaded the packs of wild dogs. All animals fled before them. Only with a signal from the leader would they close in for a kill. It was an interesting sight, at the same time, a savage sight as the dogs, about twenty, rushed past us at a swift pace, all creatures with fiercesome bared teeth.
Baboons always fascinated me, though on one occasion I had a scare. A couple of South Africans, travelling on foot on their way to the Lupa gold field in Tanganyika (now Tanzania), took pot shots with their rifles or pistols at all sorts of wild animals. The day in question they fired at and wounded a mother baboon and her baby.
I happened to be at the lake shore near Chitimba when the men arrived. They boasted of the event — two creatures with one shot. I told them in plain language what I thought of their foolish act on non-aggressive creatures.
One man proved the bigger fool. His retort was, ‘When you are bored stiff with life a laugh is a good thing.
The following day I was returning to the Institution on my two-stroke motor cycle. On the mountain road there were eleven hair-pin bends. At one I was aware of stones, big and small, coming at me and about a score of dog-snouted baboons, leaping from tree to tree, screaming and hooting at me. I stopped my cycle and the animals retreated. After a rest I started up the motor cycle, back came the baboons, more rolling stones and incessant chatter. How I was not hurt remains a mystery, for the bombardment was non stop. I had only one option, to push the cycle uphill until I was out of range of my attackers. I pushed the cycle for an hour, then gave up. I propped it up against a tree. I wrote a note and attached it to the handle-bars. The note read:
‘Bwana Mwakuyu’s cycle. Please carry it, fixed on a bamboo pole; carriers will be rewarded.’
I walked the remaining six miles home. I was having a bath when the cook shouted, ‘Bwana, your cycle is here, all safe.’
When I was dressed I saw four of my smiling workers. Each was rewarded with one shilling, some salt and a cake of soap. I never used my two-stroke cycle on the lake road again, for baboons have long memories. The noise of the two-stroke engine was like rifle shots to the monkey clan.
Earlier, I said I had never seen a lion in Africa. So too, an elephant. A planter on the lake shore pointed one out to me through his telescope. By the time I looked the animal had moved on. At the time I was on my way to Karonga to ‘put in’ my banns for marriage at the District Magistrate. For the journey I had the same two-stroke Triumph motor cycle, but this trip was more than a year previous to the ‘Baboon Bombardment’.
I was having a salad of fresh fruit at the planter’s house when he told me that a neighbouring planter had an adventure with his large motor cycle. Two or three Europeans on a poaching trek used sub-machine guns and 0.303 cartridges to shoot elephants. The small bullets did not kill, but they injured and in one case blinded an elephant. This cruel practice continued for a few days, then, with two elephants dead, the poachers made off with the ivory across the border.
Mr Maxwell, the planter in question, was motor cycling when he heard a thundering noise behind him. It was a charging bull elephant. Maxwell jumped off his cycle and hid behind a huge tree. The elephant tossed the cycle in the air several times, trampled on it and in a final act of fury, threw it up a tree. The planter had to zig zag from tree to tree for four miles to a neighbour’s plantation. This was the story I was told as I ate my fruit salad and I had to pass through the same country for nearly forty miles.
All went well with me until I came to a track of swampy land. All at once I shivered, for before me on the soft ground were the unmistakable foot prints of an elephant and they were fresh, like the dung beside them. I took no chances. I pushed the cycle for some distance and then noting the road was fairly open I got the engine going and moved fast.
When I met the Magistrate (Money, by name), his first question was, ‘Did you spot any elephant spoor?’
I slept uneasy that night and early next morning I was on my return journey home. Fortunately I met many Africans on the road. All assured me, ‘The wild animals are asleep. They only hunt from dusk to dawn.’ I was happy to be home one hour before dusk.
An incident that happened in 1928 is worth recalling. Baby Margaret was out in the pram with Ellen, her nursemaid. The white children spent most days on the main avenue. African women are very devoted to their children and all loved the children of missionaries.
One warm day, near to a plot of pineapples, the children and nurses were having a fine conversation when one nurse noted a few extra black men crawling towards the avenue. They turned out to be men from the north. They travelled by the mountain route and none had ever seen a white person. No wonder they were crawling at the sight of white children. Some of the children cried, but Margaret spotted the strangers and said, ‘Hello, friend,’ in their local vernacular. ‘Don’t be afraid!’
She put her little hand out to one. All the men rose and crowded around the pram. They clapped their hands and bowed in respect. Margaret kept talking to them. Ellen pointed out Margaret’s pretty curls, her dress, dainty socks and shoes and the toys in the pram. The northern men were at the station to sell rush mats, beautifully patterned, in many colours, colours from vegetable dyes.
Later that day, my friend, the African Minister, The Rev Edward Boti Manda, called at my office. Edward was always welcome, for he had a passionate interest in my workers and was a great help in saving many native customs. This day he was to tell me about the Konde strangers from the far north. The men were outside, so they all trooped into my office. As I did not understand their language, Edward acted as interpreter.
‘Long ago,’ the leader said, ‘our land was ruled by brave men. Women were never listened to, as they could not keep a secret and they talked too much. One woman, however, was different. She was pretty, quiet spoken, very friendly and wise. She died long ago. From today we have seen her likeness in a child called Margaret. From today on she is not Margaret to us, but Nyamzinda, which means the smiling attractive one, so kindly and a friend.’
So from that day our daughter became known as Zinda to all Africans and Europeans. I gave gifts to the visitors from the north, took them down to the veranda of our house where Zinda handed to them oranges, lemons and peaches.
As Edward said to me, ‘What about that as a success story for your diary. I know you write everything down in a book.’
With ample supplies of food in the barns and the work of my department well organized, the Principal advised me to have a holiday.
‘Knowing you,’ he said, ‘you’ll most likely call it a working holiday, as you have so many interests.’
My wife and I fixed on Vintu Kutu, the delightful plantation home of Mr and Mrs A.G. Mackenzie. The Mackenzies were delighted for they had over 1,000 acres and they were anxious to have my advice about extending their ground to grow more cereals, also tobacco, cotton, sisal and vegetables. The mission also had an option for nearly twenty years on 2,500 acres. So far I had developed only 200 acres for rice, lucern fodder crop, melons and pumpkins. Over 1,000 acres was given to an industrious chief on condition he sold half his crop to me and observed instructions of my trained supervisors.
Very early one morning, four a.m., we set out on our journey. Zinda was asleep in her covered cot, carried by two men. My wife was in a one-wheeled bush car. I was in another — with medical orders to walk as little as possible and rest during the heat of the day.
The sun was rising when we reached Chitimba on the lake shore. We had a light breakfast of fruit. Zinda, now awake, was dressed and sitting up in her cot and at times on her Mum’s knee or mine. We took an inland road, a slight breeze was blowing, although it was a hundred degrees in the shade. We made brief stops to inspect cocoa and citrus tress, experimental plots for ground nuts and river bank areas for catch crops, mostly vegetables. On the beaten track we met many Africans on their way to Livingstonia, carrying grain for my barns; others with rush and string mats; baskets; clay pots and carved woodwork. We did not see any wild bush animals, but we heard many of the monkey clan chattering in the jungle trees. We saw lots of birds, from the tiny humming birds to the ghost-like vultures, to eagles. At one dense bush we had to go through there were thousands of nests high above the rushes and impressive spider webs. One huge web, about one foot in diameter, had many insects, hornets, dragonflies, grass hoppers and large bluebottles.
The Mackenzies gave us a fine welcome. Baths were prepared and in the space of one hour we were in light clothing and sitting down at a lovely meal.
Zinda had her nursemaid and a pretty African girl called Masida to see to her meals. As the afternoon grew cooler, Ellen, her nursemaid, took Zinda and Masida for a walk to the large outhouse where African women were sewing dresses and other creations, where fruit was ripening and to buildings where tobacco leaves were maturing and cotton being ginned. Ellen discovered one of the dressmakers was a friend, so they had a joyful time chatting. Zinda and Masida, with their hands full of ground nuts made for the chicken run to feed the fowls. As they moved around the runs, a few cheeky monkeys moved towards them. The children were fascinated and threw nuts on the ground. They were having grand fun as Mr Mackenzie and I came out of a barn. We realized the danger the children were in. We scared the creatures away in time, for one was actually jumping at the girls to tear nuts out of their hands. Monkeys are vicious and their claws can cause great injury. Zinda was very disappointed.
‘You naughty Daddy, we loved the pretty monkeys. They were hungry and need food.’ Poor wee lass, she did not realize the danger.
I enjoyed two free days at the start of the holiday. We moved around the extensive plantation, had two trips to Deep Bay — a grand place with huge rocks, pools of fresh water and a long sandy beach. Zinda was delighted. We all helped to make a sand castle under the watchful eyes of two men from our host’s estate. The men were on the lookout for snakes, scorpions, large spiders, land crabs and crocodiles. Before walking over or around rocky boulders the trusty Africans walked ahead of us. They were told to see that Zinda was never in danger.
We had a picnic hamper filled with lovely eats and a separate basket filled with sandwiches, apples, pears, pawpaws and oranges for the Africans in our party. Ellen was close to Zinda and Masida all the time, the scare with the monkeys made her alert. We had our own dog, Boyd, with us. He splashed in the water. Zinda wanted to do the same, but we had to say no. On the calm waters of the lake lurked dangerous insects, tiny creatures that bored into the skin and brought on fevers. The second day was like the first, relaxing and enjoyable.
An African boatman took us out for a sail. The weather was calm and clear. At one point lines were thrown overboard and it was not long before fish were caught. Zinda was very excited; she wanted to, ‘Take the pretty wriggling fish home to the bath.’
It was good to be back to the cool quietness of the Mackenzies’ home. We soon had baths, dressed and ready for a meal. First Zinda was bedded, story told, prayers said, then she was tucked in with a mosquito net firmly in place. The mosquito net was a new type, hung from a spring hook in the ceiling. The net was tucked under the mattress to keep out crickets, moths, fire flies, flying ants and, of course, mosquitos. The little lass was sound asleep with her ‘Dolly Cat’ and ‘Teddy Bear’ beside her.
We were at the second course of dinner when my wife walked into the bedroom to see if all was well with Zinda. Boyd, our dog, was barking in an outhouse and we thought he would waken the baby. The Mackenzies and I heard another sound. My wife was shouting, ‘Zinda’s missing! She is not in her bed!’ Talk about panic!
Ellen heard the cry too and was in the bedroom with other African servants. We searched the whole house. I was convinced she was not outside as all doors were shut and wire mesh netting on the windows. I had a third look under the baby’s bed and there she was, with her ‘Cat’ and ‘Teddy’, suspended in the mosquito net. She had rolled over in her sleep. What a relief. Anxiety and distress gave way to rejoicing and a prayer of thanksgiving. Zinda kept on sleeping.
In my early days in Africa Dr Laws stressed one word on all his staff: communication, and he used the word to express different things. Communication between Africans and Europeans through speech, neighbourliness and Christian zeal. Between point ‘A’ and point ‘B’, through roads, paths and transport. Between resolving rites and customs, from a white and black point of view. Between people of all colours and God, for the well being of society. On the first day of my working holiday, from Vintu Kutu to parts of mission ground on the lake shore, never surveyed, communication by roadway was in my mind. With local chiefs and a couple of trusty leaders and two of my own senior students, we set out for a place that had dense vegetation, a partially dried up river bed and a village, where the people seldom moved far away. In fact they seldom married into other tribes. One of my students had a note book and each remark from me and answer from the chiefs he wrote down. We noted wild animal life from spoor: lion, leopard, hyena, elephant and many kinds of zebra and an antelope. We did not encounter any wild game, but we saw various kinds of snakes, some six feet long, to pinkie-eyed ones of four inches. We had many small hessian bags into which we put soil. One other feature was noted — a dozen kinds of trees, from monster trees of hardwood to medium-sized soft woods.
Gradually we moved higher and higher until at one point we had a clear view of the ground we had covered. Communication indeed. There was need of a good road to get at the hardwood trees, a suggestion the carpentry department took up later — felling trees, digging pits for men to saw the huge logs into boards for housing. We halted near a pretty but small waterfall. I had a cup of tea and sandwiches. The Africans shared a basket of fruit.
We reached a point a few thousand feet up commanding a clear view of Lake Nyasa, now Malawi. I considered this would be an ideal place for a rest house for Europeans. The area would be easy to clear, good timber, rich soil, clear water and an excellent view and not too far from mission station and European plantations. We were talking about a road, really a cleared pathway some eight feet wide, for motor cycle, bush car, machilla, or to walk on, when one chief looking across the lake, said, ‘Bwana, do you see what I see?’
I saw nothing unusual, but all the others were silent. They saw what the chief saw.
It took me a few minutes to see what looked like smoke from a steamer. The men were motionless, until the chief again spoke, ‘Bwana! Do you hear what I hear?’ I could not hear anything except for crickets.
Another pause. I did see clearly and hear plainly a huge column of a water whirlwind and a strange hissing sound. It came nearer, rose higher, changed direction and with a mighty whoosh crashed like thunder into a hillside a mile away. Mighty trees splintered like matchwood, millions of gallons of water poured down the hillside, crashing everything as it passed. This waterspout is classed as a climatic freak. It only happens, the chief told me, when the water of the lake is calm and the air sultry. It was an awesome sight, yet as the spout moved fast in the sunlight, it appeared as if a million diamonds were shining.
The old chief spoke again. ‘Bwana, many boat loads of fish, big and small, lie yonder.’
One of the men with us cried, ‘First in the direction of the south, the east, then north and finally west, the black cloud of water has fallen. Go with baskets for fish.’
As we stood on the hillock, we heard the babble of many voices, all making for the ‘Manna from heaven’, as they called it. It took us an hour to reach the spot, the devastation was great. Men, women and children were still scouring the area for fish, some that I saw in baskets were ugly and black — fish that lurked deep down at the bottom of the lake.
Each day I made journeys with my men. My students had recruited workers and with axes, hoes and strong hatchets, started on the new communication road.
In time the road was complete, the rest house built, a garden made and later a village was erected and nearly 1,000 acres of holdings mapped out go-ahead Aflicans.
A working holiday indeed but a profitable one and after eight days of generous hospitality from Mackenzies, we returned to Livingstonia, refreshed and happy. There were nearly five hundred entries in the student’s notebook.
To be successful, a missionary must be unwavering in his devotion to the cause of redeeming people from evil habits, to duties of unselfish service. A missionary does not go around preaching from the Bible wherever he goes. His example of concern, uprightness, clean living, genuine neighbourliness and daily contact with all classes and tribes, counts most. Tribes had their own areas in the early days of missions. Very often they fought with great fury, burning and destroying and carrying away hostages or young people to sell as slaves. Each tribe was bound to the chief for he made all decisions in conjunction with headmen and selected old warriors. Witch doctors and sorceresses held sway over disease, deformity and mental derangement. Sometimes their mixtures of herbs, roots and secret mixtures worked. Other times the patient was doomed to die. Complete isolation was imposed upon lepers and all with deformities. The missionary did not interfere with tribal justice, but he went out of his way to seek out the outcasts and bring them to medical centres. In this way the power of the witch doctors declined almost to the point of extinction. Doctors had a good word for some African medicine; some brews from certain tree barks reduced fevers and root powders cured dysentry.
My wife and I were never afraid of disease of any kind. We took precautions but knew it was our duty to help. By concern and practical help, we started leper units: a few huts at various points away from villages. So also with people who had deranged minds. We gave them a place to stay, a simple job to do, daily food and articles of clothing. Outcasts recognized us as friends and true helpers. Polygamy was common in most tribes. Two, three or more wives belonged to one man. The wives worked and cultivated large gardens. There were many children. Parents were very fond of their children. When food was scarce the parents would go hungry to allow as much food as possible for the little ones. Children admired their parents.
The relationship between parents was very loyal. Adultery and illegitimacy was very severely punished, in some cases by banishment or even death. I’ll never forget the deformity one man had for adultery, something that deprived him of contact with other people. His banishment was complete, his deformity repugnant. No one ever spoke to him and he lived like a beast in the bush, eating berries, roots, leaves and wild fruit. I built a hut for the man, gave him the job of string, mat and basket making, provided him with food and clothing and after much pressure had him accepted by a chief as one of his tribe. The man, for many years a wanderer in the wilds as an outcast, found not only forgiveness, but a new life, a sense of purpose and became a Christian. I look back upon my work among outcasts, lepers, the insane, deformed and unwanted, as some of the finest work in my life. To see the deprived redeemed is a great joy.
The Africans were a lively, happy people. Their laughter was infectious. It only required one man to mime or to say something funny to start resounding merriment. They had strange musical instruments. One characteristic was the ability to transmit messages over long distances by drum beating. One form of bush telegraph. They were experts in make-up and in making masks. No ceremony was complete without singing and a wide range of tribal dancing.
One of my duties was to see that the plateau cemetery was kept in good order. Two graves were always open, as the dead had to be buried within twenty-four hours. I have witnessed many strange rites in the cemetery. Tribes had their own ways in carrying out the ceremonies. In most cases the bed rush mat was the shroud. The shroud was tied with slip knots so that on the day of resurrection the dead would have no difficulty in getting out of the grave. Leaves of various kinds, known for cleansing properties and twigs, capable of warding off evil spirits, were placed at the bottom of the grave. After the body was lowered, an axe, spear, hoe, club and comb found a resting place at the head of the corpse and at the foot, little pots of food and a sealed calabash of water.
When a witch doctor was called in, he was well-paid to sprinkle the corpse with chopped leaves, twigs, trinkets and charms. Male relatives of the deceased took turns to fill in the grave. The final operation, the planting of a bark cloth tree. The witch doctor had professional wailers with him, also bier carriers who made a lot of goods and money out of the mourners. Such incidents took place outside the cemetery when many joined in the lamentations. According to tribal custom I have seen strange rites on the dead — bones broken, buried upside down, limbs doubled up, corpses buried in sitting up position, dead buried in scooped out tunnels at the foot of the grave. Age-long customs were carried out under the supervision of tribal chief, headmen and the elderly men of the village.
While on a fact-finding duty to the lake shore, to complete a Government schedule dealing with population density of villages, domestic animals, crops grown and approximate acres under cultivation, I had selected students to help me. Each student knew what he had to do. Like other surveys the men did not flinch in their duties.
It was agreed we should work from the mission boat. The crew men were clever and at all times ready to mix work with recreation. After all, they were fishermen, making their own nets, hooks, lines and rods. With all details complete, we set out in the boat. We had not gone far when I remembered I had forgotten to call on the chief to pay my respects and explain the purpose of my visit. We returned to find the village chief standing on the shore. He looked grim. I thought he was offended, but the usual big grin and hearty laugh put me at ease, but even as I spoke and handed over some gifts, he appeared uneasy. All at once he was stern.
‘We all love you. Please do not go in your boat today. Do not go!’
All my men stood around quiet, so quiet we were aware of the waves breaking on the shore, one hundred yards away. Again, the chief spoke.
‘We are very good friends, let us remain so. The sun is overhead, the waters are calm, but not for long.’
I gave orders for the boat to be pulled on to the sandy beach and at that very moment a naked man bounded towards the chief, pointing his spear to the high hills.
‘Crocodiles come, they come with the storm. Hippos and snake too!’ The man took a deep breath. ‘The river. Beware! Beware!’
Off he dashed to tell others of the coming dreadful event. The chief watched the messenger run.
‘Bwana, the man tells the truth. This event happens about every sixty moons. Vurayatas [rain makers] do not lie.’
The tension grew, rumbles were heard. All eyes faced the high hills. Louder, louder, the noise became, then a cracking, smashing, gurgling rumble. It came from the river. We were at a safe spot, so we saw all that happened. I asked, ‘What do you call it?’
The chief used one word I did not understand, so one of my students said, ‘Bwana, a cloud has burst.’
We saw the towering mass of water, some twenty feet tall, smashing its way down the gorge, a clay-coloured mass, carrying trees, huts, cattle, sheep, goats, fowls and tons of grain and bush. It took ten minutes to reach the mouth of the river, then under the awful pressure, spread out into the calm lake, turning it into a seething turbulent muddy mass, far, far into the lake. Soon there were waves on the waters, angry waves on which no boat, canoe or even steamer would survive.
What a blessing we turned back, for our voyage was planned to go across the river mouth. My survey was delayed by a day.
Early next morning the lake was calm, so we called on the chief. He assured us all was well, the demon clouds satisfied, the like would not happen again for sixty moons.
We sailed quietly through the flotsam. Many canoes were out trying to salvage goods and dead animals — a tricky job with so many crocodiles about. We reached our destination safely, my men carried out all their various tasks and in three days our Government schedules were completed and all boundary boulders around the mission estate repainted after an absence of ten years.
The professional rainmakers told me the storms of high wind, thunder and torrential rain would come in mid-November (1928). They were right to the very day, with cool refreshing rain, the storms came later. The day the rain came the Principal came into my office. The Rev D.R. Mackenzie was a delightful person and he wondered how he could help me. I opened my diary and with his own eyes he read the achievements of 1928. The journeys, the areas cultivated for food in eighty different places and, best of all, one million trees planted. He started to take notes, so I said, ‘I have an exact copy for you. I would like you to come back next week and meet all who have worked so hard: chiefs, headmen, students, overseers, clerks, workers and also to see the lovely handiwork of blind, dumb, deranged and outcasts — all valuable mission agents.’
D.R.M. (affectionate initials of the Principal) was very happy to accept my invitation. Before leaving he looked at the projected work chart on the wall.
‘I see two steamers are due in the next fortnight. To give you more time to rest, I’ll meet one steamer and Rev W. Galbraith will meet the second. You detail the workers and we will do the supervision.’
I was happy to oblige, for meeting a lake steamer was a hard task, with all passengers and goods taken off in small boats and cargo going up or down the lake by the same method.
In all my work I gave credit for all who worked with me — it was team work. Everyone shared in successful adventures. Greater still, every worker heard prayers said and work blessed every morning, except Sunday, which was a day of worship.
November rains left the parched dry ground fit for cultivation. Songs filled the air as hundreds of Africans hoed their gardens and plots and sowed the seeds. I allowed every married man to work on his own garden for the first two weeks in December without loss of pay. This incentive was greatly valued.
The men returned bearing gifts. One elderly gentleman with the rich-sounding name of Kondambiri Sokojere, brought me a pair of white doves as a thanks offering.
‘What must I do with the doves?’ I asked him. A broad smile lit up his face.
‘Bwana, you work very hard. Watch the doves play and sing and good health will come to you.
The doves settled in their little straw house. It was a tonic to watch the pretty birds preen each other, coo and fly around.
Approaching Christmas 1928 I did rest, read and write and watched the doves. Rev D.R. Mackenzie and Rev William Galbraith saw to all the outside work, as their students were back in their villages to cultivate their gardens and spend Christmas and New Year with their families. Other missionary colleagues made day trips to all my selected sites for all kinds of crops and clearance blocks for afforestation. Each brought back good reports. In fact, they exceeded my expectations.
Early January 1929 was an anxious time for my wife. As Mrs Martin (wife of Rev Jack Martin) had died a few months earlier at childbirth, my wife was given extra tablets to ward off fever. On 5th January, 1929, my wife gave birth to twin boys. Two and a half minutes separated their arrival — quick work indeed. They were lovely boys, good and contented.
My wife made a rapid recovery thanks to the attention of Dr Todd and the hospital nurse. I was very happy; so were all our colleagues and the Africans. A few witch doctors and sorceresses thought otherwise.
‘If you care for our customs, you will drag your wife and her babies one hundred steps from your house and leave them there from darkness to light. If not you are a coward.’
They came back next day. I took the two babies to the veranda and said, ‘See, they are lovely. May God Bless and preserve them.’
They all moved away muttering, ‘He is crazy. He cares little for our customs.
The African custom when twins are born was that they were looked upon as evil. The husband was bound by tribal rites to pull his wife into the bush and leave her with her two infants from sunset to dawn. If they survived the cold, insects, wild animals or swooping vultures, the evil was purged. With ceremony, the mother and babies were taken back to the hut and given their names: ‘Goli’, meaning first born and ‘Sinya’, which translates as the one who came late or as the second born.
Later in the evening of 6th January I had a feast for all my workers and friends: cooked meat, maize porridge, rice, beans and two drums of fresh orange juice. As I moved among the Africans squatting on the ground around a bonfire, I saw the witch doctors and the sorceresses each with a basket of food and calabash for orange juice.
After the meal and before departing into the night we sang a well-known sacred song and I offered a prayer and asked God to bless all the African people. An African church elder expressed thanks to God for Mamma Nyanhango, Goli and Sinya.
Quietly I returned to the house. Zinda was asleep, so too Alexander Angus (Goli) and his younger brother, George Grant (Sinya). Dr Todd and the nurse were sitting by my wife’s bed. They were anxious to hear about the feast. I said it was a worthwhile celebration, especially the opportunity I had to pray around the smouldering fire arid thank God for all His many blessings.
My wife looked radiant and delighted with her twin sons. So too Zinda, her lovely eyes lit up in pride as she looked at them. Helen became nursemaid to the twins and Alice took charge of Zinda.
In 1922 there was only one white child at Livingstonia and in 1929 there were twelve European children. It was fine to see the bonny African children meeting and playing with the European ones. The white children picked up the African language very quickly. Nearly every day African children played with Zinda on our veranda. They had little parties, fruit, cakes, sweets and orange juice.
When our twins were one month old they were baptized by the Principal, Rev D.R. Mackenzie, in Livingstonia church. It was a memorable occasion, for a number of African babies were baptized the same morning.
Near the end of February, 1929, the ground was sufficiently soaked for afforestation and the replanting of shrubs and breaking up of herbaceous plants. Fifteen miles from Livingstonia, I had a secluded acre for fruit trees, shrubs and flower plants. A young man who had completed the three year course in agriculture, horticulture and forestry, was in charge. He was a first class workman. To a new design from the carpentry department, he had built a very attractive house and close at hand he had two well-stocked and well-protected gardens. With a colleague, I visited Karamteta and to my pleasant surprise I found everything in first class order. I had taught all my students to write everything down, successes as well as failures. Yohanne handed me his ledger and I read: 190 shrubs, 400 flowering bushes, 100 each blackcurrant, redcurrent, bramble, cape gooseberry and ordinary gooseberry (500 all told); 200 budded roses, 1,000 flowering plants, also a large number of strawberry, raspberry and sweet pea plants.
With my colleague, Rev T. Cullen Young, we surveyed Yohanne’s work. It was equal to a trained gardener in Scotland. The rows were straight, shading first class, reed fencing neat and a well-designed irrigation supply drawn from a stream five hundred yards away, sufficient for all requirements. He also had five separate sections with a wide variety of crops, so as to work in a five year rotation. I was so pleased that I asked the Principal of Livingstonia to visit Karamteta and see at first hand the work of one fully trained African’s skill in agriculture. The Principal was so pleased he wired the Director of Agriculture for Nyasaland (Malawi), who was at the north end of the lake on a visit, to come and visit ‘The Botanical Gardens of Yohanne’. The Director was so delighted he said he would like to have Yohanne on his staff at Zomba. The lad would not go, although he was offered £4 per month: he only had 24/— each month from me. At four distant places, 10 miles apart, were students who had also completed my three year course. They all had well-developed holdings, a splendid range of plants, but not up to Yohanne’s standard.
I saw very little of my family during February and March 1929. I did not disbelieve my senior staff and students and their accomplishments, I just had to see every phase of the work with my own eyes and satisfy myself that my reports to the Principal were correct.
In the busy planting period I had 400 workers. For two days I had 150 men planting shrubs, roses and flower plants around the Principal’s house and the area around the post office and clock tower and along the main avenue.
When all the work was over, I had 5,000 surplus plants, so I gave them free to some responsible workers — about fifty of them. I also gave them a long weekend — Thursday night to Tuesday morning, to go to their homes and plant them.
In writing up my report to the end of March 1929 I came to the conclusion three things in particular stood in my favour:
I trusted the Africans and they trusted me. I never asked anyone to do something I could not do myself. ‘At every level I knew each worker and all about their families,’ was what I told a charming Government official, who was looking over my charts and maps in my office.
‘I am trained to work and worship. It stood me in good stead in the hours of trial in World War One. I am here as a missionary to spend and be spent in the Service of God, for the well-being of Africans.’
He smiled. ‘We do not see Africa in the same light.’
We remained good friends. Dr Laws’ words often came back to me — ‘Mr Caseby, never show anger. Preserve a quiet unruffled dignity and you will be respected and loved. At the same time be just and firm.’
In 1922 I recruited twenty fine-looking men, only one was a member of the church. In March 1929 the other nineteen became church members, loyal Christians, each taking part in morning worship at six a.m., before many non-Christians. They too in turn saw the Light and Love of God.
About the end of April 1929 afforestation was more or less completed, so a massive clearance operation was started for tree nursery beds and tree planting in 1930.
Pay day came round and a large queue formed. My clerks had everything ready, so payment did not take too long. I was quick to notice three of my clever key men, trained students, were standing outside. Knowing African customs I called them into my office and asked them. ‘Please let me help you.
As their eyes turned from me to the floor I knew what was in their minds and so I said kindly, ‘So you want to leave your work?’ They shuffled uncomfortably and so I encouraged them to speak with, ‘Please don’t be afraid to speak.’
They told me what was in their minds and my suspicion was right that they wanted to resign, though they had a contract for another year.
A plantation run by Europeans had offered my men houses for their families, cereals for food at half price and six times the pay they had from the mission. The mission just could not afford the wages. Planters were always willing to pay. I appreciated the point of view of the Africans. They had worked hard for me, they were progressive. I gave them first class testimonials.
They said goodbye with tears in their eyes and we parted good friends. The resignations put me in a fix — three key men in important developments many miles apart and I just could not fill the vacancies.
For two days I was in conference with twenty of my progressive men. We came to a solution: six agreed to fill the vacancies, two in each place, one man to supervise agricultural products, the other to concentrate on afforestation. An elderly and capable chief who had worked with me for four years promised to act as supervisor, on condition I toured the distant areas with him and point out all my plans. This I was willing to do.
To do so involved a lot of travelling, motor cycling, walking, being carried through swamps and camping out three nights. Men had to travel during the night to meet me at appointed places. I got every assistance from villagers in man-handling my cycle through dense bush land and in adverse weather conditions. I completed my task, satisfied that no interruption in planning would take place. In fact, certain areas were strengthened and greater cooperation between chiefs and supervisors was made possible.
On returning, I reported to Principal Rev D.R. Mackenzie, on my exacting and satisfying tour. He was very pleased everything had worked out so well. Then his words were stern.
‘Caseby, you look exhausted. Go home, have a hot bath and good meal and get into bed.’
Four days’ rough travelling, three nights in a tent, soaked to the skin by rain and sweat, too tired to sleep. Yes, it was good to go home to my wife and dear children and to have a bath, clean clothes, a light meal and a soft clean bed.
The Principal said I was exhausted; my wife told me I was exhausted. At three o’clock next morning I knew I was exhausted — my body ached, my ears buzzed. I realized I was in the throes of another malaria attack and a severe one at that.
The doctor was at my side before dawn. I was sponged down, reclothed in clean pyjamas, given some tablets and an injection. Next thing I remember was a sweet little voice chirruping at my bedside, ‘Daddy, you sleepy head, wake up!’ It was Zinda. She had slipped into my room and to my amazement it was four p.m. I had slept nearly ten hours.
I was still exhausted. Every bone seemed to ache, my ears buzzed and I was sweating; all typical symptoms of malaria. Again I was sponged down, given clean pyjamas, a light gruel meal and a double helping of quinine.
The doctor arrived at tea time and took another blood sample. He told me I had a serious attack of malaria. On no account was Ito worry or try to get up out of bed. My wife, with her usual courage, supervised office work and kept all my work going. Missionary colleagues were helpful. My recovery was slow because I had seven recurrent and severe attacks in a fortnight.
One compensation was that I had more time with my children. They were always so prettily dressed. My wife made all their clothes. She had a sewing machine and soon cut out patterns and sewed them up. At the end of May I was allowed up and had walks up to my office to attend to administrative duties. It was good to note that all incoming reports told of steady progress — a magnificent credit to the Africans now in charge.
My medical reports were not too favourable. I had lost a lot of weight, nearly 20 lbs, but once I was on my feet and taking in solid food I began to put on pounds.
Dr John Todd, the mission doctor at Livingstonia who previously attended to my wife at the birth of the twins, had consulted two medical colleagues and it was agreed I should have leave of absence away from the station and rest completely for at least one month.
Dr William Turner was in charge of Loudon Mission, some 125 miles distant. He invited me to come over and lecture to his headmasters and others on agriculture and our other attempts at self-sufficiency. I was delighted to accept. He was also a specialist in tropical medicine. He promised to get me back to health and strength at his lovely mission. Our very good friends, Mr and Mrs A. J. MacKenzie were at Livingstonia on holiday when I was ill. When they heard I was to go to Loudon Mission they at once invited my wife and our young children to their lovely estate. Our arrangements were made accordingly. My motor cycle was overhauled, carriers with petrol were dispatched to places on my route to Loudon Mission. My first night would be spent with Rev C. and Mrs Stuart at the Ekwendeni Mission. The second stop for two hours would be with the magistrate at Mzimoi, for lunch, then on to the mission. I was vexed to see my wife and children go one way by bush car and carry cots to the lake shore while I headed in the opposite direction.
Before leaving, everyone connected with my department in a senior capacity, met me at my Homestead office and pledged full support to carry out my planned schedules. All my missionary colleagues also met me and promised to help my many schemes as arranged.
So I left Livingstonia on my motor cycle for Loudon Mission, knowing full well that my wife and children were in excellent hands and that my department would not flounder in my absence.
The day arrived for my departure to Loudon Mission and at sunrise I sallied forth on my two-stroke motor cycle on the first stage of my 125 mile journey. Most of my clothing and a supply of petrol had been sent off a few days previously. I was dressed in khaki shorts, shirt and red-draped pith helmet. On my cycle carrier was strapped a box of food, over my left shoulder a water bottle and a haversack containing sandwiches, sweets, bottles, booklets, my diary and a tin opener. Strapped lightly on my back was a specially covered quart tin of petrol in case of emergency. Although my journey was through animal-infested jungle country, I carried no weapon.
The first part of the journey was over familiar ground and easy going; up hill, down dale, across streams, around ravines and through dense bush.
At one point I drove unexpectedly into a bush fire. Fortunately I kept my head and raced through the fire track. My face, hands, knees and chest smarted under the heat and to add to the discomfort, the smoke was dense and swirling ash blinding. The ordeal was over in a matter of seconds and when I actually tumbled from my cycle I landed on an eight foot snake. He slithered off, more intent in getting out of reach of the flames than crossing swords with me. A few sips of water refreshed me. It was just another incident to write into my diary. For miles ahead lay blackened soil, so mounting my cycle and humming a tune, I set off on another lap. Time and again the noise of my cycle startled wild game. How graceful they looked. Swift, beautiful creatures making for safety.
As the sun was setting I reached my half-way station, about nine hours after leaving Livingstonia.
Four incidents stand out beyond the race through the bush fire in these nine hours. One concerns a very old man sitting by the roadside. He had taken part in many massacres in the old days, being of the staunch warriors of a chief. He was attracted to the early missionaries, became a follower, a convert and leader of a mission labour force. With advancing age, semi-blindness and inability to walk far, he was lead each day by his friends to his wayside boulder where he gave instruction, advice and prayed with all in need and distress. He was loved by all.
As we talked I shared my sandwiches and sweets with him and on parting his words to me were, ‘Friend, you are young. You will meet trial and pain sometime, so store up faith in God and love for Christ and you will never be sad and overwhelmed. I speak from experience. God upholds all who trust Him.
Those words proved a tower of strength to me within less than twenty-four hours and scores of times since!
The second incident concerns a mother and child. The noise of my cycle could be heard for miles around and people came down the mountains, or up from the valleys, to greet me. The black mother and child sat practically on the path so I had to stop. The child was ill in a state of partial coma.
‘Please, sir, pray for my baby, bless him in prayer and with your hand,’ was the mother’s plea.
Here was a challenge to my belief. I looked at the naked child covered in dozens of sores and so very poorly. I laid my hands on the child, prayed, offered some words of comfort and as I had no medicine wrote a note to the mission doctor, some thirty miles behind me and, after giving the woman some money, told her to hurry to the doctor.
The face of the mother brightened and as she rose, hugging her precious little one, she said, ‘May someone be kind to you as you have been kind to me!’
Episode three is soon told. Near to a streamlet I spotted a bird tangled in a clump of thorns. The surprising thing was how it survived so long from the many other deadly creatures around. Before relieving it I crushed a sandwich and sprinkled it on the path. Thousands of ants swarmed round the crumbs before I got the bird freed. It was a shrike. Soon he was on the ground having a jolly meal of bread and ants. To my surprise he was quite tame and as I made off he followed for some distance, chirruping merrily.
When I reached a fairly wide and fast running river there was only a narrow bamboo bridge, some sixty feet long and about twenty feet above the noisy swirling water. The carrier I had sent off in advance with petrol was waiting for me, a wise smile across his face. He could read my anxious thoughts, for he said, ‘The bridge looks unsafe but it is really very safe. Let me lift the front wheel, you take the back wheel and we’ll go slowly across!’
It was some crossing. The slim bridge swung from side to side like a hammock, but as I looked at the smiling face and listened to the reassuring words of my dark-skinned friend, I was hopeful. I was thankful to reach the other side where my good and trusty carrier remarked, ‘Were you afraid of the bridge, sir?’
When I replied, ‘Yes,’ he answered with the advice,
‘When I feel afraid, I just ask God to help me. Don’t you do that?’
I was humbled; here was a man only a few years under the sway of the Gospel giving me an example of absolute trust.
Each of these incidents filled me with a sense of elation as I made the last mile of my journey past cheering crowds of Africans into the beautiful mission station of Ekwendeni. What a welcome too I had from the mission staff, a welcome that has to be experienced, something one finds difficult to describe.
After a hot bath, change of clothing, delicious meal and long chat about things in general, I went to bed about ten o’clock, slept soundly and was up, dressed and ready for the road before six the next morning. The lady of the house had already packed my haversack with lots of eats and tit-bits; also the petrol tin on my cycle had been replenished. As I had developed a slight temperature and headache, my breakfast was a light one of fruit, maize porridge, coffee and buttered toast. My host had overhauled my cycle and according to plan I was on the track once more in the cool of the morning.
For mile after mile I bumped over bleak, inhospitable country without seeing man, beast, reptile or bird. The sun was rising fast, the air became very hot and twice I had to stop to allow the engine to cool. At an appointed spot I met the man who had been sent in advance with petrol. He filled my cycle tank, then we stood under an isolated tree eating a meal. After giving me route instructions he retraced his steps and I pushed on into the bush road.
At times I felt the fever rising on me and buzzing noises in my head seemed to clash with the rhythm of my engine. Once, I slowed down to assess if all was well with the cycle, when I wobbled and crashed into a tree stump and rebounded on an ant heap. Both shin bones were badly grazed and bleeding; my head was reeling and to add to my discomfort my whole body was pouring with sweat and though a merciless sun was beating upon me I was shivering with cold.
I knew there was no help of any kind for miles around, so I moved to the tree stump, sipped some water from my flask, tried to eat an orange but could not, sucked some homemade sweets and was feeling a little more settled when an invasion of ants and flies of all sizes suddenly took a liking to me. I looked at my pocket watch. It was just ten o’clock. I had idled away nearly half an hour since my crash. I felt limp, but the buzzing insects made me move and with an effort I was astride my cycle and in a few seconds leaving my tormentors behind me.
My head cleared a little. I worked out I was about an hour’s distance from the Government Station where a mission doctor was waiting with his car to drive me to my destination. It was a comforting thought.
So far my little cycle had behaved splendidly under difficult circumstances. It was sturdy, but at times I became aware of faulty strokes and belt rattlings and I wondered, was it the machine, or was it my imagination through my increasing headache and shivering.
In this frame of mind I came to two broad paths, one to the right to the Government Station and one to the left to the mountains. I was about to slow up when I saw a rodent rush on to the path and in a flash a huge bird swooped down and caught it in its talons. At that moment something happened. My cycle bucked, there was a violent jerk, my helmet strap broke and I was pitched from my machine and was knocked out on landing.
Later, I came to, befuddled and asking myself, ‘Where am I?’ There were strange and throbbing noises in my head and stinging stabs of pain in the nape of my neck causing ringing sounds in my ears. My fingers moved a little but power seemed to be out of my arms; my body ached and my legs were numb and lifeless. I shouted, but all I heard was an eerie mocking sound of my echo. Again and again I called out to be answered by jarring echoes. With an effort I turned over only to find I was lying on damp grass, my clothes soaking, tongue swollen in my mouth and it was very very dark all around. I know I did not panic although I was quite afraid. Pains seemed to stab at me from all over my body and though my mind was confused, I thought on the words of old Lot Harawa, the crippled semi-blind old man I met by the wayside and his words of comfort —‘God upholds all who trust him.’ I saw again the young black mother with her baby, pleading me to lay my hands on her child and pray and her salutation echoed in my sick head —‘May someone be kind to you, as you have been kind to me!’ There came the vision of Kondamiri Soko at the bamboo bridge and his testimony, ‘When I feel afraid I just ask God to help me.’ Strange as it may appear, I also thought of the tangled bird in the clump of thorns, its sheer delight at being released, the way it had also enjoyed its meal and how it followed me and sang for me along the road for some miles as if in thanks for being saved.
How long I was like this I do not know. With an effort I turned over and raised myself up. I felt ill and pained, depressed, but not so afraid, for I had prayed and weak as I was, I had faith. My water bottle was still over my left shoulder. There was only a little water in it. I took a sip but couldn’t swallow for the pain, so I spat it out. With movement in my arms again I fumbled in my haversack, which was also over my left shoulder. I could find no food, no sweets; my booklet, diary and tin opener were there, also a box of matches. How they got there I will never know, for I did not smoke, but sure enough they were matches.
Feverishly I lit a match. Never was a glow of light so welcome, yet it scared me, for in the flickering light I saw my hands were lacerated and caked with blood. The sudden darkness alarmed me. I pulled out a booklet, ripped out the pages and lit them one by one. The warmth was comforting. From where I was sitting I scraped for grass and twigs and soon had a little fire. I remembered my watch. In the light I saw it was ten o’clock. ‘Oh dear!’ I thought, ‘EIGHT HOURS TO DAYLIGHT!’
From bird and animal calls around me and the extreme cold night air, I knew I was up some mountain. Onto the little fire I put another booklet and it added to my warmth. To keep up the light and ward off animals I added a text book. In desperation I swung on to my knees and crawled around in the flickering light, gathering twigs. I saw a small tree, managed to reach it and pulling myself up broke off branches. It was a painful ordeal but I was determined to keep the fire going.
The times I tumbled are all but forgotten, except for the series of hurts and terrible pains. Once or twice I was stunned by the falls but I managed to keep the fire going somehow. My efforts were not in vain, for by midnight I was surrounded by branches to afford me some protection from animals and I was exhausted by my efforts. I wanted to sleep but sleep did not come, so the next best thing was to rest, relax and try to bear the ordeal as all the bruises, cuts and bumps started to smart. Frequent stabs of severe pain in my head worried me but also served to keep me awake.
The fire which had been smouldering flared up and in the light I saw that my stockings, shorts and jacket were ripped and torn and my legs, body and arms were slashed with cuts and scratches. For the first time I saw the extent of injury. All at once my system felt like a block of ice. Shivers took hold of me and while in this state of extreme helplessness and distress I cried aloud in prayer as I had never prayed before. In this mood I collapsed in sheer exhaustion.
My next conscious thought was a feeling that something was moving through my crude barrier of branches. The fire was far down through inattention, but the red glow was sufficient to pinpoint the crouching bulk of a leopard and its two bright eyes. I had seen such bright eyes before and I could not mistake them. Without thinking I gathered the smouldering embers of the fire in my naked hands and threw them at the eyes. There was a crackle, silence and darkness!
My mind worked quickly. Out came my precious diary. A few pages were pulled out and lit, then more and more pages. The light was wonderful. Scraps of red embers, twigs, anything was added to the glow until I had a fire going. Looking at the time was another surprise, it was twelve thirty a.m. In the excitement of throwing the burning sticks at the ‘glowing eyes, I remembered I heard something fall. Looking around me I found a flat tin of sardines. It must have fallen out of the small pocket on the outside covering of my water bottle. I never found out how it got there. My tin opener came in handy. I could not swallow the fish but found the oil soothing to my swollen tongue and throat. I also rubbed my hands, knees and neck with the oil — it considerably eased the smarting. I even rubbed some oil on my head, but it was of no avail — the pain was so bad at times that it felt like someone driving a knife into it.
The fire was now burning quite bright and the warmth was pleasing. Believing I had improved I made an effort to stand, but all in vain. Each time I got halfway up I crashed to the ground. However, I was determined to stand. I slung my haversack over a broken branch on the little tree nearby and pulled myself up.
This operation was carried out many times until eventually I actually stood and moved my legs. In my joy I bent and gathered an armful of twigs and tossed them on the fire. This I repeated until in the bright light of the bonfire my watch revealed that it was five thirty a.m. As if by magic I looked up and saw that the stars and swirling mist had gone. Far down the mountain side I could hear rooks crowing and somewhere in the distance dogs barking. Then with amazing rapidity the sudden dawning of a new day and the lovely beams of the rising sun. Morning had come — there was hope.
In complete surrender to God I thanked Him for this protection and asked His guidance once more. It was all too evident now that I was up the mountain, far from the Government Station. A score of thoughts coursed through my brain — ‘How did I reach this spot? Where was my cycle? Would my strength be sufficient to reach safety?’
I could now stand up with ease, but walking was the problem. Something was hampering the coordination of brain and legs. With great caution I moved a step at a time through the bush. I staggered and stumbled and fell quite often. Ground mist was now hanging thick on the dense vegetation. I was soon soaked and chilled and my whole flesh was very painful. To make things more distressing my tongue seemed to fill my mouth, my eyes did not focus properly and the nape of my neck and head throbbed incessantly.
I had one consuming passion to get down the mountain and with this resolve I forced myself on. At one point I tripped and tumbled heavily and in my effort to get up I saw what looked like a narrow path. I crawled to it and to my delight I saw the marks of my own boots. Crawling about I realized the prints were indeed mine. My job now was to go cautiously and keep my head. Before rising to my feet I said quietly, ‘Thanks be to God. He leads and I will trust Him!’
It was nearing nine o’clock when I came across my cycle. The petrol tank was empty. The box of tinned food on the carrier was missing. With an effort I pulled the cycle upright, got astride the saddle and ever so quietly free-wheeled down the path.
My journey was short lived. Some thirty yards before me were two animals like lions. For a moment I took my dim vision off the path, the next my cycle struck a stone and I was catapulted into a thorn bush, quite close to two terrified baboons who scampered into the jungle. My cuts and lacerations were considerably increased as a result of my sudden flight. I could not extricate the cycle so I made a cairn often stones on the path, an indication to anyone that something of value was at hand.
The ordeal had upset me for a few minutes, but with hope in my heart I set out staggering and tumbling, laughing and weeping, slumping against shrubs for breath.
At one point I paused to count and concluded that I had covered five miles from dawn until I came across my cycle and by the look of things it would be twenty miles to the Government Station.
The sun was slowly rising in a cloudless sky and by ten thirty a.m. it was about ninety degrees in the shade. At one point I saw a small steam and crawling on my hands and knees through the dense foliage I reached a boulder at the side of which was a small pool. I filled my water bottle and took a drink. The cool water on my tongue and throat was agony. My head throbbed and to add to the torment my nose gushed with blood and as the pool turned crimson I wondered, ‘Was this out-of-the-way pool to be the end?’ I slumped over the boulder, crying, shivering, praying and then suddenly a wonderful peace came over me. With a desperate effort I crawled back to the path and with the aid of two stout branches moved slowly forward, trailing my legs with every step.
It must have been at least 110 degrees in the shade for the heat was overpowering by twelve noon. My movement was halting and slow; my clothes were soaked in sweat, yet at intervals I shivered with cold. Strange noises and voices inside my head encouraged me to go on. Mechanically I trudged on in the stillness of midday, for all creatures rested from the heat, until to my astonishment I heard a galloping thundering sound behind me. Turning around I saw an amazing sight: a herd of angry buffalo bearing down on me. In front was a massive bull, his head lowered. I could not move and yet again I found myself thinking, ‘Is this to be my inglorious end?’ I remember saying, ‘Lord, halt the brute.’ On and on came the maddened bellowing bull. What could I do indeed as my only weapon of defence was a tin opener and it was still in my haversack. Yet somehow I wasn’t afraid. In me was a confident feeling that God had much more use for me in future. I did not flinch. I watched as the herd regrouped and once more, led by the huge bull, they scurried over the hillside.
Again, a feeling of calm came over me. I turned round and still leaning on my sticks, resumed my journey, quite confident I would reach some hamlet or encounter a native.
At about one thirty that afternoon I was thrilled to see two natives coming my way. Within speaking distance they stopped, turned on their tracks and disappeared. No doubt my blood-splattered and tattered clothing, cut and swollen features and drunken appearance scared them off.
Half an hour later another native was on the path, his eyes staring as he enquired in an awesome whisper, ‘Are you Bwana Mwakuyu?’
I could only nod and my words were all mumbled and quite incoherent. He burst into tears, his anxiety so genuine as he wailed, ‘What can I do, sir? What can I do?’
Some years previously he had worked for me at Livingstonia and we liked each other. From somewhere in his folded loin cloth he produced a small notebook and piece of pencil. On one page I wrote, ‘If you follow this boy he will lead you to me’ and signed my name.
I was able to make the boy understand he had to give my note to the first white man he met or take it to the Government Residence, also to inform any other natives about my plight.
At exactly four o’clock I came to the forked roads where I remembered I was thrown from my cycle. It was the place right enough. The skid marks were still to be seen. Nearby was the box of tinned food, the broken straps and the empty petrol tin.
I was actually leaning over my sticks looking at the tin when a car came speeding down the road from the Government station. The native had run twelve miles and handed my message to an official at the residence. Within seconds, strong kind hands were holding me up, a blanket was wrapped around me and with ease and gentleness my pained body was lifted into the car. The older man and another young official soon had me on my way and within an hour I was at the Residency.
An Indian doctor stripped off all my clothing and dressed my wounds. From the crown of my head to the soles of my feet were numerous cuts and bruises. My feet and hands were a frightful mess of raw flesh. Every now and then the beautiful eyes of the Indian doctor looked into mine with the apology, ‘I’m sorry to hurt you. Do you forgive me?’ He did not hurt me, at least if he did I was quite insensitive to the pain.
Later than evening my medical missionary friend arrived. I was thoroughly examined by both doctors. Some injections were given, then I was told of my dangerous condition. I recall saying, ‘God will preserve me. I know he will!’
I was told I slept for fourteen hours and not for one minute of that time was I left without medical attention. Neither white person nor coloured slept that night. All were so upset and distressed at my serious condition.
Two days after my rescue, a party set out to check the somewhat disjointed and incredible story of my night on the mountainside. To the amazement of all they found the place at which I had stayed the night, the pile of wood ashes from the fire, the trees stripped of branches, some unburnt leaves from my diary and booklets, the sardine tin and the outer covering of the match box. Some distance away they came across the bleached bones of a native carrier who had disappeared two weeks previously — the victim of a wild animal. It may have been the same creature who had evil designs on me! The searchers also came across the small cairn of ten stones and, close by, the motor cycle. They saw the stream and the boulder where I had crawled to get water. As one man said, ‘An inaccessible spot where only a desperate man could reach!’ They confirmed the account of the buffalo bull’s mad rush, the skidding hoof marks and the clods of earth thrown up.
They calculated that after falling off my cycle at the forked roads I had cycled, pushed, lifted and actually carried the motor cycle sixteen miles and nearly 2,000 feet up the hillside, over almost impassable country in my fevered actions. They also came to the conclusion I had stumbled another four miles after leaving the motor cycle until I collapsed.
The investigating party described my journey variously as, ‘Incredible!’, ‘Impossible!’ ‘Fantastic!’ and, ‘Beyond belief!’ Yet it was accomplished, but I cannot recall doing it.
There is forever a twelve hour blank in my life, a period in which I managed to perform a most amazing feat of physical, mental and spiritual endurance, accomplished in weakness and malarial exhaustion.
At the Government station I was slowly nursed back to a condition of sitting up, lessening fever and healing wounds. I was treated with the utmost kindness by all white and coloured alike.
The day came for my departure. Willing natives carried me in a hammock, seven hours each day for four days. A doctor escorted me all the way, sleeping in a camp bed near me each night in a tent or rest house. The men who carried me in the hammock were wonderful, considerate, kind and patient. They loved me as much as I loved them.
Kondambiri Soko, with a group of my own workers, met me at the bamboo bridge. They had fixed long streamers of bark string and convolvulus from the swaying bridge to the rocks below, so that my crossing would be steady.
Lot Harawa, the semi-blind and crippled disciple of Christ, was at his wayside place to offer his blessing for my recovery and, strange as it may seem, at the spot where I released the bird tangled in the thorn bush stood the mother with her child. She was returning from hospital where her little one had made a perfect recovery. Such incidents gave me courage and determination to get well.
Back at Livingstonia, in my home with wife and family, I was visited by our own and government doctors. They were all very kind but could do little to relieve the increasing attacks of fever and unconscious bouts. They described my illness as cerebral malaria and sunstroke. From over twelve stone in weight I was reduced to one pound over seven stone.
It took nearly a month before I was fit to travel home to Scotland. A medical missionary accompanied me all the way. The journey was an ordeal. Three days in a small Lake Nyasa steamer, a day’s car ride, one day in a train, a ferry crossing of the Zambezi, six days and nights in a train to Cape Town, sixteen days in a Cunard liner and the Southampton to Scotland trip. With stops I was thirty-two days on the journey, but it was good to be home.
I was seen by specialists in tropical troubles by authorities in various diseases, in nursing homes, hospitals and at home. For a period of years I was desperately ill. Many types of injections, medicine and rest treatment were tried — all with indifferent results.
Doctors said work was out of the question. I must resign myself to poor health, something I would not accept. I told them I believed God was trying and testing me and out of all my pain, suffering, tribulations and distress, health would return and with it happiness and peace. Most of them admired my optimism and courage but held out slender hope of any kind of active work. I knew my faith would triumph and the medical men would be wrong. For I now knew the truth of the words of the semi-blind and crippled Christian gentleman, black Lot Hawara — ‘God upholds all who trust in Him.’
I had been invalided from Africa and further service there would be foolhardy. I was sad, but my boyhood determination to do Christ’s work in Africa had come true.
NOTE
Appendix 2, Part 6, ‘Early poetic inspirations’ shows how some ideas about home, love and work were recorded.
Appendix 3, Part 6, ‘Some examination paper answers by African students’ gives an insight into what was being achieved academically.
Appendix 4, Part 6, ‘Unsorted letters from Dr Laws’ verifies what had to be accomplished and what was being achieved.