Again, when the first hut was to be plastered, arrangements were made with certain women to plaster it for a stated amount. They brought a number of others along to help them plaster; and when pay day came, the total amount of pay demanded was about double the original agreement.
There was such a noisy, unpleasant demonstration that day, that we learned our lesson, and we were very careful so to arrange matters that the difficulty would not occur again.
[Illustration: Matopo Mission--March, 1899.]
Our living at the time was of the simplest. Nearly all kinds of eatables could be procured in Bulawayo; but they were very expensive, and there was no way of bringing them out except by native carriers, or by trusting to the friendly assistance of the white traders at Fort Usher.
Sometimes it fell to the Elder's lot to walk the thirty miles to Bulawayo in order to purchase supplies. There was no need, however, for us to do, like many a missionary in the wilds of Africa has done, deprive ourselves of wheat bread and ordinary groceries. These we always had, but we were more economical in their use than we would have been at home. We had no milk, except tinned milk, no butter, and very little meat, and no gun to procure game. But we had chicken and could occasionally procure meat from the natives. Of course at first there were no vegetables to be had, except such as we could at times procure from the natives--corn, sweet potatoes, pumpkins, and peanuts, but these were scarce.
Elder Engle, alive to the value of the soil and the need of wholesome food, at once secured fruit trees and set them out, including a number of orange trees. He also bought a small plow and with the two donkeys broke land and planted vegetables. One native, who continually stood by us during those early days, was Mapipa, our nearest neighbor. He was a powerfully-built Matabele and reminded one of the giant of Gath; for he had six fingers on each hand and six toes on each foot. He had been quite active in the Rebellion and was wounded in one of the battles. He could always be depended upon in work, and Brother Engle greatly appreciated his assistance.
Perhaps some one who reads these lines may wonder whether building, farming, and such manual labor is missionary work. Did not the Great Missionary, according to all accounts--I say it in all reverence--take an apprenticeship in the carpenter's shop where He "increased in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and man"? Did not the Apostle Paul, undoubtedly the greatest of His followers, unite tent-making with his missionary work? Should then we, such feeble imitations, belittle manual labor, even though it falls to our lot as missionaries? Any one going to the mission field should not, if he is to be successful, decide in his own mind that he is going to do certain things, he should be willing to do whatever the Lord gives him to do, of spiritual, intellectual, or physical labors.
There are so many sides to missionary work, and who can tell which will result in the greatest good? To preach Christ and lift Him up that others may see and accept Him is undoubtedly the central thought of the Great Commission. The ways of exalting Him, however, are so many and so various. Christ must be lived among the people before He can in truth be preached to them. The heathen of Africa cannot read the Bible, but they can and do continually read the lives of those sent among them. If these do not correspond to the Word read and preached among them, they are keen to discern and judge accordingly. If the Christ-life is lived before their eyes, day by day, many will eventually yield their hearts to Him, even though, they may for a time resist.
CHAPTER SIX
Educational and Evangelistic Work
The natives were eager to see inside the new huts. When they had an opportunity to look at the whitewashed walls and the homemade furniture, they stood spellbound, and the first word that broke from their lips was "_Muehle_" (pretty).
They had another and more personal interest in seeing the huts completed. They had been told that, as soon as the goods were moved out of the tent, school would be opened. Both large and small were exceedingly eager to learn, or at least they thought so. They had never seen books, and writing was like magic to them. To put down some characters on paper and from those to spell out their names when they next visited the mission was little less than witchcraft. Both old and young like to be known. They are pleased if their missionary pronounces their name and seems to know them when they come a second time.
School opened October 11. The first boy to come bright and early was Matshuba, together with two of Mapita's girls. This little boy, then about thirteen years old, had been a very interested spectator of all that occurred from the time the mission opened. Day after day he would be on hand, and his bright eyes and active mind took knowledge of everything that was said or done. His father, Mpisa, then dead, had been one of the most trusted witch doctors of the King, and had been held in great respect by all of the natives in that part of the country.
This boy was very eager for school, and the first morning he and Mapita's girls begged us to allow only the Matabele to attend school, and not the Amahole, or subject races. This furnished an excellent opportunity of teaching them that God is no Respecter of persons.
The first morning of school twelve bright-looking boys and girls entered the tent and sat down on the floor, curious to know what school was like. It was a momentous time. It was the beginning of a work the result of which human eye could not foresee. How the teacher, who had often stood before a far larger and more inspiring-looking school in a civilized land, trembled as she stood there before those twelve little savages in the heart of Africa! She knew that those bright eyes were reading her thoughts, and realized that she came so far short of the "measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ." The special burden of the prayer that morning was that, as these dear souls learned to read the Word, the Light might enter their hearts and they yield themselves to God.
The second day eight more were enrolled, and the third day fourteen, and by the end of the month there were forty in all. Sister Heise and I were kept busy during school hours as the pupils were taught to sew as well as to read and write. Cleanliness is a rare virtue with them, so they were told to wash before coming to school. As new ones entered the school the admonition was repeated, with the statement that we wash every morning. Mapita's little daughter, Sibongamanzi, with shining black face, which showed that she had been heeding the command, looked up brightly and said, "Yes, but you are white and we are black." She evidently had thought that, if she washed every morning, she too would become white, but she had concluded it to be a hopeless task. Mr.
Anderson said that some of their children thought that if they ate the food of white people, they too would become white.
This, our first schoolroom, was very primitive. It consisted of a tent 16 x 16 feet. In front there was a box which served as a teachers' desk and as a receptacle for slates, pencils, paper, books, and sewing. Other boxes served for teachers' chairs. There were two easels made of poles; one supported the blackboard and the other the charts. The blackboard consisted of a few small boards nailed together and painted black, and the charts were of cardboard, 18 x 24 inches in size. There were ten of them printed on both sides with syllables, and Tebele words and sentences. These had been printed by homemade stencils and pen, and had occupied our leisure time while we were hut-building. The floor of the tent was covered with straw, and the pupils sat on this without seats or desks. They knew nothing of the comforts of the schoolroom in civilized lands and thought they were well supplied.
Since we had no primer at the time, the Gospel of St. John was given to them as a textbook when they had finished the charts. To enable them to read and understand the Word of God was the aim of the school work and the Bible the Textbook throughout. After they had learned to write the letters of the alphabet, their copy usually was a verse from the Scriptures. They were also taught to memorize certain portions in connection with the daily worship, and hymn singing.
The pupils compare very favorably with white children in their ability to learn, but few of them come regularly to school. To most of them school is just a side issue, some place to go when there is nothing else to be done. Some have an idea that they can learn to read in about a month, and when they find that it requires months of weary, patient effort at meaningless characters, they give up in despair. Others are ridiculed by the older people for throwing away their time at such useless work; "There is no money, no beer, no food in it and they are dunces to go."
Again, some are grown, and being past the age when mental effort is easy, they soon become discouraged. One big fellow stumbled along until he had mastered the chart after a fashion. Then, to his delight, he was given the Gospel of St. John to read. Day after day he struggled along over the, to him, meaningless syllables and words. Still he persevered until it gradually dawned upon him that the printed page meant something. He looked up one day with a most delighted expression on his face and exclaimed, "This book is talking to me!"
The native cannot be said to be very persevering, owing to the fact that all his life, in his untaught state, he goes on the principle that the world owes him a living. His needs are few and often they are supplied by nature. When he comes up against a difficult problem of any sort, his usual answer is, "It will not consent." For this reason arithmetic is always difficult for him and his progress in it is very slow. One day I was endeavoring to show a girl how to make the letter _b_. After a vain effort to make it properly, she exclaimed, "My pencil will not consent to slide that way."
The sewing hour probably was the most interesting time to all. They expected to receive the garments after they had finished sewing them and had worked for the cloth with which they were made. The dearest wish of their hearts was to have a garment to put on. And that is not strange, for in the cool morning air they come shivering, and at noon the hot sun burns their bodies. We might have made the garments and donated them; but that would not teach them to work and would have done them more harm than good. A native always appreciates most that upon which he has bestowed labor or money; so both boys and girls learned to sew. It was rather amusing to see them, in the absence of other garments to which they might pin their sewing, place it between their toes. It was also interesting to watch the different expressions when at last the garments were finished and they could clothe themselves.
Matshuba put on his suit; then, folding his hands, said in a quiet and contented manner, "Now I am not cold any more." Amuzeze, when he had finished his garments, put them on, and taking a good look at himself stepped off as proudly as if he owned a large estate. Sibongamanzi kept her dress for Sunday. At home she would carefully fold it, and putting it in an earthen jar cover it up for safe keeping.
In the meantime services on Sunday had not been neglected. At the opening of the work none of the missionaries could speak the language, but they could read it after a fashion. So, from the very first Sunday after the work opened, endeavors were made to instill into the minds of the natives that one day out of seven was a day of rest and worship. To them all days were alike--workdays, rest days, or carousal days, as they chose to spend them. Sad to say that even the few that went to work for the white man saw little or no difference between the days of the week.
It falls to the lot of the missionary to teach the significance of the fourth commandment as well as the rest of the decalogue. On Sunday the people were invited to assemble under the shade of a friendly tree, and a portion of the Scriptures was read to them and hymns sung. They are great lovers of music, so that in itself was an attraction. The first congregation was very small. Sometimes there would be only Mapita and his family, five or six in number. As the nature of the meetings began to dawn on the native mind, others would assemble with us, but in the first few months, or until the opening of school in October, not more than twenty-five congregated at one time.
Acquiring the language is always a tedious, though important, part of foreign missionary work. The missionary sees the natives about him, day by day, and longs to tell them something of Jesus and His love, but is unable to do so, especially if he be a pioneer in the work and without an interpreter as we were. We had been endeavoring to study the language from the Zulu books on hand, but on coming face to face with the natives it was discovered that the set phrases we had acquired seemed as unintelligible to them as their words were to us. There were several reasons for this. One was that we had not learned the proper pronunciation and accent, and another was that their dialect differed somewhat from the Zulu, which we had been endeavoring to learn. Another, and far weightier reason, and one which, to our sorrow, we did not discover until some time afterwards, was that some natives did not speak the correct language to us. Those who had been accustomed to speaking to the Europeans had invented a jargon of their own, which they seemed to think especially adapted to the mental capacity of white people. This medium of communication is known as "kitchen Kafir."
It consists of a small vocabulary, chiefly of Zulu words, simplified and divested of all inflections--and grammar, it might be said. This dialect, which is especially distasteful to linguists, is invariably used by many natives in addressing white people for the first time. It is the common language of the kitchen and the shops, between master or mistress and their native servants. It has also of later years spread much among the natives themselves where various tribes meet and converse. Its use has become so general over South Africa, and even in parts of South Central Africa, that it has, not inaptly, been termed the "Esperanto of South Africa." Undoubtedly it lacks much of the elegance of the real Esperanto, but is in daily use by more people. Not only is "kitchen Kafir" spoken between whites and blacks and between blacks themselves, but sometimes, when a common language fails, something akin to this is used between even the white people.
Not so many of the natives in the hills had come into contact with Europeans before our coming among them, yet there was sufficient "kitchen Kafir" among them to confuse the newcomers and make it necessary in after years to unlearn many of the things they first acquired.
Learning the language is trying, especially without a teacher, and many blunders and misunderstands occur; but it is not the least useful of missionary experiences. People on first coming into contact with raw heathendom are seldom capable of doing much preaching to them in such a manner that the native can understand and appreciate.
While one is learning the language, he is also learning to know the native himself, his surroundings, and modes of thought. By the time one is able to converse with the native, he also knows better what to say to him. One thing, however, it is always safe to do from the time the missionary enters the field of labor; he may always read the Word, if he has it in the language. The unadorned Word is always safe and suits all conditions of men.
Gradually we learned to speak the language, sentence by sentence. How our hearts burned within us those days to be able to tell the story of Christ and His love! Usually the dull, darkened look on the faces of the few present would cause the speaker to feel that he had not been understood, or that there had been no answering response. Then occasionally a dusky face would light up, as if a ray of light had penetrated a darkened corner, and the speaker would be encouraged to renewed efforts to make the subject plain. Thus, Sunday after Sunday, the effort would be renewed.
It was not only on that day, however, that some of the older ones heard the Word read and an attempt at explanation given. Morning and evening worship was held in the native language, and often a larger number, in those early days, gathered about us on workdays than on Sunday. The door was always open and everyone was invited to enter at time of prayer.
After school opened, and it became better known which day was Sunday, and that the services were held in the tent, the attendance gradually increased.
Our feelings, as written at the time, were somewhat as follows:
We realize more fully every day that much wisdom and grace is needed in dealing with this people. If we did not have such confidence in our Great Leader, we might at times be discouraged, for the enemy of souls is strong here in Africa and human nature is alike the world over. When the truth is driven home to their hearts, they are quite ready to excuse themselves. Thus we find it necessary to get down lower and lower at the feet of Jesus and let Him fill us continually with all the fulness of His love and Spirit, that there may be no lack in us.
In his own eyes the pagan African is always a good, innocent sort of person. He has done no wrong, has committed no sin, hence has no need of forgiveness. One of the first requisites seems to be instilling into his mind a knowledge of God and His attributes. This must be "precept upon precept," "line upon line," "here a little and there a little." Time after time this thought of God must be reiterated until it is burned into the consciousness of the hearers. We are told of one missionary who, for the first two years, took as his text, Sabbath after Sabbath, "God is." And it would seem to be a wise course to pursue. The conception of a Supreme Being Who is holy, omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent, and cannot look upon sin with any degree of allowance, to Whom all must render an account, needs to be indelibly impressed on the native mind. Until they realize that "all have sinned and come short of the glory of God," it seems useless to preach Christ as a Savior to them.
Missionaries soon realize that they cannot sit down and wait for the people to come to them. They must go out into the streets and lanes of their villages and "into the highways and hedges and compel them to come in." Kraal-visiting forms a very important part of the Gospel work.
Sister Heise and myself went among them as much as possible. We went chiefly on foot, and many miles were traveled in all kinds of weather, so that the people might be instructed in the things of God. At first these visits could be little more than a friendly call and the speaking of a few broken sentences. These wild children of nature were quick to respond to the interest that prompted the visits, and would always welcome the visitors. As soon as we were within sight the children would come to meet us and pilot us to their parents. When we left they would again accompany us a little distance, perhaps to the next kraal. Who shall say but that these early journeys, in which little of the Gospel was given, was not as fruitful of results for God as later ones? Back of those black exteriors are human hearts waiting to be touched by the finger of love and human sympathy, ready to imbibe the milk of human kindness. They know something of the natural love of parent to child, and _vice versa_; but they need to realize that there is such a thing as disinterested love in their welfare, and by this means be led to realize in some little measure the _wonderful love of God_. In this, thank God, we had no need to simulate love. A spark of the Divine love for them had entered our hearts before we even set foot on Africa's shores.
It is difficult to understand the expression of a missionary who visited Matopo some time after the work was started, and who in his own field of labor seemed to have been used of the Lord. He said one day: "I cannot say that I love these people. I do not love that child," pointing to a little girl at some distance in front of him, "but I realize that Christ loves them and desires them to be saved, hence my work among them." This seemingly cold sense of duty may answer. If, however, the pagan African once realizes that disinterested love prompts our treatment of him, he is generally most pliable and teachable. Without something of the Divine love work among them must be hard indeed, for there are so many trying things to be met with day by day.
After a time it was discovered that the donkeys might be made use of in kraal visiting. I well remember our first experience at this mode of travel. We had no saddles, so we placed blankets on the backs of the donkeys and fastened them with surcingles of our own manufacture. Sister Heise was an expert rider, while I was quite the reverse. Our first trip was to a kraal about five miles distant, the home of the chief, Hluganisa. Two boys, Matshuba and Sihlaba, accompanied us as guides. All went well on the trip over. We were very kindly received by the people and afforded an opportunity to give them the Gospel. The village was up among the rocks, and as donkeys are expert climbers they had no difficulty in making the ascent, or descent, either, but on the return journey I could not keep my place, and was sent over the donkey's head on to the ground. My companion, when she saw that no harm was done, rather considered the accident as a good joke, and I joined in the laugh at my own expense. The boys failed to see any fun in it, and seemed greatly to resent the laughter.
Some time after this we made another journey of about the same distance in the opposite direction. The reason for this second visit was as follows: Among our pupils was a nice, modest-looking girl about twelve years of age. She belonged to Mapita's family, and seemed to be an affectionate and well-behaved child. She was absent from school for a few days, and on inquiring we learned that she had gone to the home of her intended husband. Greatly shocked, we made further inquiry, and were told that Mapita had sold her to a man who had already one wife, and that he lived about five miles away. It was our first experience with heathen marriage, and we determined to hunt her up and if possible release her. We looked upon this child as a slave or prisoner.
Taking the donkeys and our two boys, we again started out one morning.
The path was not familiar, even to our guides. It wound around among the rocks and we were in great danger of being lost. Immense boulders were piled up in all sorts of fantastic shapes, and a white person could easily be lost among the hills and perhaps never find his way out, but the native will always find his way. Once we found ourselves on the top of a nearly perpendicular rock, and dismounting reached the bottom only with great difficulty. The boys inquired the way of a native in his garden, but he regarded us with suspicion and remained silent. Since the close of the rebellion, when the natives hid themselves among these rocks, they have been very suspicious of white people, for fear some one may desire to capture them. It was only after repeated assurances by the boys that we were missionaries, and their friends, that he consented to direct us.
Finally we reached the home of Buka, the man who had taken little Lomanzwana. His kraal was situated up among the rocks in one of nature's fortresses. Here, in this desolate place, in the midst of densest heathendom, was the girl. Her husband was a cripple and very pagan looking. But what could we do amid such rock-bound customs as held these people? Nothing. With hearts lifted to the Lord in prayer we tried to point them to the Lamb of God. The man regarded us with wild-looking eyes, and listened with seemingly dull, uncomprehending ears to our stammering tongues. When he was asked a question, he looked at those about him and wanted to know what sort of an answer the missionary desired; then he would answer accordingly. In another hut was a very old woman, the mother of Buka, who was an imbecile and was fed like an animal. We retraced our steps with heavy hearts, but for many a day the memory of that visit haunted us.
As for the girl, the man did not pay sufficiently promptly to satisfy Mapita, so he finally took her home. Later she was sold to a man who paid a large sum. Here they quarreled and the girl returned home, and the pay had to be given back. It is needless to say that the girl was thoroughly demoralized by this time. She was finally disposed of to another man.
In February, 1899, Matshuba came to stay at the mission and attend school. Ever since the mission had opened he had been a great help to us in acquiring the language, and as he could understand us more readily, he often explained our meaning to others. He knew too just how many Zulu words were in our vocabulary, and in speaking to us he adapted himself to our limited understanding. He also gradually acquired the English. He made rapid progress in school; and as the Light came to him he accepted it. He did not do this all at one bound, but, as it were, according to his capacity to understand the meaning of the Atonement and kindred themes. The day came when he saw himself a great sinner, and he repented in truth. He was the only boy staying at the mission for a time, so that many and various duties fell to his lot. These he performed faithfully, except that he was somewhat careless in herding the donkeys, and lost them.
One evening he came to the door of our hut in great perplexity and said that he would like to have a talk. He came and sat down on the hearthstone, then said, "I prayed this morning, but the donkeys were lost at any rate." By his language he evidently thought that if he prayed the Lord would do the watching. This gave us an opportunity of telling of David, the faithful shepherd boy, and of the "Great Shepherd," who told us to both "watch and pray." The boy then told something of his early life. Among other things he said:
"Father used to tell me to go and watch the gardens so that the animals would not come and take our food. I did not watch well and the animals destroyed the crops and father was grieved."
"Are you sorry now that you did not obey?"
"Oh! yes, indeed," was the reply. "If I might live that time over again, I would be a better boy."
He continued, "When father was sick they said he was bewitched. So they tried to find out who had bewitched him. Once, before he died, he said that he would like to see a missionary. _Umfundisi_ [Missionary] Engle should have come sooner, before father died."