{**
 
 UUSB LIBRARY 
 
 /- 
 
 WHERE WE LIVE AND WHAT WE DO
 
 WHERE WE LIVE AND 
 WHAT WE DO x 
 
 COMPILED BY DORA S. YARNTON MILLS 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' IS IT WORTH WHILE ' ' BABY SEFU ' ETC. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS X! ^ " 
 
 LONDON : OFFICE OF THE 
 UNIVERSITIES' MISSION TO 
 CENTRAL AFRICA Ng v< 
 9 DARTMOUTH STREET 
 WESTMINSTER ^ 1909
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., COLCHESTER 
 LONDON AND ETON
 
 PREFACE 
 
 THE following papers and stories have been 
 written at different times by several of the members 
 of the Universities' Mission. 
 
 They do not pretend to make a connected 
 whole, each chapter being complete in itself. But 
 it is hoped that they may give some idea of parts 
 of the country where this Mission works, and serve 
 to answer many of the questions so often asked 
 on the subject. The book is intended for three 
 purposes : 
 
 1. Reading aloud at working parties or 
 mothers' meetings, and for this reason women 
 and babies figure rather largely in its pages. 
 
 2. As a book of reference for correspondents 
 and local secretaries. 
 
 3. As a gift-book for interesting people in the 
 Mission. 
 
 The papers are entirely confined to Zanzibar 
 and Magila, but should these pages meet a need, 
 we hope later on to bring out a companion volume 
 giving some account of the people and their doings 
 in Nyasaland. 
 
 DORA YARNTON MILLS.
 
 SIMPLE RULES TO BE OBSERVED FOR PRONOUNCING 
 AFRICAN NAMES 
 
 1. Vowels are pronounced as in Italian 
 a as in ah. 
 
 e as a in name, 
 i as ee in feet. 
 o as o in bone. 
 u as oo in fool. 
 
 2. Consonants as in English, g is always hard as in gale. Ch soft as 
 in cherry. 
 
 3. M is pronounced as if it had u before it. 
 
 Mkunazini = Oom-koo-nah-2e-nee. Mbwenl = Oom-fiiwzy-nee. 
 
 4. No word can end with a consonant, it must end with a vowel, 
 e.g. Du-nga, Ng-ambo. 
 
 5. The accent is always on the last syllable but one.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. ZANZIBAR : TOWN AND ISLAND 
 
 II. THE MEN 
 
 III. THE WOMEN ...... 
 
 IV. THE FAITH OF ISLAM .... 
 V. MOHAMMEDAN OBSERVANCES, WITCHCRAFT 
 
 AND SPIRIT WORSHIP. 
 
 VI. THE IGNORANCE OF MOHAMMEDAN TEACHERS 
 VII. AFRICAN GARMENTS : WHAT THEY ARE AND 
 
 HOW THEY ARE -WORN 
 
 VIII. ABOUT THE LANGUAGES 
 IX. TREES, FLOWERS, VEGETABLES AND HOW 
 
 THEY GROW ..... 
 
 X. THE MISSION AND SOME OF THE WORK 
 
 IN TOWN AND COUNTRY 
 
 XI. TESSI AND HER BOYS . . * . 
 
 XII. THE STORY OF A LITTLE INDIAN GIRL 
 IN S. MONICA'S SCHOOL 
 
 XIII. VISITING WOMEN IN ZANZIBAR 
 
 XIV. A CHRISTIAN VILLAGE IN AFRICA 
 
 XV. MISSION BABIES : STORIES OF CHILDREN 
 
 IN THE LITTLE BOYS' HOME 
 XVI. A CHRISTIAN OVERSEER .... 
 XVII. MAMA KATE : AN AFRICAN SAINT 
 
 i 
 
 28 
 42 
 53 
 
 73 
 90 
 
 94 
 in 
 
 138 
 *57 
 
 168 
 
 *74 
 1 86
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XVIII. AN OLD DHOBI : A ZANZIBAR SKETCH 
 
 XIX. NURSING IN ZANZIBAR DIOCESE 
 
 XX. DAILY LIFE IN ZANZIBAR HOSPITAL 
 
 XXI. AN AFRICAN VILLAGE AND MATTERS 
 
 PERTAINING THERETO .... 
 
 XXII. SUNDAY AT MSALABANI 
 
 XXIII. BONDEI WOMEN ..... 
 
 XXIV. A DAY AT MSALABANI SCHOOL 
 
 XXV. THE STORY OF A MAGILA BOY 
 
 XXVI. NURSING AT MAGILA .... 
 
 XXVII. ALL ABOUT BLACK BABIES AT MAGILA . 
 
 PAoE 
 
 232 
 238 
 254 
 
 262 
 282 
 
 293 
 310 
 
 317 
 322 
 
 332
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 DRAWING WATER AT THE WELL . Frontispiece 
 
 ONE OF THE WIDER STREETS . . . . 7 
 A ZANZIBAR SHOP . . . . . .11 
 
 THE ONLY MOSQUE WITH A MINARET . . -15 
 GAMBLING GOES ON IN ALMOST EVERY VERANDAH . 17 
 ZANZIBAR RAILROAD ...... 27 
 
 A ZANZIBAR ARAB ...... 30 
 
 ARABS EATING . . . . . . .31 
 
 WASHING HANDS AFTER A MEAL .... 32 
 
 AN ARAB WOMAN AND CHILD .... 43 
 
 CARRYING WATER . . . . . .49 
 
 ' BOYS CARRY ABOUT COFFEE ' . . . -77 
 GROUP OF AFRICANS ... . . -93 
 
 THE KANZU AND SHEETIE . . . . . 101 
 
 A SCHOOLGIRL IN A TEITEI ..... 105 
 
 AN AFRICAN FAMILY . . . . . .120 
 
 BAOBAB TREES, BARE AND LEAFLESS . . .126 
 THE GARDEN AT KILIMANI ..... 131 
 
 THE SCHOOL AT S. MONICA'S .... 140 
 
 WOMEN DOING NEEDLEWORK . . . .141 
 
 NG'AMBO . . . . . . . .145 
 
 PALM MAT PLAITING . . . . . . 153 
 
 A SHAMBA SCENE ...... 156 
 
 MlSS FOXLEY AND THE SCHOOL AT Nc'AMBO . 159 
 
 ZANZIBAR CATHEDRAL .... , . 167
 
 xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 INDIAN CHILDREN . 
 INDIAN CHILDREN AT PLAY . 
 THE PARISH CHURCH . 
 THE DISPENSARY . 
 
 ONE OF THE OLD AND INFIRM 
 CARRYING COCOANUTS. . 
 FRANCIS .... . 
 
 PAUL . . . . . 
 
 EDWARD AND BASIL ' ; 
 
 KATE AND HER CLASS AT MBWENI . 
 
 ' SHE WORE THE ARAB DRESS ' 
 
 A WARD IN ZANZIBAR HOSPITAL . 
 
 AN AFRICAN RIVER .... 
 
 AN INDIAN LADY ARRIVING AT THE HOSPITAL 
 PATIENTS . .... 
 
 MISSION HOUSE, PEMBA 
 
 NG'AMBO, THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CREEK 
 
 AN AFRICAN VILLAGE. . 
 
 ' THE PRIDE OF THE EYES is THE GOAT ' 
 
 CATTLE . . . . 
 
 THE CHURCH AT MSALABANI 
 
 A BONDEI WOMAN AND HER BABY 
 
 CARRYING WATER FROM THE RIVER 
 
 MSALABANI GATEWAY . 
 
 A MAGILA BOY ...... 
 
 MAGILA BOYS ... 
 MAGILA DISPENSARY . 
 BABIES AND THEIR MOTHERS
 
 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 AND 
 
 WHAT WE DO 
 
 ZANZIBAR: TOWN AND ISLAND 
 
 A GREAT deal has been written about Zanzibar 
 since the Universities' Mission made its head 
 quarters there in Bishop Tozer's time in 1864. 
 The island and the town, the people and the shops, 
 the Mission quarters and the schools have all been 
 described over and over again by the pens of many 
 writers, and yet there still seem to be a number of 
 people who do not know very much about it all, 
 and who ask for more detailed accounts of many 
 things things which have perhaps been overlooked 
 and forgotten by those who, as they see them 
 every day, forget that the world at large is still 
 in ignorance of what are just to them daily 
 happenings and common events. So again we 
 will try and give some account of the once almost 
 unknown island, which of late years has sprung 
 into considerable importance, and now boasts
 
 2 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 some advance in civilisation ; and in giving this 
 account we will confine ourselves chiefly to those 
 things which concern the Mission and those 
 interested in it. 
 
 History.- Zanzibar, if not the capital of East- 
 ern Africa, is at least the largest town on the 
 east coast, and readers will forgive the remark 
 that South Africa and the people who live there 
 are not within afternoon calling distance. 
 
 The first record we have of the island being 
 visited by British ships was as far back as 1799, 
 when the Leopard and the Orestes sighted the island 
 on December 18, and anchored off a smaller island 
 to the north till the next day. 
 
 A lieutenant on board one of these ships who 
 kept a journal, says : ' The inhabitants went 
 about armed; in their modes of traffic they are 
 singular, a guinea is of no value, but a button of 
 any kind is a gem in the eyes of the lower class 
 of people, who, while they refused a guinea in 
 exchange for some fowls, parted with them gladly 
 for a mariner's button.' 
 
 And though this was in 1799, in 1879 a common 
 pearl button cut off the garments of the Mission 
 boys was still an article of some value in the eyes 
 of the natives, and was easily exchanged for many 
 desirable objects of more real value. 
 
 The Portuguese were in possession of the east 
 coast from 1509 to 1698, in which year the Imaum 
 of Muscat sent a naval force and succeeded in 
 capturing Mombasa, Zanzibar, Pemba and Kilwa. 
 Seyid Said was the first Sultan who transferred his
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 3 
 
 court to Zanzibar from Muscat in 1840, and since 
 his time seven Sultans have reigned in succession. 
 
 In August 1841 Captain Hamerton arrived in 
 Zanzibar as agent of the East India Company, 
 and was appointed the first British Consul in 
 December of the same year. 
 
 In 1845 the Americans sent vessels to Zanzibar 
 and as well as oil introduced their cotton cloth, 
 which is still universally used by the natives for 
 loin cloths and is known as Merikano, a softer, 
 heavier kind of our unbleached calico. 
 
 Since 1890 Zanzibar has been a British protec- 
 torate, or rather a sultanate under British pro- 
 tection. The present Sultan was proclaimed 
 on July 2, 1902, but being at that time a mere boy, 
 an English Regent was appointed for two years. 
 Seyid Ali was enthroned in 1905. When a boy 
 he spent several years in England, and was at 
 Harrow for part of the time. He speaks English 
 fluently. 
 
 The Island of Zanzibar is not unlike the Isle 
 of Man, though it is nearly three times as large. 
 It is about fifty-four miles long, twenty-three 
 broad in its widest part, and has an area of 625 
 square miles. It is separated from the mainland 
 by a channel, which at its narrowest part is twenty- 
 two and a half miles across. 
 
 Pemba island lies to the north-east of Zanzibar, 
 at a distance of twenty-two and a half miles. 
 Steamers run regularly between the islands, and 
 leaving Zanzibar by one of them at 5 P.M., you 
 arrive at Chaki Chaki about daybreak the next
 
 4 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 morning and get to Weti, the Mission station, at 
 noon. 
 
 Zanzibar town is built on a sandy peninsula, 
 and in shape is not unlike a shoe, with a very 
 long pointed toe. A shallow creek of the sea, 
 which is almost dry at low water, runs in round the 
 toe and almost severs the heel from the mainland 
 of the island. This creek, which is so often 
 mentioned in Central Africa, the monthly magazine 
 of the Universities' Mission, is spanned by a bridge, 
 and there is another town or suburb on the other 
 side. 
 
 The Harbour. As you approach Zanzibar 
 from the sea you are struck by the absence of 
 cliffs and the varied beauty of the brilliant foliage 
 of massive mangoes, feathery palms and trailing 
 creepers which grow right dow r n to the shore, where 
 the bright blue waters meet the dazzling white 
 of the sandy beach. The harbour presents a great 
 scene of activity. There are often several large 
 steamers, British, German, French and others, 
 taking in mails and cargo. There are also any 
 number of steam launches, dhows and small native 
 craft, besides an occasional man-of-war. The 
 Sultan's boats are distinguished by a plain red 
 flag. 
 
 Landing. Although we who live in Zanzi- 
 bar think that in these days we are very 
 civilised in most respects, yet a visitor from 
 Bombay seemed quite surprised to find there was 
 no pier when he landed, and no carriages which 
 he could hire to drive him to his destination.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 5 
 
 The mails all anchor some distance from the shore, 
 and passengers and luggage are conveyed there in 
 small boats. To newcomers this is rather a 
 nervous moment. The boats crowd round the 
 steamer, bobbing up and down in the water, 
 while each owner tries to arrive at the gangway 
 first, and all of them shout directions and abuse 
 at the top of their voices. 
 
 Accidents very seldom happen however, and 
 many friendly hands are held out to the passengers, 
 so that in time they generally find themselves 
 safely seated in the boat. But once a new arrival, 
 having collected all the things she held most dear 
 in a small bag, gave it to a native boy, and said : 
 ' Whatever you do, don't lose hold of this bag till 
 we reach the Mission.' Five minutes later the boy, 
 who was sitting on the edge of the boat, lost his 
 balance and fell into the sea. Being a good 
 swimmer he thought nothing of the occurrence, 
 and as he reappeared on the surface and scrambled 
 in again, he smiled joyfully at the owner of the 
 bag saying : ' I did not forget to hold on to the bag 
 all the time.' On arriving at the shore all the 
 luggage is seized by clamouring porters, and 
 carried on their heads through the narrow streets 
 to its destination. 
 
 The Town. The town itself shows a long 
 and somewhat straggling front of large square 
 houses built of stone and whitewashed, with flat 
 roofs covered with corrugated iron. These houses 
 almost entirely hide the masses of huts which lie 
 behind and among them. It is picturesque
 
 6 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 beyond words, and till recently dirty be} r ond 
 description, for the writer remembers the time 
 when all the rubbish and refuse from the houses 
 and shops was just thrown into the street and left 
 there till a deluge of rain floated it into heaps, 
 where in corners and vacant spaces it rotted in the 
 sun, producing an odour which once inhaled could 
 never be forgotten the smell of a Zanzibar 
 street, entirely unique and most powerful ! But 
 those days are gone by, the streets are now swept 
 twice daily and all the refuse carted away outside 
 the town. 
 
 The Streets. These streets are only from 
 ten to twelve feet wide, and they swarm with 
 natives from India, Ceylon, Persia, Egypt, Japan, 
 Greece, China, and Somaliland, besides Arabs and 
 Swahili, guide-boys, carriers and camel drivers in 
 all the wonderful colour and variety of their native 
 costumes, and we must not forget to add Europeans 
 to the list, generally attired in white clothes, 
 white shoes and white sun helmets. 
 
 Besides the people, you come across goats 
 foraging for food, lean and lanky fowls which have 
 a most undue proportion of leg, strings of small 
 brow r n donkeys laden with sacks of red sand, and 
 now and then a stray camel and a few small cows 
 individualised by humps on their backs. 
 
 The streets wind in and out in a surprising 
 manner : without a guide it is an easy business 
 to lose yourself hopelessly. They are lined on 
 either side by small shops, which are merely stone 
 houses with the front of the bottom storey taken
 
 ONE OF THE WIDER STREETS, [PholO by Gomes]
 
 out, a raised platform faces the road and is pro- 
 tected above with a sort of awning of corrugated 
 iron or oil tins beaten out flat. Formerly these 
 awnings were made of cocoanut thatch which, 
 when the rains descended dripped into the road 
 till it became a rushing stream. The natives never 
 mind this sort of thing. You may often see a man 
 or child take a bath underneath a waterspout, 
 and having taken his bath in this primitive 
 fashion, proceed to wash his garment and put it 
 on to dry. 
 
 The Shops. Wares of every sort and descrip- 
 tion are set out, generally in little heaps, either 
 on the platform or in native baskets or old wooden 
 boxes. At the back you may see a row of glass 
 bottles with most unwholesome looking sweets 
 from Europe, soap cut into square inches and 
 sold for a farthing each, sugar, flour, grain of 
 various kinds and popped corn in large native 
 baskets (kikapo), little cakes, sweet or savoury, 
 bright scarlet chillies, fresh green betel leaves 
 enclosing lime and tobacco for chewing, oranges, 
 mangoes, great bunches of pale yellow or green 
 unripe bananas, funny little tin oil lamps, curry 
 powder, candles, blue, cotton, skeins of Berlin 
 wool, very thick and gaudy plates and cups, 
 short native brushes hanging in strings, bundles 
 of split palm for mat making, great hanks of 
 cocoanut rope, beads, nails, looking-glasses, sweet 
 potatoes and pineapples, in fact a little of most 
 things, the whole being crowned by the owner, 
 generally an Indian (sometimes a woman), who
 
 10 
 
 squats among the wares with the cash box close 
 at hand on a very low, wooden table. 
 
 Inside the shop you have a vision of wonderful 
 sheeties and loin cloths hanging on strings ; while 
 in many of the shops costly fabrics, silks, satins, 
 embroideries, gold and silver braid, thread and 
 spangles are stored in glass-doored cases against 
 the walls. 
 
 There are more distinguished shops in the 
 principal parts of the town, kept by Goanese and 
 Hindus, some of them even boasting plate-glass 
 windows, and in these you can buy, at some 
 expense, many things in the way of dress and 
 material that you \vould meet in an English town, 
 such as shoes, hats, blouses, even tea-gowns and 
 costumes. 
 
 There are also wonderful shops for silver, lace 
 and jewellery, Chinese and Japanese wares, Per- 
 sian rugs and carpets, and all sorts of articles, 
 including grey parrots. I have seen a shop up a 
 flight of ladders, where some fifty parrots strolled 
 about in a leisurely manner among costly carpets 
 and rich rugs. 
 
 The current coin in Zanzibar is the same as 
 that used in India, rupees, half and quarter rupees, 
 annas and till quite lately pice, but these latter 
 are giving place to cents, one hundred of which 
 go to the rupee, which is like a florin and is valued 
 at is. 4^. A pice was rather more than a 
 farthing and resembled a halfpenny, they were 
 cleverly and neatly done up in paper thirty-two 
 in each roll ; these were called robos, and were
 
 A ZANZIBAR SHOP.
 
 13 
 
 always kept handy for change. A cent is much 
 like a farthing. Paper money is also now used in 
 notes valuing five, ten, and fifty rupees. Purses 
 are seldom used even by Europeans in Zanzibar, 
 who generally use notes or carry their rupees in a 
 bag. Natives tuck their coppers into the fastening 
 of their loin cloths or knot them in the corner of a 
 handkerchief (leso). 
 
 The Fort. The most picturesque building in 
 Zanzibar is undoubtedly the old fort which dates 
 back to the time of the Portuguese possession of 
 the island. It was formerly used as a prison, 
 and is a massive building, round in shape and 
 turreted. The coral rag of which it is built is almost 
 black with age and damp, and it stands grim and 
 solitary a fitting memorial of the death, disease 
 and misery which once raged within its walls, 
 when slaves and prisoners were only released by 
 death from the horrors which surrounded them. 
 The fort is now used as the telephone exchange ! 
 
 The Sultan's Palace, which is new since the 
 bombardment of Zanzibar by the British in 
 1896, is a large, uninteresting building with a wide 
 verandah in front, from which the Sultan reviews 
 his troops who assemble in the square below on 
 state occasions. Hard by is the clock tower and 
 lighthouse, which at night is a blaze of electric 
 light and looks very pretty from the sea. The 
 clock keeps Arab time and this at first is very 
 puzzling to newcomers ; for as in the Bible, the 
 third hour of the day is nine o'clock in the morning, 
 six o'clock being noon.
 
 14 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 The old Consulate stands facing the sea, but 
 is no longer used as a residence. The building is 
 interesting, as it was the head quarters of the 
 Mission in Bishop Tozer's time, and housed him 
 and his scanty staff in the great cyclone of 1872. 
 It was in the lower storey of this house that 
 we had our first chapel. 
 
 In this quarter of the town, which is called 
 Shangani, are the German, French and other 
 Consulates, the Roman Catholic Church and 
 Mission, the post and telegraph offices, banks, 
 chief hotels, English club, and shipping offices it 
 is, in fact, the aristocratic part of the town. 
 
 The Railway, which was laid in 1906, starts 
 from near the Palace, runs through the narrow 
 streets of shops, from which you can almost take 
 the wares in passing, crosses the bridge and runs 
 along the North road as far as Bububu, a distance 
 of eight miles, and the line is being further extended. 
 It is a very enjoyable trip ; the return fare is only 
 fourpence for a native, but a European who 
 travels first class and is provided with a special 
 car is charged two rupees return. If you pursue 
 your way along the quay the town becomes more 
 dirty, and the strong smell of salt shark proclaims 
 the fact that you are approaching Malindi, the 
 more distinctive Arab quarter. The population has 
 altered and the colour of the people has changed 
 from chocolate to tan. Nearly every house ap- 
 pears to be inhabited by Arabs, and no Hindus 
 are to be seen. 
 
 Mosques. It is just about here that you come
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 15 
 
 to the only minaret in Zanzibar, for though the 
 island is full of mosques, or Mohammedan places 
 
 THE ONLY MOSQUE WITH A MINARET. 
 
 of worship, this is the only one crowned by a 
 small cupola of a curious shape. The mosque
 
 16 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 itself is also more ornamented than others in 
 Zanzibar, which are merely low stone buildings 
 whitewashed within and without. 
 
 Turning to the right you may come upon a 
 characteristic scene a row of Arab barbers, 
 shaving the heads, not beards, of their customers, 
 and this is done in the open street with no sort of 
 attempt at privacy. 
 
 From this point you become involved in a 
 labyrinth of streets all much alike to a newcomer, 
 but those who can hear and see and understand 
 begin here to get some idea of the exceeding 
 wickedness of this godless city. 
 
 Evils. There are innumerable drinking shops 
 (which are not publicly recognised as such) , many 
 of which are not even noticed by the casual passer- 
 by, but which, nevertheless, drive a deadly trade 
 among the natives ; and there are many other 
 places of evil repute where the toils are spread, and 
 alas ! not in vain, for heathen and Christian alike. 
 
 Gambling goes on in almost every verandah ; 
 even the tiny children who play in the streets speak 
 the language of hell and are conversant with the 
 worst immorality, while the laughing women who 
 pass you in the road make remarks which are 
 untranslatable in their obscenity. Once when 
 a newcomer was walking with Bishop Steere, they 
 met a party of women carrying stones on their 
 heads and singing, and the newcomer innocently 
 remarked, ' How pretty it sounds,' to which the 
 bishop sternly replied, ' They are using the most 
 unspeakable language you can imagine.'
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 17 
 
 It is not our purpose here to unveil these scenes 
 of wickedness or to describe the sinfulness of this 
 sinful city, but day by day as it unfolds itself to the 
 opening eyes and growing knowledge of our mission- 
 aries, they are filled with an ever stronger longing 
 
 GAMBLING GOES ON IN ALMOST EVERY VERANDAH. 
 
 to do something to purge it from its iniquity, 
 and they leel it is but a little thing to give their 
 whole lives in trying to save one soul for Christ 
 from this cesspool of the devil. These streets, lead 
 you to the Mission premises and the quarter of 
 the town known as Mkunazini, Kunazi is the 
 name of a very pretty and elegant tree which
 
 1 8 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 bears a fruit something like a cherry, and from this 
 tree the place derives its name. 
 
 It is a rest to pass from the hot, noisy, dirty 
 town to the comparative quiet and peace of the 
 Mission, with its flowers and its trees and the 
 shadow of the beautiful cathedral, but all this 
 will be described in another chapter. 
 
 The Sultan's Market is one of the most in- 
 teresting places in Zanzibar for those who want to 
 study the people. It is very near the Mission, on 
 what is called the Creek Road, a recent Government 
 improvement which has turned mud and filth into 
 a good solid thoroughfare. To this market the 
 produce of the plantations (about 3000 loads) is 
 brought every morning at 9 A.M.. entirely on the 
 heads of the natives. 
 
 There is one good building for meat, fish and 
 poultry, which are all examined daily by officials 
 appointed for the purpose, and the open space all 
 round is a regular Covent Garden, where fruit, 
 vegetables, grain and provender of all sorts, and 
 also goats and sheep can be bought, not as 
 cheaply as in days gone by when a dozen oranges 
 went for a farthing and two fowls for sixpence, 
 but at quite fair and reasonable prices. 
 
 Beside the regular market a sort of^cheapjack 
 fair goes on. In one part you may see an Arab, 
 in his flowing kanzu and bright coloured turban, 
 presiding over a box studded with brass nails, and 
 from it he produces for sale a looking-glass, a 
 Waterbury watch, a pair of heavy silver anklets, 
 a murderous-looking silver bracelet surrounded
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 19 
 
 v\ith sharp spikes, a very ancient pistol, an Arab 
 joho, which has feasted many families of moth, 
 a very seedy-looking European coat, and many 
 more valuable, and to the African, desirable 
 articles. In a corner sits a Turk with an amazing 
 collection of trinkets, pistols, daggers, swords, &c. ; 
 another man has an array of what look like mere 
 sticks for sale, but which are in reality native 
 tooth-brushes, and most efficient ones they prove. 
 
 Almost every description of native cake, 
 including earthern bowls of halua (Turkish delight) 
 and yards of sugar-cane, can be bought in the 
 market, and there are piles of the funny little 
 cooking pots made of red clay and sold for three 
 farthings each, strange looking pieces of firewood 
 (kuni), and bales of rough cocoanut rope ; while 
 in and out among the wares, chattering, laughing, 
 bargaining and wrangling, moves the noisy, restless 
 throng of people representing nearly every nation 
 under the sun, each speaking his own language and 
 dressed in the costume of his own country. 
 
 The Victoria Gardens, opposite the Creek 
 road on the highway coming from the town, were 
 laid out in honour of the Jubilee of Queen Vic- 
 toria, and there is a beautiful new Government 
 Hospital. 
 
 The Prison is a large Eastern building with 
 good-sized rooms and a stone floor covered with 
 matting, on which the prisoners sleep. The 
 women's cell is on the outer side of the high 
 battlemented wall which encloses a large central 
 court.
 
 20 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 The prisoners, who wear a very ugly mustard- 
 coloured uniform, are employed in various public 
 works, gardening, 1 - building, &c., and when out of 
 doors are joined together by a long chain fixed to 
 an iron band to prevent them from running away. 
 You often meet the chain gang in your walks 
 abroad, and some busybodies, with more zeal than 
 knowledge, sent photographs of it to England to 
 prove that slavery still flourished under the British 
 flag. Women do not now work in the chain gang, 
 as it was considered unsuitable for them. There 
 is a separate building for European prisoners. 
 
 The British Agency is a large, handsome, 
 up-to-date building, standing in its own beautiful 
 garden, which at the back slopes right down to 
 the sea. 
 
 Nazi Moja. This historic road, to which 
 we now come, is bordered on either side by tall 
 casurina trees, which give a delightful shade 
 and are very pleasing to the eye. 
 
 Mnazi mmoja * means one cocoanut tree, and 
 the name dates back to the hurricane of 1872, 
 when there were 144 cocoanut palms growing 
 on this piece of ground. All of them were blown 
 down by that mighty storm excepting the one 
 which has ever since given its name to the road, 
 though the tree is no longer standing, having 
 succumbed to another cyclonic storm about sixteen 
 years ago. Of course, at the time of the hurricane, 
 there was no road, only a narrow footpath which 
 was flooded daily by the tide. 
 
 * The road is now generally called Nazi Moja.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 21 
 
 In the old days, the wide open space on the 
 right between the road and the sea was an un- 
 pleasant sandy waste, foul with the bodies of dead 
 dogs and camels ; it is now well drained and covered 
 with turf, and is used for golf and cricket, while 
 many famous games of football have been played 
 here between the boys of Kiungani College and 
 the British blue-jackets from the men-of-war in 
 harbour. 
 
 Nazi Moja is also the great resort of holiday 
 makers on the Siku kuu (festival) after the 
 Mohammedan fast of Ramadhan. Here also is the 
 Navy canteen built to the memory of that gallant 
 young officer, Lieutenant Cooper, who was shot by 
 Arabs when chasing a slave dhow in 1887. The 
 canteen is known as the Cooper Institute. 
 
 About here Nazi Moja branches into two 
 roads, the one on the right takes you past Kiungani, 
 the French cemetery, Kilimani, Mbweni and 
 further on to Chukwani, where the Sultan has a 
 country palace. The one on the left passes the 
 English and German cemeteries and brings you to 
 Ziwani, the Mission graveyard, where white crosses 
 gleam amid a glowing splendour of crotons, and 
 pink and white lilies flower on the graves of those 
 men and women who have given their lives to God 
 and Africa, and whose bodies rest among their 
 African converts. 
 
 The Dunga road goes right through the island 
 to Chuaka Bay. These roads are bordered with 
 tall waving grasses many feet high (after the 
 rains), hedged with jasmine, festooned with
 
 22 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 flowering creepers and shaded by magnificent 
 mango trees and tall cocoanut palms. 
 
 Scenery. Now and again a break in the trees 
 gives you a ravishing glimpse of the wonderful blue 
 of the sea, which is often flecked with white wave- 
 lets and alive with canoes and little native sail- 
 boats : or when more inland, a clearing at a little 
 distance from the road shews a picture of a few 
 native huts, a group of lightly clothed infants, a 
 man in his snowy kanzu, and perhaps one or more 
 women in bright sheeties, hard at work pounding 
 Indian corn in a wooden mortar, or cooking their ' 
 evening meal over a fire made upon three stones. 
 Or you may happen upon a little wayside shop, 
 just a simple shanty of cocoanut thatch on poles, 
 with the owner sitting under its shadow with little 
 piles of oranges and mangoes, the inevitable betel 
 leaf, and a few dried fish. 
 
 Besides the town of Zanzibar the other princi- 
 pal places on the Island are Mkokotoni, Dunga, 
 and Chuaka. 
 
 Mkokotoni lies about twenty miles to the north 
 of the town, and with its bays and inlets was a 
 favourite haunt of slave runners. At one time 
 (about 1870) there was a large sugar-cane plantation 
 here, and oil and soap manufactories run by Captain 
 Eraser, who had been in the Indian Navy, and 
 was then the only English merchant in Zanzibar. 
 But the whole business failed. The governor or 
 Liwali is a courtly Arab gentleman, who is delighted 
 to receive visitors and regales them with sherbet 
 and coffee. Pemba steamers make regular calls
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 23 
 
 here after leaving Zanzibar. The inhabitants 
 are mostly Mohammedans, and there is a flourish- 
 ing Moslem school, where the children sit and shout 
 sentences of the Koran and the name of Allah, and 
 do little else. And though this part of the island 
 has been visited many times, the Mission staff 
 has never been strong enough to take up work 
 among the people here. 
 
 Dunga is in the centre of the Island, and part 
 of the palace of former Sultans is still standing. 
 Several African Christians live here, and are em- 
 ployed in road making and on the Government 
 plantations, where vanilla, rubber, pineapple, &c., 
 are cultivated. 
 
 But the real inhabitants of the interior are the 
 Wahadimu. The Arabs were unable to conquer 
 these people when they took possession of the 
 island, for as fast as they tried to march across 
 the sharp pointed coral rag which led to Dunga 
 the fierce and independent inhabitants shot the 
 invaders down. The Wahadimu have mostly 
 withstood the influence of Islam. 
 
 There are weird legends about the old 
 palace and the building of it, when the sacrifice 
 of many slaves celebrated the laying of its founda- 
 tions in accordance with the cruel customs of those 
 times, and indeed, our own missionaries testify 
 to mysterious happenings in the old building. 
 And when part of the building was pulled down 
 of late years, so great was the superstition re- 
 garding it, that only Christian workmen would 
 undertake the job.
 
 24 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 Classes for Christians and catechumens go on at 
 Dunga to a small extent and a little school has been 
 opened, but the work is fettered and hindered by 
 the want of men. 
 
 Chuaka is a large village on the east coast, 
 almost exactly opposite Zanzibar town ; it is very 
 much used as a health resort by Government 
 officials and residents in the town. 
 
 Tombs are a striking feature in Zanzibar. 
 Wherever you go you come upon them, sometimes 
 many together making a regular graveyard, some- 
 times two or three, or only one in some unexpected 
 corner. They are built of the coral rag and were 
 originally covered with white plaster, but this 
 has worn off long ago, and they are black with 
 damp and age. Their number is easily accounted 
 for when we remember the mortality that raged 
 among the people during the frequent epidemics 
 of small-pox, which struck down its thousands 
 before vaccination was known or any precautions 
 taken to prevent the spread of this terrible disease. 
 
 Evil Spirits. Walking about the town or 
 country you will frequently come upon what is 
 called Mzimu a place said to be haunted by 
 evil spirits. Such places are specially to be found 
 near a strange-looking tree called baobab, which 
 is fully described on page 125. 
 
 At one time one of these trees which stood 
 near the town was full of great nails which had 
 been driven into the trunk ' to fix the evil spirit/ 
 and at the foot little offerings were often to be 
 seen a few bananas, one or two eggs, a written
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 25 
 
 charm, and a small earthen pot of burning incense. 
 In other places you see a string tied from tree 
 to tree and hung with scraps of coloured rag ; these 
 also are offerings to spirits. Natives do not like 
 passing these places, and after dark will make a 
 wide detour to avoid them. 
 
 The French Mission, the only mission work- 
 ing in Zanzibar besides the U.M.C.A., is that of the 
 Black Fathers, called the Mission of the Holy 
 Ghost. It was founded in 1860, and one of their 
 staff, Pere Etienne, has worked for more than 
 forty years in Zanzibar. The Romanists have a 
 large cathedral in the Shangani quarter of the 
 town, and besides their schools, hospital and 
 convent, two of their sisters have charge of the 
 leper establishment at Walezo, four miles out of 
 the town, in co-operation with the Zanzibar 
 Government, and they have also a home for the 
 sick and infirm at the same place. 
 
 Livingstone's House. Just out of the city 
 is the house of David Livingstone, the founder of 
 our Mission. Though he did not actually work in 
 Zanzibar, his name must for ever be associated 
 with the Island, for it was from here that he 
 generally started on his journeys. The house 
 is very conspicuous before you enter the harbour, 
 ' and is not in the European quarter but in the 
 slums of Malindi, where Livingstone might have 
 been expected to choose his dwelling.' It is a 
 tall square house, a little removed from the road, 
 standing in its own garden. 
 
 Lighting. All the principal streets and
 
 26 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 buildings in Zanzibar, including the cathedral and 
 the Creek Road, have within the last three or four 
 years (1908) been supplied with electric light, and 
 the effect at night seen from the water is both 
 dazzling and fairy -like. 
 
 Education. The Government are now en- 
 deavouring to plant schools in different parts of the 
 island in order that the children may get a more 
 comprehensive education than they can receive 
 in the ordinary Mohammedan school, and there 
 is a good secular school for Indians. 
 
 Board of Health. The sanitary conditions 
 of the town have been immensely improved of 
 late years by the Board of Health, which has 
 done splendid work under Dr. A. H. Spurrier ; in 
 fact, all the outside evils are being wisely and 
 vigorously dealt with, but alas, the inside are 
 scarcely touched. 
 
 I have tried to describe the outward appear- 
 ance of the island, with the glowing beauty of its 
 vegetation, the picturesqueness of its buildings, 
 and the hum of its daily life ; but who can paint 
 the interior life of that great heathen population, 
 numbering as it does some 200,000, with its tre- 
 mendous death-rate and appallingly low birth- 
 rate ? 
 
 Who can write of the depths of degradation 
 within its walls, the blunted, sordid lives, the 
 hopeless, unknown misery of those who, not only 
 do not know, but do not even want a Saviour ? 
 As yet the Mission has only touched a few of the
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 27 
 
 many thousand inhabitants, and we have been 
 told that our work here is a hopeless task, that we 
 are even throwing away the Mission funds in 
 attempting it, that it would be better to con- 
 centrate all our energies on the more hopeful work 
 of the interior. 
 
 ZANZIBAR RAILROAD. 
 
 But that can never be, for God has given us 
 this work to do, and we believe that He 
 wih 1 surely bring it to pass, granting to those who 
 have worked for Him faithfully in this weary 
 vineyard the great joy of seeing among the 
 gems of His Royal Diadem Jewels even from 
 Zanzibar. 
 
 D. Y. M.
 
 28 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 II 
 
 THE MEN 
 
 IN reading accounts of mission work in Zanzibar 
 allusion is often made to various people, such as 
 the Arabs, Swahilis, Indians, Goanese, and so on, 
 and it must be a little difficult for those who have 
 never visited these parts to know exactly who are 
 meant when these terms are used. So we propose 
 in this chapter to give some slight description of 
 the inhabitants of Zanzibar and Pemba. 
 
 Population. The town of Zanzibar is 
 believed to contain 100,000 inhabitants, but 
 such a thing as a census has never been taken. 
 The plantations are supposed to have another 
 100,000. In the Island of Pemba the numbers 
 are given at 60,000. There are over 10,000 
 Indians in the two islands, and nearly 400 
 Europeans, about half of whom are English.* 
 
 Races. The basis of the population is the 
 mixed race between Arab and Bantu, which we 
 call Swahili ; sahil is the Arabic for coast, and 
 the term was first used to describe the coast 
 tribes from Somaliland to Mozambique. The 
 
 * These figures, &c., are taken from Zanzibar in Con- 
 temporary Times, by R. L. Lyne.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 29 
 
 history of the east coast is merely that of a 
 succession of Arab conquests. One tribe came 
 down, conquered the natives, mixed with them 
 and interchanged customs ; then came another 
 tribe conquered in their turn, intermarried, and 
 losing their energy made way for a fresh tribe 
 of conquerors ; and the effect of all this is a race 
 and language in which Arabic and African elements 
 are thoroughly mixed up together. The great 
 men of Zanzibar and Pemba are the Arabs from 
 Muscat and Oman ; they possess most of the land, 
 and carry on the clove-growing industry for which 
 both islands are famed. 
 
 The Wahadimu are the descendants of the 
 early settlers on the island, and live principally 
 on the eastern side of Zanzibar. The old inhabi- 
 tants of Pemba are called the Wapemba, who 
 were conquered by the Arabs but never enslaved. 
 
 The Indians are the chief merchants and 
 traders; they are either Mohammedan Indians 
 who settle in Zanzibar, or heathen Indians, vul- 
 garly known as Banyans, who never bring their 
 wives with them, and only come for a time to trade 
 and make as much money as they can. The 
 Goanese run the European stores and provide 
 the cooks and clerks for European houses ; they are 
 all Roman Catholics. As we have said before, 
 almost every nationality is represented, but these 
 are the principal inhabitants. 
 
 The Arabs. Zanzibar Arabs have lost much 
 of the vigorous temperament which we associate 
 with the name, but their dignity, courtesy, and
 
 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 a certain aloofness remain. No man I have ever 
 met comes up to an Arab in the perfection of his 
 manners. Their walk is slow and very dignified ; 
 they never run or show the least impatience, and 
 they give you the idea of 
 having boundless leisure at 
 their command, and this is 
 probably a fact, when you 
 consider the way in which an 
 Arab gentleman passes his 
 days, which is something like 
 this. He rises soon after 
 daylight, which comes in 
 Zanzibar with the rising of 
 the sun at 6 A.M. If at 
 all devout he goes through 
 his morning devotions, after 
 which he sits or lies on his 
 bed, which is a light wooden 
 frame, the legs generally 
 painted red and green, and 
 the frame laced with cocoa- 
 nut cord and covered with a 
 mat of split palm leaves. 
 About ten or eleven o'clock 
 he dresses himself and goes 
 out. Every Arab house has a covered verandah 
 with a seat, called a bar am, either of mud or 
 stone, and on this the owner spreads a mat 
 and awaits visitors. Anyone who comes to him 
 salutes him by saying, ' Hujambo ' (' Are you 
 well ? '), to which he invariably replies, ' Sijambo ' 
 
 A ZANZIBAR ARAB.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 31 
 
 (' I am well'), and having said this he may give 
 a list of his ailments if he has any, but not before ; 
 and in just the same way when asked the news, 
 he must always begin by saying it is good, and 
 then qualify it in any way he likes ; if he began 
 by saying it was bad his hearers would be horrified. 
 
 ARABS EATING. 
 
 About noon our Arab makes a meal off rice, 
 with a relish of fish or vegetable if he is only a 
 poor man, but a rich one will have, in addition to 
 the rice, a fowl, sweetmeats, and fruit. Arabs 
 eat with their fingers, and always wash their hands 
 by pouring water over them after a meal, and 
 they are most particular never to touch anything
 
 32 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 unclean with their right hands. Bishop Steere 
 was once told by an Arab that his own method 
 of eating was far cleaner than that of a European. 
 ' What,' said he, ' have your knives and forks 
 touched, and where have they been washed ? ' and 
 then throwing out his right hand he continued, ' My 
 
 WASHING HANDS AFTER A MEAL. 
 
 hand has never been denied or touched by an un- 
 clean object.' ' And what could I say,' added the 
 Bishop, his eyes twinkling as he looked at the 
 housekeeper, ' when this very morning I had seen 
 the knives and forks lying in a dirty pool on the 
 pantry floor ! ' 
 
 This meal is followed by another rest, and 
 between three and four the man dresses himself 
 in his best, and scents himself profusely with 
 attar of roses if he is something of a dandy, then
 
 33 
 
 he takes a string of amber beads which he uses 
 as a rosary, in his hand, and goes the round of his 
 friends' houses. Those who do not go out sit on 
 their barazas and have a supply of coffee or sherbet 
 ready for visitors ; the latter is only syrup diluted 
 with water. At sunset, 6 P.M., the man again 
 performs his devotions and has another meal of 
 much the same kind as the first. 
 
 During the day he has bathed once or twice 
 and washed his feet. When darkness comes on, 
 which it does as soon as the sun has set, his 
 wives take their turn to go out, and so the day 
 passes. 
 
 The Arab by religion is a Mohammedan (see 
 Chapter IV). They are generally learned in the 
 Koran and very particular as to their hours of 
 prayer and observance of fasts and feasts. They 
 are well up in the traditions of their race, but 
 ordinary education they have none, and they are 
 entirely ignorant of the history of other nations, the 
 geography of other countries, mathematics and 
 science ; indeed, the Koran forbids them to inquire 
 too curiously into high and weighty matters. 
 They are fatalists and accept evil and good alike, 
 saying it is Kismet, that is, the will of Allah. 
 They also qualify every plan they make, whether 
 good or bad, by saying Inshallah (if God wills). 
 The Arabs are very hospitable, and when you visit 
 them they always invite you to eat and drink, 
 delighting in setting before you their very best. 
 When an Arab receives his guest he lays his right 
 hand open on his forehead and breast and then
 
 34 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 extends both his hands ; a great deal of repetition 
 is used in the formal greetings. 
 
 Most of the well-to-do Arabs in Zanzibar have 
 country houses with plantations away from the 
 town, and ride to and fro on fine white Muscat 
 donkeys, which are generally stained a red-brown 
 with henna. 
 
 In place of a bit and bridle they use a richly 
 adorned head-stall. I have seen them with 
 silver bands and rows of silver bells, and indeed 
 I once had a magnificent bridle of this description 
 offered to me. I was busy with household duties 
 when one of the boys brought it to me, saying, 
 ' Bwana Ali wants to give you this.' Much 
 taken aback by such munificence, I went to the 
 front door where Bwana Ali and his donkey 
 were waiting. From his manner I was sure there 
 was something behind it, and after a little beating 
 about the bush it came out. He was in difficulties 
 and in immediate want of 20 rupees ; he thought 
 if I had a fancy for the bridle I might take it and 
 use it for the rest of my sojourn in the land, and 
 then, as I was his friend, perhaps I would lend him 
 the money. 
 
 I rather fancied the picture of myself ambling 
 along on my white donkey to the accompaniment 
 of silver bells, and the boys stood round urging 
 me to accept it, assuring me how very beautiful 
 the bridle was and how very striking it would look. 
 However, I had to tell my friend I had no money, 
 being a poor man like himself, and that the bridle 
 was not at all suitable for a missionary, though I
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 35 
 
 was deeply grateful for his offer ; and he departed , 
 shaking his head sadly. 
 
 They do not use a saddle, but have a gaily 
 coloured padded cloth ; they use no stirrups and 
 sit almost on the donkey's tail, gripping his 
 sides with their knees. These donkeys are very 
 expensive to buy, and a really valuable one costs 
 as much as 600 rupees (40) . 
 
 In talking an Arab uses the name of God, 
 Allah, very freely. It is considered profane not to 
 do so, and when there is an awkward pause in 
 the conversation one of those present will say, 
 ' God is great,' or some such pious observation, 
 and then the talk proceeds naturally. They 
 are forbidden by their religion to use intoxicating 
 liquors, and you never see an Arab drunk in 
 the streets of Zanzibar. But they often drink and 
 use drugs and intoxicating perfumes in the privacy 
 of their own houses. Their religion allows them 
 several wives and concubines, and most of them 
 take full advantage of it. An Arab never 
 thoroughly trusts a European, and ' there are 
 no people in the world from whom it is so difficult 
 to get information. They seem to have a religious 
 dislike to talk of their past, they care little for the 
 present, and for the future nothing at all.' * 
 
 The colour of an Arab varies from tan to 
 almost white, their hair is black and straight, 
 but they shave their heads, and many of them 
 wear venerable^beards. 
 
 The Swahilis. ' I know of no such raw 
 
 * Captain Hamerton. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 material in the world ; you can mould them as 
 you will/ so says Sir F. Lugard in his ' Rise and 
 Fall of our East African Empire,' and to a great 
 extent this is quite true. But though you can 
 train them and mould them, the one thing that 
 they need, and the one thing no mere man can 
 give them, is the moral backbone in which they 
 are so sadly deficient. Can we wonder at this ? 
 ' Look to the hole of the pit from which they 
 were dug,' and consider the generations of slavery 
 through which they have passed and the sin 
 and wickedness which have been the regular 
 accompaniment of their lives. 
 
 The Swahilis are shrewd and possess great 
 power of concealing their thoughts, they have 
 plenty of self-confidence and are fond of praise ; 
 they are keen but short-sighted in business matters, 
 they dislike responsibility and shirk regular em- 
 ployment, and they are intensely jealous. They 
 are gentle and respectful in their manners, very 
 good-tempered, wonderfully light-hearted, and 
 above all things, patient. This patience is never 
 so conspicuous as when they are ill ; they endure 
 without any complaining the most painful sores, 
 suffering, in what almost looks like stolid silence, 
 pain which must really be almost unbearable at 
 times. I have heard people say they cannot feel, 
 but that is about as untrue as many of the other 
 things said of Africans. 
 
 They respond warmly to real affection, and 
 are very sympathetic, and if they manage to 
 deceive us as to their characters, we have a very
 
 AXD WHAT WE DO 37 
 
 poor chance of blinding them, so quick are they 
 to discern your motives. Many of them tell lies 
 with the greatest ease and readiness, and deceive 
 you at every turn. But with regard to the 
 former failing, we must always remember that an 
 Oriental does not consider it good manners to 
 contradict or disappoint you, and often what a 
 European calls lying is merely the Swahili way of 
 being polite. 
 
 For convenience they may be divided into 
 two classes those who live in the town and are 
 employed in coolie labour, such as carrying cargo 
 to and from the ships, porters, builders' assistants, 
 guides, and doers of all sorts of odd jobs ; and 
 those who live in the plantations, as the freed 
 slaves of Arabs and work for them on the land. 
 
 They vary in colour far more than in feature, 
 some are almost black, others light copper coloured, 
 and there is every intermediate shade. Their 
 hair is woolly and curls tightly over their heads 
 when long enough, but all respectable ^Swahili 
 men and boys shave every ten days or so. Their 
 noses are snub, their lips rather thick, though 
 these features differ in almost every individual; 
 they mostly have bright, intelligent eyes, a very 
 engaging smile, and charming manners. 
 
 Travellers are never tired of telling the old, 
 old story of the native's ingratitude. This is 
 utterly untrue, they are quite as grateful as 
 Europeans, if not more so, when they see and feel 
 that there is real cause for gratitude, but their 
 ideas on this subject naturally do not always
 
 38 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 agree with those of Europeans. Speaking from 
 my own experience, a fairly long one, I have met 
 with a great deal of gratitude from the Swahilis. 
 We had an old cook in the Mission who suffered 
 a good deal in the rainy season from rheumatism. 
 When I went on furlough to England I bought 
 a piece of warm cloth and sent out to him to make 
 one of the coveted long coats, called a joho, to 
 protect him from the damp. He had left the 
 Mission service before my return and I did not see 
 him for two years, when two of us met him as we 
 were walking in the town. He greeted me effusively, 
 and my companion said : ' You seem very pleased 
 to see this Bibi.' * ' Ah, Bwana ' (sir), he replied, 
 ' I love everyone in the Mission, but this Bibi I 
 love more than all, for when she was far away in 
 England among her own friends, she remembered 
 the old cook and his troubles, and sent me a 
 beautiful coat.' ' Words,' you will say ; yes, but 
 listen to the sequel. About three years after- 
 wards ur cook fell ill and had to leave suddenly, 
 we could find no one to take his place and had 
 to cook for ourselves, which is very warm work 
 with the temperature at 90. One morning I 
 was told an old man wanted to see me, and at 
 the door I found the old cook. He had retired 
 from work and was living at ease on his earnings 
 a long distance off, where he had a shamba, but 
 the news reached him (it is wonderful how news 
 travels in Zanzibar without any modern assistance, 
 such as newspapers, &c.) that I was cooking my 
 * Term of respect to a woman,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 39 
 
 own food, and off he came post haste to offer his 
 services for as long as I should require them. 
 Another instance of gratitude was that of the 
 mother of one of the small schoolboys. Whenever 
 I was ill or had extra work on hand, she came of 
 her own accord to help me, and as she was an 
 excellent needlewoman her services were most 
 valuable ; she refused all payment, saying firmly, 
 ' No, Bibi ; do you not take care of my child ? ' 
 This woman spoke English very well, and many 
 English ladies in the town had offered her high 
 wages to accompany them to England as ayah, 
 but she always refused, having a great dread 
 of the sea voyage. Yet when I was ill and she 
 heard there was no one to go home with me, she 
 came and offered to accompany me at once with- 
 out asking a word as to what payment she would 
 receive. Cases like these I am quite sure might be 
 multiplied by all the Mission workers, while if I 
 mentioned the many acts of gratitude which my 
 own boys have shown me I should never get done. 
 
 There are three common words in the language 
 which are the key to a good deal of the Swahili 
 character. 
 
 One is bado, which means ' not yet,' and is 
 invariably used when a man has failed in, or 
 neglected to perform, some duty ; he won't 
 confess to his shortcomings outright, but leads 
 you to suppose that he is only waiting his oppor- 
 tunity and will do it as soon as possible. Bado 
 seems exactly to express their prevarication and 
 dilatory habits.
 
 40 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 Sijui, ' I don't know,' is always the answer 
 when knowing would involve himself or his 
 companions in unpleasant consequences. A new- 
 comer once asked an old worker in the Mission the 
 meaning of this expression, and was answered, ' I 
 don't know.' ' Not know,' said the astonished new- 
 comer ; ' why, the people say it fifty times a day ! ' 
 
 Hapana, ' it is not there,' is used in much the 
 same way, meaning that they don't want the 
 trouble of looking for or finding what you ask for. 
 
 Many of the Swahilis follow the religion of 
 their Arab masters as far as the outward form 
 'goes, but of personal religion they have none, 
 save an overmastering fear of evil spirits and 
 belief in the power of witchcraft (see p. 80). 
 
 They are very sociable, and you seldom see a 
 man or boy sitting alone, while the women seem 
 to live in groups. They generally eat in company, 
 sitting on the ground and sharing one dish between 
 them and, of course, eating from their hands ; they 
 never stand up to eat or drink, but squat on 
 their heels, and however poor or hungry they 
 may be, they are always ready to share their food 
 with another. This hospitality seems born in 
 them. I have often seen quite small babies 
 solemnly dividing a tiny portion of a native 
 cake (ladii) with two or three others, giving a 
 few crumbs to each. I do not agree with those 
 who say it is impossible for a native to be punctual. 
 They have no clock but the sun, and very little 
 idea of time and none of the value of it, but once 
 get them to understand that a certain duty has
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 41 
 
 to be done at a certain time, and it will always be 
 done, and done punctually. 
 
 Though they makeweak and in judicious parents, 
 they have a real love for their children. They do 
 not shut up their wives, but they are generally 
 ready to listen to and investigate charges of 
 infidelity against them, though many of the 
 most serious qiiarrels between a man and his wife 
 are generally when the latter has failed to provide 
 him with a meal after his own heart, for the 
 Swahili, in common with men all the world over, 
 has a great regard for we will say his dinner ! 
 and when he comes home in the evening expects 
 to find it ready for him, and his wife waiting to 
 attend to his wants. 
 
 Perhaps the most difficult thing of all to deal 
 with in a Swahili, is his utter want of morals, 
 and almost entire absence of shame. But those 
 who have read their Bibles and know anything 
 of Oriental life (not to mention slavery) are not 
 surprised at this, and would never dream of losing 
 heart because their converts of the first and second 
 generation do not come up to the standard of the 
 saints. And a true missionary always remembers 
 that 
 
 ' God is a Merciful Judge, Strong and Patient.' 
 
 Such, then, are the principal inhabitants of the 
 sister islands. May the day be not far distant 
 when the courtly Arab, the patient Swahili, and 
 the intelligent Hindu shall swell the ranks of the 
 Church's army ! D. Y. M.
 
 42 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 III 
 THE WOMEN 
 
 THE female population of Zanzibar like the male 
 is comprised of many different races and religions, 
 Arabs, Parsees, Hindus, Beloochis, women from 
 the Comoro Islands and Swahili are among them, 
 but the real people of the country are Arabs and 
 Swahilis, and the others come, most of them, 
 under the head of Indian women. 
 
 The Arab ladies live in large white houses in 
 great seclusion, never going out in the daytime 
 from one year's end to another, and their lives are 
 as monotonous as their climate. A little cooking 
 and sweetmeat-making is their only recognised 
 employment, though some few of them can do 
 beautiful silk embroidery. To lie on their beds 
 and be fanned by their slave girls is the usual 
 occupation of the richer women. If they want to 
 visit their friends, or, as is more often the case, 
 to perambulate the town, they wait until eight 
 o'clock in the evening, when the gun warns all 
 Mohammedans that it is the fifth and last hour of 
 prayer, and then they may take their walks abroad. 
 They are entirely enveloped in a large mantle, and
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 43 
 
 their faces completely hidden by a very ugly gilt 
 mask called a barakoa, with oblong slits for the 
 eyes. Many of them wear these masks even in the 
 
 AN ARAB WOMAN AND CHILD. 
 
 privacy of their own homes. Their other garments 
 are silk or calico trousers and a tunic reaching 
 below the knee, which is often embroidered and 
 trimmed with gold braid. They often have a
 
 44 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 number of gold and silver ornaments, nose and 
 ear-rings, bracelets and anklets. They are very 
 light in colour, many of them cream-coloured, 
 their features are regular and good, and they have 
 dark eyes and silky black hair. Both the Arab and 
 Indian women are very fond of using henna to 
 stain their hands and faces. When first applied 
 it is dark brown, like chocolate. Afterwards, when 
 dry, it turns red. After being painted they sit 
 with their hands extended, doing nothing, waiting 
 till they get dry, which is not till the next morning ; 
 but they may go to bed, though they must be 
 careful not to touch anything ! Another of their 
 customs which seems to us very barbarous is 
 that of making holes in their ears. They begin 
 when they are still children by having holes made 
 round the outer part of the ear, large enough to 
 insert sticks the size of matches ; afterwards they 
 stretch them by putting larger sticks, and at last 
 they put coloured paper, rolled up like small 
 draughtsmen, in each hole. They often have as 
 many as five or six in each ear. These papers can 
 be bought in the shops ready rolled up, in assorted 
 colours. If they want to go any distance from 
 home they ride through the narrow streets on large 
 white asses stained a brick red, their slaves running 
 by their sides ; but you generally meet them 
 stalking solemnly along, surrounded by their 
 slaves, who in the old days before the streets were 
 lighted, carried enormous lanterns as big as a 
 London street lamp. Very often the ladies do not 
 return home till four jn the morning, when another
 
 AND WHAT \VE DO 45 
 
 gun is fired proclaiming the first hour of prayer. 
 It is very awkward at times when you meet some 
 of these ladies, whom you ought to know, in the 
 streets and are greeted by them, you cannot see 
 their faces, and it is not always easy to recognise 
 a voice ; but nothing would offend them more than 
 to ask them who they were. 
 
 Very often the whole of a basement of an Arab 
 house is given up to slaves, goats, asses, and all 
 kinds of lumber. There is a stone staircase, the 
 steps so worn away and so dark that mounting 
 them, when you are unaccustomed to the feat, is 
 both dangerous and difficult. At the top you 
 come to a large landing, and either there or in an 
 inner room, to which a slave girl conducts you. 
 the mistress of the house receives you. You will 
 find her sitting on a carpet with the other members 
 of her family, and sometimes a number of children 
 and slaves. There are cushions all round the 
 walls, which are often hung with curious Arab 
 pictures, and the recesses are filled with all sorts 
 of common china and occasionally rare Persian 
 vases. There is often a bedstead heaped up with 
 mattresses and pillows, and covered with a mos- 
 quito-net, at the end of the long, narrow room. 
 
 The Arab women are strict Mohammedans, and 
 though the men consider women have no souls, 
 many of them are very devout. They keep their 
 hours of prayer most strictly, and kneel down any- 
 where quite regardless of time or place, for they 
 have no false shame about praying ; and in this 
 they are a splendid example to us.
 
 46 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 All their weddings, funerals, and religious feasts 
 are held at night. The following will give an idea 
 of the weddings and funerals, to many of which 
 we have been invited. ' First of all we went 
 through two rooms dens I might call them 
 where there were several huge cauldrons or 
 pots full of a kind of hotch-potch. They were 
 standing on three stones over wood fires, which is 
 the usual mode of cooking here. It reminded one 
 of the witch scene in Macbeth with all the black 
 slaves flitting about. Up and up we went to a large 
 stone landing crammed with slaves, who upon 
 seeing us set up the wedding cry. This is a 
 peculiar sound made in their throats, only uttered 
 by women ; it is considered a disgrace for a man 
 to give vent to it. Upon hearing this cry, the 
 bridegroom came out from an inner room and 
 led us in. This room was crowded with Arab 
 and Indian ladies, dressed in all the most 
 brilliant colours imaginable, and laden with gold 
 chains and bracelets. They were sitting on mats ; 
 those among them whom we knew arose and 
 shook hands with us. Chairs were then brought 
 to us, and a slave handed us sherbet to sip, another 
 gave us jasmine blossoms, and after that we gazed 
 and smiled at each other and exchanged greetings. 
 At the end of the room there was a bed all covered 
 up with a red and white net. Presently a lady 
 came forward and took us up one by one to see 
 the bride, who was sitting in state inside this net, 
 which was raised to admit us. She was dressed 
 most gorgeously, and the amount of gold
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 47 
 
 ornaments she wore in her nose, ears, on her 
 neck, waist, ankles, arms, hands, and even on 
 her toes, would have set up a modest little jeweller's 
 shop. The heat was overpowering, and only an 
 Arab or an Indian could have sat so patiently and 
 calmly through it all. She told us that she would 
 have to remain there all night while her friends and 
 slaves feasted ! Her husband-elect was the only 
 man present. After a time we left, followed by 
 deafening wedding cries. 
 
 ' When I had only been working a short time 
 in the Mission and did not know much Swahili, a 
 slave stopped me in the street one day and told me 
 that I was wanted at once. I went, not knowing 
 in the least why I was required. I was taken to a 
 house which I had often passed, but had never 
 entered. We went into a room which was full of 
 women all sitting upon mats. Directly I went in 
 some of them began to wail, so I knew it was a 
 funeral party. A lady, covered from head to foot 
 in dark blue, beckoned to me to come and sit on a 
 cushion at the head of the room, and I sat down. 
 Presently they stopped their wailing, and then one 
 of them whom I knew, told me that the daughter of 
 the house was dead and would I read to them ? 
 So I opened my Testament and read the raising of 
 Lazarus. I would have given all I possessed to 
 have been able to speak Swahili fluently for their 
 hearts were longing for real sympathy and comfort 
 and I longed to tell them about the Holy Ghost 
 the True Comforter.' 
 
 An Arab lady never eats with a man not even
 
 48 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 with her husband or grown-up sons. The truest 
 affection which exists in Zanzibar is between a 
 man and his mother a man's home is generally 
 with his mother and the marriage tie counts for 
 far less than that of kinship. A bride's father is 
 bound to provide her a house, and her husband 
 must spend a certain portion of his time with her, 
 and if he has several wives to give each an equal 
 share of attention ; but the wife always feels she 
 belongs to her father and brothers more than to 
 her husband. 
 
 Such, then, is something of the life of an Arab 
 woman. But the principal bulk of the women in 
 Zanzibar are Swahilis, many of whom are still 
 slaves, though they have only to present them- 
 selves to the British Commissioner's Office for 
 the Freedom of Slaves, and they can at once re- 
 ceive their freedom. Domestic slaves are amongst 
 the lowest type of womanhood. They are the 
 property of their masters, and you can to a cer- 
 tain extent understand what that means. The 
 best of them are employed in the house or 
 about the person of their masters, especially the 
 young women. The pick of all domestic work 
 is the post of nurse to the master's children ; a 
 real affection often grows up between the foster 
 mother and the children, and nothing would 
 persuade her to leave them. 
 
 The women lead very idle lives ; drawing water 
 is one of their chief occupations. In these days 
 domestic slaves are not badly treated, but if any 
 of them are ill, and unlikely to recover, their
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 masters have no 
 hesitation in turn- 
 ing them out to die. 
 A S \\ahili woman is 
 expected to do a 
 good deal which we 
 should consider the 
 work of a man. They 
 carry lime, stone, 
 and sand for build- 
 ing, beat the floors 
 and roofs of newly 
 built houses, and 
 above all carry 
 water. They con- 
 gregate morning and 
 evening in large 
 numbers round the 
 wells, waiting their 
 turn, each with one 
 or two earthenware 
 jars, which hold two 
 or three gallons, and 
 a kata, which is a 
 cocoanut shell at the 
 end of a long stick, 
 with which they 
 scoop up the water, 
 Here they settle all 
 their disputes or 
 create new ones, so 
 that the wells are 
 
 CARRYING WATER.
 
 50 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 generally a very lively if not pleasing scene. 
 Women also do heavy work on the shamba, which 
 we should call field work ; they carry wood for 
 the fires, as no coal is used ; they grind the corn 
 and do all the "cooking. In the town many of 
 , them carry coal to the lighters or barges which 
 supply the ships. 
 
 Swahili women are mostly dark-skinned, not 
 black, but more the colour of chocolate, with 
 rather thick features, and woolly hair, which they 
 comb out and dress in the neatest and most 
 elaborate style. 
 
 They have no religion, but the slave women to 
 
 a certain extent follow their mistress's creed, and 
 
 : they all believe" firmly in witchcraft and evil spirits. 
 
 There are some women terrible people who 
 make a livelihood by professing to drive out evil 
 ' spirits. These witch doctors paint their faces, 
 necks, amis, and legs with some thick white prepar- 
 ation like chalk, and this gives them a most 
 ghastly appearance ; they wear a short skirt, 
 made of grass, feathers, and beads, and hang shell 
 necklaces round their necks and waists ; in their 
 hair, which they comb out till it stands on end, 
 they stick feathers, often half a yard long, or 
 sometimes a young leopard's head, or the horns of 
 an ox, and they wind strings of little iron bells round 
 and round their legs, -which jingle as they walk. In 
 their hands they carry a long staff, and rush along 
 like a whirlwind, till they arrive at the house where 
 the person supposed to be possessed by the evil 
 spirit dwells. Rites and ceremonies follow which 
 would be ridiculous if the whole thing was not so
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 51 
 
 sad; sometimes the poor patient dies under -the 
 treatment. 
 
 I do not think I am speaking too strongly when 
 I say that Swahili heathen women have no morals, 
 and those that are slaves are at the entire disposal 
 of their masters. They are affectionate mothers, 
 but entirely irresponsible, without the smallest 
 idea of nursing or training their children. When 
 the children are babes, and often till they are three 
 or four years old, they carry them everywhere on 
 their backs, feed them with all sorts of improper 
 food when they cry, and shake or smack them when 
 troublesome ; after that age they are allowed to 
 run about and play in the streets as they please, 
 and when expostulated with for allowing them to 
 indulge in evil habits, the mother will smile and say, 
 ' They are amusing themselves. ' There is no doubt 
 that the uneducated women are below the standard 
 of the men, and it is very difficult to teach adults, 
 as apparently they never think, and yet the follow- 
 ing story shows how they do in time take in the 
 teaching which at the moment seems thrown away. 
 There was an old woman who for weeks came 
 to listen to Christian teaching. One day she -was 
 asked, ' Do you remember who made you ?' 
 ' Yes, bibi,' she replied. ' Who was He ?' ' Yes, 
 bibi.' ' Try and think ; who made the sea, and 
 trees, and Indian corn ?' ' Yes, bibi.' ' Now, 
 mama, try and say His Name.' ' Yes, bibi.' 
 \Vhat was to be done ? thought the teacher. Was 
 her Swahili all wrong, or had the woman no wits ? 
 But a week later the same old woman startled the 
 teacher by saying suddenly : ' God made me, and
 
 52 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 the trees and everything, and He is everywhere, 
 but I can't see Him.' 
 
 African women are capable of great devotion 
 to those who have been kind to them ; to such a 
 one they will give their services without stint and 
 without price, and they often make very tender, 
 gentle nurses. 
 
 In the town of Zanzibar we find that if our 
 young married women are to lead good lives it 
 is very necessary to provide them with work, which 
 shall in some measure keep them from their evil 
 surroundings. The chief meal in the day is at 6 
 P.M., so that morning work does not interfere with 
 the household duties or the husband's comfort. 
 For this purpose we have a large sewing class, 
 where a number of women are employed in making 
 and mending clothes, and also a laundry, which 
 employs some of them, and where one year we 
 earned 1269 pice ; this sounds a large sum, but 
 as four pice make a penny it is not so very magni- 
 ficent. A woman's wages are from eight to 
 fourteen pice a day. 
 
 The Arab ladies are visited from house to house ; 
 they gladly welcome the visits of missionaries, and 
 like to talk to them and ask questions, and they 
 are generally quite ready to listen to the Bible 
 being read and explained, and will at times ask 
 for it themselves. In another chapter we give 
 some account of these visits.* 
 
 D. Y. M. 
 
 * Part of this paper appeared in The Guardian, and is 
 reprinted here by kind permission of the publishers.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 53 
 
 IV 
 
 WHEN we hear people talking about Mission work, 
 there are some who are apt to think only of mis- 
 sions to the heathen, to those who know little or 
 nothing of God. They forget that there are many 
 who have some knowledge of God, even though 
 that knowledge is imperfect, or partly false. So 
 it is that for a long time people thought very little 
 about missions to the Mohammedan world, and 
 some who did not know much about Mohammedan- 
 ism went so far as to say that it is a good and simple 
 religion, and more suited to the Eastern races than 
 Christianity. Many people are beginning now to 
 see how untrue this is ; they find out how badly 
 Mohammedan countries have been governed and 
 still are governed, unless Christianity has had some 
 influence upon the minds of those who govern. 
 
 We know that Morocco and Turkey and Persia 
 are not well governed now, and that Egypt and 
 India have only been well governed since they 
 passed under the rule of a Christian nation. So we 
 ask, why is this ? \Vhy is it that the Mohammedan 
 religion, if it is a good and simple faith, has not had
 
 54 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 better results ; and if a country is better governed 
 under Christian than under Mohammedan rulers, 
 surely the more we try to spread the Christian 
 faith among Mohammedans the better. 
 
 If you look at a missionary atlas, you will find 
 a large portion of the map of the world marked a 
 certain colour, often green, and that means that 
 that portion of the world is inhabited by people 
 who follow the religion of Mohammed, viz. North 
 Africa, Turkey, Asia Minor, Arabia, Syria, Persia, 
 Afghanistan, large parts of India and of the East 
 Indian Islands. 
 
 There are more than 200,000,000 Mohammedans 
 in the world to-day, as against 500,000,000 Chris- 
 tians, and we must remember that Mohammed was 
 born nearly 600 years after our Lord, so that 
 Christianity had quite 550 years start of Moham- 
 medanism, and although Christianity is spreading 
 all over the world to-day, as it never spread before, 
 yet Mohammedanism is also advancing in some 
 countries, and perhaps faster in Africa than else- 
 where. 
 
 Mohammedanism has special interest for Chris- 
 tians because it is the only great religion which has 
 arisen after Christianity. 
 
 The two other great religions of Asia, Buddhism 
 and Confucianism, the religions of the most thickly 
 populated countries in the world, viz. India, China, 
 and Japan, arose nearly 500 years before Christ. 
 Mohammedans make a great deal of this. They 
 say, ' Our religion came last, and therefore it is 
 the best.' This is half a truth. It did come last,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 55 
 
 but we must look into the religion itself and then 
 we shall see how false it is to say that it is the best 
 because it is the last, or that Mohammed is greater 
 than our Lord because he came after Him. That 
 is what they say and that is what they believe. 
 Now let us examine Mohammedanism. It is like 
 Christianity in this, that it is the religion of a 
 Person and a Book ! The Mohammedan follows 
 Mohammed as closely, in some respects more 
 closely, than the Christian follows Christ, and 
 he reverences his book, the Koran, as much as 
 the Christian reverences the Gospel. He thinks 
 that Mohammed has succeeded to the throne of 
 Jesus Christ, and that the person who reads and 
 knows the Koran need not trouble himself to read 
 and know the Gospel. So that when they tell us 
 Mohammed is greater than Christ, and that the 
 Koran is better than the Gospel, we say : Let us 
 examine the lives of the Founders of the two great 
 religions, and let us examine the books of the two 
 great religions, and we shall see then which after all 
 is the best religion to follow. One man is not neces- 
 sarily better than another because he is younger, 
 or one book better than another because it was 
 published after the other. We must examine the 
 lives of the two men, and we must study the 
 contents of the two books. 
 
 Now we know about Christ, and we know the 
 contents of the Gospel, so that we have only to keep 
 these in mind while we hear about Mohammed and 
 the Koran. 
 
 Let us take Mohammed first and remember
 
 56 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 that what I have written about the facts of 
 Mohammed's life I have seen in books written by 
 Mohammedans themselves. 
 
 He was born at Mecca about 570 A.D., after 
 the death of his father Abdallah. His mother's 
 name was Amina. She died when Mohammed was 
 quite young. Both his parents were heathen. 
 He was taken care of first by his grandfather, Abdul 
 Mutlahb, and after his grandfather's death by Abu 
 Talib, who was his uncle- on his father's side. 
 
 We know very little about his youth and early 
 manhood, and in a very short sketch like this need 
 not trouble ourselves about it. 
 
 Mohammed was employed as a young man by a 
 wealthy Arab lady of noble birth, whose name was 
 Khadija, and his trustworthiness pleased her so 
 much that she married him. She was many years 
 older than Mohammed himself, and seems to have 
 exerted a very good influence over him. Moham- 
 med, before Khadija's death, and Mohammed 
 afterwards are two different men. 
 
 The Arabs of Mecca were nearly all of them 
 heathen. There was a temple in Mecca called the 
 Kaaba, said to have been built by Abraham and 
 Ishmael near the spot where Hagar found the well 
 of water, when Ishmael was dying. This temple 
 was full of images worshipped by the Arabs, and 
 there was a curious black stone built into the wall 
 of the temple. The Arabs used to walk seven 
 times round the temple and kiss the black stone, 
 just as the Mohammedans do to-day when they 
 are on pilgrimage.
 
 57 
 
 There were a few Christians in Mecca, probably 
 slaves or Abyssinians, and a few Arabs were 
 beginning to have a purer faith. One of these, 
 whose name was Waraka, was a cousin of Moham- 
 med's wife. 
 
 Mohammed was nearly forty before he began 
 to believe that he was sent by God to be the prophet 
 of the people of Mecca, and to preach the Unity of 
 God, and to denounce his fellow-countrymen for 
 worshipping many gods. He used to go to a cave 
 near Mecca for meditation. He became very de- 
 pressed and was tempted to commit suicide, so that 
 his friends even thought of summoning Arab 
 doctors who pretended to be able to expel evil 
 spirits. At last he had a dream that an angel 
 came to him and told him to read certain words 
 announcing that God is the Creator of mankind. 
 He was very frightened, and returned home to 
 Khadija, asking her to wrap him up. 
 
 This first vision explains to us the Mohammedan 
 idea of a sacred book. It is a book written in 
 heaven by God and then sent down, and all the 
 prophet has to do is just to read the words and 
 repeat them to others. They say that every word 
 and letter is sacred. It is written by the ' hand of 
 God ' ! Because the Mohammedans believe this, 
 they will not translate the Koran, and do not like 
 explaining it, their reverence for it is so great they 
 wash their hands before reading it, and generally 
 rest it on a carved stand. 
 
 They think the Gospel was a book given to 
 Jesus Christ in the same way. After Mohammed
 
 58 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 had had this first dream, there was an interval, and 
 then he thought the Archangel Gabriel came to him 
 and ordered him to preach. So he began. His 
 first convert was his wife, then his two adopted 
 sons Ali and Zaid, then his great friend Abu Bakr, 
 whose daughter Ayesha he afterwards married, 
 and some others. Many of his first converts were 
 poor, some of them slaves. 
 
 When the Arabs of Mecca found that Moham- 
 med had begun to attack their religion, to abuse 
 their God, and laugh at their superstition, they 
 began to persecute his followers, so that they 
 were compelled to flee away to Abyssinia, where 
 the king, who was a Christian, gave them refuge. 
 Afterwards they had to shut themselves in a ravine 
 in the outskirts of Mecca, and were boycotted by 
 all the other Arabs. Some of his followers were 
 subjected to cruel treatment, and but for his 
 powerful supporters among the noble Arabs, 
 Mohammed's own life would have been in danger. 
 
 T.his is by far the best part of Mohammed's life. 
 He was living with one wife only, he was preaching 
 the Unity of God against the many gods of the 
 heathen, he was denouncing evil customs, such as 
 burying infant daughters alive, and he was endur- 
 ing persecution for a truth, ' That there is one 
 God.' 
 
 When he found that the people of Mecca would 
 not hear him, he tried another town, Paif, some 
 distance away, but was repulsed with scorn and 
 wounds. His wife Khadija had died, and also his 
 supporter Abu Palib, and things seemed very dark
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 59 
 
 indeed, when he took the step which retrieved his 
 fortunes and led to the final triumph of Moham- 
 medanism in Arabia. 
 
 The Arabs used to come to Mecca every year on 
 pilgrimage to the Kaaba, and Mohammed began to 
 preach to these pilgrims. Among them \vere some 
 pilgrims from Medina, a city to the north of Mecca 
 some ten days' journey. These pilgrims listened to 
 him, and he sent them to explain his mission to their 
 fellow citizens. There were also many Jews in 
 Medina and its neighbourhood, and the Arabs knew 
 that these Jews were expecting a Messiah, and so 
 were ready to believe that perhaps Mohammed, who 
 claimed to be descended from Abraham, was the 
 prophet the Jews were expecting. 
 
 The next year twelve men came and a great 
 compact was made. They swore allegiance to 
 Mohammed and promised to obey some simple 
 moral commands which he gave them. 
 
 The Arabs of Mecca meanwhile had been trying 
 to bribe Mohammed to recognise their gods as well 
 as Allah, and once he gave way, but immediately 
 repented. 
 
 Then persecution waxed very fierce, and some 
 of his companions suffered so much that he medi- 
 tated flight to Medina, and advised his followers to 
 do the same. They did so, and after a short time 
 his own life was in such danger that he had to flee 
 to a cave with Abu Bakr They were almost dis- 
 covered, and Mohammed comforted his friend by 
 saying, ' There are three in this cave. God is the 
 third. Fear not ! ' Eventually they succeeded in
 
 60 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 escaping to Medina. This is called by Moham- 
 medans the year of the Higira or ' Migration,' 
 622 A.D., and they date everything from it, as we 
 do from the birth of Christ. 
 
 After a short time all the money of the Moham- 
 medans in Medina was used up, and Mohammed 
 made an arrangement by which his disciples in 
 Medina, called ' Helpers/ should make a brother- 
 hood with his disciples from Mecca, who were called 
 ' The Refugees,' supporting them and even leaving 
 them their property. This did not last long, and 
 was a very dangerous experiment, and so Moham- 
 med organised a raid on the caravans of the Arabs 
 of Mecca. He does not seem to have had any sort 
 of feeling that this kind of highway robbery was 
 wrong. They had to get food and money somehow 
 and they considered the infidels of Mecca were their 
 lawful prey. This raid led to a battle, in which the 
 small Mohammedan force conquered a much larger 
 army of the Meccan Arabs. This was called the 
 battle of Bedr, and all the warriors of the battle of 
 Bedr are considered to be saints by the Moham- 
 medan world, and invoked in time of difficulty and 
 trouble. There were many raids after this, some 
 of them successful, some not. There was another 
 battle at Ohod ; in this the Mohammedans were 
 defeated, and Mohammed himself severely wounded. 
 Then the Meccan Apabs came in great force to 
 besiege Medina, but through utter want of courage 
 and enterprise failed to make any impression on the 
 braver and more strategic Moslems. Mohammed 
 then turned his attention to the Jews.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 61 
 
 He had hoped to gain them over, but when he 
 found they would not leave their religion for his, 
 and that they were a source of disaffection in 
 Medina, he determined to expel them. 
 
 This he did very cruelly and unmercifully, 
 taking away all their property and sending them 
 away almost empty handed, and in some cases mas- 
 sacring the captives without scruple or remorse. 
 
 At this time he was increasing the number ot 
 his wives, on one occasion marrying a Jewess, very 
 shortly after killing her husband in battle ; on 
 another occasion falling in love with the wife of 
 his adopted son Zaid, and making his affection for 
 her so obvious that this adopted son offered to 
 divorce her. At first Mohammed refused to allow 
 this, but at last he said that the Archangel Gabriel 
 had revealed to him that it was God's will that 
 Zaid should divorce his wife Zeinab, so that Mo- 
 hammed might marry her. Words to this effect 
 are in the Koran to-day, and are believed by all 
 Mohammedans to be the words of God, and part of 
 the final and perfect revelation of God to men ! 
 
 Mohammed had eleven wives in all ; the 
 separate houses in which they lived being in the 
 immediate neighbourhood of the mosque at Medina. 
 The whole history of Mohammed's life at this time 
 is a history of raids and marriages. At last he felt 
 himself strong enough to attack Mecca. In this 
 he was successful, and before he died had the satis- 
 faction of performing the pilgrimage to Mecca 
 unhindered, of destroying the images in the Kaaba, 
 and of feeling that he had the whole of Arabia more
 
 02 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 or less at his feet, many of the Arabs, at least out- 
 wardly, professing belief in the Unity of God and 
 in Mohammed as the prophet of God. 
 
 He died June 7, 632 A.D., and in a surprisingly 
 short time after his death Egypt, North Africa, 
 Syria, and Persia were conquered, and either ac- 
 cepted the Mohammedan religion or as Christians 
 and Jews agreed to pay tribute and to accept an 
 inferior position under Mohammedan rulers. 
 
 Such is a brief and of course very imperfect 
 sketch of Mohammed's life, and of the life of the 
 man whom the Mohammedans wish us to believe is 
 greater than Christ ! 
 
 If we wish to be quite fair, we must remember 
 that in the soul of every man there is good as well 
 as evil, and so to acknowledge that there is good in 
 Mohammedanism and in the Koran. 
 
 The Arabs had many traditions about the Old 
 Testament prophets ; there were many Jews and 
 Christians in Arabia and in the neighbouring 
 countries in Mohammed's day. 
 
 A boy like Mohammed, who went with caravans 
 to trade in Syria, and a young man who passed 
 many a night in the inns where men of all religions 
 foregathered, must have known much of the 
 religions of the Jew and the Christian, although 
 the information he picked up would not always 
 be very correct. Thus as a thoughtful man he 
 would begin to see the folly of idolatry and the 
 other heathen habits of the Arabs, and he would 
 begin to see the evil of some customs such as the 
 habit of killing infant daughters. He might know
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 63 
 
 all this and believe all this without being what 
 we should call a prophet in the highest sense. 
 He would pick out of the Jewish and Christian 
 religions what he approved, and would continue 
 to allow Arab customs to which he could see no 
 objection, and yet in spite of it all remain, what 
 he certainly did remain, a man full of superstition 
 and cruelty and lust, and not at all above lying, 
 and lying badly to suit his interests and to attain 
 his ends. 
 
 He lied to get Zaid's wife, he had no scruple 
 whatever in letting people be assassinated who 
 composed ribald songs about him, he cruelly mas- 
 sacred the Jews when he had them in his power, 
 he was a confirmed polygamist, had no scruple in 
 marrying a woman whose husband's death he had 
 brought about for political ends, and he had no 
 scruple whatever in sending camels and attacking 
 caravans. Therefore in spite of the fact that 
 there are many noble passages in the Koran and 
 much simple morality, obviously borrowed from 
 Christian or Jewish sources, as we reflect on 
 Mohammed's life in Mecca, Our Lord's words come 
 to our minds, ' Beware of false prophets who come 
 to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are 
 ravening wolves : by their fruits ye shall know 
 them. Do men gather grapes of thorns or figs of 
 thistles ? A good tree cannot bring forth evil 
 fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good 
 fruit. The thief cometh not save to rob and 
 kill and destroy. I am the Good Shepherd. The 
 Good Shepherd giveth his life for the sheep. I am
 
 64 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 come that they may have life, and have it more 
 abundantly.' 
 
 If we compare the two leaders of the two 
 religions that must be our final verdict as 
 Christians. 
 
 Now let us turn our attention to the Koran, 
 the book which Mohammed declares was given him 
 by the Archangel Gabriel from God, and which is 
 to take the place of the Gospels in the religious 
 education of mankind. The Mohammedans be- 
 lieve that every word of it was written by God in 
 Arabic before the foundation of the world, and 
 kept in heaven until Mohammed was forty years 
 old. It was then brought down by the Archangel 
 Gabriel and revealed to Mohammed piecemeal as 
 occasion required. He simply read it and repeated 
 it. This is what they believe of the Book of the 
 Law that came to Moses, the Book of the Psalms 
 that came to David, and the Book of the Gospel 
 which came to our Lord. When they find out that 
 we believe that Jesus Christ never wrote a word 
 and that our Gospels are the writings of the Evan- 
 gelists only, they then say that we have lost the 
 true Gospel which Jesus Christ was given, and that 
 that is why our religion differs from theirs : because 
 our Gospel is not the true Gospel. They believe, 
 then, that the Koran is ' the Book of God/ and 
 that every true book of God must agree with it. 
 
 Because they think it is the Book of God, they 
 wash their hands before they read it, and ask God 
 to drive Satan away from their hearts. So what 
 we missionaries have to do is to read the Koran and
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 65 
 
 find out what is in it, how far it agrees with Chris- 
 tianity and Judaism, and how far it differs from 
 them, and whether as a book it is worthy of God : as 
 worthy of God as our Holy Gospels. 
 
 First we find that it was written down by Arabs 
 who believed in Mohammed : written down bit by 
 bit on leaves and skins and bones. Some of it was 
 never written at all at the time it was recited : it 
 was committed to memory and only written down 
 years after Mohammed's death, when everything 
 was collected together and made into one volume. 
 There was no real attempt at arrangement, so that 
 the words first uttered by Mohammed come last, 
 and the last words uttered come nearly first in the 
 book. This makes it hard to understand. It is 
 divided into portions for every day of the month, 
 and a good Mohammedan reads it through once 
 every month. No boy is considered to be edu- 
 cated until he can read it right through. It does 
 not seem to matter whether he understands it or 
 not. 
 
 But supposing he can understand it, what will 
 he learn from it, and from the commentaries written 
 to explain it ? He will learn that God is One, that 
 He creates and preserves all things, that He has 
 created men and spirits and angels, that men fell 
 through Satan, that God has sent many prophets, 
 of whom Jesus is one and Mohammed the last and 
 greatest, and the book which he gave them, the 
 Koran, is the last and the best ; that all the 
 prophets preached and warned and prophesied, and 
 some performed miracles, especially Our Lord ;
 
 66 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 that many nations have been destroyed because 
 they refused to listen to these prophets ; that now 
 there is only one true religion, Mohammedanism, 
 and only one prophet men need obey and imitate, 
 Mohammed ; that men must pray Mohammedan 
 prayers, and give Mohammedan alms, and fast the 
 Mohammedan fast in the month of Ramadhan ; that 
 they must go on pilgrimage to Mecca at least once 
 in their lives, say a stated form of prayer five times 
 a day, at the mosque or at home ; that they are 
 to be kind to fellow Mohammedans, spend their 
 money freely, be considerate to widows, orphans, 
 travellers (this often means in practice only those of 
 the Mohammedan faith) ; that after death every- 
 body will be asked whether they were Moham- 
 medans, and if they say ' No,' they will be cast into 
 some part of hell ; that every Mohammedan will 
 receive according to his deeds, but even if wicked 
 will eventually come out of hell ; that Christians and 
 Jews will remain in it for ever ; that good Moham- 
 medans will be received into Paradise, where they 
 will lie on comfortable couches, be clad in priceless 
 raiment, eat delicious fruit, drink luscious wine, be 
 waited on by many servants, have almost boundless 
 property and a great many wives, and from their 
 place of repose look down with scorn and triumph 
 on the punishment of the damned. These material 
 pleasures and the vile, loathsome, and intensely 
 cruel punishments of hell are described over and 
 over again in the Koran at great length and with 
 minute details. 
 
 In the last chapter of the Koran (that is to say,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 67 
 
 the chapter which is supposed by scholars to be 
 the last which was recited by Mohammed) the 
 Mohammedans are urged to kill the infidels 
 wherever they meet them, striking off their heads. 
 The word ' kill ' occurs again and again, and from 
 this the Mohammedans have made religious 
 war Jihad one of the principal duties of their 
 religion. They have Mohammed's teaching and 
 practice for their justification. 
 
 Every Moslem may have four wives, and may 
 divorce the same wife three times, and any woman 
 captured in war he may add to the number of his 
 wives. In the Koran you will find passages which 
 refer to incidents in Mohammed's life, his domestic 
 squabbles, his marriage with Zaid's wife, his curses 
 on his enemies, and his vindictive desires for the 
 eternal punishment of his foes. There are many 
 chapters simply copied from Old Testament 
 stories, with curious and sometimes ludicrous addi- 
 tions, and some absurd blunders and confusions. 
 
 With regard to Christianity, the Mohammedan 
 student will learn that Jesus Christ was the son of 
 the Virgin Mary, the servant and the creature of 
 God, that He spake in the cradle saying He was 
 only a creature, that He performed miracles in His 
 childhood and many wonderful miracles in His 
 manhood, that He had disciples, was given the 
 Gospel by God, that He is the W r ord of God, viz. 
 He was created by a Word from God, who said, 
 ' Be and He was,' that He is a spirit from God, 
 viz. a created Spirit, that he prophesied of the 
 coming of Mohammed (the prophecy of the coming
 
 68 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 of the Holy Ghost being believed by all Moham- 
 medans to refer to Mohammed), that He was 
 never crucified (some one else being made like 
 Him and crucified in His place), that He never 
 died, and so never rose again, that he was trans- 
 lated like Elijah to heaven, that He will come again 
 and overcome anti-Christ, converting the world to 
 Mohammedanism, that then He will die and be 
 buried next to Mohammed at Medina, where there 
 is a vacant place reserved for Him. You see the 
 student will be taught to deny the Divinity of Our 
 Lord, His Incarnation, Crucifixion, Death, Resur- 
 rection, the Coming of the Holy Ghost, the Inter- 
 cession of Our Lord, the Atonement, Christ's 
 session at God's Right Hand, His coming to judge 
 the world as King and Saviour, the spiritual nature 
 of Eternal Life in Heaven. 
 
 The Koran in its spirit differs completely from 
 the Gospel. And you must remember one thing, 
 that we have only Mohammed's word to rely upon 
 for all this. So that everything turns on the ques- 
 tion as to whether he was a truthful man or not ; 
 and then consider those statements he made : 
 
 1. That Our Lord was never crucified. 
 
 2. That God gave him leave to marry the wife 
 of his adopted son Zaid, in Zaid's lifetime, and in 
 spite of the fact that Zaid had not the least reason 
 for divorcing her. Divorce is an abomination to 
 God. How much more such a divorce. 
 
 3. That he was carried to heaven on a wonder- 
 ful horse, Boraki, and on his way to the Presence of 
 God saw Our Lord with John the Baptist in the
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 69 
 
 second heaven below Aaron, Joseph, Enoch, Moses, 
 Abraham, and very far below the height reached 
 by Mohammed himself. 
 
 He said he was told all this by God Himself 
 through the intervention of the Archangel Gabriel ! 
 
 Can \ve put much faith in a man who was 
 capable of such statements ? Everything that is 
 good in the Koran is rather the natural good which 
 is in the soul of man, created by God, or the good 
 which he picked out of the religions with which he 
 came into contact : good which again and again he 
 marred and spoiled by additions of his own. Well, 
 this is the religion of 200,000,000 of the world to- 
 day, and unless we strain every nerve it will be the 
 religion of a great many millions more. Are these 
 the kind of thoughts we want to exist in men's 
 minds ? And are these the kind of thoughts likely 
 to bring forth good fruit ? Remember they are in 
 the Koran, and are supposed to be the true thoughts 
 of God Himself. 
 
 If the Well, the Well of Waters, is poisoned, the 
 stream that issues from such a well can never be a 
 River of Water of Life to man. W r hat do we find ? 
 Wherever Mohammedanism has had a free hand, 
 we meet with slavery, divorce, polygamy, assassi- 
 nation, awful immorality, lying, and a terrible and 
 blighting belief in Kismet or fate, from which there 
 is no escape ; so that if a man murders his wife and 
 commits suicide afterwards in prison, you are told 
 that he did it all because it was ' written ' that he 
 should do it. 
 
 It is notorious that injustice and oppression are
 
 70 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 rife in every Mohammedan land, except where 
 Christian powers have the upper hand and insist 
 on the impartial administration of justice. 
 
 If we are told, ' But you are warned against 
 injustice in the Koran ' yes, that is true, but 
 Mohammed says that he was told to steal his 
 neighbour's property by highway robbery, and 
 given permission to take his neighbour's wife ; and 
 a God who gives such commands cannot be believed 
 to be a source of justice to men. 
 
 An evil tree cannot bring forth good fruit. The 
 Koran is the fountain and Mohammed the channel 
 in the Mohammedan belief. Mohammed is the 
 source and the Koran the channel, as Christians 
 believe. But the source in either case is tainted, 
 and wherever the stream flows there can be only 
 moral sickness and disease and stagnation and 
 death. 
 
 Let me conclude this short account of Moham- 
 medanism by explaining the Mohammedan's creed 
 and the form of prayer used daily by the Moham- 
 medans very much as we use the Lord's Prayer. 
 
 The creed is very simple and very brief: 
 ' There is no God but God, and Mohammed is the 
 prophet of God.' 
 
 This creed is called ' The key that opens Para- 
 dise.' It is always recited in their prayers. They 
 will sing it for hours and recite it as a kind of 
 Litany as they go to bury their dead. 
 
 What does it mean ? It means that God is only 
 one Person ; that there is no one who can be called 
 ' The Only Begotten Son of God,' and that there is
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 71 
 
 no one who can be called ' The Holy Spirit of God.' 
 It is a point-blank denial of the doctrine of the 
 Holy Trinity, and pressed to its logical conclusion 
 practically denies that God is Love. It is a weapon 
 forged not only against idolatry or polytheism, but 
 against the chief doctrine of the Christian Faith. 
 That is what every Mohammedan believes when he 
 repeats it. 
 
 The Mohammedan Prayer called Fatihah 
 
 ' In the name of God the Merciful and Com- 
 passionate [viz. to Mohammedans]. 
 
 Praise be to God, Lord of all the Worlds. 
 
 The Compassionate, the Merciful. 
 
 King on the day of Judgment [not Our Lord]. 
 
 Thee do w r e worship and Thee do we supplicate 
 for help. 
 
 Guide Thou us on the right path [Mohammed- 
 anism]. 
 
 The path of those to whom Thou art gracious 
 [Mohammedans] . 
 
 Not [the path] of those with whom Thou art 
 angered [the Jews]. 
 
 Nor of those who go astray ' [the Christians]. 
 
 Said as Mohammedans say it, it is one great 
 protest against the Christian faith. The Moham- 
 medans themselves would admit that this is so. 
 
 Everyone, then, who looks forward to the day 
 when the kingdom of the world shall become the
 
 72 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 Kingdom of God and of His Christ is bound by the 
 tie of simple loyalty to our Saviour to pray that 
 the blessing of God may rest on all those who are 
 endeavouring to help forward the triumph of the 
 light and pttrity of the Christian Faith over the 
 dim light and impure teachings of Mohammed. 
 
 Every prayer is a help. But there is a simple 
 prayer with three petitions that Mohammedans 
 may have grace to know three revealed truths of 
 Christianity, which if accepted will transform their 
 ideas of that God whose Unity they so sternly 
 proclaim. 
 
 1. That they may learn what is meant by the 
 Fatherhood of God. 
 
 2. That they may learn to see the Glory of 
 God in the Face of Jesus Christ. 
 
 3. That the great gift of the Holy Spirit may be 
 poured upon them from on high. 
 
 ' If ye have faith ye will say unto this moun- 
 tain, Be thou removed and cast into the sea, and 
 it shall be done. And all things, whatsoever ye 
 shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive.' 
 
 G. D.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 73 
 
 V 
 
 MOHAMMEDAN OBSERVANCES, WITCH- 
 CRAFT AND SPIRIT-WORSHIP 
 
 A MOHAMMEDAN is most strict in keeping all the 
 outward forms of his religion and observing the 
 fasts and festivals connected with it. They 
 have no priesthood, but their teachers, who are 
 called Walimu, are held in great respect. There 
 are numerous sects and divisions among them, 
 entertaining great bitterness and hostility towards 
 each other. Prayer, as taught in the Bible, 
 is but little known among them. Their worship 
 is entirely regulated -by ritual. The worshipper 
 spreads an oval-shaped mat on the ground, 
 made of split palm and called msala ; he stands 
 with his face towards Mecca, the birthplace of 
 Mohammed their great prophet. He then begins 
 his prayer with his hands outspread and his thumbs 
 touching the lobes of his ears. In this position 
 he repeats certain passages from the Koran, then 
 he drops his hands to his girdle, folds them 
 together, and says more verses from the same 
 book. Next, he bends forward, resting both hands 
 upon his knees, and repeats three times, bowing low
 
 74 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 his head, a form of prayer to God, the Most Great. 
 Then he stands upright and cries sixteen times 
 Allah akbar (God is great). He then bows his 
 head between his extended hands till his forehead 
 touches the ground, which he strikes at least three 
 times in token of his humility, and this act can 
 be repeated again and again, sometimes as often 
 as twenty times when very desirous of showing 
 humility and repentance. He then sits back on 
 his heels and repeats another form of prayer, 
 after which, rising to his feet, he folds his hands 
 and concludes his prayer, repeating over and 
 over the words, ' There is no God but God, and 
 Mohammed is the prophet of God.' 
 
 A very fervent worshipper will repeat this form 
 as many as forty times, checking off each aspira- 
 tion with a bead from a string which he holds in 
 his hands. The more frequently a man repeats 
 the form the better Moslem he is. 
 
 It is the custom of devout Mohammedans to 
 pray five times a day at dawn, at noon, between 
 noon and sunset, at sunset, and an hour and a 
 half later ; and a gun is fired in Zanzibar at these 
 hours to call the faithful to prayer. Those who 
 are very devout make two extra prayers about 
 midnight, and an hour before daybreak. 
 
 We Christians, who are so terribly afraid of 
 being caught at our prayers, cannot help being 
 struck by the way in which never mind what he 
 is doing at the time the Mohammedan begins 
 his devotions directly the call to prayer is heard. 
 Once when I was travelling to India there were a
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 75 
 
 number of Mohammedans on board, and among 
 them a prominent Mwalimu,* who always went 
 round at the hours of prayer and collected all 
 his disciples, many of them young and frivolous 
 men who were most unwilling to attend to him. 
 But unwilling or no they had to obey, and the 
 Mwalimu saw that they omitted no part of their 
 ritual, which many of them appeared to have 
 forgotten, or perhaps had never really known. 
 Every now and then one or another of them would 
 call out in the middle of his devotions to know 
 what he was to do next, and some of them varied 
 their morning prayers by brushing their teeth 
 or holding a short conversation with a fellow- 
 traveller, though, of course, these were not the 
 truly devout. 
 
 We missionaries always had our services in 
 the saloon the w r hole body of Mohammedans 
 standing round the skylight watching us. To 
 Mohammedans the Christians' way of praying 
 seems sadly wanting in devotion and reverence ; 
 an old Mohammedan servant w r e had in the Mission 
 once taxed me with this, and pointing to a mark 
 on his forehead, which looked suspiciously like 
 dirt, but which he assured me was worn by his 
 constant prostrations, asked me what I had to 
 show as a sign of my devotion and prayers. 
 
 All devout Mohammedans try and make a 
 
 pilgrimage to Mecca at least once in their lifetime, 
 
 where they kiss the holy stone, hear a sermon 
 
 from some great teacher, pelt Satan with stones 
 
 * Mwalimu, a teacher ; Walimu, teachers.
 
 76 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 in the valley of Mina, and have a great sacrificial 
 feast at which hundreds of sheep are slaughtered. 
 After having made this pilgrimage a man often 
 wears a green turban or scarf green 'being a 
 religious colour and considers his salvation 
 ensured. Mohammedans treat the Koran with 
 great reverence, and when reading rest it upon a 
 curious little stand which is often richly carved 
 and inlaid with pearl. They have several fasts 
 and festivals in the year, and keep Friday as their 
 weekly feast day, which answers to our Sunday, 
 because they say Adam was created on that day. 
 Ramadhan is their longest fast, lasting for 
 thirty days, and they count their months from its 
 termination. During this time they neither eat 
 nor drink between 4 A.M. and sunset at 6 P.M., 
 at which time they bathe and say their prayers, 
 after which they may eat as much as they like 
 till four o'clock in the morning again. It is a 
 curious sight at this time of the year in Zanzibar 
 to see the crowds waiting about, listening for the 
 firing of the sunset gun, when they can immediately 
 fall to and feast on the dainties which their wives 
 and slaves have spent the day in cooking for them. 
 The shops are piled with fruit and split cocoanuts 
 ready for eating, while women stand in the streets 
 with trays of sweetmeats, and boys carry about 
 coffee-pots with little cups arranged on trays, and 
 there are hand-carts full of bottles of soda-water 
 and lime-juice. The fast ends with the appearance 
 of the new moon, which is most anxiously looked 
 for. The men stand in excited groups about the
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 79 
 
 town, and the women watch from the house- 
 tops. 
 
 The ceremony of proclaiming the termination 
 of the fast takes place in the square in front of 
 the Sultan's palace. All the troops are mustered, 
 and as soon as the crescent is visible twenty guns 
 are fired off, and cries and shouts of joy are heard 
 on all sides. Sometimes after a period of watching 
 the moon cannot be seen, and then the troops are 
 marched back to barracks, and the weary fast and 
 watch lasts for another day. At the end of 
 Ramadhan comes a week of festivity and rejoicing. 
 The first day, which is called the Siku Kuu 
 (Great Day) , everyone gives and receives presents, 
 and puts on new clothes. The Sultan holds a 
 baraza (court) in the morning, and later in the 
 day the whole population turn out on Nazi Moja, 
 which presents a wonderful scene of animation 
 and colour. Thousands of people come together 
 from every part of the island, all in their best and 
 gayest attire ; no dingy collection of dark coats and 
 trousers as you see in England, but snowy-white 
 kanzus, with red, green, pink, yellow, and blue 
 waistcoats, or long, gold-embroidered johos, gay 
 turbans or velvet caps, and heavy gold and silver 
 jewellery. Arab ladies are not seen on these 
 occasions, but Indian ladies and Swahili women 
 are well to the fore in new sheeties and tunics, 
 frilled trousers, and their mistress's jewellery. The 
 children are always very prettily and daintily 
 dressed, and you meet whole families of them, 
 from lads of fifteen to tiny children and babies in
 
 8o WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 the perambulator, and if they happen to know 
 you they run up to embrace your hands in a very 
 engaging manner. There are all sorts of amuse- 
 ments and peepshows going on, some of them 
 very English in their style, such as merry-go- 
 rounds and hurdy-gurdies, but the native dances 
 are the most popular entertainments, and are far 
 the most interesting. Each tribe has its own special 
 dance and music, which consists in the furious 
 beating of ngoma (drums) and a weird sort of song. 
 The utmost courtesy and good temper prevails, 
 and one cannot-help comparing the good behaviour 
 of this Mohammedan crowd with many a bank 
 holiday scene in our civilised and Christian 
 country, and we who offer them the religion of 
 Christ may well learn a lesson of manners from 
 them in return. 
 
 There are other Mohammedan fasts and 
 festivals of shorter duration, but they all follow 
 on much the same lines, and would take too long 
 to describe*. 
 
 Witchcraft. Some of the Swahilis follow the 
 faith of their Arab masters, but, whether they 
 profess Mohammedanism or remain in the ignorance 
 of their own unbelief, the fear and power of witch- 
 craft holds absolute sway, not only over the 
 heathen, but in a lesser degree over those who, 
 on their admission to the catechumenate, make a 
 solemn vow to renounce it. No European need 
 ever imagine that he understands the African 
 character, or has any grasp of the motives which 
 influence the African mind, or that he is at home
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 81 
 
 in the intricacies of African law, unless he has 
 some acquaintance with African witchcraft. The 
 belief is one of the most potent forces at work in 
 Africa. The mother with child is protected against 
 its malevolent power ; the little babe can only be 
 tended by the nearest relations owing to the fear of 
 the same harmful influences ; the huts of withered 
 banana leaves, in which the boys live who are 
 being initiated into the tribal rites, are protected 
 by special charms from the evil intentions of 
 some jealous enemy ; the markets where people 
 throng, and where friend and foe jostle and push 
 one another, must obviously be surrounded by 
 medicinal charms of sufficient efficacy to rob 
 witchcraft of its death-dealing tendencies. At 
 night the little children tremble for fear at the 
 soimd of strange footsteps round .their home. 
 They say the wizard comes when people are 
 asleep, and cuts off some of the hair of the sleeper, 
 to use it as a medicine against him ; or puts poison 
 in the sleeper's mouth ; or that wizards dig up 
 the bodies of the dead, and dry them in the loft 
 over the hearth, and then at the dead of night 
 come and knock, and when the owner of the house 
 comes out, they fling the shrivelled corpse at his 
 feet. 
 
 They flip poisonous juices in your face as you 
 pass them on the road ; they place medicine in 
 the path by which you go to your plantation ; 
 they conceal medicine beneath the threshold of 
 your door, or place it in a hole made in the floor of 
 the little hut in which the women cook the midday
 
 82 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 meal in the fields when at work. No one is ever 
 supposed to die a natural death. If a child is ill, 
 some one at once asks the questions, ' Who has 
 touched the child ? Who has given it food ? 
 Who has been playing with it ? ' 
 
 And the witch-doctor and the diviner are 
 only too ready to play on the superstitious fear 
 of the people, for they all seem to be one great 
 clique, or a kind of mutual benefit club. If a man 
 accused of witchcraft dies, supposing the accusa- 
 tion was proved according to African ideas, the 
 mourning for the deceased cannot be finished. 
 He cannot be buried with honour in the village 
 by the graves of the village dead. If any sign 
 of honour or respect were paid to his memory, 
 an accusation would be immediately lodged, that 
 those taking part in the funeral festivities were 
 accomplices, and further payment would have to 
 be made to the friends and relations of the deceased. 
 In a small village where two of our Christian 
 boys lived, an old woman died, and for some 
 reason or other they did not finish off the funeral 
 properly. Probably no sacrificial goat was killed, 
 and so the corpse did not pass over blood. Under 
 such circumstances the spirit of the dead person 
 is supposed to be unable to rest, and also to be 
 in a very bad temper. A few days after the 
 funeral the little brother of one of these Christian 
 lads fell ill suddenly, and died in a few hours, 
 before they could fetch the doctor. So the 
 mother went to the ' diviner,' and he, after asking 
 a few questions, found out that the grandmother's
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 83 
 
 funeral had been but a shabby kind of affair, and 
 he ordered them to buy a goat and offer it as a 
 sacrifice to the angry spirit. This they did, and 
 then ate the goat. This is called Kuhoza, which 
 means to soothe or quiet down. What they 
 really believed was that the grandmother's ghost, in 
 order to get her sacrificial goat, had killed her grand- 
 child. 
 
 Neither of the Christian boys would have 
 anything to do with the sacrifice, or, what is more 
 to the point, refused to share the meal after the 
 sacrifice. 
 
 Two boys had a dislike to each other, and one 
 accused the other of trying to bewitch him. 
 He said that he had seen the other deliberately 
 scrape off the dirt on the book where he had 
 placed his thumb, and that was a well-known act 
 on the part of those who wished to bewitch 
 others. 
 
 Another case equally illustrates the enormous 
 influence this belief possesses in matters African : 
 A man wanted to get rid of his enemy, so he went 
 to a native doctor and asked for some medicine of 
 sufficient power to kill a man. The doctor gave 
 it to him. The man distrusted the doctor and the 
 efficacy of his drug, so he thought he would try 
 it on the doctor himself first. Accordingly he 
 went to the doctor's shamba, and hid the medicine 
 in a hole under a tree. Soon after, a slave girl 
 belonging to the doctor came along, and reaching 
 the spot where the medicine was concealed, fell 
 down dead there and then. 
 
 G 2
 
 8 4 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 But some one had seen the man conceal the 
 drug, and accused him to the doctor, and the 
 doctor carried him before the native judge. The 
 native judge refused to give any damages. He said : 
 ' No, my friend ! if you deal in such medicines 
 you deserve all, and more, than you have got. I 
 absolutely refuse to consider your case.' 
 
 Then the whole body of elders went to this 
 witch-doctor, and told him : ' If ever we hear of a 
 similar case we will either kill you, or drive you 
 out of the country.' Now the significant point 
 of the whole affair was, that not a single person, 
 including the judge, had the slightest doiibt that 
 the medicine really did kill the slave girl. The 
 principal motives which prompt- people to under- 
 take witchcraft are hatred and jealousy. Of these 
 the last is out and away the more powerful. Only 
 those who have lived amongst Africans, and 
 understand their language and ideas, can have 
 any conception how extraordinarily jealous they 
 are ; and this is the principal reason why it is so 
 wrong for missionaries to have favourites among 
 their servants or boys, or to give presents to any 
 one child and not to the rest. 
 
 It often ruins the character of that particular 
 child, and very likely completely upsets the peace 
 of the establishment, but, worse than that, it sets 
 in motion a whole train of devilish motives which 
 would considerably astonish the original cause 
 of them did he but know. 
 
 Witchcraft does not generally mean ' poison,' 
 but a concoction or powder which for some reason
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 85 
 
 or other is supposed to injure and perhaps to kill 
 the particular person for whom it is intended, and 
 him only, if he passes over it or sits on it. 
 
 If an African gets it into his head that he has 
 been bewitched he loses heart, despairs of recovery, 
 and gradually pines away and dies. ' It is not the 
 saffron bag,' says Mr. Caxton, ' that is efficacious, 
 but the belief in it.' 
 
 Though at times one can scarcely suppress a 
 smile at the extravagant nonsense of some of these 
 beliefs, there can be no doubt at all that the devil 
 does possess a greater measure of power over the 
 bodies as well as the souls of these untaught heathen, 
 and that his agents are all abroad, setting traps, 
 and forging chains, with which still further to 
 enslave them. 
 
 The powers of darkness are felt in Africa as 
 tangible and potent, and, like the earlier Christians, 
 one feels compelled to resort to the outward 
 sign of the cross with which to smite them. 
 
 In England, with centuries of Christianity 
 behind us, we know how slowly superstitions have 
 died out, and that even now there are people who 
 still hug a few in private ; one is therefore not 
 surprised that fifty years of the Gospel have as yet 
 failed to kill the belief in witchcraft among our 
 converts. 
 
 Evil Spirits. People at home find it very 
 hard to believe some of the accounts they hear 
 about these superstitions. It is difficult to under- 
 stand how anyone can believe that the spirit of 
 a dead person finds any satisfaction in being
 
 86 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 worshipped by the living in a cave or under a 
 tree ; but it is none the less certain that Africans 
 do believe it. There are five or six places near 
 Mbweni (the Christian village described later on) 
 alone where the people go to worship these spirits, 
 and two are quite close to the Mission. There 
 is a ruined house or chapel on the plantation 
 which once belonged to Sir John Kirk,* and is now 
 the property of Miss Thackeray. f The building 
 was said to belong to the Portuguese hundreds of 
 years ago, and probably became a ruin when they 
 were driven away by the Arabs. People have 
 turned this ruin into a place for spirit-worship. 
 It is on the very edge of the rocks, quite close 
 to the sea, and you can hardly reach it, because 
 of the thickness of the undergrowth. Possibly 
 some one living in the place many years ago had 
 a dream, and thought that they were told by a 
 spirit that appeared to them in the dream to go 
 and offer sacrifices in the old ruin. They did so, 
 and ever since it has been a place for spirit- worship. 
 Other people go there now, but they have to get 
 permission, and perhaps pay money to a descendant 
 of the family who first made it a place of spirit- 
 worship. If you go in, you see many pieces of 
 broken pottery arranged on the floor of the old 
 chapel, and some bits of dirty red and white rag 
 hanging up on a string. These are the offerings 
 paltry things, but tokens of respect to the 
 memory of the departed spirit. The people who 
 
 * For many years H.M. Consul in Zanzibar. 
 f Joined the Mission staff in 1877.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 87 
 
 go there ask the help of the spirit to enable them 
 to procure something they require, or to invoke 
 curses on some one they hate, or to discover some 
 thief who has stolen their money. The natives 
 are very much afraid of these places, and will not 
 go near them at night. I took a native with me 
 one day not a Christian and as we passed 
 the place I told him what it was, so he went home 
 another way, telling me nothing would induce 
 him to pass the place alone. 
 
 There is another place just off the boundary of 
 the Mission grounds a tree growing by the road- 
 side, and underneath this there are lots of rags, 
 especially red ones. Generally the places favoured 
 have a curious look ; there is something weird and 
 uncanny about them. There is one remarkable 
 place where a cocoanut tree was blown down 
 by a storm, and is now growing right through 
 another tree, and the roots of the other tree and 
 the creepers growing round it look like snakes, 
 and the impression it produces is that of something 
 strange and unusual ; and near this there is another 
 spirit tree, a stunted, withered baobab, which 
 certainly looks as if something very extraordinary 
 had happened to it, more like the ghost of a tree 
 than the tree itself, and it is easy to see how 
 superstitious people believe it to be haunted. 
 
 But the most extraordinary places of all are the 
 caves at Haitajwa, about six or seven miles from 
 Mbweni. I am told that Haitajwa is a very old 
 Swahili word which means ' It is not mentioned.' 
 That is to say, the people were so afraid of the
 
 88 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 spirit supposed to be dwelling there, and it was so 
 powerful, that it was considered dangerous even to 
 speak about it. However this may be, it is just 
 the kind of place people would have chosen for 
 such things. There is a sort of round hill, and on 
 the top of this some rocks, the summits of which 
 are covered with bushes, the sides being quite bare. 
 The entrance to the caves is in the side of the rocks. 
 The rocks themselves must have been formed 
 thousands of years ago by the coral insect under the 
 sea, but they are now, I suppose, nearly 200 feet 
 above the sea. They seem to have been heaved 
 up by an earthquake, or something of the kind, 
 in the first instance, and the inrush of the sea made 
 the caves in the rocks. When the island became 
 inhabited the caves served as dwelling-places first, 
 and eventually as places for worshipping spirits. 
 They are very dark inside, and when we visited 
 them we carried a lantern. Far at the back there 
 is a place like a room with rock ledges, and on 
 these ledges and on the floor of the cave the 
 offerings are placed ; there are a great many, such 
 as potsherds and the husks of the cocoanut ; extra- 
 ordinary things to offer, but the people seem to 
 think the spirits like them. The potsherds are used 
 to place incense in, which is burnt as an offering to 
 the spirits. I was told by an old man that they 
 used to say long ago that no man ever went to 
 the cave without getting what he wanted. The 
 place is known all over the island, and there is 
 no doubt the people have great faith in the virtue 
 of it.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 89 
 
 If you go near these places when you are feeling 
 feverish, and get fever in a day or two, people 
 say it is the spirit's doing. He is angry because you 
 went to his dwelling and paid him no worship, for 
 however strange and curious and ridiculous the 
 belief seems to us, it is entirely real to the Africans. 
 Once a poor woman refused a house in the street 
 near Mbweni Church, because it was near ' the 
 graves,' and I have no doubt she was afraid of 
 ' spirits.' Spirits are supposed to be envious of 
 the living, and to dislike being forgotten, so they 
 often appear in dreams. 
 
 There is only one way in w T hich these dark 
 beliefs can be expelled only one way in which 
 the evil spirits of fear and superstition can be cast 
 out, and that is by bringing into the lives of the 
 African people the radiant light of the Holy Ghost, 
 which is the Spirit of Truth. 
 
 ' O most blessed Light Divine, 
 Shine within these hearts of Thine, 
 And their inmost being fill.'
 
 go WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 VI 
 
 THE IGNORANCE OF MOHAMMEDAN 
 TEACHERS 
 
 NOTE. The following story is a translation from the 
 Swahili, made by one of the Mission teachers, and 
 throws a strong light on the ignorance and guile of 
 some of the Mohammedan teachers. 
 
 THERE was once a man in Zanzibar, in the time of 
 Sultan Majid bin Said, who was living in the town. 
 He was a man of no occupation, who used to follow 
 important Arabs as they walked about, and pick 
 up a little money from them. In those days there 
 was no work, except to do a little trading with the 
 mainland, and to cultivate the ground and sell the 
 produce ; and this man did not like such work, 
 preferring to lead an idle life. At last he could not 
 see his way to living in the town any longer, so 
 he put on his best clothes and his white turban, and 
 took his copy of the Koran under his arm, and went 
 out into the country to seek a livelihood. 
 
 The work he chose was that of one who teaches 
 people to pray. But he himself could not read, 
 not even one letter. So he chose out a village of 
 the Wahadimu (the ancient inhabitants of Zan- 
 zibar) , because the people there were ignorant like
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 91 
 
 himself and could not read, and the Mohammedan 
 religion had not reached them. So our teacher 
 came to this village and received a warm welcome 
 from the inhabitants, who gave him great honour 
 when they heard he was a teacher. He always 
 kept his Koran open and looked at it, and they 
 thought he was reading. They gave him a good 
 house, and provided him with food, and he told them 
 to build a mosque that he might teach them to 
 pray, and these Wahadimu built a mosque. 
 
 When the time for prayer came, there was no 
 one whose duty it was to call to prayer ; so he 
 had to perform this office himself, and his cry was, 
 ' Allah akbar ! Allah akbar ! Ignorant people get 
 eaten up ! Allah akbar ! ' 
 
 This teacher, as we have said, could not read, 
 neither did he know how to pray, let alone teaching 
 others ; but the mosque was full of people, and he 
 was obliged to pretend to pray and to teach them. 
 He knew that if he said anything it would do, for 
 only ignorant people were there. So he went to the 
 Kibla (the holy place where the Koran is kept) and 
 began to pray, saying these words, ' M-m-m-m-m 
 Ignorant people get eaten up. Amin.' And 
 every time he said ' M-m-m-m-m Ignorant people 
 get eaten up,' the Wahadimu answered ' Amin.' 
 Thus it was every time they bowed down and rose 
 up again, and when they had done praying they 
 went out of the mosque, and these Wahadimu 
 praised their teacher highly for his beautiful 
 praying. 
 
 Many days passed, and they gave the teacher a
 
 92 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 good salary. Then one day a real teacher came 
 from the town to visit the country thereabouts, 
 and he knew how to read and to pray. 
 
 As soon as he arrived in the village he heard 
 that there was a very learned teacher ministering 
 in the mosque ; but he did not go to visit him ; 
 he waited until the hour of prayer. When the 
 hour came he heard the voice of the caller, but 
 the words astonished him : ' Allah akbar ! Allah 
 hu akbar ! Ignorant folk get eaten up.' How- 
 ever, he said nothing, but entered the mosque, 
 and found it crowded with people. In front of him 
 was a man whom he had known long ago in town 
 as a useless, ignorant man. So he moved forward 
 until he was right in front that he might hear him 
 well. 
 
 The false teacher recognised the real teacher at 
 once, and he thought within his heart, ' To-day 
 my falsehood will become known.' 
 
 Therefore he changed the fashion of his prayer, 
 and prayed thus : ' M-m-m-m O Teacher, do not 
 betray me ; if I get six rupees three shall be yours. 
 Amin.' No one understood these words but the 
 tw r o teachers only, for the people were behind them, 
 and the words were in Arabic. And the ignorant 
 man went on : ' M-m-m-m Teacher, do not 
 betray me ! Ignorant people get eaten up ! If 
 I get eight rupees, four shall be yours, four shall be 
 mine. Amin.' 
 
 Thus he prayed until the end, and when they 
 came out those teachers greeted one another with 
 a chuckle, and the people thought they were
 
 93 
 
 laughing over their own affairs, but it was at the 
 prayers which had been said in the mosque : ' O 
 Teacher, do not betray me ! Ignorant folk get 
 eaten up ! If I get eight, four shall be mine, four 
 shall be yours ! ' 
 
 Then the two teachers sat down and ate with 
 the ignorant folk, and went on in this way until 
 they were tired, and then returned to the town 
 with their pockets full of money. 
 
 GROUP OF AFRICANS.
 
 94 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 VII 
 
 AFRICAN GARMENTS : WHAT THEY ARE 
 AND HOW THEY ARE WORN 
 
 THERE can be no doubt about the beauty, ease, 
 and grace of most of the garments worn in Zan- 
 zibar, and though when hard at work men and 
 women content themselves with one garment, 
 and often not much of that, the people are for 
 the most part well and modestly garbed, and in 
 Zanzibar at any rate only very tiny children are 
 ever seen without any clothes at all. 
 
 We will begin by describing the one garment 
 which is quite indispensable, called in plain 
 English a loin cloth, in Swahili a shuka or kikoi. 
 
 The Shuka. This is a perfectly straight 
 piece of material, generally a yard and a half 
 of merikano (see p. 3) or blue muslin (kaniki), 
 which is cleverly twisted round the waist without 
 any pins or buttons to fasten it, and falls in folds 
 to the knees. This is the ordinary dress of the 
 labourer and the man in the street. Those who 
 are more dressy rise to a kikoi* In old days 
 these were rather expensive and came from 
 Muscat. They are lengths of fine unbleached 
 
 * Singular, kikoi ; plural, vikoi.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 95 
 
 calico, with striped borders of varied beauty and 
 colour woven into the material. The best and 
 most expensive borders are eight inches deep, 
 and made entirely of silk. But in these degenerate 
 days you can buy vikoi cheap and fragile at 
 any native market or Indian shop. They come 
 from Manchester and other manufacturing towns. 
 One of the men's industries is putting an edge 
 of coloured cotton to these vikoi; they use a 
 simple frame for doing it, and the work is very 
 pretty and beautifully done, but it is an industry 
 which is fast dying out. 
 
 When a boy plays football, runs races, or 
 engages in any arduous pursuit, he ' girds up his 
 loins ' by tightening his shuka round his waist 
 and tucking up the ends. Very young children 
 have great difficulty in fastening this garment 
 and keeping it in position on their little fat bodies ; 
 it is quite a common sight to see these babes 
 come into church or school, clothed in what 
 Canon Scott Holland described as ' Nature's 
 nothingness,' trailing their shukas behind them, 
 feeling quite decent and respectable so long as 
 they have them handy. 
 
 A Useful Lesson. One of the most useful 
 lessons I ever learnt was connected with vikoi. 
 They are made in two pieces, which for a man 
 are seamed together with coloured silk; a boy 
 only requires a half, and for very small boys a 
 quarter is sufficient. 
 
 One evening the boys of whom I had the care 
 were talking about Miss Hinton, a lady who had
 
 96 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 taken care of them before my arrival ; they 
 all agreed that she had been very kind to them. 
 ' But/ said David, who had been her special darling, 
 ' she was a thief.' On asking what he meant 
 several of them eagerly told the following story 
 with much gusto : ' It was S. Bartholomew's Day, 
 and the Padre gave us all new vikoi, to each boy 
 one ; we wore these vikoi on the feast day. Then 
 came this English Bibi, and she took them away 
 from us and cut them into four pieces, and gave 
 one piece to each of us, and put the others away 
 and gave them to new boys when they came. 
 Now the vikoi were ours, they did not belong to 
 her, she had no right to them, and she stole them 
 from us ; truly she was a thief.' 
 
 In vain I reasoned with them, in vain I tried 
 to explain, nothing could alter their verdict that 
 she was a thief. But it taught me a lesson which 
 was of great use in my future dealings, and after 
 that I always gave them a few pence for any old 
 :rags which they happened to possess, and they 
 came to the conclusion that though I had my 
 faults, I tried at least to be honest, though not 
 always successfully by any means. 
 
 The Kisibau. Next to the loin cloth, . and 
 worn with it, the kisibau is the garment in 
 greatest demand. It can be white or coloured, 
 and rather resembles a shirt, plainly sewn round 
 the neck without any collar. All the boys in the 
 Mission wear kisibaus; these native garments are 
 almost entirely supplied by working parties in 
 England, and it is really wonderful how well and
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 97 
 
 regularly our stores are now replenished. This 
 was not the case in the early days of the Mission, 
 and I often think of the weary nights I used to 
 spend making and patching for my family ; for 
 kisibaus have a strong tendency to slit down the 
 front or back, to fray out round the bottom and 
 sleeves, to wear into holes in the back or under 
 the arms, and at all times to be minus a button or 
 loop. There was no time in the day for those kinds 
 of jobs, and when the bairns were supposed to 
 be safe in bed, then the mending came on. When 
 very hard pressed, Mary Maliangu, one of the 
 earliest converts, used to come and help me, and 
 often carried off a whole bundle to do at home, 
 and I also taught all the older boys to sew on 
 buttons. 
 
 Bad Shapes. The early Mission rule was to 
 give the school children new garments on S. 
 Bartholomew's Day and at Easter, so if we did 
 not get enough sent from England to go round we 
 had to make them ourselves, for the children set 
 tremendous store by these garments and would 
 have been bitterly disappointed not to get them. 
 One Easter time, a large parcel labelled ' Kisibaus 
 for the little boys ' came out, and as we were very 
 busy just then, I put them away without looking 
 at them, and two days before Easter brought 
 them out, feeling quite happy and secure, thinking 
 I should have enough to rig out my family. 
 Imagine my dismay when, on opening the parcel, 
 to find twenty-four kisibaus with necks as large 
 as a very big dinner plate, indeed so large that
 
 98 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 they slipped over the very skinny shoulders of 
 the smaller boys, and it was quite impossible 
 to make them even wearable. We wanted fifteen 
 to make up our number, so one of our workers 
 most kindly undertook to make six, and I sat up 
 most of the two nights and just managed to 
 finish the rest. Never again did I put away a 
 parcel unpacked or leave the festival outfit to be 
 got ready in two days. 
 
 Pockets. For a long time pockets in 
 kisibaus were unknown. After I had had the 
 care of the little boys for a few weeks, two kisibaus 
 came out made with breast pockets. I gave 
 them to two of the elder boys, who were enchanted 
 with them. But at dinner time that day six 
 small boys \vaited on me with long and solemn 
 faces saying they had no kiteweo~(a small piece of 
 meat or fish eaten with a large plateful of rice 
 as a relish). The cook was called, who loudly 
 protested that he had duly given every boy his 
 allowance. I looked down the long table of 
 boys and noticed a suspicious protuberance in 
 one of the new pockets, so I called up the owner 
 and asked him what he had inside it. ' My 
 pocket-handkerchief,' he promptly replied in 
 English (they never use them !). Enoch, one of 
 the small boys, grinned maliciously and murmured 
 nyama (meat) under his breath. ' Turn out 
 your pocket,' I ordered relentlessly, but Aruffo 
 stood sullen. I put my hand carelessly into his 
 pocket, and bitterly repented it when I drew out, 
 one after another, six greasy, squashy pieces of
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 99 
 
 meat, which the six small boys delightedly claimed ! 
 Then I produced a pair of scissors and unkindly 
 snipped that pocket off, and never again allowed 
 one to adorn a kisibau. But the boys paid me 
 out (they mostly do). From that time, whenever 
 my vigilance slept, they would cut a slit in the 
 lining of their kisibaus, and at once provide them- 
 selves with a convenient and capacious receptacle. 
 
 Mending- and Patching. An African is not 
 at all ashamed of a patched and mended garment, 
 on the contrary he is rather proud of a patch, 
 however conspicuous it may be, and looks upon 
 it as something of a distinction. Once one of 
 my young men deliberately cut off a large corner of 
 his best red loin cloth to make a flag for his boat ! 
 Feeling very much annoyed with him I patched it 
 with a piece of yellow and black print, thinking 
 in my innocence it would be quite sufficient pun- 
 ishment. Imagine, then, my humiliation when 
 I found that the punishment was highly appreci- 
 ated and looked upon as a mark of signal favour. 
 That boy lent the cloth in turn to his more favoured 
 companions, charging the modest sum of a pice 
 a day for the loan, and the patched corner was 
 always arranged conspicuously just in front ! 
 At the same time both boys and girls love having 
 new clothes, and are often full of fads and fancies 
 as to shape and texture. 
 
 Fads and Fancies. At one time, indeed, the 
 boys were inclined to be discontented, and wanted 
 to pick and choose for themselves when there 
 was a general distribution of garments. This
 
 ioo WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 reached its climax when a nine-year-old boy named 
 George threw his new kisibau on the floor and said 
 if he could not have the one he wanted he would 
 not have one at all. ' All right, my boy,' I said. 
 ' you shall not have one at all ! ' And when the 
 festival came round George, in shame and con- 
 fusion, had to put on his old kisibau and go on 
 wearing it for successive Sundays for three months. 
 It may have been rather stern treatment, but it 
 for ever put an end to all grumbling in the future. 
 The story was handed on from year to year, and 
 from that day the boys took whatever they were 
 given with gratitude and thanks. 
 
 Kofia. -In addition to his shuka and kisibau 
 a boy when he is full dressed wears a smart little 
 red fez stuck jauntily on his head. A cap is a 
 very coveted possession and often changes owners, 
 as it is a mark of great friendship for a boy to 
 lend his cap for a few days to one of his companions. 
 
 The Kanzu, which is worn by men and youths, 
 reaches to the feet, and is made of thin white 
 calico and sometimes of semi-transparent muslin. 
 The most expensive ones are peculiarly and daintily 
 embroidered in red and white silk round the neck 
 and sleeves, and do\vn the front. This part of 
 the ornamentation is called the mjuzi or lizard, and 
 is worked to represent a lizard's body with a long 
 tail, and little feet standing out each side. A 
 piece of embroidery at the back, on what we should 
 call the yoke, is called the viboko, hippopotamii 
 why, I could never discover. A kanzu maker 
 in Zanzibar can drive a good trade, especially now
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 101 
 
 that most of them use sewing machines. The 
 garment is cut out without the slightest waste of 
 material ; there is an exact measure and name for 
 
 THE KANZU AND SHEETIE. 
 
 every part, and all the pieces fit into each other. 
 At one time Archdeacon J ones-Bat eman and I 
 paid a tailor to teach us how to make them in the
 
 loa WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 native fashion, and then we taught several of 
 the older boys, and they earned quite a lot of money 
 at it. Archdeacon Woodward has a most successful 
 sewing class at Msalabani, and several machines, 
 which his boys use with great effect. Material is 
 the difficulty, for you can only buy such very 
 poor stuff in Africa. Presents from England 
 of bales of calico and nainsook are a very great 
 help to this industry. 
 
 The Kisibau Joho. When he wishes to be 
 extra smart a man wears over his kanzu a kisibau 
 joho, which resembles a waistcoat, and is made 
 of black or coloured cloth with four little pockets, 
 and very prettily embroidered with gold braid and 
 tiny buttons. On his head he wears a round 
 white cap which is often an exquisite piece of work. 
 
 Embroidered Caps. The making of these is 
 a regular man's industry, and when well done 
 they easily sell for seven or eight rupees. They 
 are made from any old pieces of calico, on which 
 an original design is traced with a blue fluid, and 
 the pattern is run with a very fine needle and cotton 
 till it stands up in relief. 
 
 An Arab's Costume. In addition to a very 
 superior kikoi and kanzu, which is often made of 
 tussore silk, an Arab wears a long joho down to 
 his feet, of black or coloured cloth much trimmed 
 with gold braid. Over his white skull-cap he 
 wears a coloured turban wound round his head, 
 the ends hanging gracefully over his shoulder. 
 He buckles a richly mounted dagger with a hooked 
 point to his waist, and when attending the Sultan's
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 103 
 
 court always carries a sword, which is generally 
 a sabre arranged with a sling, and this when 
 travelling can be hung upon the shoulder. 
 
 Indians in Zanzibar wear a sort of white 
 linen tunic, white trousers, and sometimes a round 
 velvet cap embroidered \vith braid and spangles. 
 
 Women's Dress. A Swahili woman's dress 
 is a very simple and graceful arrangement, and con- 
 sists of two pieces of gaily coloured calico, each about 
 two yards square. One of these they fasten under 
 the arms, letting it fall to the ankles, and the other 
 they drape round their shoulders, leaving one arm 
 bare. These coverings are called sheeties, and 
 there is as great a variety in the way of draping 
 and wearing them as there is in their colour and 
 design. Now, red on a white ground will be the 
 fashion, then brown or green, sometimes bright 
 yellow or orange without any pattern at all, and 
 one year all the smart women came out in rainbow- 
 hued sheeties, and fairly took our breath away 
 \vhen several of them appeared for the first time 
 in church in these astonishing draperies. Swahili 
 women do not wear veils : some of them twist 
 folds of dark blue muslin, called kaniki, round 
 and round their heads, and others a gay handker- 
 chief or piece of material. At one time in Zanzibar 
 they made such an erection of these head-dresses 
 that a native padre had to expostulate with them 
 on the subject from the pulpit. 
 
 The great drawback with these clothes is that 
 this mode of dressing was never meant for hard 
 work. When an African woman works in the
 
 104 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 fields or at her household duties she altogether 
 discards an upper sheetie, and binds her lower 
 one tightly round her in a most inelegant fashion. 
 I do not think you ever see a woman hoeing, 
 pounding, or stone carrying, wearing more than 
 one garment. Many mothers use the second 
 sheetie to fasten their babes on to their backs, 
 but those who have much regard for their appear- 
 ance use an extra strip of common material, cover- 
 ing it gracefully with the second sheetie. Beads 
 they all wear, but not in any great profusion, 
 two or three strings at the outside, which nearly 
 always harmonise with their garments ; vulgar 
 dressing is as unknown in Africa as bad manners. 
 I never saw a woman in shoes or stockings, though 
 in these days men may often be seen wearing 
 them. But bare feet are the rule ; and what a 
 blessing it must be ! for shoes last a few weeks only 
 in that dear land where stone floors and rough 
 walking find out all the weak points in your shoes, 
 just the same as the climate does in your body ! 
 It would be an unmitigated comfort if Europeans 
 likewise could dispense with them. 
 
 Teiteis were invented by Miss Jones, one of 
 the first Mission workers, in 1865 for her girls ; they 
 enable the wearer to work without so much 
 dropping to pieces, so to speak, as the sheeties 
 entail, and when well made and carefully put on 
 they look very nice ; but a teitei has a habit of 
 sticking out in front and lopping over one shoulder, 
 and they are very difficult to make small enough 
 to fit the neck and yet large enough for the head
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 105 
 
 to slip through. A string is a fatal thing for an 
 African, as it is never by any chance tied. Teiteis 
 are now worn almost entirely by the school girls 
 at Mbweni, who exchange them for sheeties 
 as soon as they marry, but nearly always retain 
 the coloured head 
 square which is worn 
 with them. Many 
 of our boys wear 
 short trousers when 
 playing at football, 
 and the fashionable 
 kanzu in Zanzibar is 
 now always made 
 with a collar and 
 wristbands, which 
 decidedly spoil its 
 beauty. An Arab 
 woman's dress has 
 already been de- 
 scribed. 
 
 Indian women 
 and children in 
 Zanzibar dress in 
 much the same way as the Arab, but the 
 woman's veil is often of coloured silk, and she 
 wears no mask or sandals, though she sometimes 
 affects soft embroidered slippers. The children 
 have very pretty little silk garments ; pale 
 pink, blue, or green seem the favourite colours, 
 and they are always much trimmed with gold 
 and silver braid. They wear little round velvet 
 
 A SCHOOLGIRL IN A TEITEI.
 
 loS WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 caps profusely covered with spangles, and they 
 have chains and curious silver ornaments round 
 their necks. These, of course, are the richer classes ; 
 the less well-to-do Indians dress in gaudy calico, 
 and often look both ragged and dirty. 
 
 Babies' Caps. Swahili mothers make very 
 quaint little calico or silk caps for their infants, 
 with pointed ear-pieces which tie under their 
 chins. A very young baby is always enveloped 
 in its mother's sheetie, and wears nothing but a 
 string of beads round its middle ; but a Christian 
 woman likes to have one or two smart little 
 chemises for her child on state occasions, and if 
 she is a good needlewoman will make beautiful 
 miniature kanzus for her tiny son, and a gay 
 silk cap with an aigrette of floss silk and many 
 rows of spangles. 
 
 Durability. -All natives are very particular 
 about their clothes when once they begin to 
 wear them ; it is a great mistake to think they 
 will wear anything, though their ideas of what 
 is suitable and smart do not exactly correspond 
 with ours. Durability is quite a secondary 
 consideration, but some of the more advanced 
 are now beginning to feel and inspect the material 
 of which their garments are made and ask for 
 a firmer make of calico. I remember a man 
 coming to buy a kanzu, carefully picking out 
 the one made of the strongest calico, and drawing 
 my attention to the one he was wearing, said it 
 had come from Ulaya (England) and he had 
 worn it for four years, and wanted one exactly
 
 AND WHAT \YE DO 107 
 
 like it. They very seldom mend their clothes 
 beyond putting in a few stitches to hold their 
 rags together. 
 
 When new boys arrived from a slave dhow 
 they sometimes had a few rags or garments 
 which had been given them by the sailors who 
 released them, and which they considered great 
 treasures. Once a -small boy arrived dressed 
 in a very old waistcoat. He had new -clean 
 clothes given to him and we burnt his rags. A 
 few days afterwards, when the young man had 
 grown accustomed to his surroundings and began 
 to look about him, he asked for his ' own clothes ' ! 
 I explained to him that they had been burnt, 
 whereupon he was most indignant, and loudly 
 declared that I had ' robbed him,' and it was 
 months before he forgave me. 
 
 Before I went out to Zanzibar I was inspired 
 with a wish to make some of the ' spotless white 
 garments ' so charmingly described by Miss 
 Tozer, the Bishop's sister (1864). So accordingly 
 I wrote to the proper quarter for a pattern. 
 It came, and my dismay was great ; it was made 
 of very coarse white twill, was much wider than 
 it was long, the sleeves were over a yard in length 
 and only four inches wide, the neck was a straight 
 slit across the shoulders, with a three-inch opening 
 down the front. I cannot imagine where this 
 extraordinary pattern originally came from. - I 
 looked it over and decided that no human being, 
 however grotesquely shaped not even a black 
 boy, though my experience of black boys was
 
 io8 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 then nil could wear it, and my enthusiasm 
 for African garments died out. 
 
 But many garments of this fearful and wonder- 
 ful Shape came out to the Mission in early days ; 
 it never seemed to strike people to try them 
 on their own children. For years, necks and 
 sleeves were made for anything but throats 
 and arms, and the width of a kisibau was often 
 sufficient to encompass one or two boys. The first 
 lady in England to make us really beautiful kisi- 
 baus was a Miss Faw T kes, and Bishop Steere, to her 
 great delight, wrote one of his courteous little 
 notes and told her so. We once had an enormous 
 box of girls' clothes sent out. They consisted 
 of thin, transparent flowered muslin skirts, and 
 long loose jackets, and of course as clothing 
 was no use at all to damsels who wear but one 
 garment, we had to use them for dusters and head 
 squares. When the time came to thank for these 
 well-intentioned but utterly useless articles \ve 
 had a great discussion on the subject ; it seemed 
 so hard to write and tell the truth, but when we 
 consulted Bishop Steere he was very sure that 
 it would be far better to let people know, even 
 if it did cause them some disappointment. And 
 he was quite right, for the lady who sent them 
 (she is no longer here), though very much con- 
 cerned, set about getting correct patterns, and 
 for many years sent us out most useful parcels. 
 Another time we had a large and substantial pack- 
 age of flannel petticoats, muffettees, and comforters 
 several dozen ; they arrived at Christmas on
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 109 
 
 the hottest of hot days, and we nearly melted 
 at the sight of them. We gave the comforters 
 and muffettees to some sailors who were going 
 home, and who were very thankful for them, and 
 used the flannels for fomentations, &c. For a long 
 time we had English frocks and pinafores and 
 petticoats sent out, and even little stays, but since 
 Miss Tylee turned her attention to kisibaus in 
 1886 we have seldom had any bad shapes, and 
 it is impossible to thank sufficiently our referees 
 and working parties for all the trouble they take 
 for us. 
 
 Patchwork Quilts. It might be well to 
 mention here the patchwork quilts which so many 
 of our home workers make for the children. There 
 seems to be some little misconception as to the 
 manner of using these much-coveted coverings, 
 and naturally it is very difficult for English people 
 to realise an African dormitory minus bed or 
 bedding as they understand it. In the Mission 
 boarding schools the children generally lie on 
 the floor on a mat, and excepting in the rainy 
 season a blanket is too hot for a covering ; this 
 is where the patchwork quilt comes in. It is not 
 spread over a bedstead to look pretty by day, 
 and neatly folded up at night, but is required for 
 hard wear and somewhat rough usage, for the 
 child rolls himself up in it from head to foot and 
 it constitutes the whole of his bedclothes. In the 
 early morning, when he goes for his bath in the 
 sea or river, his quilt often does duty for clothes, 
 should the morning be chilly, or his loin cloth not
 
 no WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 forthcoming. Thus it will be easily seen that a 
 very elaborately made quilt is labour lost, for the 
 plainer and stronger they are so much the longer 
 they last, though of course beauty is never to be 
 despised if, in this case, it can be united with 
 durability. 
 
 Need for Work Parties. We have sometimes 
 been asked if our people are not now able to 
 make all their own garments, but though we are 
 slowly moving in this direction a little considera- 
 tion of facts will show how entirely impossible 
 this is, and will be for years to come. In the 
 first place, the lack of suitable material, and in 
 the second, of competent needlemen and women. 
 Quite three parts of the boys and girls could not 
 possibly make a garment, many of them not being 
 able to use a needle. 
 
 And so for a long time to come we must ask our 
 English working parties to go on sewing for us, 
 though they will never know, and we are quite 
 unable to say, what an immense debt we owe to 
 them. 
 
 D. Y. M.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO in 
 
 VIII 
 ABOUT THE LANGUAGES 
 
 ' WHAT 's in a name ? ' Not much, perhaps, but 
 ignorance may lead to awkward complications. 
 For example, ' to kill' and ' to marry' transliterated 
 from Swahili to Arabic characters are the same 
 (kuua and kuoa) ; a written command to do one 
 or the other may create a delicate situation for 
 the man ; it is also awkward for the lady. 
 
 But more of these word difficulties later on ; 
 this incident is sufficient for the moment to lead 
 up to the first point necessity of genuine study 
 of the language. 
 
 When the missionary sets out to equip himself 
 or herself for Central Africa, too often the last 
 thing reckoned of importance is the mastery of a 
 language. 
 
 Boxes, clothes, farewells, extraordinary patents 
 foredoomed to go wrong in the tropics, medicine 
 chests, ingratiatory presents for the natives, 
 parcels for other people's relations yes, all of 
 these are there ; but the language, the one means 
 of being useful, is deferred to the sea voyage ; and 
 the missionary may be a bad sailor !
 
 H2 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 Yet what good can a missionary be without 
 some knowledge of the language ? A nurse can 
 tie up a sore without giving directions or admoni- 
 tions, but in the dispensary the patient would 
 probably wish to apply the cough mixture and drink 
 the liniment. That might have deleterious 
 results. In all probability the nurse would have 
 to sit and sew till either some one was at hand to be 
 guardian angel, or else she had managed to scrape 
 together a working vocabulary. 
 
 The English padre unlearned in the languages 
 could, if in Zanzibar, take English services at the 
 cathedral on a Sunday ; up country he would not 
 even have that resource ; he could smile and look 
 pleasant, and a few boys under great pressure 
 would speak a few words of English, but as for 
 dealing with the uneducated, he might as well be 
 in England where they are concerned ; as it is, he 
 has to sit indoors and grind away at a language 
 under new circumstances circumstances so warm 
 and trying that it seems criminal to attempt 
 what can be achieved with comparative ease in 
 England that is, knowledge of the elements of 
 the language. 
 
 This, then, is the desired aim : to lay the solid 
 foundations of grammar while waiting in England ; 
 nearly everyone has to wait for some cause or 
 another before actually sailing for the Mission Field. 
 If Swahili is the language wanted, then go through 
 the Swahili Grammar by Bishop Steere, and work 
 from beginning to end, learning all the words do 
 not imagine because we don't come into frequent
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 113 
 
 contact in England with matting-bags, mangoustes, 
 and such-like, you will never meet them in Africa ; 
 you^will meet funnier things than these ; the lists 
 of words are excellent and all useful. 
 
 ' // Swahili,' because that is not the only 
 language of Central Africa, or even of Zanzibar 
 far from it, though most people believe and act as if 
 it were. ' And can you really speak the language 
 of the natives ? ' is a question we are often asked in 
 an awestruck tone at meeting such a stupendous 
 intellect. 
 
 But there are many languages or dialects that 
 may come in useful beside Swahili. 
 
 On Zanzibar Island, Arabic, Gujarati, Hindu- 
 stani ; in order to reach all Mohammedans the two 
 first are almost imperative, to deal with the 
 patients at the hospital at Mkunazini add Somali 
 and Persian ; they have even wanted Chinese. 
 
 Up country in the Magila district, beside 
 Swahili there is wanted Bondei for talking to 
 women and girls, Zigua in another area, Shambala 
 in another; Masasi way, the Yao and Makua 
 languages will probably be wanted ; in Nyasaland, 
 Yao again and Chinyanja. 
 
 For ordinary work-a-day purposes Swahili in 
 Zanzibar will carry you through, but to talk on 
 religious topics, or on any subject needing a 
 vocabulary, you are greatly hindered in dealing 
 with Indians unless you can meet them on their 
 own ground. 
 
 And Zanzibar is largely peopled with Indians 
 who have come over in pursuit of pounds, shillings,
 
 n 4 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 and pence or rather of rupees and pice. There 
 are streets and streets of Indian shopkeepers, 
 largely from Bombay. Parsees are there also in 
 numbers ; they are mostly clerks. 
 
 Then with regard to Arabic, think what a pull 
 over the ordinary Mohammedan you have if you 
 can say I have read your Koran in the original, 
 and I have read our Gospels, and from personal 
 experience I speak and judge. There is no 
 Mohammedan in Zanzibar who can claim to 
 be an intelligent student of both. In arguments, 
 though there is comparatively little Arabic 
 generally spoken, many and frequent are the 
 quotations from the Koran which will be flung at 
 you. The Mission has never been able to organise 
 any campaign among the Indians (barring such as 
 schools offer), no one having come out equipped 
 with the necessary languages, and the ability to 
 use them. It is extraordinary what a different 
 relationship is created at once by a bond of 
 language. There was once a deacon in the 
 Universities' Mission who knew the patois as 
 spoken by the natives from the Seychelles Islands. 
 Many more gifted workers, and workers with a 
 much longer period of service, have passed forgotten 
 away, but the old people of the Seychelles settle- 
 ment still speak with grateful memory of their 
 one apostle. 
 
 Somalis flock to Zanzibar as cattle dealers, and 
 you may generally see one or more sitting on the 
 baraza of the Hospital waiting his turn in the 
 dispensary.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 115 
 
 So much for African languages and dialects ; 
 beyond these in German East Africa it is very 
 desirable to have some knowledge of the German 
 language, sufficient to teach, say, ' Heil Kaiser Dir,' 
 or to translate official letters from Government or 
 from German missionaries working in the country. 
 In Nyasaland, parts of the diocese being in 
 Portuguese territory, that language is useful in the 
 same way. Even modern Greek has been called 
 for in Zanzibar. The cathedral is the place of 
 worship for the Greek community resident in the 
 town, and on one occasion there w r as a Greek 
 wedding where the bride, knowing only modern 
 Greek, was married in English with Swahili explan- 
 ations the husband knowing a little of each 
 language. As the officiant could only call to mind 
 the one Greek word ' to love,' he was quite 
 unable to explain to the bride the weighty signi- 
 ficance of ' to .obey.' 
 
 These outside languages are of course only 
 wanted occasionally, and ignorance of them is 
 understandable, but the mistakes that are made 
 in the necessary and requisite tongues are less 
 excusable ; we pardon them because of the amuse- 
 ment they afford. We might multiply instances 
 of these mistakes to infinity. 
 
 We have many of us heard of the young clergy- 
 man who so eloquently discoursed on sweet 
 potatoes, instead of generations, the difference 
 lying between viazi and vizazi one letter can do 
 so much. The old edition of the Prayer Book 
 presumably the work of advanced scholars used
 
 n6 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 to exhort us to sit standing (kukaa meaning 
 to sit as well as to remain) rather a difficult 
 feat ! Then there was the superior scholar who 
 knew there were two forms of plural to mguu 
 (foot), but did not know that one form had 
 reference only to large feet (maguu), and so was 
 hardly a complimentary term to use in reference 
 to his audience. A case of a little knowledge being 
 a dangerous thing. 
 
 I But, some people may expostulate, it is 
 easy enough to ridicule. I am only a plain 
 working man, or I am only a busy hospital nurse ; 
 I didn't join the Mission to spend all my time 
 learning languages. That may be, but the worker 
 will find that he cannot pass his first examination 
 without real application to the grammar of 
 Swahili. Bishop Weston has now made study of 
 the language obligatory. Any time within the 
 first three months the missionary may offer 
 himself for examination in Bishop Steere's ' Swahili 
 Exercises,' in reading aloud from three selected 
 chapters of St. John's Gospel ; he will also be 
 required to hold a short conversation in Swahili. 
 No one who takes any trouble need fear for this 
 first examination ; those who take it all ' unseen ' 
 will too certainly be ploughed. 
 
 The next examination, held three months after- 
 wards, also deals with prepared passages taken from 
 Swahili Tales, and from the Sunday Gospels of the 
 Prayer Book. There is, again, a conversation ; 
 the only point of danger to anyone who has worked 
 is the unseen translation as it is set at the will
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 117 
 
 of the examiner if he is in a fierce and exacting 
 mood it may prove a stumbling-block. 
 
 When you have passed these two there comes 
 a six months' lull ; for the next examination there 
 is a differentiation : lay people non-scholastic 
 have papers on the liturgy, on Swahili idioms, 
 they have reading again this time from Epistles 
 and Gospels and conversation and Swahili un- 
 seen ; clergy and schoolmasters have beyond 
 this a paper on the special type of Swahili needed 
 for their work, and also a short sermon or essay 
 to write in Swahili ; clergy, moreover, have 
 reading aloud from the Prayer Book. 
 
 These are the new language regulations : any- 
 one failing the first time (failure is not unknown !) 
 may try again in two months, and again, but if at 
 the end of the first two years these examinations 
 are still unpassed, then the missionary must not 
 expect to return to Africa after furlough. 
 
 The new regulations are not retrospective ; only 
 new members are obliged to conform to them. 
 Old members wishing for a certificate of proficiency 
 in their work have permission to take section three, 
 which deals with the liturgy. 
 
 There are failures ; what are the chief diffi- 
 culties to be overcome ? The Swahili language and 
 Chinyanja are by no means difficult. The chief 
 difficulty lies with people who have 'never learnt 
 a foreign language and who do not know the 
 grammatical terms used by exercise books to 
 define tenses and such-like. A knowledge of 
 English grammatical phraseologv is a great help, a
 
 n8 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 knowledge of some other foreign language half the 
 battle won. Swahili is easy to learn and easy 
 to speak under certain conditions; listen to the 
 natives and copy them, their method of expression 
 mostly short sentences and many of them. We 
 say, ' the bad man had a dog ' ; they say, ' there 
 was a man, he was bad, he had a dog.' They 
 prefer short sentences to long complications and 
 subordinate phrases. 
 
 The collects in the Prayer Book were, for this 
 reason, very difficult to render faithfully to the 
 original, and also to the genius of the Swahili 
 tongue, when translating the Prayer Book. Watch 
 for the natives' favourite terms, their facial expres- 
 sions, shrugs, exclamations : know these by heart 
 and you have entered into the spirit of the people. 
 All this needs time, and here is difficulty number 
 two perhaps the newcomer is only given time to 
 provide the barest working vocabulary. Well, 
 that is his misfortune ; it can be minimised by 
 having laid a solid foundation of book-work in 
 England. 
 
 Then there is another great stumbling-block 
 shyness (or is it pride ?). But faint heart never won 
 fair lady, and the fair lady here to capture is the 
 elusive Swahili tongue ; many people are so afraid 
 of making mistakes that they won't try to speak. 
 On the other hand, there is the opposite pitfall a 
 rock of offence which may handicap for ever 
 that is, a too great readiness to accept a poor and 
 inferior form of conversation ' pidgin ' Swahili, 
 such as is favoured by house-boys for the delectation
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 119 
 
 of their British masters, who hold that English is 
 a good enough language for anyone, and refuse to 
 learn any other. For such Swahili is a gem ; four 
 words will carry you through the day bassi, 
 enough ; tena, again ; bado, not yet ; and upesi, 
 hurry up. For missionaries and others who tend 
 towards this method there is no agreement of 
 adjective and noun, no different classes of nouns, 
 no personal pronouns. All nouns belong to the 
 ' n ' class, which does not change in the plural ; 
 all verbs are in the infinitive, with npana (there 
 is none) to express negation ; anything aspiring 
 beyond this is branded ' mission pedantry, not 
 understanded of the native.' In Zanzibar the only 
 European who works among the natives without 
 an interpreter is the missionary, so he really is the 
 only person qualified to judge of the language. 
 These things are overlooked sometimes. 
 
 But even the most talented may be trapped in 
 an unwary moment, and with enemies that are of 
 his own household. When the soldier talks of leavu 
 and sitation (leave and sentrybox) ; the workman 
 of pilano (architect's plan) ; the schoolboy of 
 pitchur (photograph) ; when electric light is 
 steam taa (taa being lamp) ; ' sail-ho ' (in constant 
 use for mail signals) is selo or sero ; when Christmas 
 offerings are termed happies then confusion may 
 be pardonable. These are Zanzibar difficulties ; 
 there is a further crop if we move about there 
 are nasal k's and explosive p's in Bondei, there 
 is the difficulty of understanding anything at all 
 \vhere the lip ring has made articulation faulty in
 
 120 
 
 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 the Yao countries, there is the confusion of knowing 
 too much. 
 
 In Swahili they say alipokuja, ' he did when 
 come ' ; in Bondei they say, ' he did come when ' ; 
 and in Chinyanja, ' when he did come.' 
 
 So much for the difficulties ; but, after all, if we 
 are beset with ' pitfall and with gin,' it is only the 
 natural outcome of Westerners trying to bridge 
 what, we are told, is an infinite distance between 
 East and West. 
 
 J. D. 
 
 AN AFRICAN FAMILY.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 121 
 
 IX 
 
 TREES, FLOWERS, VEGETABLES, AND 
 HOW THEY GROW 
 
 ARE your flowers and trees very beautiful, and have 
 you a great deal of fruit ? These are questions 
 often asked but difficult to answer with perfect 
 truth. At times we go for weeks with scarcely any 
 fruit worth eating, and at others we have so much 
 it is allowed to rot on the ground. I have seen the 
 whole island of Zanzibar like a beautiful garden, 
 and I have seen it dry and withered like a sandy 
 desert. It is mostly a matter of rains. 
 
 And when the rains will fall the oldest inhabi- 
 tant of Zanzibar can tell the least. 
 
 The Red Acacia. Perhaps the most beautiful 
 of the flowering trees is the scarlet acacia. Many 
 of these trees grow low down on the shore, and 
 when they are at their best in December the glory 
 of their red flowers against the blue of the ocean 
 is a sight never to be forgotten. Imagine a 
 few hundred large scarlet and crimson nasturtiums 
 in huge masses, resting on a fringe of fresh, delicate 
 green leaf, extending over the whole of a tall, 
 spreading, branchy tree, and you have some little
 
 122 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 idea of what they are like. There are also yellow 
 and white acacias, but they do not flower so 
 abundantly. 
 
 Mango Trees. Among the fruit trees the 
 mango more than holds its own. They require next 
 to no cultivation, and grow to an enormous size, 
 even in very poor soil. They abound all over 
 the island of Zanzibar, and are planted in avenues 
 and round houses, and nothing grows under their 
 dense shade. They flower for several months in 
 the year, beginning in June, when they are really 
 a wonderful sight, and the smell most overpowering, 
 especially on a hot and breathless night such as 
 we often have at that time. 
 
 The fruit is ripe from December to April. There 
 are several varieties, one of the best being the dodo, 
 which is very large, rank green, and unprepossessing 
 in outward appearance, but when cut open the 
 fruit resembles an apricot, and is very delicious. 
 There is a large stone in the centre. There is so 
 much of the fruit that Europeans divide it in 
 halves by slipping the knife round the stone, thus 
 leaving a good deal at the sides, which is considered 
 the perquisite of the \vaiters at table. Bishop 
 Smythies was so fond of mangoes that he did not 
 approve of this extravagant way of eating them, 
 and, never dreaming that he was depriving the 
 boys, carefully cleared the stone, and the poor 
 waiters gave it as their opinion that the new 
 Bishop was somewhat greedy ! 
 
 There is no regular time for gathering the fruit, 
 and the wind performs most of this business.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 123 
 
 Before the little boys were moved to Kilimani 
 the place was covered with mango trees, and though 
 fifteen great trees were cut down before there 
 was room even to build the house, the numbers 
 scarcely seemed lessened. The people in the 
 village considered they had a right to all windfalls 
 from these trees, and had been accustomed to 
 come early every morning to pick up the fruit 
 that had fallen in the night. 
 
 When the boys took up their residence there 
 they looked forward with great glee to feasting 
 on the mangoes. But though the trees were 
 loaded with fruit the boys never succeeded in 
 finding any number on the ground. Then they 
 began to suspect, and asked if they might set a 
 watch. So at four o'clock in the morning some 
 six of the bigger boys hid themselves in the long 
 grass near the trees. 
 
 Presently one by one and in twos and threes 
 several village dames made their appearance, and, 
 as soon as they were hard at work collecting the 
 fruit, up jumped the boys with a whoop, and 
 away fled the ladies, dropping their spoils as they 
 ran. It was a most exciting scene. 
 
 Cocoanut Palms. Wherever you see a mango 
 tree you are pretty certain to see a cocoanut palm, 
 and generally two or three of different heights, 
 and the contrast between the opulent, massive- 
 looking mango and the tall, feathery palm is very 
 pleasing. Cocoanuts are often planted in rows 
 to mark the boundaries of a plantation. They 
 are not the least like in growth or colour to th?
 
 124 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 palm trees you see in England. Some one, who 
 was not in love with things tropical, described 
 them as a huge bunch of feathers tied to a pole. 
 One kind does grow very, very tall, and the boughs 
 are in a bunch at the top. There is another kind 
 which is comparatively quite low growing, with 
 boughs drooping to the ground. The leaves move 
 with every stirring of the wind, and a peculiar 
 sort of vibration thrills through them. The 
 upper part of the bough is dark, glossy green, and 
 the ribs and under side a shade of amber. The 
 cocoanuts which you buy in England are the 
 kernel and inner shell ; these are incased in a great 
 husk lined with fibre, and the whole fruit is very 
 large, and it requires both hands to carry one. 
 They grow in bunches round the trunk of the 
 tree, just under the boughs, and are gathered once 
 in every three months. No cook in Zanzibar 
 can carry on his trade without a plentiful supply 
 of nuts, and they mix the milk, which they call 
 tui, and the scraped nut, with nearly all their 
 dishes, especially with curry. 
 
 Bananas grow everywhere, and no hut is 
 quite complete without two or three of these trees 
 forming a little grove near it. There are about 
 twenty different sorts of this fruit. The smallest 
 and the best are called sukari, sugar, and have 
 a very superior flavour. The largest is known as 
 mkono wa tembo, an elephant's trunk, as it some- 
 what resembles it in shape. Bananas are never 
 left on the trees till they are ripe, as they would 
 certainly be stolen, The clusters are cut when
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 125 
 
 still green, and hung up in the house or verandah 
 to mellow. Several of the varieties are only used 
 for cooking. You can buy five bananas of the 
 commoner kinds for a farthing, but the sukari 
 are much more expensive, and you get only two 
 for that sum. The fruit can be had all the year 
 round. The leaves of the banana are very fragile, 
 and when there is much wind it splits them into 
 ribbons, when they look most forlorn ; but there is 
 no fresher and greener thing than a young banana 
 leaf when just unfolded. 
 
 Clove trees grow in great abundance in parts 
 of the island, and are very beautiful with their 
 shiny green leaves and silvery trunks ; many of the 
 trees in Pemba Island grow sixty or seventy feet 
 high. The cloves grow in little bunches, and are 
 rose-coloured when fresh ; so also are the young 
 leaves when they first come out. The trees begin 
 to bud in January or February, and clove picking 
 goes on from June to November. The cloves 
 which are exported are the buds before they 
 burst into flower. During the clove season the 
 smell of them penetrates into everything, and 
 you seem to breathe and eat, as well as smell 
 them, ' the languid sweetness seems to choke your 
 breath.' 
 
 The Baobab tree has already been mentioned 
 as one of the most striking features in a Zanzibar 
 landscape. For a greater part of the year these 
 huge trees stand among the surrounding verdure, 
 throwing up their white arms bare and leafless, 
 like grim sentinels of death and desolation. But
 
 126 
 
 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 at the hottest time of the year, about November, 
 when every other green thing droops and lan- 
 guishes, the apparently lifeless branches of the 
 baobab (Mbuyu) burst into a profusion of brilliant 
 green foliage and change the appearance of the 
 whole landscape. The trunks of these trees are 
 enormous, and would take six or seven people 
 
 
 BAOBAB TREES ' BARE AND LEAFLESS.' 
 
 joining hands to span them. The wood is utterly 
 useless even for firewood, being soft and pulpy. 
 The flowers, \vhich are very few in number, are 
 as extraordinary as the rest of the tree ; they are 
 very large, and resemble several folds of flannel, 
 the outer petals coarse and greenish in colour, the 
 inner almost white ; the smell is most disagreeable. 
 The fruit, which is like a hard, oblong gourd, twelve 
 inches or more in length, hangs on a long string
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 127 
 
 which springs directly from the trunk ; the size 
 is about twice that of a large melon, and it remains 
 on the tree long after it has lost its leaves. The 
 fruit is hollowed out and used by the natives for 
 drawing water. A piece of the shell is often 
 brought to the dispensary by patients as a recep- 
 tacle for ointment, &c. There is certainly some- 
 thing extremely uncanny about these trees, and 
 one hardly wonders that natives believe evil spirits 
 haunt their precincts. 
 
 Jack-fruit. This is a great trial to mission- 
 aries, for the smell is disgusting, and it is eaten 
 with avidity by the natives. The fruit, which 
 is very large', is ripe in November and goes on till 
 March. You see piles of it in the market, some- 
 times whole, green in colour, and covered with a 
 ' spiky husk, but oftener it is cut into wedges and 
 sold at a farthing a wedge. To a European it 
 looks all husk and black seed, and most unwhole- 
 some. The overseer at Mbweni would sometimes 
 present the boys with one of these gigantic fruits, 
 a kindness for which we found it hard to thank 
 him. The bread-fruit grows in Zanzibar, but is 
 not common. The dorian, another tree of the 
 same species, flourishes, but the crop is very 
 uncertain, and the fruit on account of its expense 
 seldom seen at the Mission, for which one is thankful, 
 as the smell is so objectionable and so penetrating, 
 that any utensil which has touched it is quite 
 unuseable for hours, though I have heard that 
 those who have once been able to bring themselves 
 to eat this fruit find it delicious !
 
 128 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 Orange trees abound everywhere. The fruit 
 is plentiful between March and July. There are 
 several varieties of fruit, including the tangerine 
 and mandarin. You can get about twenty of the 
 former for a pice. The Seville or bitter orange 
 hangs from the tree on long strings. The flowers 
 are delicious, but they are small and tumble 
 to pieces very quickly. Orange flowers are 
 connected in my mind with one of Bishop Steere's 
 manifold little kindnesses. A young girl came out 
 to be married to a member of the Scotch Mission, 
 and was staying with us. Her mother had been 
 most anxious that her daughter should wear real 
 orange flowers on her wedding day, but alas ! they 
 do not grow in the town of Zanzibar. All the 
 afternoon Bishop Steere was absent, and no one 
 seemed to know what had become of him, but 
 in the evening he appeared with his hands full of 
 orange flowers, and gave them to the girl with one 
 of his rare but never-to-be-forgotten smiles, saying, 
 ' Your mother must not be disappointed.' He 
 had walked out to Mbweni, four miles in the heat 
 of the day, to get them. 
 
 Pineapples. There are two varieties of these, 
 one with a green skin, and the other pink. The 
 green are considered the superior. December 
 is the time when the fruit is most plentiful, and 
 you can buy them for fourpence each ; the leaves 
 of the pineapple are very pretty, long and narrow, 
 terminating in a sharp point ; many of them turn 
 a lovely pink. They grow in a circle about eighteen 
 inches from the ground, and the pine forms in the
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 129 
 
 centre. The natives are not very fond of them, 
 and they are considered unwholesome. 
 
 Papaw. This tree must not be forgotten, for 
 it is a most important factor in the kitchen. It 
 grows very fast, and is found everywhere. The 
 fruit, which is something like a mango, can be 
 bought for two farthings, and is very much liked 
 by many people, especially when cooked. The 
 leaves, which are like exaggerated hog parsley 
 leaves, are used for rubbing tough meat, and when 
 this is scientifically done it becomes deliciously 
 tender. A good cook always sees that he has one 
 or two papaw trees near his kitchen. 
 
 Guavas, custard apples, pomegranates, rose 
 apples, and zambarau also grow plentifully. 
 
 The fruit of the last-named is most disappointing; 
 it looks like a delicious damson, but it has a large 
 stone, and the taste resembles cotton-wool soaked 
 in water. The children, however, love them ; 
 happily the season is of very short duration, for 
 the one tree which grew at Kilimani was responsible 
 for the ruin of many kisibaus. 
 
 Pomegranates, whatever they may be in other 
 countries, never seem to ripen properly in Zanzibar, 
 and are nothing but a mass of sugary seeds. But 
 the flowers are lovely, and the colour of them that 
 pure scarlet which one only finds in a few blossoms. 
 
 Grapes grow in the island, but the Mission has 
 never succeeded in really cultivating them. In 
 very early days I had a great ambition to grow a 
 vine, and we succeeded in getting a fine, healthy 
 plant from the French Fathers, who were strong
 
 130 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 at gardening and always managed to have plenty 
 of grapes. 
 
 We planted it carefully, and watered and tended 
 it with great devotion. It grew and flourished, 
 and was trained over an elaborate arched arrange- 
 ment made by one of our laymen. But for many 
 years, in spite of strong and healthy looks, no 
 grapes were forthcoming. 
 
 Then some kind friend in England sent out a 
 cheese for a present. For some reason or other 
 it was detained with other cargo at Aden at the 
 hottest time of the year, and on arriving in Zanzibar 
 the smell of it cried aloud for speedy attention. 
 The vineyard was nice and handy, and we buried 
 the cheese close to the roots of the vine. I never 
 heard of cheese being used as nourishment for 
 the soil, but it certainly acted in that way, for a 
 little later on we had a splendid crop of grapes, 
 and for a long time afterwards, when a tree or plant 
 languished, we always said we must ask some one 
 to send us another cheese. 
 
 Prickly Pear. This is found all over the 
 island. It is like a cactus, and grows several feet 
 high ; the leaves are thickly studded with thorns, 
 not only large ones, but innumerable tiny and 
 almost invisible hairs which grow in little bunches 
 and are impossible to get rid of. They not only 
 cover the leaves, but the fruit and flowers, which 
 in an unwary moment the ignorant newcomer, 
 tempted by their beauty, may manage to gather to 
 his great after-discomfort. These flowers are a 
 pure yellow, the outer part touched with red ; they
 
 THE GARDEN AT KILIMAM,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 133 
 
 are a wonderfully pretty sight when they all 
 burst open to the sun. The fruit is quite useless, 
 and has no taste at all. A hedge of prickly pear 
 is a barrier which the boldest would hesitate to 
 cross. 
 
 Flowers. Leaving the trees and turning to 
 the flowers, a vision of the garden at Kilimani 
 rises before me. Ropes of stephanotis, alemanda, 
 and a splendid creeper with bunches of crimson 
 flowers, festooned the verandah. Tall pink and 
 white lilies bordered the drive, with a background of 
 gorgeous crotons. A whole field of white lilies, 
 which in the evening and early morning made the 
 air heavy with their perfume, flourished in front 
 of the house ; honeysuckle and a sort of large yellow 
 daisy ran riot in tangled masses ; hybiscus with 
 their large crimson or biscuit-coloured flowers 
 flourished everywhere, and over all waved the tall 
 palms and casuarinas. 
 
 Roses. In the early days of the Mission there 
 were no roses to be had excepting the very small 
 pink ones which come from Muscat, and out of 
 which the attar of roses is made ; these were some- 
 times sold in the streets for a farthing (one pice) 
 each, and the boys used to buy them, and bring them 
 to us for a little present ; they are used a good 
 deal at Indian and Arab weddings, strung with 
 jasmine like daisy chains, and hung round the 
 necks of wedding guests. Now we have roses of 
 all kinds, and can even decorate our tables with 
 them on grand occasions. 
 
 Once, during a retreat at Kiungani, when we
 
 134 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 went in to breakfast we each found a blood-red 
 rose on our plates, put there by the boys who 
 waited at table a graceful and touching sign, most 
 truly African, of their sympathy with us. 
 
 Wild Jasmine. Natural hedges in the island 
 are chiefly formed of prickly pear and wild jas- 
 mine, which festoons itself everywhere. The flowers 
 are very sweet ; they are rather large, and have 
 more petals than our English jasmine ; the leaves 
 also are much larger or a different shape. There is 
 another jasmine, equally common, the flowers of 
 which grow in bunches. 
 
 Among the wild flowers the convolvulus is one 
 of the most common ; they run along the ground, 
 and hang from the hedges blue, white, and many 
 shades of mauve. Early in the morning the 
 roadsides are gemmed with brilliant blue lobelia, 
 and many other tiny, delicate flowers, which wither 
 up under the heat of the sun ; by eleven o'clock there 
 is scarcely a wild flower to be seen. 
 
 The grasses and rushes in Zanzibar are a very 
 beautiful feature of the island ; one of the latter, 
 which flowers in profusion about Easter time, is 
 called by Christians Maua ya Pasaka (Easter 
 flowers), and plays a prominent part in Easter 
 decorations ; it grows five or six feet high, the 
 stem a dainty green crowned by a bunch of white 
 flowers surrounded by long green ribands. This 
 rush grows in clumps, and spreads rapidly over 
 a whole plantation, and beautiful as it is, it is a 
 terrible thing to get rid of, which can only be 
 accomplished by burning the roots.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 135 
 
 Another grass when in flower looks like a sheet 
 of down, the stem being so fine it is almost invisible, 
 while the white tufted heads sway with the wind. 
 
 Vegetables. Before closing this chapter I 
 must say a few words about the vegetables and 
 grains which the natives cultivate with some care. 
 
 Cassava, called muhogo in Zanzibar, is the 
 natives' chief food. They plant it at any time 
 in the year by making cuttings about six inches 
 long; these they stick in the ground in a very 
 casual manner, perhaps about two feet apart. 
 They take some little trouble to clear the ground 
 of weeds till the plants are three or four feet high, 
 and then they leave them alone to look after them- 
 selves for about four months, when the plants 
 are ready to pull. The roots are dried and 
 pounded into flour for porridge, or they are eaten 
 solid. 
 
 Sweet Potatoes or Kiazi are grown from 
 cuttings on raised beds, over which the plants run. 
 They have pretty white flowers with a dark centre, 
 and grow tremendously fast ; the crop is ready 
 for harvesting in two or three months. The mode 
 of cooking is generally to boil them in their jackets 
 with salt ; but they are much nicer when roasted. 
 Viazi is the Swahili for sweet potatoes, viatu for 
 shoes. One day at dinner a newcomer helping 
 himself to viazi turned to his neighbour and 
 said, ' These are viatu, are they not ? ' ' Yes,' she 
 replied, for she had not been listening, and heard 
 only the vi. A shout of laughter greeted the 
 answer, for the potatoes had been badly cooked,
 
 136 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 and were hard and dry, much more like old shoe 
 leather than vegetables. 
 
 Indian Corn. No native garden is complete 
 without this. When sown the seed is left lightly 
 resting on the soil ; the natives say it is quite wrong 
 to cover it with earth. It is always sown just 
 before the rains, and when the ears form they 
 have to be carefully watched, or they wwild be 
 stolen by every passer-by. The Indian corn 
 produced in Zanzibar is very poor compared with 
 that in other countries. It is eaten raw when 
 green, roasted in the cob, pounded and made into 
 porridge, and popped. 
 
 Pumpkins and Gourds. Nearly every hut in 
 Zanzibar has one of these growing near ; watching 
 their rapid growth and enormous development, 
 one can easily imagine Jonah's gourd springing 
 up in a night, and providing him wdth grateful 
 shade from the fierce rays of the sun, and also the 
 sudden withering away of the plant when attacked 
 by the worm which works great havoc in Zanzibar 
 gardens. The commonest kind of pumpkin has 
 wide-spreading leaves, and a large, yellow, trumpet- 
 shaped flower which makes a great show. All sorts 
 of curious water-bottles, snuff-boxes, and other 
 receptacles are made from gourds by tying the 
 fruit when green in different parts. 
 
 Peas and Beans. Quite a number of these are 
 cultivated, the principal one being baazi. This 
 is a great favourite with the natives. The plants 
 grow to four or five feet high, and bear some resem- 
 blance to a laburnum both in flower and pod,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 137 
 
 though not in leaf. They are planted in rows, 
 and a good deal of land is covered with them. 
 
 We must just mention the betel leaf, which 
 grows on vines trained up supports. The young 
 leaves are gathered about twenty-five days after 
 budding, and can be sold for a pice each. All 
 Arabs and natives chew betel leaf, which they 
 carry about with them. Areca nut, lime, and 
 tobacco are folded up in the leaf, and the whole 
 is called tambuu. 
 
 Lastly, but by no means least, comes the sugar 
 cane, which plays a prominent part in every Siku 
 kuu (festival). The cane grows in all parts of 
 the island in small patches, about six feet high 
 and as thick as the wrist. When cut down they 
 are divided into lengths of about eighteen inches, 
 and sold for a pice. When eaten the rind is split 
 off, and the pith, which is very sweet and juicy, 
 chewed to a pulp. It is really rather nice for those 
 who like something very sweet, and is not unlike 
 barley sugar, but the right method of eating it 
 does not appeal to European taste. 
 
 This chapter is already too long, and if our 
 readers want to know more about the products 
 of the island, of which we have only described a few, 
 in a very amateur way, we must invite them to go 
 and see for themselves. 
 
 D. Y. M.
 
 138 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 X 
 
 THE MISSION AND SOME OF THE WORK 
 IN TOWN AND COUNTRY 
 
 TEN minutes' walk from the Zanzibar landing stage 
 brings you to the cathedral and the Mission 
 buildings at Mkunazini. 
 
 First Trees planted. Between the cathedral 
 and the hospital there is a well-kept garden, 
 bright with trees and flowering shrubs. Almost 
 the first trees at Mkunazini were planted by Miss 
 Allen and Miss Hinton in 1877, under Bishop 
 Steere's directions. They are two of those beauti- 
 ful scarlet-flowered acacias, which at Christmas 
 without their brilliant green feathery foliage, 
 and at Whitsuntide with it, are among the greatest 
 beauties of the island. The growth of these trees 
 was anxiously watched, and many were the specu- 
 lations as to which would blossom first. Miss 
 Allen's won the day, and continues to do so, for 
 the trees live and flourish in full view of the 
 hospital windows. The smell of the flowers is 
 like that of a field of wild hyacinths, and has 
 often in thought transferred a weary patient to 
 the sweet freshness of an English wood in the 
 spring of the year.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 139 
 
 The Cathedral. The beauty of the cathedral 
 is at once a delight and surprise to travellers 
 passing through Zanzibar, for it surpasses most 
 churches in its solemn and stately beauty. Nearly 
 everything in it forms a link with those who have 
 passed to the higher worship, and whose spiritual 
 presence seems to hover near the sanctuary where 
 they once knelt to worship. Immediately behind 
 the altar is the marble tomb of Bishop Steere, 
 the great master builder, who spent long hours 
 patiently teaching the unskilled native masons 
 to carry out his plans and ideas. The rich 
 painting and carving which decorates the east 
 end is a memorial to Bishop Smythies ; the rose- 
 window at the west end was given by Miss Josephine 
 Bartlett, who worked for twenty years in the 
 Mission and died at her post. The other windows 
 were given in memory of those who died in Africa, 
 but were not workers in the Mission. The font 
 is the one in which so many of our early converts 
 were baptised, and was originally in the chapel at 
 Kiungani. The side altar is to the memory of 
 departed missionaries. In fact, whichever way 
 you turn, you are reminded of the many lives which 
 have been freely given to bring Africa to the feet 
 of the Christ. 
 
 Services. The services in the cathedral, with 
 the exception of two on Sunday and one of the 
 daily celebrations, are all sung in Swahili (the 
 native tongue) , and the choir is entirely composed 
 of Africans. The ritual is simple and stately, 
 and the congregation take their part well in the
 
 140 
 
 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 hymns and responses. The English Prayer Book 
 translated into Swahili is used, and the hymn- 
 book has been specially compiled of those hymns 
 which lend themselves best for translation into 
 this language. 
 
 THE SCHOOL AT S. MONICA'S. 
 
 Every Friday morning in Zanzibar the Euchar- 
 istic Sacrifice is offered for the conversion of the 
 Mohammedan world, and we hope that many at 
 home are joining their intercessions with ours at 
 the same holy service. 
 
 The Printing- Office is managed by an English 
 lay-worker, and employs a number of African 
 printers and apprentices. The head printer,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 141 
 
 Owen, dates back to Bishop Tozer's time ; he 
 thoroughly understands his business, and excel- 
 lent work is turned out, including educational 
 books, the Bishop's charges, examination papers 
 
 WOMEN DOING NEEDLEWORK. 
 
 and syllabuses, and the Swahili monthly magazine, 
 Msinndizi. Bookbinding is also done on the 
 premises. 
 
 S. Monica's, a fine, large building with a spa- 
 cious verandah, is the home of the women workers. 
 There is a school for girls and small boys, which
 
 142 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 numbers between thirty and forty ; they are mostly 
 the children of Christians, but some few are 
 Mohammedans. At one time there was quite a 
 number of nice little Indian girls, who came fairly 
 regularly and were getting on well. But there 
 came a day when all their places in school were 
 vacant. A Mohammedan teacher had been round, 
 and forbidden the parents to send their children 
 any longer to a Christian school. 
 
 In another chapter we give the story of one 
 of these little girls. 
 
 Work Room. Side by side with the school 
 is a room where a sewing class for women is held, 
 and here some of those who are Christians find 
 regular employment in all kinds of needlework, 
 both useful and ornamental, including silk and 
 other embroidery, drawn thread work, making 
 shirts, cassocks, surplices, blouses, and underlinen, 
 and, above all, mending the many garments which 
 hard wear, rough washing, bad soap, hard water, 
 and a baking sun, so quickly reduce to rags. 
 
 Laundries. There are two laundries at 
 Mkunazini one worked by men and boys, who 
 do the washing for the different Mission stations 
 on the island, a big work when you consider that 
 all the workers wear white suits or dresses, often 
 one a day, and other garments in proportion ; the 
 other employs women who take in washing from 
 residents in the town. These fine and elaborately 
 trimmed costumes cause great merriment among 
 the unsophisticated laundresses. 
 
 The Schools. There were, till quite lately,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 143 
 
 three schools in which Mohammedans of various 
 ages and types were instructed. The school 
 at Ng'ambo, which consisted of young Indian 
 lads, with a few Swahili, and one or two Mission 
 Christian boys. From this school have come three 
 converts from Mohammedanism ; the last was 
 baptised on Christmas Eve, 1908. The boys in this 
 school received continuous religious instruction, 
 but as their parents and relations are nearly all 
 Mohammedans there are great difficulties in the way 
 of their public reception into the Church before they 
 arrive at full manhood, and the attendance at the 
 school was very irregular. The position of the 
 converts in this school is something like that of 
 the early Christians : they are cursed in the streets 
 and looked down upon by all their friends. This 
 school is now combined with 
 
 The High School, which has been at work 
 for about two years ; the students are nearly 
 all young men. The average attendance nearly 
 reaches twenty, and promises to increase. There 
 is instruction in the Gospel every morning. Many 
 of those who attend have heard the whole of the 
 Gospel history with such explanations as were 
 judged necessary. Of course it is quite impossible 
 to gauge the effect of the teaching. But already 
 one is coming for special religious instruction at 
 his own request, and others have expressed a wish 
 for the same kind of instruction, and they are 
 really grateful for the education they are receiving. 
 The least that such work does is to produce a 
 friendly feeling, and to give proof of our goodwill
 
 144 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 and interest in the pupils' general welfare. But 
 we hope the results are deeper than that, and 
 that the whole point of view is shifting ; that 
 the old order is changing, giving place to new, 
 and that the principles of the Christian faith, 
 which they are beginning to distinguish from the 
 common misrepresentations of these principles, 
 are leavening their minds and widening their 
 outlook. 
 
 The present schoolroom is the basement of the 
 old Mission-house at Mkunazini, which was used 
 as the printing office tih 1 1909. 
 
 The Night School. This meets from 8 
 to 9 P.M., with an average attendance of be- 
 tween thirty and forty. Here, so far, there has 
 been no religious instruction. English alone is 
 taught. The school represents the outer fringe 
 of the work. It helps to form new friendships, and, 
 when the standard of English has improved, may 
 furnish us with new opportunities. The pupils 
 attend very well. 
 
 The Creek. Just opposite S. Monica's runs 
 the creek, which looks like a broad river, but is an 
 arm of the sea At high water native punts go 
 backwards and forwards to carry passengers across, 
 but at low tide there are dry, sandy paths, so that 
 you can go over on foot. Of course there are times 
 when it is too muddy and squashy to be either 
 safe or pleasant for booted folk, and then the only 
 thing is to go round by the bridge (see p. 4). 
 One day one of the women missionaries wanted to 
 cross in a hurry when it was too wet to do so ; a
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 145 
 
 Swahili, who was passing, quite a stranger, with 
 ready courtesy insisted on carrying her over, and 
 
 NG'AMBO. 
 
 refused all payment for his kindness. An Indian 
 man standing by called to the Swahili to do the
 
 146 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 same for him, but the man at once demanded pre- 
 payment. 
 
 Ng'ambo, which is Swahili for 'the other side,' 
 lies on the further side of the creek. Here there are 
 crowds of mud huts thatched with palm branches. 
 Many of them are inhabited by Christians. As a 
 rule these houses are quite dark inside, for windows 
 are considered dangerous in a country where 
 thieves are numerous and very daring. And after 
 all people do not use their houses much in the 
 daytime, but sit either in the back-yard or on the 
 verandah, while the cooking is always carried on 
 outside. Going to see a sick person in one of these 
 huts, you often find, when your eyes have grown 
 accustomed to the darkness, that you have been 
 sympathetically addressing the toes of the patient. 
 
 Houses and Huts : how they are built 
 These houses are very roughly built. First, 
 poles are placed in the ground vertically, one foot 
 or so apart ; thinner poles are then laid across 
 in a double line ; these are tied together with 
 kamba, a rough kind of rope made from cocoanut 
 fibre. At this stage the house has a very curious 
 appearance, resembling a large birdcage. The 
 next thing is the thatching with palm leaves ; this 
 also is fixed with rope. Then, in old days, a large 
 hole was dug in the middle of the hut, and the earth 
 which was taken from it was mixed with water 
 into a stiff plaster, with which all the chinks 
 between the poles were filled in, tiny stones being 
 hammered in at intervals. A friendly invitation 
 was then given to all the neighbours to bring their
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 147 
 
 rubbish, by which means in the course of time the 
 pit was filled up with all manner of refuse, which 
 sometimes included a dead cat or two. A benevolent 
 British Government, with energetic sanitary officers, 
 has put an end to the pit being dug in the house, 
 and the poor builder has to make one outside. 
 These houses are often built by women. 
 
 Dilatory Customs. It is not considered the 
 least necessary to finish your house before inhabit- 
 ing it. One room is often used, and the others not 
 finished for many months. Haste from a native 
 point of view is most undesirable, and there is a 
 Swahili proverb which the natives are fond of 
 quoting to the impatient European who is inclined 
 to hurry them unduly, ' Haraka haraka haina 
 baraka,' which being interpreted reads, ' Hurry, 
 hurry has no blessing.' A woman who was asked 
 why she did not finish her house at once, instead of 
 waiting weeks between each fit of energy, replied, 
 ' It would be quite against the custom,' and then 
 added slyly, ' Besides, people might think I was 
 very rich if I did it so quickly.' 
 
 Mission work progresses very slowly in 
 Zanzibar, and results are less visible here than in 
 any part of the diocese. Everyone knows that 
 civilisation brings its own evils, and that a coast 
 town, where the sins of all nationalities rise to the 
 surface, is one of the most difficult places in which 
 to preach the Gospel. Mohammedan opposition 
 is strong, and native superstition and practice 
 have by no means died out. On the mainland you 
 hear of large classes of hearers and catechumens,
 
 148 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 and of villages crying out for teachers to be sent. 
 But this is not the case in Zanzibar. It requires 
 some moral courage for anyone to put in an ap- 
 pearance at even a hearers' class, and before they 
 will do that, they have probably been visited and 
 taught privately for weeks and months, and even 
 years. 
 
 Distrust. On the surface the people are very 
 friendly and pleasant to deal with, but beneath 
 that there lies a strong conviction that the Euro- 
 pean is just an outsider, and cannot really under- 
 stand or sympathise with them. Even when the 
 beauty of Christianity begins to dawn upon them, 
 as it most certainly does after a time, they are 
 firmly persuaded that it is a religion good for the 
 white man, but for them the old ways and customs 
 are better. 
 
 Constant moving from Place to Place. 
 Another great drawback to the work is the fact 
 that the population is a very roaming one; the 
 people seem always on the move. Some go to 
 Pemba and Mombasa, others to the south, and 
 of course this difficulty will go on increasing as 
 means of travelling become so much easier. Even 
 now we hear of this roving spirit having penetrated 
 to the Usambara country. 
 
 Binti Juma. The only case I remember of a 
 woman coming forward on her own account and 
 asking to be taught, without our having known her 
 previously, was a certain Binti Juma. 
 
 She found her way to the Mission-house one 
 day, and said she would like to be taught.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 149 
 
 She had been born in Uganda or some district 
 near there, and, as a tiny child, had seen and 
 heard something of Christian teaching from the 
 Church Missionary Society. Her mother was 
 not a Christian, but her mother's mistress, a 
 native princess, was one, and before she left 
 Uganda the child had seen many people suffer 
 death rather than deny Christ. This child was 
 torn from her mother in one of the many raids 
 which devastate the country, sent down to 
 Zanzibar, and sold for a slave. Here she lived for 
 many years, and was married to a fellow-slave. 
 After a time they both applied to Government and 
 obtained their freedom. Then the husband died. 
 As soon as her days of mourning were over, Binti 
 Juma presented herself at the Mission, for she 
 had never forgotten her early teaching, and now 
 that there was no one to hinder her she wanted 
 to learn more, and see if it was possible for her to 
 be a Christian. No one attended her class more 
 regularly than she, and after a year she was made 
 a catechumen ; then two more years of instruction 
 followed, and at last she was baptised in the 
 cathedral, receiving the name of Joana. Joana's 
 second marriage caused us great amusement. 
 One day the Bishop had a letter from the priest 
 at Mbweni, saying, ' I have published the banns 
 between Xickolas and Joana now three times; 
 when is the marriage to take place ? ' The 
 Bishop called Joana, and said, ' I am told you are 
 going to be married ; no banns have been published 
 here; we did not know you were even engaged.'
 
 150 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 ' I am not engaged,' said Joana ; ' whom am I going 
 to marry ? ' The Bishop then repeated what he 
 heard from Mbweni, and Joana said, ' I met that 
 man once in the road, and he said, "Will you be 
 my wife ? " and I told him I did not know 
 either him or his news, but I would think about 
 it. I have never seen him since.' 
 
 When the Bishop asked her, ' Do you want to 
 marry him ? ' 'I will do just as you wish,' was 
 her answer, and nothing further could be got 
 from her. Finally, after some weeks she and 
 Nickolas were married, and have lived together 
 very happily ever since. 
 
 The Mission has three regular stations where 
 work is carried on outside the town. 
 
 S. Andrew's School and Theological 
 College, generally known as Kiungani, lies on the 
 west of Zanzibar Island, and consists of a large 
 block of stone buildings, standing on a slight 
 eminence close to the sea, about a mile south of 
 the city of Zanzibar. 
 
 It is at once the oldest and the newest institu- 
 tion in the Mission. In addition to the many 
 teachers who have been trained within its walls, 
 there have been ten priests and fifteen deacons, the 
 results of some thirty years' labour. 
 
 The original house was bought by Bishop Tozer 
 in 1866, and was the home for boys rescued from 
 slave dhows. The buildings contain rooms for 
 the Europeans, dormitories, school-room, class- 
 room for the boys, sick-room, offices ; above all, a 
 handsome chapel, made as beautiful and worthy
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 151 
 
 of its work as the funds put in our hands for the 
 purpose permitted ; and also small, separate studies 
 for the encouragement of habits of private reading 
 and devotion in the boys selected for them, which 
 were built as a memorial to Bishop Steere. Boys 
 come to Kiungani at the age of fourteen or fifteen, 
 as a rule, and stay four or five years. The term is ten 
 months, with two months' holiday at their homes 
 on the mainland. At the end of the course a boy 
 is certificated. On the mainland he teaches either 
 in a central school or in a little out -school. During 
 this time, if he feels a call to Holy Orders, he joins 
 the Guild of S. Paul for candidates for Orders. 
 After two years or so a Guild member returns 
 to Kiungani for six months to prepare for the 
 office of reader. After fulfilling this office for two 
 years or more he may return to Kiungani for a 
 three years' preparation for the diaconate. Deacons 
 serve several years before returning to Kiungani to 
 prepare for priesthood. 
 
 The life at the Theological College is almost the 
 same as that at an English college, save that the 
 hours of work are rather differently arranged. 
 But the students make their own arrangements 
 about food, as they are all married. When their 
 training is ended, and they have passed their 
 examinations, the greatest day of their life comes : 
 they are ordained to the sacred ministry. 
 
 No truth has been more vividly enforced by the 
 Mission's history than this, that in the tropics, 
 at any rate, an African church must be founded, 
 spread, and worked by Africans themselves, and
 
 152 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 this is the great end which Kiungani always keeps 
 in view. 
 
 The business of its European members is to do 
 their best to start them on this career, help as far 
 as they may, and then pass out of sight. 
 
 The Home for Little Boys at Kilimani. This 
 was moved from the town in 1894. The house, 
 which was built especially for its purpose, is about 
 one and a half miles from Kiungani, and stands 
 high above the sea, surrounded by a beautiful 
 garden and playground. For years it was as full 
 as it could hold of small released slave boys, but 
 with the cessation of the slave trade the number 
 of boarders is reduced very considerably. There 
 are about twenty day scholars. The stories of 
 some of these little ones will be found in the 
 article called ' Mission Babies.' 
 
 The Home and Training- School for Girls is 
 at the extreme end of Mbweni village. The house 
 lies in the midst of mango trees, cocoanut palms, 
 and orange groves. In the early days many poor 
 half -starved children, freshly released from the 
 slave dhows, were brought to Mbweni, where they 
 were well fed and cared for, and after being taught 
 and trained they married Christian boys who had 
 been trained in one of the other Mission schools. 
 
 With the rapid decline of the slave trade, the 
 number of destitute children brought to this 
 school has happily diminished, and there are 
 now only about sixty girls, more than half of whom 
 are day scholars. The rest are either freed slaves 
 or the orphans of Christian parents. Every
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 155 
 
 morning at 8.30 the bell rings, and the children 
 come trooping in from the garden, where most of 
 their free time is spent. They are of all ages and 
 sizes, from little mites of four or five to the pupil 
 teachers, who take it in turns to help with the 
 younger classes. The school work is in the charge 
 of a trained English teacher, with native teachers 
 under her, who are all old scholars now married, 
 and living in the village ; many of them come to 
 their work with their babies tied on their backs, 
 or with one just old enough to run about, who 
 trots cheerfully about the schoolroom, quite re- 
 gardless of lessons. The girls are, as a rule, very 
 quick at learning by heart, but any work that needs 
 thought or calculation does not come easily to 
 them. 
 
 Besides the ordinary school lessons, the girls 
 do a certain amount of industrial work every day. 
 They keep the house and garden in order, and 
 nearly every afternoon an hour is devoted to the 
 specially native occupation of palm-leaf plaiting 
 and basket-making. 
 
 When a girl has reached the age of thirteen 
 or fourteen, and does not seem likely to develop 
 into a teacher, she is taken from the regular 
 school lessons, and most of her time is spent in 
 the laundry or in gardening, or in some other 
 industrial work, as the object of their training is 
 not only to educate their intellects, but to train 
 them in habits of industry, trustworthiness, and 
 self-control. They are all fond of cooking in their 
 peculiar native fashion, and the elder girls take it
 
 156 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 in turns to prepare their two daily meals of rice, 
 or some kind of beans or lentils, with a small piece 
 of meat or fish as a relish. This they eat seated on 
 the ground under the verandah, and two friends 
 will often share the same plate. Swimming and 
 diving are very favourite amusements, and the 
 girls are all remarkably active in climbing trees, 
 but they care very little for ordinary English games. 
 When the girls marry, a few of them settle 'at 
 Mbweni, but the greater number go to live either in 
 town, or on the island of Pemba, or at some Mission 
 station on the mainland ; and in this way fresh 
 Christian homes are constantly being founded, 
 which should form centres of Christian light in 
 the midst of the surrounding darkness. The story 
 of one of these girls, and also a description of the 
 village of Mbweni, will be found in other chapters. 
 
 A SHAMBA SCENE.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 157 
 
 XI 
 
 TESSI AND HER BOYS 
 
 The following story gives some account of the home 
 life of the boys in the school at Ng'ambo mentioned 
 in the preceding chapter. 
 
 Ax the very beginning of Ng'ambo school I think 
 in June, 1902 I was sitting waiting for scholars 
 who sometimes came, but much more often 
 stayed away, when there appeared two little 
 Khoja* boys. They marched in, holding each 
 other's hands, and at once began to examine the 
 schoolroom with keen interest. They looked at 
 everything until they came to a large canvas of the 
 manger at Bethlehem, which I had hung quite 
 low so that little people could see it. The moment 
 they saw the shepherds kneeling both the boys knelt 
 down and clasped their hands most reverently. 
 I wondered whether they could possibly be 
 Christians and meant to ask them, but there was 
 no time, for it was they who questioned and I who 
 answered: ' Who is the Babe ?' ' Why do they 
 worship Him ? ' And when I had told them ' they 
 rejoiced with great joy.' That was how I first came 
 to love Tessi's children. 
 
 * A Mohammedan sect.
 
 158 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 Very soon they took me to their home; I 
 think it was to see a new baby, for there seemed 
 to be one almost every year, and I first saw Tessi 
 sitting in a little shop surrounded by gay-coloured 
 sheeties, with her baby at her breast. As soon as 
 I saw her I felt at home ; the boys' voices had often 
 recalled my own mother's, but Tessi was really 
 like her, one of those strange likenesses, not so 
 much of face or form as of mind and soul. 
 
 ' I call her ' Tessi,' and her husband ' Abdul 
 Kasul,' but those are not their real names, and 
 though I am sorry to do so I must only call the boys 
 by the letters of the alphabet. 
 
 Tessi was barely thirty then, and she had a 
 married daughter, and was soon hoping to marry 
 the second, a very lovely girl of fourteen. Tessi 
 was pretty once, no doubt, but when I first knew 
 her she was thin with much care and great 
 troubles. 
 
 The first trouble was her eldest son, who was 
 the pride of her heart, but very unsteady, and he 
 often quarrelled with his father, who was 'difficult.' 
 This son, whom I will call A., had received a good 
 English education without religion, and the result 
 was that he ceased to believe in Islam. At 
 seventeen he got more money than he knew how 
 to spend ; he married badly and came back to his 
 home to make it wretched. 
 
 The other trouble was the usual one in a 
 Mohammedan household the second wife. The 
 ' Little Mother,' as she is called, always seemed 
 to me rather a nice little body, but Tessi naturally
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 161 
 
 did not think so, and I don't think ' Little 
 Mother ' had a very good time of it. 
 
 Neither Tessi nor her husband was born in 
 Zanzibar, but in Cutch, and she was inclined in 
 religion to follow Agha Khan, a prince of Cutch, 
 who is supposed to be an incarnation of their god, 
 and who has many followers in Zanzibar ; but the 
 prophet Mohammed would have had a few words 
 to say to Agha Khan, I think. 
 
 My little boys D. and E. were the youngest of 
 the family ; they all made the Haj, which is a 
 pilgrimage (made by most of the devout Mohamme- 
 dans once in their lifetime) to Mecca, their sacred 
 city, to ensure their salvation after death. 
 
 It is a comfort to some of E.'s friends, now that 
 he is a Christian, to think that he cannot be lost 
 because he has been to Mecca. He can remember 
 riding in a pannier on a camel, and wondering if they 
 would be shipwrecked, for they nearly rolled out of 
 the ship and had to keep holding on for dear life. 
 
 Both the boys were very clever, and it was a 
 delight to teach them, and after they had been 
 about a year at school they talked about being 
 Christians, and E. began to come on Sundays. 
 Tessi called me one day and said, ' You are 
 E.'s mwalimu * now, he has broken off with 
 his old one ; he is the most obstinate child there 
 ever was. Well, do the best you can for him. I 
 love my religion, and I don't like Christianity ; but 
 any religion is better than infidelity, and my boys 
 won't walk in the way of their father.' 
 * Teacher. 
 
 M
 
 162 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 I found out afterwards that it was only in 
 their grandfather's time that the family had become 
 Mohammedans ; before that they were heathens, 
 which is the case of many families in Zanzibar. 
 
 After this Padre Mackay * came and took great 
 pains in teaching E., and had him twice a week to 
 read the Bible in his room. 
 
 One day lately we were talking of some -one 
 who had suddenly been converted, and I asked E. 
 (who is quite an ' old ' Christian now) whether 
 he could remember any particular time when he 
 first believed. 
 
 ' Yes/ he said instantly, ' it was one day when 
 I was reading with Padre Mackay that I knew for 
 certain that Jesus is God.' 
 
 But a good moral foundation had been laid first 
 at home. 
 
 The boys had the fullest trust in their mother, 
 and she had given them most careful teaching 
 about places and people who were to be avoided. 
 They must be at home in the evening, and she never 
 let a night pass without looking at them to see they 
 were all safe. And though, according to custom, 
 she could not teach them their prayers, they saw 
 her praying often, in the day and in the night, and 
 learnt their lesson. 
 
 But I soon discovered there was a dark side to 
 Tessi's religion. It led to my one and only serious 
 quarrel with her, and it happened atMuharram, that 
 horrible time of weeping for Hasan and Husein f 
 
 * Then priest-in-charge in Zanzibar. 
 
 f Two of Mohammed's followers who were assassinated .
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 163 
 
 which is heathen through and through. I went 
 to see Tessi and found her and her wretched sons 
 all dressed in dirty, black calico, unwashed and 
 unfed. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, and she 
 held up her wailing babe to me, and cried, ' We are 
 all weeping and fasting for Husein ; not a drop of 
 milk have I given the babe the livelong day.' 
 I forgot all about the honour due to a mother among 
 her children ; I am afraid I stamped. I did not go 
 near her for a long time, and I believe that kind of 
 fast is forbidden now by the teachers. Mothers 
 used to beat their children cruelly at the time, 
 and encouraged them to beat goats and other 
 animals. 
 
 Tessi began to listen to the Gospel from her 
 boys' lips, and I think she grew ashamed of those 
 nights and days. She always upheld me when I 
 had to punish the boys at school. D. was very 
 gentle, and words were generally quite enough for 
 him, but E. was self-willed, and very naughty 
 sometimes. 
 
 It was their father who made difficulties, never 
 their mother. She had ' considered,' she said ; 
 ' I have spoilt one, you shall have a free hand with 
 these,' and she kept her word. 
 
 I used to think she exaggerated the influence 
 E. had in the family, and his naughtiness, till it was 
 brought home to me at school. 
 
 We had got a new teacher, who was also new 
 to Indians, and soon after he came I very unwisely 
 went to a funeral and left him in charge. When 
 I came back I found the boys in rebellion and the 
 
 M 2
 
 164 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 teacher with no temper left, saying that he was 
 only waiting for me to come back to flog the whole 
 class. I said I thought he had better make an 
 example of two of the ringleaders, and he agreed. 
 There were some big boys, Arabs and Swahili, 
 but to my surprise he picked out E. first, and next 
 his great friend, who is also an Indian. 
 
 I wished then that I had not given him his 
 choice, for E. looked such a little scrap of a thing 
 to be flogged by an angry man. I sent the other 
 boy downstairs with the teacher first, and thought 
 that if E. said that he was very sorry I would beg 
 him off. I looked at him ; he seemed quite at his 
 ease. ' What is a ringleader ?' he asked care- 
 lessly ; I gave him the English dictionary, and he 
 looked it out and laughed. ' Haki ! ' (justice) 
 he said, and went downstairs. When they came 
 back the big boy was crying bitterly, but E. 
 stuffed his hand under his friend's arm, and said, 
 ' Stop ! we are ringleaders ; you mustn't cry, for I 
 won't.' 
 
 Those were the two first to be baptised from the 
 school. 
 
 A little while after E. 's baptism Tessi called me 
 into her house and said, ' I don't believe in your 
 religion, don't think it ; but I say there is something 
 in baptism. E. is very much altered since he was 
 baptised ; he used to be so restless it made me very 
 anxious about him, but now that is all gone ; the 
 child has found peace, and I am very glad for his 
 sake.' 
 
 It was while E. was only a catechumen that
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 165 
 
 another boy was born ; there are two boys and a 
 girl between him and D. Tessi was in sad trouble 
 about her eldest son, who had struck his father 
 and brought disgrace upon the house; and she 
 thought she was going to die ; in fact she was very 
 unwell. One day she lay down and wept ; her little 
 son E. came in. He knelt down beside her and 
 prayed with all his heart as Christians do pray, 
 telling everything to his Father in heaven. 
 
 Tessi listened and wondered, and then, as she 
 told me afterwards, she felt an angel touch her on 
 the bosom, and she knew that all would be well. 
 Hastily she sent E. for old granny, and that was 
 how little S. came into the world. He was a most 
 beautiful baby, and his mother promised that he 
 should be mine from the first, because I had taught 
 E. to pray a promise she has faithfully kept, and 
 S. is now in S. Monica's infant school. 
 
 The grandmother has great power in Indian 
 families, and Abdul Kasul's mother is rather a 
 formidable old lady. When F. followed E.'s 
 example and wanted to be made a catechumen, 
 he asked his parents' permission, and they both 
 gave it ; but granny refused, and locked the boy 
 up in his room, and would not give up the key to 
 anybody till the hour for service was passed. F. 
 has a bad temper, and granny had to bear a good 
 deal from him, and when the boy came to me white 
 with rage, and D. and E. and I could do nothing 
 with him, I saw that Heaven was wiser than I was, 
 and it was too soon for F. to receive the cross. He 
 is a better boy now, and he is learning self-control;
 
 166 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 he was made a catechumen a few months after- 
 wards, privately. 
 
 A., the eldest son, died last year ; he paid a heavy 
 price for his sins, and broke his mother's heart. 
 His second child was born after his death, but the 
 boy's birth brought no comfort to his mother, 
 though it did to his widow. Tessi wept for months, 
 and made her sons most miserable. She was worn 
 out with watching, and she was angry with God for 
 taking her son. Even when D. was very ill she 
 neglected him and went on weeping, and poor D. 
 had to recover as best he could. However, that 
 has passed now, though we shall never see Tessi 
 in her pretty silks and jewels again. She has given 
 them to her daughters, for she says, ' I shall go 
 down to the grave to my son mourning.' Last 
 Ramadhan,* a year ago, she was persuaded by the 
 Mohammedan teacher to try and force E. back to 
 conform outwardly to Islam. She and his father 
 beat him several times, though I believe she kissed 
 him afterwards, and brought him his supper, but 
 it was hard for both of them. Some one told me 
 about it, and I asked E. if it was true. ' Yes,' he 
 said, 'but it's nothing to hurt.' I said, 'I don't 
 suppose it will do you any harm ; but if it was too 
 hard, you know you could go to Kiungani.' E. 
 looked at me, and I regret to say he laughed heartily. 
 Little boys ought not to laugh at ' teacher.' ' Run 
 away from mother to Kiungani ! ' We both laughed, 
 
 * The Mohammedan fast when nothing is eaten or 
 drunk between sunrise and sunset, and which lasts for a 
 month.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 167 
 
 and I said, ' If it has to be done again you had better 
 think of something you deserve to be punished for ; ' 
 and he said, ' I will.' But I don't think they did 
 it again, and this year there was no attempt at 
 coercion, either for him or his elder brother, in 
 Ramadhan. If every mother who reads this story 
 would say a prayer for Tessi and Abdul Kasul, I 
 think they would soon become Christians and find 
 peace in Jesus. 
 
 ALICE FOXLEY. 
 
 ZANZIBAR CATHEDRAL.
 
 168 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 XII 
 
 THE STORY OF A LITTLE INDIAN GIRL 
 IN S. MONICA'S SCHOOL 
 
 MASHARIKI is not her real name, but it will serve, 
 for she is a typical Oriental a child capable of the 
 utmost religious devotion, but yet with much dis- 
 regard for the practice of the same. Her heathen 
 creed was elementary in the extreme. All she 
 knew was that her god was painted red and had 
 been sent to Bombay. She could also sing, in 
 Arabic, the Mohammedan confession of faith, 
 ' There is no God but God, and Mohammed is the 
 prophet of God/ for she had picked it up from 
 hearing it chanted by the mourners at funerals ; 
 but of its meaning she knew nothing, as she could 
 only talk the Indian pidgin-Swahili. She was very 
 eager to be taught, but teaching her was difficult. 
 The first thing that really gripped her imagina- 
 tion was a picture of the child Samuel praying. 
 At the time of seeing it she said nothing, but next 
 day when she came to school she announced, ' Bibi, 
 I prayed last night like this,' and suiting the action 
 to the word, she knelt down in the middle of the 
 muddy garden path. The contrast between the
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 171 
 
 copy and the picture made one smile. The Samuel 
 of the picture was a chubby, well-to-do, English- 
 looking boy, in an irreproachable white nightgown, 
 kneeling by an unmistakably English bed. And 
 there in the glowing sunlight, sharply denned 
 against the background of green banana leaves, was 
 the tense, eager figure of Mashariki with her gay- 
 coloured rags draped picturesquely round her. 
 But the child was really in earnest, and she had 
 something of Samuel's yearning for God, which 
 somehow the gaudy picture had helped to convey 
 to her ; so it seemed only right to teach her the 
 words of her first prayer. 
 
 She learnt it eagerly, and never forgot to say 
 it each day with great reverence and devotion. 
 The idea of intercession she grasped without any 
 oral teaching. Each day she came to be taught 
 she would ask for a fresh clause to be added to 
 her simple hearer's prayer at one time it was for 
 a neighbour ill with fever, then for a brother 
 travelling, or for an aunt who had died, or for 
 her mother's little unborn babe. None were shut 
 out from her prayers. 
 
 The theory of well-doing came very easily to 
 her. She loved to recite the Ten Commandments, 
 and she would hold up her hands in pious horror at 
 her playmates when they stole a few flowers from 
 the hospital garden. The guava season proved 
 too much for her principles, though. When the 
 other children complained that she had been 
 stealing guavas she denied it stoutly ; but, alas ! 
 a day or two later she was caught red-handed.
 
 172 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 She seemed really sorry her beautiful oval face 
 was drawn with grief, and tears welled from her 
 eyes as she ' dreed her weird ' and went to own up 
 to the matron of the hospital what she had done. 
 
 It gave her a dim idea, too, of the forgiveness of 
 sins, which she had never before been able to 
 understand, for it dawned upon her that God also 
 would say ' Bassi ' (Enough ! That will do) if she 
 were really sorry. 
 
 But alas ! her penitence was short-lived. Only 
 a few days passed by and she was stealing again, 
 and in spite of teaching and many promises of 
 reform, she stole guavas at intervals till the season 
 was over and there was nothing left to steal. 
 
 As for truth, Mashariki had as vivid an imagina- 
 tion as Kim,* and lies slipped off her lips more 
 easily than truth. Indeed, she did not seem able 
 to distinguish between the two ; and yet her faith 
 was not wholly without works. She would give 
 away fireworks with open-hearted generosity to 
 children who had taunted and scorned her, and 
 though she would tell tales of her playfellows, and 
 even accuse them of imaginary misdoings, she was 
 absolutely loyal to her father, who was at times 
 very cruel to her. As for her devotion and unsel- 
 fishness to two baby sisters, it was quite wonderful. 
 No pleasure was too great to be sacrificed for them, 
 and she would stagger about all day with a baby 
 nearly as big as herself on her hip, and only smile 
 at the suggestion that she might be tired. 
 
 But it is impossible to analyse Mashariki's 
 * By Rudyard Kipling.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 173 
 
 character East is East and West is West, and 
 human beings can never wholly unravel the mystery 
 about faith and works. We can only try to realise 
 more the longing of our Lord's heart that children 
 like Mashariki should be gathered into the Church, 
 so that they may bring with them their own special 
 offering to the full beauty of Christian character. 
 
 D. C. A. 
 
 INDIAN CHILDREN AT PLAV.
 
 174 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 XIII 
 VISITING WOMEN IN ZANZIBAR 
 
 BESIDES looking after our Christian women and 
 teaching hearers and catechumens, we do a little 
 visiting among the Arab women. But though 
 this work has been in progress some time, it is 
 impossible to say what result it has had. 
 
 Some of the women know enough to be baptised, 
 were they to express a wish for baptism, but it 
 is extremely unlikely that their husbands would 
 ever allow them to come forward and profess 
 their faith. 
 
 I will try and give you a little account of visits 
 made at different times to some of the Arab ladies. 
 The houses in which they live are large and built 
 of stone. No one lives on the ground floor, but 
 sometimes the master has a room spread with 
 mats, where he entertains his friends with chatting 
 or reading the Koran. When you enter you go up 
 a stone staircase to a great landing, where the 
 mistress of the house receives you, either offering 
 you a chair there, or taking you into a close room 
 with a carpet and cushions all round. As soon 
 as you are seated you are put through a strict
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 175 
 
 examination of your mode of life here in 
 Zanzibar and that of your family at home; you 
 are also asked where you bought your clothes 
 and how many rupees you gave for them, and 
 why you came here, and how your husband and 
 children are ! 
 
 They cannot understand your being unmarried, 
 and they will return over and over again to this 
 subject ; so I found it better to always teh 1 them 
 at once that I never had been married since I was 
 born. Neither can the men understand this, and 
 you hear them say, ' Ajabu!' (wonderful). After 
 a time you seize your opportunity and begin to 
 teach, and they generally get very interested and 
 ask all sorts of questions. One day I was visiting 
 a poor sick Arab woman, and telling her how 
 our Lord used to go about healing the sick, when 
 in came two Arab women teachers of the Koran 
 wearing their barakoa (masks). One of them 
 shook hands with me, but the other turned her 
 back and did not answer my greeting. After a 
 pause I went on speaking to the lady and her 
 two little boys. The unfriendly teacher came 
 up to me and said, ' We don't want any of your 
 religion ; what have you come here for ? ' I 
 immediately replied that my work was to teach 
 the religion of Christ, and that if my friend wished 
 me to leave off I would do so, as we never suffered 
 our Blessed Lord to be scorned or His religion 
 scoffed at. After a time she calmed down and 
 told me to go on teaching, though both she and 
 her companion interrupted me over and over
 
 176 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 again, quoting the Koran and giving their version 
 of the Incarnation and the Holy Trinity. Then 
 she told me that we didn't believe in the devil, 
 for a German doctor had told one of their husbands 
 so. Then some more people came in, and I was 
 almost overwhelmed, for in their excitement they 
 spoke in Arabic, which I could not understand. 
 However, a young Arab interpreted for me into 
 Swahili, and so we went on for a good hour and a 
 half. I have been there twice since and have had 
 quite a warm reception, and each time the friendly, 
 or, rather, neutral teacher, was there. They put 
 the most puzzling questions to you, and they 
 expect you to give them the clearest answers. In 
 one house a man was comparing our Blessed Lord 
 with Mohammed to the advantage of the latter, so 
 I had to say that Mohammed had committed 
 many sins, and couldn't be named in the same 
 breath with our Lord, upon which up sprang 
 an Arab teacher, and shook her hands in my face, 
 crying, ' We never accuse your Yesu (Jesus) of 
 committing sin ; why do you come here and 
 accuse our prophet ? Tell us what evil did he 
 do ? ' So I had to give a string of his wrong-doings, 
 and when I had finished I was told that God 
 allowed Mohammed to do these things, so it was 
 not sinful in him. 
 
 There is another Arab lady whom I go to see. 
 She lives with her little grand-daughter and a host 
 of slaves. This lady has not a very bright intellect, 
 and so she finds it rather a strain to follow even 
 the little instruction I try to give her, but I go on
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 177 
 
 because of the child and the slaves ; the latter 
 explain to their mistress what I have said. 
 
 In every house the slaves come and sit down 
 and listen attentively. I feel bound to say that 
 they seem very well treated and appear happy and 
 contented, and speak to the mistress in a tone of 
 equality. 
 
 Sometimes as you are walking through the narrow 
 streets you hear a voice calling out to you through 
 a barred window to come upstairs ; so up you go, 
 never knowing what sort of people you may find. 
 
 One of my favourites is a Pathan woman who 
 is very strictly enclosed, not even being allowed 
 to look through the barred windows. One day 
 when I called she had black, swollen eyes and was 
 deaf in one ear. After saying she had fallen 
 down, she told me her husband came home 
 unexpectedly, and saw her looking out of the 
 window, and beat her in this manner. She has 
 never recovered the hearing of that ear. 
 
 At one of the houses we visit, the son is one of 
 the tallest and most dignified men I ever met. It 
 was very funny one day ; we were talking to his 
 mother, and I turned to him and asked his opinion 
 on what we had been saying. His mother imme- 
 diately said, ' He doesn't know, he is but a child ! ' 
 At this house and in one other I noticed that all 
 the slaves crawled in on their knees. Their habits 
 and customs remind one constantly of scenes and 
 incidents in the Bible. 
 
 One of the women I know has been ill with 
 fever and sickness, so I asked one of the Mission
 
 178 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 nurses to visit and prescribe for her. The poor 
 dame was soon put to rights, but she put Lady 
 Macbeth in the shade with her tragic airs and 
 gestures when nurse told her that she was quite 
 well. She threw up her hands and opened her 
 eyes and mouth as wide as she could, looking 
 horrified, and at last she gasped out, ' Me, me ! I 
 am quite well ? How can you say such a thing ? ' 
 Then she pulled my dress and began recounting 
 her grievances, just like a child. 
 
 One day I went to call upon a lady, quite 
 forgetting that she had gone out to the shamba. 
 I was just going downstairs again when a man 
 whom I knew came out of a room and asked me 
 to go and see his sister, who lived in another room 
 in the same house ; so I was shown into a very 
 clean, neat room, the floor covered with coloured 
 mats, and the usual Arab bedstead at one end, 
 and large cushions leaning against the walls. 
 
 Sitting on a bright crimson cushion was a 
 pretty Arab girl dressed in tight crimson and 
 green trousers reaching to the ankle, a crimson 
 and green tunic, a great coral and gold necklace, 
 huge gold bead bracelets, and heavy gold 
 anklets. She also wore a very handsome twisted 
 crimson handkerchief on her head. Of course I 
 was put through the usual catechism, and then 
 I had to tell her that I couldn't visit her unless I 
 taught her dini (religion). She immediately said 
 ' Begin,' which I did at once. When I was 
 leaving she told me that a great friend of hers 
 had seen me passing many times, and wished to
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 179 
 
 know me, and ' would I go at once ? ' So she 
 sent some one to show me this new friend. I went 
 right to the top of another big house, and was 
 shown into a large room full of people. Two of 
 the ladies got up and shook hands with me, 
 though I could see they were much astonished 
 at my unexpected advent. A third lady (the 
 bibi who wanted to make my acquaintance) was 
 kneeling and genuflecting on her prayer-mat. 
 I was silent, of course, as I saw she was praying, 
 though the other ladies and the children and 
 slaves went on chattering just the same. However, 
 she soon got up and gave me a very warm welcome, 
 and much the same scene was enacted as at the 
 other house, though I could only stay a very 
 short time. Before I left she poured a few drops 
 of the costly attar of roses in my hand and literally 
 deluged me and soaked my handkerchief in the 
 scent they love so well. I was a walking smelling- 
 bottle for several days afterwards. 
 
 One day I was passing a house, when I heard a 
 voice calling out ' Bibi,' so I looked up, and at one 
 of the windows, which have no glass and are 
 only barred with iron rods, was sitting an Arab 
 nursing a little child. He held out a fan through 
 the bars, and I thanked him. Then he asked me 
 to come in. So I inquired if there was a bibi in 
 the house, and he said, ' Yes; go upstairs.' I at 
 once stepped up the dirty stone staircase, calling 
 out ' Hodi ' over and over again, but getting no 
 answer. At last a woman peeped timidly round 
 the corner and asked who I was, and then another
 
 180 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 woman came. By this time the husband had come 
 up and introduced me, and the second woman 
 came forward and showed me into a room, and 
 then we all went in and talked the ' catechism ' 
 coming first. After a while the Arab said some- 
 thing to the w r oman in Arabic, and she produced 
 a basket with walnuts, and gave me some. 
 
 One young bibi, who married a direct descendant 
 of Mohammed the false prophet (so she says), was 
 taking great interest in our Lord's life and teaching, 
 though she often said to me, ' Ah, Bibi, Yesu Kristu 
 (Jesus Christ) was a very good Prophet, but He 
 isn't God, nor the Son of God. I will never believe 
 that, never.' One day when I was visiting her 
 she kept on looking at the door as if she were 
 dreading some one coming in. So I asked her 
 what was the matter, and she whispered that 
 her husband had now returned from the mainland, 
 and if he came in and saw me there he w r ould 
 want to know what I was doing ; and when she 
 told him that I was teaching her dini, he would 
 drive her away, so would I teach her to read or 
 write, so that if he came he would think that 
 was my reason for coming. I told her I couldn't 
 do such a deceitful thing, but that I would think 
 the matter over before coming again. 
 
 So we talked it over at home, and it was settled 
 that I should go and teach as usual, and if the 
 husband came in I was to ask him the question 
 straight out as to whether he would agree to his 
 wife being taught. She was a picturesque-looking 
 girl, though slightly marked with smallpox.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 181 
 
 Sometimes we visit a shamba eight miles out 
 of town, at a place called Bububu. The way 
 lies through the most lovely country close to the 
 shore. The house is a huge barrack-like building ; 
 a great flight of worn stone steps lead into a 
 large stone hall open to the roof. We are shown 
 into a long, narrow, carpeted room with two beds 
 in it, and cushions and seats, and after refreshments 
 proceed to give instruction in the truths of our 
 religion. It is often quite dark before we get 
 home, and we go splashing and stumbling along the 
 roads. 
 
 There was one Arab lady, whom I went to see, 
 whose son had been slowly dying of heart disease 
 for some months. Since my last visit he had 
 passed away, and the poor mother was in great 
 grief. I felt so sorry because I could say nothing 
 absolutely to comfort her, for her son was a rigid 
 Mohammedan. The poor thing just laid her 
 head on my shoulder and sobbed away, and then 
 she felt better. The son's wife had been taken 
 away to her own mother together with their 
 small son, a bright little fellow, who was most 
 keen to hear about our Lord whenever I went to 
 teach. Presently the lady said, ' Come into this 
 room,' and took me into another apartment. 
 At one end was a woman dressed in long white 
 garments from head to foot, sitting on a mat 
 fanning herself. This was the minor wife, and 
 she had to sit there for several weeks as a sign of 
 mourning. I thought she wouldn't speak, but 
 she did, and most cheerfully too.
 
 182 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 In another house where I visit, the lady 
 generally sits in a great hall with pillars, surrounded 
 with her slaves, who are generally plaiting mats. 
 Goats, chickens, cats, and guinea-pigs run about 
 in the most friendly manner. The husband of 
 this lady is in the Sultan's household. I should 
 like to show you over a few of these curious 
 houses. 
 
 There are numbers of Comoro people on the 
 island. They are of an olive complexion, with 
 dark hair and eyes, and are rather a handsome 
 race. At one of their houses three sisters live 
 together. They are always reclining, but when 
 I go in I receive a very warm welcome, and then 
 they sink back in a seemingly exhausted condition. 
 Very comical it is at times, and I feel much 
 inclined to have a good laugh. Sometimes there 
 are as many as six women, all reclining, four or 
 five slaves, and as many children. 
 
 The door of this house is always ajar, and 
 opens on to the street, and people, hearing a 
 strange voice, come flocking in, and at times I have 
 quite a large audience. The house is only a 
 superior hut, with a mud floor, and walls formed of 
 thick sticks filled in with mud, through which the 
 daylight shows in many places ; no windows, of 
 course, but rather lofty and with a makuti (split 
 cocoanut leaves) roof. It is a very dirty place, 
 like most of the houses here, but still you are 
 welcomed, especially if one of the sisters in par- 
 ticular is there. One day this sister told me she 
 had been to see an old aunt (or sister, she called
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 183 
 
 her) who had been ill for ten years. The poor 
 old thing was left alone, her slaves having deserted 
 her when they found she was dying. Before 
 leaving her, however, they had put some food in a 
 plate on her chest that she might not starve, and 
 then took themselves off. Having heard this 
 the niece went round to help the poor old dame 
 in her last moments. 
 
 One day a man came and begged me to go and 
 see an Arab lady who was very ill. The lady's 
 name was rather a grand one, and I had a very 
 Arabian Nights feeling as I followed the man, who 
 carried a basket full of remedies which we packed 
 on the chance of their being useful. We walked 
 about two miles through shambas, and then came 
 to a very pretty one highly cultivated with 
 plenty of muhogo and coffee plants, and the paths 
 bordered with pineapples, date trees, and papaw. 
 After a while I saw the house, which seemed poor 
 for the size of the shamba. I went in expecting 
 to find farmers. Behold, as I entered the women's 
 yard there met me a gentleman in full riding 
 dress, his kanzu white as driven snow, his splen- 
 did sword and dagger dangling from his inlaid 
 belt, his neck heavy with thick silver chains, a 
 snow-white turban, and red silk waistcoat rich 
 with embroidery, and on his feet highly orna- 
 mented sandals. This magnificent vision stood 
 in the middle of the yard and made me the most 
 beautiful bow. For a moment I felt quite shy, 
 but I knew how much the Arabs think of manners, 
 and I said to myself, ' Think it is a charade,' and
 
 184 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 I felt inspired with a bow which I truthfully 
 think matched his. Then we both advanced and 
 bowed again ; one bow is a poor piece of work in 
 the East. I had an idea that three was the proper 
 thing, but was glad to find that two sufficed. 
 He asked me to come and see his wife, and led 
 the way into a large baraza built of wattle and 
 daub, with a thatched roof. This barn (it was 
 like nothing else) was divided very roughly into 
 compartments, and there, in a little room like a 
 horse-box, lay the poor woman. There were six 
 or eight other women round her, several nearly 
 as fair as English women, which is a sign here of 
 good birth. The poor creature herself was horribly 
 dirty, and the smell of the place was overpowering. 
 ' Shall you want me to interpret for you, 
 Bibi ? ' asked my lord in polite but most unwilling 
 tones. He struck me all the time as a man doing 
 a thing he hated, because he was under orders. 
 So I said, ' I cannot speak Swahili very well 
 yet, sir, but I can understand almost anything.' 
 He smiled with infinite relief. ' You know quite 
 enough for us here, Bibi,' and forthwith he took a 
 hasty farewell. When I first went and looked 
 at the miserable creature in the kitanda, I could 
 hardly bring myself to touch her. But feeling 
 intensely ashamed of myself, I washed her horrible 
 ulcer and made a poultice, which relieved her 
 greatly, and then I gathered all the women round 
 me in the outer room and said every single thing 
 must be washed, unless they all wanted to 
 get some dreadful disease themselves. I thought
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 185 
 
 that would touch them, and it did, for several 
 of them at once said they felt ill, and asked 
 me for medicine. By this time the sun was very 
 hot, and they offered me a donkey, which I had 
 to ride without a saddle. The next day I came 
 back and found everything perfectly clean and 
 the patient much better ; but two more bad cases 
 from among the slaves were waiting for me outside. 
 I was utterly puzzled by one, a woman who 
 looked hardly human; I thought she had been 
 poisoned, but found that she was an earth-eater. 
 She was most unwilling to show her tongue, which 
 was all red with the earth off the walls. The other 
 women made a great joke of it, and said, ' She 
 will die soon, and Shetani (the devil) will have her 
 body and soul.' Earth-eating is a very common 
 disease in Africa, and the craving for it becomes 
 so acute that the sufferer refuses all other food 
 and eventually dies in a miserable condition. 
 
 The other slave they were evidently anxious 
 to save, and they promised to send her into the 
 hospital. The next time I visited my patient 
 she was astonishingly better, and most grateful. 
 
 And so the work goes on day by day, here a 
 little and there a little, nothing to show and very 
 little to write about, but we trust and pray that 
 the leaven is working in the measure of meal, and 
 that some day the blessing of God will leaven 
 the whole lump.
 
 i86 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 XIV 
 A CHRISTIAN VILLAGE IN AFRICA 
 
 IN 1871 Bishop Tozer * bought the plantation of 
 Mbweni, which has grown, and to-day has all the 
 appearance of being a happy Christian village. 
 It is beautifully situated near the sea, and is 
 about four miles from Zanzibar city. 
 
 You find there pretty well all that you expect to 
 find the church, the schools for boys and girls, 
 the dispensary, and the village shop. Then there 
 are the clergy, the school teachers, the nurse, 
 the policeman, and all the other sorts of people, 
 big and little, young and old, that one sees in 
 a village in Christian England. They are all 
 the same, yet they are all so^different ! but, in 
 spite of differences of climate, colour, and environ- 
 ment, ' there 's a touch of nature that doth make the 
 whole world kin,' and nowhere is this better seen 
 than in this village of Christian Africans at Mbweni. 
 
 First let me mention the children. I do not 
 
 mean the orphan boys and girls who have lived 
 
 in the Mission since childhood, but those children 
 
 who attend the day schools, and who live with 
 
 * The second Bishop of the Universities' Mission.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 187 
 
 their parents and foster-parents in the village 
 and neighbourhood. In the last few years the 
 numbers of these day children have doubled, 
 and the parents do try to look after their children, 
 and see that they come regularly to school. 
 
 Every morning about eight o'clock you will 
 meet boys and girls trudging off to the schools 
 at Kilimani and Mbweni. You see the infants 
 strapped by a cloth to the backs of the elder girls 
 or mothers, and the younger girls carrying 
 their lunch of bananas, or a mango, on their backs 
 in the same fashion a good make-believe for 
 a doll. Their education is conducted exactly 
 on the lines of a national school in England, save 
 that there is more technical work, such as plaiting, 
 mat-making, basket-making, &c. ; also, they do 
 a lot of out-door work, hoeing and planting. In 
 the late afternoon they go back to their homes. 
 Then some of them help their mothers to draw 
 water and cook the evening meal of rice or 
 sweet potatoes, with its relish of a farthing's 
 worth of fresh fish or dried shark. 
 
 Others play at cooking. ' One little girl you 
 will see pounding some sand in half a cocoanut 
 shell, and pretending it is the flour of Indian corn ; 
 another is collecting leaves and sticks, and will 
 bake a beautiful mud pie. The boys will prob- 
 ably be occupied with football or bathing, or 
 building warships and tramcars out of pieces of 
 old tins ; this goes on until the sun sets at six 
 o'clock, when they all collect for the evening meal. 
 
 After that they tell stories for their own
 
 i88 
 
 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 and their parents' edification, until drowsiness 
 comes upon them, and they roll themselves up 
 for the night, lying on the ground in their huts 
 like so many puppies or kittens. 
 
 The parish church, which is dedicated to S. 
 John the Evangelist, stands in the middle of the 
 village. Here, at seven o'clock every Sunday 
 
 THE PARISH CHURCH. 
 
 morning, you will find a crowded congregation' 
 of nearly 200 Africans, who come together for the 
 great service of the week. It is the sung celebration 
 of the Holy Eucharist, with Litany and sermon. 
 
 This first service is the great act of worship 
 in which everyone of our converts is taught that 
 it is his or her bounden duty to take a part. 
 Matins is said at ten o'clock, and there is
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 189 
 
 catechising for young and old in the afternoon. 
 During the week there are services every day of 
 some kind, as well as in the school chapels. The 
 attendance is not large, though it would compare 
 favourably with any parish at home. 
 
 The church is served by a European padre 
 and a native deacon. The latter is the Rev. 
 John Swedi, who was baptised by Bishop Tozer 
 on S. Bartholomew's Day, 1865. Teacher John, 
 as the people call him, has seen much service in 
 the Mission, and has been stationed at Mbweni 
 for the last ten years. European priests come 
 and go, but John stays on, linking the past 
 with the present, very ready, from his ripe and 
 long experience, to help with counsel and advice 
 the white pastor, who has to settle the numerous 
 ' cases ' that arise in the oversight of a black flock. 
 He also takes his share in the ' classes,' about 
 which it may be worth while to say something. 
 
 The Mission plantation of Mbweni is sur- 
 rounded by others belonging to the Government 
 and to Indian traders. On these live many 
 heathen Africans, who have no religion except 
 one of devil- and spirit-worship.* There are 
 always some among them who come and inquire 
 what the religion, that is taught at Mbweni, is all 
 about. Eventually some persevere, are baptised, 
 and form part of the congregation at Mbweni 
 church, though actually they live some distance 
 away from the Christian village. During their 
 time of inquiry they are placed in what is called 
 * Seep. 85.
 
 igo WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 the hearers' class ; but they are not allowed 
 to enter the church. They are taught who and 
 what God is, and what He wants man to be, as 
 illustrated in the Old Testament. When they 
 have learnt what sin is, and how God hates it, 
 then they are taught about the promise and coming 
 of a Saviour. This lasts about a year, and then 
 those who are desirous are made catechumens, 
 and ' receive the cross,' as they call it. They 
 make promises to give up certain heathen customs, 
 and to follow certain Christian customs. They 
 are allowed to attend some part of the church 
 services and sit near the door of the church. 
 At this stage they are taught more fully about the 
 life and work of our Lord. If they have attended 
 regularly twice a week, and are in earnest, after 
 another two years their special preparation for 
 Holy Baptism begins. 
 
 In 1907 a school was started to teach reading 
 and writing to adult heathens and Mohammedans 
 who live in the neighbourhood. It flourished 
 wonderfully for three months, and then suddenly 
 broke up and died ; the reason being that the 
 Mohammedan teachers in the neighbourhood 
 saw the danger, and used all their influence to 
 prevent pupils continuing to come to the school. 
 Although no definite religious instruction had been 
 given, they saw that teaching people to read 
 was only a means to an end, the end being that 
 the pupils were enabled to take copies of 
 the Scriptures to their homes and read them. 
 This actually happened, and in consequence the
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 193 
 
 Mohammedan teachers took action.with the result 
 aforementioned. But even this spasmodic effort 
 to get into closer touch with our neighbours has 
 not been without some good result. 
 
 A hearers' class on an Indian's shatnba 
 between here and Kiungani has produced seven 
 adults for the catechumenate in a year, and we 
 continue to get other people from the neighbouring 
 shambas into these classes. 
 
 The total number of ' adherents ' is about 335, 
 and of these, 160 make their communion on 
 festivals, when there is a splendid congregation. 
 There is also a goodly number of regular com- 
 municants every Sunday. 
 
 The dispensary is an important institution 
 in the village. Its present home is the building 
 that was used as the first church at Mbweni 
 thirty years ago, built by the Rev. Arthur 
 West. 
 
 It is open to all, Christian and heathen alike, 
 every morning from 8 A.M. till u o'clock, and 
 the daily number of patients is about twenty. 
 Many people come from the surrounding- neigh- 
 bourhood, because they have great faith in our 
 remedies. 
 
 This dispensary brings the Mission into contact 
 with people whom it would not otherwise touch. 
 
 The nurse reigns supreme in this department. 
 She also looks up the sick in their own homes, for 
 unless this is done the patients never seem to 
 take their medicine properly. A short while 
 ago she put a mustard-plaster on a patient, and
 
 I 9 4 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 left instructions that it was to be removed when 
 it became unbearable. She \vas prevented from 
 going to see him again for two days, and then she 
 found to her horror that the identical plaster was 
 still on ! Happily, Africans have tough skins, 
 and the patient rather enjoyed than otherwise 
 the counter-irritant. 
 
 But the nurse has other cares as well chiefly 
 the old and infirm released slaves who came to 
 the Mission in early days, and who are now quite 
 unable to support themselves, and have no relations 
 to help them. 
 
 The fund for supporting these is kept going 
 through the kindness of friends in England, and 
 many of these old pensioners have patrons who 
 pay yearly a sum of money towards their support. 
 
 The majority of the able-bodied Christians 
 in the village find their own means of livelihood. 
 Some go to town as messengers, gardeners, &c. 
 Others dig stone on the seashore, make roofing 
 material from the leaves of the cocoanut palm, and 
 work their own small holdings, where they plant 
 cassava, potatoes, Indian corn, and various kinds 
 of beans. Relief work is provided for about 
 thirty women widows most of them who work 
 every morning under the supervision of the head 
 overseer or policeman. 
 
 These people keep the roads mended and tidy, 
 help to collect the cocoanuts four times a year, 
 hoe in the banana plantations, and do the many 
 jobs that naturally crop up on a large estate. 
 
 If you ask the oldest inhabitants of Mbweni
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 195 
 
 who it was that planted the tallest and most fruit- 
 bearing trees on the Mission estate they name 
 
 ONE OF THE OLD AND INFIRM. 
 
 men such as Archdeacons Johnson and Hodgson, 
 Mr. Joseph Williams, and Mr. Clarke, and the 
 many young trees, that are now beginning to 
 bear, they tell you were planted by Mr. (now Sir
 
 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 CARRYING COCOANUTS. 
 
 John) Key. These 
 pioneers planted many 
 other trees oranges, 
 lemons, cloves, cus- 
 tard-apples, jack-fruit, 
 mangoes andsuch-like, 
 all of which we enjoy 
 in their season ; but 
 the trees that form the 
 glebe, and have be- 
 come a permanent 
 endowment to the 
 Mission, are the cocoa- 
 nuts. This work is 
 practically left in the 
 hands of Ibrahimu, 
 the head overseer, ex- 
 cept that the padre 
 receives every day the 
 tally of trees climbed, 
 and the number of 
 nuts collected, and 
 does the necessary 
 book-keeping. Ibra- 
 himu generally has at 
 work with him three 
 men climbers, who get 
 a pice (\d.} for every 
 tree they go up. Also 
 twenty women, who 
 collect the fallen nuts, 
 and carry them to the
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 197 
 
 storehouse. These latter receive 14 pice 
 for their day's work. 
 
 At Mbweni we have several young men, who, 
 having passed through Kilimani, and in some 
 cases Kiungani, and being found unsuitable for 
 the teaching profession, became ' industrial boys.' 
 They tried the professions of cooks, carpenters, 
 house-boys, &c., and again were found to be 
 ' not wanted,' either owing to the stress of Indian 
 competitors, or because of their own sins. And 
 so, lest they should lose hope, and drift away, and 
 get lost in the wicked heathen world around, we 
 gave them the despised slaves' tools, the hatchet 
 and the hoe, and coaxed them into work, and now 
 they appear to be living happily as good and useful 
 citizens. They receive a wage of half-a-crown 
 a week, and have been employed chiefly in reclaim- 
 ing overgrown parts of the plantation, where 
 we shall plant young cocoanut trees, which in 
 ten years' time ought to yield more than fifty 
 nuts per annum, and will greatly increase the 
 value of the plantation. 
 
 I find, from the accounts, that the profits for 
 a year are 200, which covers the cost of all the 
 labour mentioned above, the wages of native 
 clergy, overseers, &c., and all the repairs and 
 renewals to the many and various houses and 
 buildings on the plantation. But Mbweni cocoa- 
 nuts are more than this. ' A man plants pears 
 for his heirs,' so we are told at home. And we 
 are doing the same with cocoanuts in Zanzibar. 
 Who knows but that with another fifty years
 
 198 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 the white missionaries will have left the native 
 church in the island in the hands of a native 
 ministry ? And if this be the case a well-stocked 
 plantation of cocoanut trees will be the best 
 endowment we can leave for the nucleus of their 
 stipends. 
 
 We often dream that dream, and see that vision 
 of black pastors in white cassocks receiving tithes 
 of cloves and cocoanuts from their black sheep 
 in the country villages. 
 
 Space forbids me to say much about the village 
 shop or market-place, where every conceivable 
 kind of vegetable and fruit is sold, and where 
 people bargain, wrangle, and gossip ; it is here that 
 the Swahili women plait each other's hair, and 
 the men shave each other's heads ; it is here they 
 have their dances on wedding days and at festival 
 seasons, such as Christmas and Easter. 
 
 It is in these and countless other ways that 
 black people and white seem to resemble each other 
 so closely, and make a Christian village in Zan- 
 
 zibar seem so like one in England. 
 
 C. C. F.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 199 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 MISSION BABIES : STORIES OF CHILDREN 
 IN THE LITTLE BOYS' HOME 
 
 No woman who cared anything at all for children 
 could withstand the fascination of a black baby ; 
 and yet I confess with shame that the first time 
 I saw one I thought it a most repulsive little 
 creature, but that was before they had crept into 
 my heart and taken possession of it in their 
 helplessness and need. 
 
 I had been two years in Zanzibar before I 
 had charge of a real baby boy. In my first family 
 of fourteen released slave boys, Benny was six 
 years old and John seven, and they both received 
 a good deal of extra attention, as they were the 
 youngest. 
 
 John was extraordinarily small for his age, 
 and looked like a child of three or four ; he was a 
 sharp, taking little chap, with flashing black eyes 
 and rows of pearly teeth ; his mother was Mary 
 Aliangu, whose gratitude has been mentioned in an 
 earlier chapter. 
 
 Then came Alban, who w r as only three. His 
 mother had been a slave, and with her three
 
 200 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 children lived at the mission village of Mbweni,* 
 and being released herself, it came to our ears that 
 she was trying to make a little money by selling her 
 children ; I believe the charge was not fully proved, 
 but Bishop Steere thought it advisable to ensure 
 the safety of the children by taking them into the 
 schools as boarders. Alban was the youngest of 
 the three children, but though only three years old 
 he could hardly be called a baby. He had already 
 been to a day-school, and had learnt to read, but 
 he generally held his book upside down and re- 
 peated its contents by rote. He also knew most 
 of the things which it would have been better for 
 him not to have known. Soon after my arrival in 
 Zanzibar, Bishop Steere told me that any child of 
 three who had lived in the island knew all the evil 
 that he could possibly learn. At the time I thought 
 the Bishop must be exaggerating, but Alban opened 
 my eyes, and proved how terribly true the Bishop's 
 words were. For though Alban was a charming 
 little boy, he was pretty old in the ways of this 
 wicked world. 
 
 After him, following close on his heels, came 
 Theodore. Bishop Steere thought he was about 
 eighteen months old, and writes of him : 
 
 ' On August i (1881) nineteen slaves came to 
 us from the Consulate ; three of them were quite 
 infants, between two and three years old, without 
 mothers. Two of them, who are little boys, are in 
 Miss D. Y. Mills' care. The youngest is one of the 
 quaintest, pertest little baby boys you ever saw, 
 * See Chapter XIV.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 201 
 
 with an answer for everyone.' Mromo, which was 
 his Swahili name, had been fatted up on board 
 ship, and showed no signs of hardship or ill-treat- 
 ment ; but Mkwaya (baptised Julius),* a little chap 
 of three who came with him, was nothing but eyes, 
 bone, and skin, and his appetite was simply appal- 
 ling. Whenever he saw me, he seized my hands or 
 dress, and said in an emphatic voice, ' Ny-a-ma ' 
 (meat). I explained gently to him that he could 
 not have meat at odd moments, but that he would 
 be fed three times a day. For a moment he stared 
 with his mouth wide open, and eyes jumping out of 
 his head, and then in a voice of utter incredulity 
 replied, ' You say I shall be fed three times a day ; 
 you are a liar.' 
 
 Mromo and Mkwaya, with one or two other 
 small ones, were baptised as infants soon after their 
 arrival. 
 
 Just before going to church, Mromo bustled up 
 to me with a mysterious air, and asked, ' Bibi, 
 finished to be baptised, shall we go our way to 
 heaven directly ? ' It was hard to have to tell 
 him that he must wait a bit, and he was by no 
 means pleased with my answer. 
 
 He and Julius (unlike many of those who came 
 at the same time) are still waiting : God grant that 
 they may arrive. 
 
 There are many stories I could tell of Theodore 
 he was always a wise child and withal very 
 
 * Julius is now married and doing very well as a 
 Government clerk at Tundaua ; he has two little boys of 
 his own.
 
 202 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 practical. While he was still quite small, one 
 of our many visitors asked what his tribe was. 
 Before I could answer, a boy one shade bigger 
 replied, ' That child, he is too small, he has no 
 tribe.' 
 
 Mr. Geldart* always called him the 'full stop.' 
 There was one story about him which Bishop 
 Steere took great delight in telling. As he was the 
 baby he was always dressed in white, though the 
 other boys wore blue on working days. Theodore's 
 little shirt was changed more than once in the day, 
 but in a few hours he was invariably quite grubby 
 again. ' You little pig,' I used to say to him, and 
 the boys, who 'at that time knew no English, thought 
 this was a term of endearment, well suited to the 
 family darling. One day Theodore ran up to Bishop 
 Steere, to whom all the boys were most devoted, 
 put both his hands on his knees, and looking up in 
 his face with a winning smile, said, ' You likool 
 piggi.' How the Bishop enjoyed it, saying merrily, 
 ' It is very easy to see where you have been 
 educated, young man.' 
 
 Soon after Theodore's arrival he met with an 
 accident which might have ended very seriously. 
 It was on a Sunday, when English Evensong was at 
 five o'clock. I generally stayed at home with the 
 boys, and went with them to the Swahili service, 
 but on this occasion one of the Kiungani teachers 
 had offered to relieve me, so I had gone to church. 
 The service was over, and we were just leaving the 
 cathedral when Mr. Jones-Bateman (afterwards 
 * The schoolmaster at Kiungani.
 
 Archdeacon) came up to me with a very perturbed 
 countenance, and said, ' Will you come at once ? 
 I am afraid the baby is hurt.' 
 
 I flew to the house, and was met in the porch by 
 the whole bevy of boys, some saying one thing and 
 some another, and you may imagine my relief when 
 the teacher delivered the baby into my arms, 
 roaring with all the power of his infant lungs. 
 
 It appeared that they had all come upstairs 
 to await my return on the verandah, the front of 
 which was entirely unprotected ; one of the boys 
 proposed to play at pushing, and he and the baby 
 did it with such zest that the latter was pushed 
 over the edge, falling some thirteen feet into the 
 garden below, the other boy tumbling over with 
 him. It seemed quite miraculous that beyond a 
 few scratches and a small lump on the baby's head 
 neither of them was hurt ; they had fallen on a 
 sandheap. 
 
 When Mr. Jones-Bateman remarked on the 
 wonder of it to the Arab steward, he felt rather 
 rebuked by his answer : ' Ah, sir, they are children ; 
 the angels bear them up.' Our thoughts flew at 
 once to the picture of ' The Guardian Angel/ which 
 from that time adorned our walls. 
 
 English mothers will be sure to ask, why, with 
 so many children about, we did not have some 
 means of protecting the open verandah. 
 
 This was one of the first questions I asked Bishop 
 Steere, and his reply was that no railing or low wall, 
 such as we should naturally build in England, would 
 be any sort of protection to a black child, who
 
 204 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 would at once climb to the top of it, and so be in far 
 greater danger of a fall ; and this was abundantly 
 proved when the school was moved to Kilimani, 
 where the verandahs were protected with walls, on 
 which the boys generally sat ! 
 
 One night when I had been obliged to punish 
 Theodore for some fault, he remarked to one 
 of the boys in a withering tone, ' Ah, one day I 
 shall be a man, but she will never be anything but 
 a woman.' 
 
 Theodore has been married for some years, and 
 has a charming little son of his own, who bears the 
 honoured name of Percy Lisle, after Archdeacon 
 Jones-Bateman, and pursues his education at 
 Kilimani. 
 
 My next baby was Tito. I expect a good many 
 of my readers have seen a picture of him in one of 
 our magic lantern slides, where he is held in the arms 
 of a tall sailor, who stands at the back of a large 
 group of released slaves, waiting in front of the 
 British Consulate. Tito's real babyhood must 
 have begun on board ship. There is a sad story 
 told of his mother by the slaves, who were in the 
 dhow with her. She had two children, one of which 
 was even smaller than Tito ; the poor little starved 
 thing did nothing but cry and wail, and an Arab 
 caught it on his spear and pitched it into the sea ; 
 the mother, mad with grief, jumped in after it, and 
 they just let her drown. The boys when they told 
 me this story added, ' And oh, Bibi, it was a beauti- 
 ful little child, and you would love to have had it ! ' 
 The tender-hearted bluejackets took the motherless
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 205 
 
 little Tito to their hearts, and could not do enough 
 for him. They made him a little cot out of an 
 empty oil box, and fed, washed, and nursed him by 
 turn. But the one who specially fathered him was 
 the tall man in the picture, and he consigned him to 
 my care with tears in his eyes, saying, ' I 'd like to 
 keep the little chap, but he will be better with you.' 
 
 As to the baby, he roared and howled and kicked 
 at being parted from his baba, and clung to him 
 with arms and legs, terrified at the sight of my 
 strange white face. 
 
 We had quite a nursery after his arrival, for 
 only a few weeks later Richard came from Masasi. 
 He was taken prisoner with his mother in the 
 Magwangwara raid,* knocked on the head and left 
 for dead by the roadside, where his father found 
 him, and shortly after brought him down to Zanzi- 
 bar ; such a timid, sickly mite ; it was years before 
 he showed any signs of real life. 
 
 He was such a naughty mite too would hold 
 his medicine in his mouth till we thought he had 
 swallowed it, and then quietly spit it out when we 
 were not looking. Once we found a whole lot of 
 quinine tabloids hidden under his mat, and we 
 had wondered why the quinine did not lower his 
 temperature ! 
 
 And on the top of these four came baby Sefu. 
 
 Sefu had the misfortune to be a kigego, which 
 
 means he cut his lower teeth before the upper 
 
 ones ; he was the son of a small chief or headman, 
 
 who was a catechumen at Mamboia. This erratic 
 
 * See p. 217.
 
 206 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 tooth-cutting is supposed to herald fearful misfor- 
 tunes on the tribe, which can only be averted by 
 the death of the unlucky child. The tribe there- 
 fore demanded that the babe should be handed over 
 for slaughter, but the chief, being a catechumen and 
 almost a Christian, wished to save his child, so sent 
 him away to the forest with an ayah, who managed 
 to hide him for some months ; then one of the head- 
 men of the village died, and his death was quickly 
 followed by that of another, both of which mis- 
 fortunes were laid to the account of the hapless 
 baby, and the cry for his death grew more and more 
 clamorous. 
 
 Then the poor distracted father smuggled the 
 child to the missionary's house, believing it to be 
 the only way to save him. 
 
 The missionary's wife took tender care of him 
 till they were able to send him safely down to 
 Zanzibar, with two women and another child. 
 The baby was nine months old, the smallest scrap 
 I ever saw for that age, with a little wizened, 
 pathetic face and one tuft of hair standing straight 
 up on his head. How we loved that child ! 
 
 The boys almost worshipped him, and vied with 
 each other in doing all the hundred and one little 
 jobs that a small baby entails. 
 
 The missionary who sent him to us begged that 
 he might be called Sefu, his wife having chosen that 
 name for him, and the first smile that brightened 
 his wan little face was when the cross was made 
 on his forehead at his baptism ; we all noticed the 
 radiant gleam of joy that brightened every sad
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 207 
 
 little feature, as the Saviour claimed him for His 
 own. Surely the devil had done his worst, and 
 the reign of the Holy Spirit had begun and guided 
 the little new-born Christian straight and sure to 
 his heavenly Father's arms. 
 
 I believe we all knew that Sefu would not live 
 very long, and perhaps for that very reason we 
 loved him all the more. I could fill a whole book 
 with stories about him, but most mothers have 
 plenty to say about their babies, and it is not 
 always interesting to their hearers. 
 
 One thing about Sefu, which is not at all 
 common with black babies, was that he never 
 seemed so happy as when in church. 
 
 It was quite against my custom to take the 
 very small ones to daily services, but Sefu would 
 not be left at home ; directly the bells began to ring, 
 at 6 A.M., he would come running into my room, 
 crying, ' Mama, the bells; come to church.' And 
 he always behaved beautifully, kneeling by me 
 with his hands tightly clasped, and a look of child- 
 like joy and reverence on his face as he gazed 
 straight at the altar. 
 
 I often wondered what visions were unfolding 
 themselves to his baby faith as he worshipped in 
 the Presence of his Lord. 
 
 One day, when we were coming home after 
 Evensong, where we had been singing the carol, 
 ' What star is this in heaven so bright ? ' he pointed 
 to a single star which was shining in the evening 
 sky, and to the boys' great delight said, ' Look at 
 the star in heaven so bright.'
 
 2o8 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 Once one of the little boys was very ill ; I always 
 went to say his prayers with him, night and morn- 
 ing. One day Sefu ran in after me, and when we 
 had finished he knelt down by the bed, and said, 
 ' Jesus, cure him.' The child, who was really very 
 ill, got well, and the boys said it w r as because the 
 baby prayed for him. And doubtless they were 
 right. 
 
 We were always hoping against hope that our 
 baby would one day pick up and get strong and 
 well, but though he occasionally showed signs of 
 improvement it never lasted, and when he was two 
 years and six months old he began to get very weak 
 and ill, could not eat, and said his head and back 
 hurt him. The doctor could not find anything 
 really wrong with him, but nothing did him any 
 good. 
 
 He was quite happy as long as I nursed him, 
 and when I was at work used to lie on a little couch, 
 which we carried about so that he could always be 
 near me. It was very sad to see him dwindling 
 day by day, with a pathetic, patient look on his 
 sweet little face, for he was never cross or fretful, 
 and always ready to laugh or play with the boys 
 when not in pain. 
 
 The end came very suddenly, as it so often does 
 with these fragile little children who have no sort of 
 constitutions, and, like flowers, droop and die in a 
 day. The boys were playing outside, and I had 
 given up sewing, and was having an idle time with 
 my baby on my lap. He had a pretty little way 
 of nursing and kissing my hands as he lay there ;
 
 209 
 
 all in a moment he dropped them, and reaching up 
 his arms to my neck, said, ' Mama, let us go.' And 
 so he responded to his Saviour's call. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Another baby reigned over us. 
 
 But our hearts were very sad, and I at any rate 
 grudged him sore, for when the presence of a little 
 child is removed the gap gapes very wide indeed in 
 the home. It had been so good for the older boys
 
 2io WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 to have their baby brother, to whom they had to be 
 kind and tender, and it took us a long time to get 
 reconciled to his loss ; in fact I don't think we ever 
 did till Francis came, and in some measure filled the 
 void in our hearts. 
 
 We were in school, hard at work, when Mr. 
 Clarke appeared at the door with a beaming face. 
 ' Do you want a BA BY ? ' he asked. 
 
 Imagine the excitement of mother and sons. 
 
 Upstairs we all ran after Mr. Clarke as hard as 
 ever we could go, and there in the porch were some 
 of our Christian women with three babies, two of 
 them girls of about eighteen and ten months old, 
 and the sweetest baby boy you ever saw, only five 
 months old. 
 
 We took possession of him with joy overflowing, 
 and so another baby reigned over us, to our infinite 
 content. 
 
 Their story was this : A Christian from Mom- 
 basa (a Christian, it would seem, without much 
 Christ) picked them up on the shore near Dar-es- 
 Salaam, at different times, we supposed, but his 
 story was not very coherent. He brought them to 
 Zanzibar, as he said, ' to have them well baptised/ 
 but a rumour reached Mr. Clarke's ears that the 
 man was putting them up to auction in the town, 
 and Mr. Clarke, being priest-in-charge, had him 
 promptly escorted to the Consulate, and the babies 
 were handed over to our care. 
 
 They went by the name of viokote (pickups). 
 
 The two little girls were sent to Mbweni and 
 boarded out on the shamba till old enough to go
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 211 
 
 into the girls' house. One of them, Jane Wallace, 
 is now married ; the other died young. 
 
 Our little Kiokoti * was a great darling. 
 
 I was not very well at this time, and the doctor 
 ordained that I must not have a baby to sleep with 
 me, so we hired a nice Christian woman named 
 Mercy for his night nurse, and she carried him off 
 every evening at 7 P.M., but all day long he lived 
 with us. 
 
 A story travelled far and wide about the feeding 
 of this baby, and came back to us from Lamu. 
 ' It was a great sight,' so it ran, ' to see Miss 
 Mills feeding her baby ; she sat with him on her 
 lap, a boy kneeling in front of her holding a large 
 basin of Neave's food,f from which the baby was 
 fed spoonful by spoonful, while all the fifty boys 
 stood round lost in admiration.' 
 
 Kiokoti was baptised the Sunday after his 
 arrival, taking the name of Francis, after -our dear 
 Nurse Frances Jervis Shaw, who was his godmother. 
 
 He behaved in a most unseemly way during the 
 service, putting out his tongue, and spitting in the 
 face of the priest when he took him in his arms, but 
 the boys, with probably clearer vision, said he was 
 spitting at the devil, who was hovering round 
 trying to get him. 
 
 Our baby grew and prospered. ' Surely,' as 
 Archdeacon Jones-Bateman once wrote of him, ' the 
 sweetest child that ever lived.' 
 
 I never saw such a perfectly fearless child it 
 
 * A very small find. 
 
 t No other food agreed with him.
 
 212 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 was a sight to see him on the donkey's back, or 
 feeding him with corn and pushing his head 
 away when he thought he was eating too fast. 
 There were two huge dogs belonging to some 
 one in the town, who were taken out for 
 exercise every afternoon on Nazi Moja ; the 
 boys were all terrified at them and kept a very 
 respectable distance, but one day, rather to my 
 terror, I saw Francis with a caressing arm round 
 the neck of each. 
 
 When Bishop Tucker of Mombasa (now Uganda) 
 paid us a visit, he was immensely taken with 
 Francis, who ran out to the door to meet him. The 
 Bishop picked him up, and kissing him, said, ' I 
 have a little boy just this age.' 
 
 Francis was very devoted to his godmother, 
 whom he always called Glanny (Granny). When 
 he was nearly three years old she went on furlough 
 to England, and the boys told him she had gone 
 away in a ship. Soon after she had gone, we were 
 all asked to tea on H.M.S. Boadicea, the flagship, 
 which was in harbour. A very special invitation 
 was sent to the baby, who was well known to the 
 sailors, and often had many pice slipped into his 
 hands by them when they met us on our walks 
 abroad. They were enchanted to have him on 
 board, and couldn't make enough of ' the dear 
 little chap.' Francis examined every corner most 
 carefully, and seemed to be looking for and ex- 
 pecting to see some one, and at last he said wistfully, 
 ' Mama, where 's Glanny ? ' He had expected to 
 find her on the ship.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 213 
 
 Alas, alas ! all our love could not keep our 
 baby with us. 
 
 Now I can be thankful that he and Sefu were 
 both so soon taken from the evil to come, but then 
 their deaths left me broken-hearted. It was in 
 this way : Francis was in my room with me, 
 playing while I wrote ; a wide verandah ran out- 
 side the windows overlooking the boys' play- 
 ground. Some one called me ; I left the baby in 
 my room and went to the door. The child, who 
 had grown very venturesome, heard the boys 
 playing below, slipped past me unnoticed and ran 
 out on to the verandah, and, I suppose, looking over 
 the edge, lost his balance and fell. 
 
 The priest-in-charge, who was teaching the first- 
 class boys at the time, picked him up screaming 
 and brought him to me. 
 
 He stretched out his little arms to me, and 
 that was his last conscious effort. He lived about 
 one hour and then just fell asleep, apparently 
 without any pain. 
 
 These two precious babies are buried side by 
 side at Ziwani, but they are never far from my 
 thoughts. 
 
 Paul came to us when he was two years old, after 
 we had moved to Kilimani. He was a thoroughly 
 miserable little specimen of humanity when he 
 arrived. Both he and his mother had been 
 patients in the hospital in Zanzibar, and his mother 
 died there. He very soon began to pick up, and 
 was soon as merry and jolly as the best of the boys. 
 IJe was a naughty little chap, and the amount of
 
 214 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 mischief he managed to get into was appalling, and 
 to my mind this made him doubly attractive. I 
 wonder why it is that we always prefer the naughty 
 ones ? I will only attempt to tell of one of his pranks, 
 which might have had a very serious ending. 
 
 I had not been very well, and was lying down 
 with a bit of fever one afternoon. All the elder 
 boys were in school, but the little ones had just 
 come out, and some of them were playing quietly 
 in my room. Presently Paul said, ' It is now time 
 for tea.' He always looked forward to afternoon 
 tea, as he had his bread and milk at the same time. 
 I told him it would not be teatime for another 
 hour, and as I was more than half asleep, never 
 noticed that he had gone out of the room till I 
 started up nearly choked with a horrid smell of oil 
 and burnt matches. Outside on the verandah we 
 had a little stove arrangement with a kettle, and 
 this no one was allowed to touch but the boy who 
 attended to our meals. There, if you please, was 
 that naughty Paul, a whole boxful of burnt 
 matches scattered on the floor around him, the 
 stove blazing and smoking, with the wick turned 
 up some inches too high, he himself with the kettle 
 in one hand and a cocoanut ladle in the other, 
 carefully and happily filling it with water from a 
 bucket, a smile of intense satisfaction on his face, 
 and his little thin frock blowing hither and thither 
 in the draught, most perilously near the blazing 
 stove ; it was terrible to think what might have 
 happened had he tried to put the kettle on. I took 
 off his blackened and wet little frock and popped
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 215 
 
 him into bed, telling him he must stay there till it 
 was dry a form of punishment to which he had a 
 very strong objection. 
 
 He roared sadly and loudly for quite ten minutes, 
 and then forgot his ignominy in sleep which lasted 
 
 till supper-time, when he was meek and penitent, 
 and confessed that he knew he had done wrong 
 (nimekosa), but he had wanted to tell Kato when 
 he came to light the stove, ' The water has finished 
 to boil.'
 
 216 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 Contemporary with Paul was Stanley, a victim 
 of the bombardment of Zanzibar by the English in 
 1897. His mother, who lived in the palace, was 
 flying through the narrow streets with her baby 
 tied on her back, when a soldier fired at her. The 
 shot passed through the baby's leg, the mother's 
 back, and the baby's other leg. 
 
 Contrary to all expectation, the mother got 
 quite well, but the baby was obliged to have first 
 one leg and then the other amputated, and never 
 recovered, though he lived for about a year. 
 
 His mother was quite willing to leave him in 
 the care of the Mission, callously observing, ' What 
 is the good of a child with no legs ? ' Paul and 
 Stanley were great friends. Soon after the arrival 
 of the latter, Paul asked me, ' Can God love a child 
 without legs ? ' and when I told him God would 
 love him all the more, he opened his eyes and said, 
 ' Ajabu ' (a wonder). It was a terribly pathetic 
 sight to see poor little Stanley nursing his stumps ; 
 he was such a fine, beautiful child, but dwindled 
 week by week to a mere shadow, and one could only 
 feel thankful when his time of suffering was passed. 
 Paul is now growing up. One of his last feats was 
 to chop off three fingers of his right hand in the 
 printing press. He is, I hear, looking out for a 
 sweetheart. He was the last of the babies who were 
 more especially mv own. 
 
 D. Y. M.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 217 
 
 XVI 
 A CHRISTIAN OVERSEER 
 
 EDWARD began his Christian life in Mbweni village. 
 Rescued from a slave dhow when a young man, he 
 was handed over to the Mission during Bishop 
 Steere's episcopate, and was stationed on this 
 plantation, which was then entirely occupied by 
 released slaves. Here he was baptised after due 
 instruction, and here he found a wife, who was 
 afterwards baptised by the name of Orpah. 
 
 When Bishop Steere took a party of these 
 released slaves and established them at Masasi,* 
 in the Rovuma country, Edward and his wife 
 went with them and settled there. 
 
 In 1881 Masasi was raided by a fierce and 
 warlike tribe called the Magwangwara, who burnt 
 and pillaged the station, killing some of the men and 
 carrying off others with their wives and children. 
 
 Some months previously Edward had been sent 
 to a distant village called Ngoi, by the priest-in- 
 charge (Rev. Chauncy Maples), and when returning 
 it appeared that he had nearly died of thirst ; 
 indeed, his agonies had been so intense that he was 
 
 * For an account of this, see History of the U-M-G-4
 
 2l8 
 
 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 sorely tempted to shoot himself, but the thought 
 of dying with that sin on his conscience restrained 
 him, and after five days without food or water, he 
 was at last able to quench his thirst at a pool. 
 
 It seems that he overheard the Magwangwara 
 
 EDWARD (ON LEFT) AND BASIL. 
 
 unfolding their future plans of raiding Masasi, 
 all of which he faithfully recorded to Mr. Maples, 
 with the immediate result that Edward and most 
 of the relieved slave community were sent back to 
 Mbweni, as it appeared certain that the Magwan- 
 gwara would make another raid on the village, and 
 the Mission felt quite unable to protect them. 
 
 At Mbweni Edward's sterling character Qb-
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 219 
 
 tained for him the place of assistant overseer of 
 the plantation, where he maintained his integrity 
 in a very difficult position under a clever overseer 
 who abused his trust. When this man was dis- 
 missed Edward became head overseer and did very 
 good work, though he modestly says he was not a 
 success, as it was not his way to use loud words 
 or threaten witchcraft (as an ordinary African 
 would do) to frighten people and make them work. 
 His great wish was to influence others for good, 
 and for this purpose he laboriously set to work 
 under his friend Basil Kamna, a Kiungani boy, and 
 actually learnt to read. 
 
 At this time Edward's son Alfred was living 
 in the Little Boys' Home, then at Mkunazini, and 
 when the father came in to see his boy it was a 
 pretty sight to see them both holding a simple 
 reading-book between them, the gentle, humble 
 father taking a l^son from his little child. Though 
 Edward had not the education to be a teacher, 
 he had the greatest desire that his only son Alfred 
 should be trained for Holy Orders. But to the 
 great grief of his father, the boy persistently 
 refused to stay on at Kiungani for the teacher's 
 course, and chose to go to the Industrial House, 
 where he was apprenticed to a mason. 
 
 Smallpox broke out among the boys, and when 
 it was thought to be over they were all sent away 
 while the house was disinfected. Alfred went to 
 Dar-es-Salaam, where he died of a severe attack 
 of this disease before his father, who was sent for, 
 was able to get to him.
 
 220 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 While Edward was away on this sad journey, 
 his wife had, out of kindness, gone to help some 
 neighbours, who were in trouble. But when their 
 child died these people accused Orpah of causing 
 its death by witchcraft, and proceeded to beat and 
 abuse her. 
 
 When Edward returned to Mbweni, in deepest 
 sorrow for the loss of his son, he fortunately came 
 first to the priest-in-charge, who told him what 
 had happened. He was naturally very much 
 enraged, but waited till he had recovered himself 
 before going back to his house to bear his double 
 grief with Christian patience and forbearance. 
 But after this he felt that he could no longer look 
 upon Mbweni as his home, so when Sir John Key 
 began work in Pemba some ten years ago he asked 
 Edward to come and superintend the work there, 
 a move which has been blessed to them both. 
 From the beginning Edward has been overseer of 
 the Mission shamba at Kisimbani, to which many 
 released slaves come when they have obtained their 
 freedom. He is responsible for their order and 
 good behaviour, and overlooks all the agricultural 
 work on the shamba ; and both he and his wife 
 have always set an example of industry and thrift. 
 Those who work with Edward to-day see just the 
 same qualities in the man which Mr. Maples found 
 in him at Masasi. Perseverance and patience, 
 absolute loyalty to those placed over him, courtesy 
 to those who oppose him, always just and conside- 
 rate to those working under him these are still his 
 characteristics,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 221 
 
 x 
 
 He and his friend Basil Kamna, a mason by 
 trade, who came to Pemba the same year that 
 Edward did, saved up their money and now own 
 a valuable plantation of clove trees, where there are 
 forty or more people living, almost all of whom are 
 Christians, or who come to classes for Christian 
 instruction. Not only does Edward give the tithe 
 of his clove profits to the Church Building Fund, 
 but he has adopted, entirely at his own expense, 
 several girls who would otherwise have had to be 
 boarded out at the expense of the Mission, and they 
 all look up to him as a father. One of these, 
 Alice Mashaka, has been married to Yohana 
 Penyewe, an old Kilimani schoolboy and only 
 son of a Mbweni mason. 
 
 If it be true that ' genius is an infinite capacity 
 for taking pains, and spiritual genius is saintli- 
 ness/ it is certainly exemplified in the good, 
 simple life of Edward. I shall not quickly forget 
 the impression made on a fellow-worker when he 
 said, speaking of some moral lapses among the 
 Christians : ( Well, after all it is not our work but 
 His, and we must just go on.' 
 
 Nor shall I forget another occasion on the 
 clove drying-ground, when he turned on some 
 grumbling pickers, who were disappointed at not 
 being able to squeeze more pice out of their already 
 too kind masters ; comparing them to the Israel- 
 ites in the wilderness, he fairly rent them in pieces 
 with his words. I thought it the best sermon I 
 had ever heard. 
 
 One of the great faults of Africans who have
 
 222 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 been slaves is, that they are always wanting some- 
 thing more, but Edward is the very opposite to 
 this ; he even sometimes refuses to take part of his 
 small weekly wage, saying he has not worked for it. 
 We always feel we can implicitly trust him. 
 
 It would be easy to write much more about this 
 gentle, pious African, but sufficient has been said 
 to show the transforming power of God's Holy 
 Spirit in the hearts and lives of those who were 
 once considered the very offscouring of the earth 
 released slaves. It was always a pleasure to have 
 a chat with Edward when he came to get the 
 workpeople's money on Friday afternoons. At 
 these times we generally gave him a cup of tea and 
 some quinine, which he always said did his violent 
 neuralgia, from which he suffers, a world of good. 
 
 It was a pleasure to meet him going on some 
 errand wearing a lady's rejected straw hat tilted 
 over his smiling face, and carrying a large black 
 umbrella of Sir John's, which he had mended by 
 fixing a patch of white calico to the top. It was 
 a still greater pleasure, on Sundays, to see him 
 with his spectacles on the end of his nose, hold- 
 ing a hymn-book in one hand and an alms-bag 
 in the other, doing his duty as churchwarden 
 among those who respect him, and love to call him 
 Baba yetu msimamizi (Our father, the overseer). 
 
 He is one in a thousand. 
 
 C. C. F.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 223 
 
 XVII 
 
 MAM?V KATE: AN AFRICAN SAINT 
 
 THE following story of one of the girls educated 
 in the Mission school seems a most convincing 
 answer to those who refuse to support missions 
 on the ground that Christianity spoils the native. 
 
 Kate Mabruki, or Mama * Kate, as she was 
 always called, came to the Mission in May 1865. 
 She was one of a great number of slaves rescued 
 from a slave dhow by the boats of H.M.S. Wasp 
 after a fearful hand-to-hand fight with the Arabs. 
 
 The slaves were taken to the Seychelles and 
 there handed over to Bishop and Miss Tozer and 
 Miss Jones, who were on their way to Zanzibar. 
 Miss Tozer thus describes the scene : ' Tenderly 
 lifting the tiny baby things out of the ship with 
 rough kindly words, the sailors set them down, 
 and they squatted patiently on the ground like 
 tired black lambs. The sight of those fifty little 
 creatures sitting round so patiently was quite 
 touching, and I sat down and cried, for it was 
 my first realisation of slavery the first coming 
 face to face with the hideous evil.' 
 
 From this party of fifty Bishop Tozer chose 
 * Mama is the Swahili for 'mother.'
 
 224 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 five boys and nine girls to take back to Zanzibar. 
 Kate Kadamweli was one of the latter. It was 
 on Ascension Day when her new life began. 
 
 We next hear of Kate living under Miss Jones's * 
 care in the part of the Mission House allotted 
 to the girls. Miss Jones says : ' At this moment 
 seven girls are seated hemming some handkerchiefs ; 
 Kate is the .best needlewoman and really hems 
 quite respectably.' 
 
 From time to time Miss Jones mentions her 
 in letters, and she always bears the same steady, 
 good character, till she .begins to grow up, and 
 then we hear : ' Kate is taller than I am, and 
 the most advanced of all the girls in general 
 intelligence. Her manner is sweet and pleasant, 
 and she is good, obedient, and very teachable ; 
 but she has not much head, though she stands 
 first in most things and is very trustworthy. 
 She is not pretty or graceful, but has a very nice 
 face and is such a useful girl. She and the other 
 three girls who are confirmed are regular, and I 
 feel sure devout, communicants. Out of school 
 they read their Testament, and it is very pleasant 
 to hear them singing hymns over their work.' 
 
 Kate was married in November 1870 to Francis 
 Mabruki, who at that time was doing good work 
 as a sub-deacon. They were married at Kiungani, 
 where they lived for some time. Miss" Pakeman 
 writes at this time : ' I am quite* proud of my 
 married daughters [Mary Aliangu'was the other], 
 who are winning golden opinions by their nice, 
 * The second woman worker in Zanzibar.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 227 
 
 modest, staid behaviour since they attained to 
 the dignity of married life.' 
 
 A little daughter was born to Kate and Francis 
 in 1872, and their joy was very great. Miss 
 Tozer tells of the baby's christening : ' Besides the 
 boys and girls who stood round the font there were 
 two proud mothers, Lucy Swedi and Kate Mabruki, 
 who brought their tiny girls to be christened. 
 The babies were called Florence and Marian after 
 friends in England. But poor Kate did not keep 
 her little daughter long ; she had just begun to 
 talk, and in a letter home the father tells with 
 pride that " Florry can say the Lord's Prayer," 
 and then her heavenly Father called her to His 
 arms, and Francis writes pathetically: " I shall 
 not forget her last little hand-shaking." 
 
 After this Kate had many troubles ; her 
 husband went wrong, and finally left her and got 
 work at some distance ; but through all her troubles 
 Kate went steadily on, living a good Christian 
 life and helping in the girls' school at Mbweni. 
 When Miss Thackeray first went out to Zanzibar 
 in 1877, Kate had been carrying on the girls' 
 school without any European help, and Miss 
 Thackeray found her in the schoolroom, sur- 
 rounded by girls, busy fixing the needlewwk 
 which they were doing. She took a real interest 
 in the children, and they all loved her, and Miss 
 Thackeray found in her a valuable and sympathetic 
 helper. Later on Kate went to live in Zanzibar. 
 There she was a real power for good, and her 
 life shone out a bright and pure influence among 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 her heathen surroundings. She knew the history 
 of every Christian, and was particularly kind and 
 helpful to those women who had fallen into sin, 
 taking them into her own house, nursing them 
 when ill, and trying to lead them to better ways. 
 
 Kate often helped at the Mission hospital, 
 especially during the time of the plague, coming 
 forward in her simple, quiet way to do what she 
 could, without any thought of possible danger to 
 herself. The matron of the hospital says of her : 
 ' Kate is a perfect nurse and one of the most 
 Christian women I have ever worked with. She 
 was loved by everyone at the hospital, for she 
 was most unselfish and full of sympathy. She 
 would often sit up the whole night when it was her 
 turn to be in bed, if she thought a patient was 
 worse and the other nurse would not be able 
 to manage alone. Once one of the Christian 
 patients was taken suddenly ill in the night, and 
 she got up at once and went to him and stayed 
 till I came, and then she said, " Ah, Bibi, I was 
 so glad to be able to say some prayers for him, 
 as no padre was here and no other Christians." 
 
 And so she lived her quiet, useful life, a true 
 mother b the little Christian community, ' the 
 dearest woman that ever was,' as one of the 
 Mission workers wrote of her, one to whom every- 
 one carried their troubles, sure of her sympathy 
 and help. 
 
 A worker says of her : ' Kate Mabruki came 
 up to Magila about eighteen months ago in charge 
 of a patient. She was standing in the corridor
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 229 
 
 when I first saw her, quite an unusual-looking 
 figure, as she wore the Arab dress, tight trousers 
 to the ankles, and a tunic of figured cotton material. 
 She came to our house presently, and then I found 
 
 ' SHE WORE THE ARAB DRESS.' 
 
 out who she was and took her upstairs and made 
 a room ready for her. She stayed with us for 
 several days, and was a very pleasant and agreeable 
 companion. She went round to see several 
 of the people whom she had known in former
 
 230 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 days when they were in Zanzibar ; all of them 
 seemed delighted to see her. It was so pleasant 
 and instructive talking to Kate, for she could 
 tell all about the old days of the Mission, and 
 saw from both the African and the European 
 point of view, so one could talk quite freely to 
 her. We had heard that she had given up her house 
 in Zanzibar, so we tried to persuade her to come 
 and live at Magila and teach and help the teachers 
 and other women, but she seemed afraid to make 
 such a venture. She struck me as being very 
 truly religious, devout, absolutely reliable, and 
 worthy of all the respect we could show her. She 
 went over to spend some days at Korogwe, and 
 was so afraid of missing the train that she said 
 good-bye the night before and started about 
 6 A.M. for the hour's walk to the station the train 
 did not go till nine. I feel so glad now that she 
 paid us this little visit and that we got to know 
 her.' 
 
 Kate died rather suddenly. Just two days in 
 hospital with lung trouble, and then she got 
 rapidly worse, and ' fell asleep ' at 7 P.M. ' What 
 a saint she was,' said the Bishop of Zanzibar : * 
 ' one of the best, gentlest, sweetest women I have 
 ever known. Everyone loved her. Her gentle, 
 refined manners, her pretty English, which she 
 spoke perfectly (with an accent rather like a 
 Frenchwoman), her patience and devotion and 
 self-sacrifice, made her an example to us all.' 
 She was buried in the quiet peace of Mbweni 
 * Dr. Mine.
 
 churchyard, and a great crowd of people more 
 than have ever before been seen at a funeral, 
 not Christians only, but many heathen who 
 had learnt to respect her gathered round her 
 grave weeping for the ' Mother ' who had been 
 called home. 
 
 D. Y. Mi 
 
 A WARD IN ZANZIBAR HOSPITAL.
 
 232 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 XVIII 
 
 AN OLD DHOBI : A ZANZIBAR SKETCH 
 
 BACK in the early eighties, among the many 
 people in Zanzibar with whom I came in contact, 
 who were not Christians, but might most certainly 
 be called friends, one old man stands out very 
 prominently as being one of the most faithful 
 and trustworthy Africans I ever met. This old 
 man was no other than the boys' dhobi or washer- 
 man. In the early days of the Mission, before 
 any tanks had been built to catch the rain-water, 
 the scarcity of water during the dry season was 
 a great difficulty, as it had all to be carried from 
 a well at some distance on women's heads, and 
 we were entirely at the mercy of these women, 
 who often delayed our work for hours while they 
 dawdled and gossiped with their friends round the 
 well. 
 
 But if water was a difficulty in the dry season, 
 drying clothes during the rains was a still greater 
 one, and I know nothing more depressing than to 
 see them hanging day after day in the house, 
 apparently only getting damper in the process. 
 
 The infant boys in the Mission were at this 
 time very small and weakly, so that, all things
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 233 
 
 considered, we found it better and cheaper to put 
 the Sunday white clothes out to be washed, while 
 the boys exercised their infant powers on the 
 coloured ones in daily use. 
 
 When I speak of washing and drying, you must 
 not conjure up clothes' lines hung with shirts, 
 knickers, jackets, socks, vests, and collars ; for 
 few, straight, and plain were the boys' simple 
 garments, which all the same mounted to a goodly 
 pile by the end of a week. 
 
 The dhobi w r as supposed to come every second 
 week on a Monday morning, and he always 
 managed to arrive at the most awkward hours 
 possible, either in the middle of school, dinner, or 
 tubbing. I vainly explained to him that at 
 certain hours we were always engaged, and gently 
 suggested others as more suitable ; he always 
 listened and assented with deep respect, and with 
 many protestations assured me that his one wish 
 in this world was to do exactly as I wanted ; 
 but the following Monday he did just the same 
 again, and it is my firm belief that he never under- 
 stood a single word I said, for whatever language 
 he may have spoken, it most certainly was not 
 Swahili. Never mind, time with him was no 
 sort of an object ; patiently he sat himself cross- 
 legged on the floor, and patiently he waited till 
 the business on hand was finished, watching with 
 deepest interest all that was going on. 
 
 I think he was one of the very ugliest Africans 
 I have ever seen. We never found out his particular 
 tribe, but he was as black as night, highly polished
 
 234 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 and wrinkled, with many tribal marks deeply 
 indented. His face, arms, and legs were pitted 
 all over with smallpox, which he gave us to under- 
 stand he had had badly as a youth. He had an 
 enormous nose, if such a shapeless mass could be 
 called a nose. His eyes were mere slits, but 
 from them the light glinted and sparkled with 
 wonderful fire. His mouth I can only describe 
 as higgledy-piggledy, with enormously thick lips 
 and rows of flashing white teeth his one redeeming 
 feature. 
 
 As befitted a dhobi he was always spotlessly 
 clean, though his kanzu often hung in graceful 
 rags and a second tattered loin cloth hid the de- 
 ficiencies of the first. His head, which was clean- 
 shaven, was surmounted by fold upon fold of 
 white turban, and a rosary of large amber beads 
 hung over one wrist. 
 
 He always told me that he should leave me 
 the beads when he died, as I was his mother and 
 child and a few other relations, but the rosary 
 was evidently annexed by nearer if not dearer 
 friends, and never came my way at all. 
 
 When at last we were ready to attend to him, 
 the boys brought out the bundles of clothes, 
 which I first counted aloud in English, and then 
 he counted in a language and method very much 
 his own ; he would then appeal to the boys to 
 know if my numbers were right, and repeat them 
 after us in Swahili again and again with a great 
 show of committing them to memory. 
 
 A slight haggling over soap followed, as he
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 235 
 
 always pathetically declared I did not give him 
 nearly enough. 
 
 Left to themselves it is really astonishing the 
 quantity of soap an African can use when washing 
 clothes. That little matter amicably settled, he 
 took off roll by roll half his turban, in which he 
 proceeded to wrap the clothes, tying the bars of 
 soap in the middle of them, and then securely 
 knotting the corners of the turban he placed the 
 huge bundle on his head and with a low salaam 
 and the assurance that he would return them 
 kesho (to-morrow) he took his departure. Ex- 
 perience teaches that kesho may mean any day 
 but to-morrow, and it was generally three or 
 four days and sometimes longer before he returned 
 with the kisibaus neatly folded in bundles and 
 exquisitely clean and smooth, though to him an 
 iron was an unknown factor. Never was there 
 a garment lost, and very few were ever torn, 
 though I must confess he made some havoc with 
 the buttons. He always carried the clothes miles 
 away from Zanzibar town to the River Mwera, 
 in which he washed them, drying them on the ground 
 in the sun. And when I think of the vigilance 
 it must have required to keep an eye on some 
 sixty or more little garments spread out in an open 
 and much-frequented thoroughfare, so that no 
 passer-by ever had a chance to whip up one and 
 carry it off, I am quite lost in admiration over 
 his watchful care. During the fifteen years that 
 he washed for the boys I never had any fault to 
 find with him.
 
 236 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 He was very fond of all the boys, and was 
 always much interested in newcomers. Occasion- 
 ally he would give some of his hard-earned pice 
 (farthings) to the babies, for whom he appeared 
 to have an especial affection. 
 
 For me he always professed deep attachment, 
 calling me mtoto wangu (my child), or mama 
 (mother) , whichever term seemed most appropriate 
 at the time, and indeed the delight with which 
 he welcomed me when I returned from furlough 
 was not only touching but most embarrassing, 
 as he fervently embraced my hands, my feet, and 
 my clothes, and laid his hands in blessing on my 
 knees. But now comes the sad part, for in spite of 
 his affection for us and ours for him, in spite of his 
 long and faithful service, which proved there was 
 real good stuff in him, we were, alas ! never able to 
 teach him anything, or guide his feet into the way 
 of Life. He was like one of those ships \vhich pass 
 in the night a night w r hich never lifts. 
 
 It was a great grief to me, but it seemed quite 
 impossible to make him understand, though both 
 the elder boys and I made many attempts and 
 talked much to him. He always listened, patiently 
 and respectfully, but we could never delude our- 
 selves into hoping that he understood enough to 
 make any impression. 
 
 One thing he always emphatically asserted, 
 that the English people were good, very good, 
 and paid ' yes, always paid without forgetting.' 
 
 The dear old man died just after we moved 
 from the town to Kilimani ; he was looking very
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 237 
 
 thin and worn, and had given up washing for us 
 for some time, though he still paid us periodical 
 visits. ' My strength is finished, all finished I 
 want rest,' he used to say, and who shall say he 
 has not found it ? 
 
 He certainly was a jewel, and I never met a 
 dhobi who was his equal. 
 
 D. Y. M. 
 
 AN AFRICAN RIVER.
 
 238 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 XIX 
 NURSING IN ZANZIBAR DIOCESE 
 
 NURSING in Zanzibar is like nursing in England, 
 with variations. You have the hospital, the wards, 
 the patients, the doctors, some of the red tape, 
 the regulations, and the ordinary routine of English 
 nursing, but all are different. 
 
 The hospital is a very pretty building, with 
 balconies, or, as we call them, barazas, on three 
 sides, on two of which little wards open out, and 
 in these the European patients sleep. They are 
 very like the patients we get in England, being 
 generally English. They often have strong opinions 
 of their own as to how much or how little quinine 
 their constitutions require, and can usually in- 
 struct their nurses in many ways, especially 
 if they are old ' Africans ' and the nurses are 
 new imports from the mother country. I know 
 I learnt a great deal about tropical nursing from 
 some of my patients. 
 
 Europeans are nursed as in nursing homes in 
 England, and are given all the little luxuries that 
 we can manage to procure. 
 
 The native wards are on the ground floor,
 
 239 
 
 and are like, and yet most unlike, English 
 wards. 
 
 There is the same row of little iron bedsteads 
 on each side, with wire springs, but no mattresses, 
 
 AN INDIAN LADY ARRIVING AT THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 no sheets, hard Indian bolsters at the head, 
 covered with pink and white cotton covers, which 
 are sewn on, as buttons and tapes have a trick of 
 disappearing in the wash, a piece of strong linen 
 over the springs, sometimes a drawsheet; the
 
 240 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 patient is covered with a coloured blanket, and 
 that is all. Gay quilts, and soft, snowy sheets and 
 pillows are conspicuously absent, and the patients 
 never stay in bed when they feel able to get 
 up. They have no clothes to be shut away in cup- 
 boards out of their reach ; they sleep in their loin 
 cloths, with their kisibaus folded, and laid under 
 their pillows, and so they can be up and dressed 
 in one minute, and out of the ward in another. 
 They don't often go further than to the lower 
 baraza, where they sit in the sun, and watch, and 
 chat with the passers-by, and are within call 
 when the doctor comes to visit the ward. 
 
 The floors of the ward are of asphalte, and are 
 flooded with water and vigorously brushed down 
 once a week; then all the patients who are well 
 enough help the ward ' boy.' Some bring water, 
 some wheel the beds to one side of the ward, 
 completely clearing the other, then one empties 
 a pail in front of the boy, who brushes the water 
 about into the corners with a long-handled brush, 
 such as is used for a stable-yard in England. 
 
 The nurse goes about in goloshes, superin- 
 tending, pointing out skipped corners, taking 
 temperatures and giving medicines under diffi- 
 culties. 
 
 W T hen night comes, all the patients wrap them- 
 selves from head to foot in their blankets, and go 
 to sleep, but as soon as the day nurse leaves the 
 ward, some one is sure to get up and carefully 
 close all the windows to keep out evil spirits, as 
 well as the night air. If anyone takes a fancy to
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 241 
 
 some one else's bed, or to a vacant one, now is 
 the time to effect an exchange. Then when the 
 night nurse comes with medicine for Tomaso, 
 she finds Abdallah in his place, and has to find 
 Tomaso amongst the eleven or twelve bundles, 
 all looking exactly the same, like so many mummies. 
 
 Then the patients are very different to those 
 we nurse in England. They are of very varied 
 nationalities, habits, and dispositions. There 
 is the Indian, who comes in for pneumonia, gets 
 cured and dismissed, gets the disease again, and 
 creeps in by the back door and takes possession 
 of the bed he formerly occupied, without any 
 preliminaries of diagnosis or permission. He 
 knows what he wants, and calmly possesses 
 himself of it. 
 
 There is the little Banyan lady, gentle and 
 timid, so careful lest her food shall be defiled 
 by a passing shadow or a careless touch, that she 
 comes to the nurse in terror and distress because 
 the African attendant is sweeping the wall near 
 the muslin bag containing her store, which she has 
 hung up beside her bed. She cannot eat any 
 cooked food while an inmate of the hospital, for it 
 is necessary for her to cook and eat it within 
 certain marks on the floor without carrying it out 
 of the sacred limits, and without leaving them 
 herself until the meal is over ; so she has to be 
 content with milk, nuts, &c., brought in by her 
 husband, and as she cannot get up her strength 
 on so low a diet, she is sent home earlier than 
 would otherwise have been desirable.
 
 242 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 Then there is the Greek baby, who comes into 
 hospital with his African yaya, and one day, 
 when his doctor arrives, can nowhere be found, 
 and is brought back an hour or two later by his 
 nurse, with the airy excuse that she had been to 
 the hairdresser's to have her hair plaited ; a pro- 
 ceeding carried on in the street and extremely 
 lengthy. 
 
 The Somali boy is a very charming patient, 
 though he begins by going off his head, march- 
 ing upstairs at night, and standing over the 
 startled matron as she lies in bed, with a knife 
 brandished in his hand. An alarming sight ! 
 but he was only appealing for protection, as his 
 delirium took the form of imagining that the other 
 patients had tried to kill him with the murderous- 
 looking weapon. He is tall and active, very 
 lively, bright, and intelligent, and takes an immense 
 interest in his studies, coming to the nurses to 
 help him to learn the catechism and prayers 
 before going to his classes ; but, like all Somalis, 
 he is very hot-tempered, and requires a good deal 
 of smoothing down when he gets angry with the 
 other patients. 
 
 Once a patient came from Pemba with a 
 badly broken leg. She was a slave, and had been 
 so cruelly treated by her mistress that her fellow- 
 slaves took compassion on her, and carried her to 
 the Mission station, a distance of several miles, 
 and placed her under the protection of Sir John 
 Key, who sent her to Zanzibar Hospital. She 
 was so scared that it was a whole fortnight before
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 245 
 
 anyone heard her say a single word, even to the 
 African patients like herself, but she ended by 
 becoming quite friendly, and fairly talkative. 
 She never got quite well, and though she went 
 back to Pemba, and lived with her friends, having 
 been given her freedom, she had to be supported 
 by the Mission until her death, about two years 
 later. She had become a catechumen, and was 
 baptised on her death-bed. I must not forget to 
 mention the Kiungani boy, looking so spruce and 
 well set up amongst the other Africans, with his 
 gaily-bordered loin cloth, his immaculate white 
 kisibau or kanzu, and his smart red cap. Very 
 bright and pleasant to talk to, he reminds one 
 of the English public schoolboy, eager to tell 
 about the success of the school in football matches 
 against the English sailors, and holding his head 
 high among the other patients. 
 
 The Mbweni girl is, perhaps, not quite so 
 attractive at first. She is evidently not used to 
 bearing pain, and we have more trouble in getting 
 her to take medicine, and to submit to hospital 
 discipline, than we have with any other patient ; 
 but she has her good qualities, and is lovable like 
 all Africans, and capable of great self-sacrifice. 
 I shall never forget the devotion displayed towards 
 her small invalid brother by one Mbweni girl. 
 She came into the hospital with him, and nursed 
 and tended him under our directions with untiring 
 patience and love. 
 
 Then there is the dispensary, on the other 
 side of the creek, to be attended to on certain
 
 246 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 afternoons, and an occasional old patient to be 
 visited in her own home. 
 
 During the late outbreak of plague the nurses 
 had a busy time helping the doctors to inoculate, 
 and the matron, with a native Christian woman 
 to help her, undertook the management of the 
 isolation hospital. 
 
 In this brief sketch of nursing in Zanzibar 
 one can give no detail of the diseases we encounter, 
 or of their treatment. Most of the patients in 
 the native wards are suffering from ulcers, and 
 the amount of old linen and bandages used every 
 day there, and in the dispensary, is astonishing. 
 
 For these the Mission is almost entirely 
 dependent on supplies sent by friends in England. 
 Every kind of white cotton or linen is acceptable, 
 and even coloured prints and cottons ; old summer 
 dresses, muslin, and net are eagerly welcomed 
 in the hospital at Zanzibar, and in all our up- 
 country stations. 
 
 One of these up-country stations is Pemba. 
 Here the nursing is on very different lines. The 
 people are far less civilised than in Zanzibar, 
 and far more prejudiced in favour of their own 
 ways and customs. So we have to nurse them 
 as well as we can, and not in the fashion we should 
 prefer. 
 
 When I first went to Pemba, in 1903, there was 
 no hospital of any sort belonging to the Mission, 
 and we had to nurse those patients who had no 
 home of their own in one of the empty native 
 huts on the shamba, paying a neighbour a few pice
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 247 
 
 to attend upon them, feeding them from our own 
 house, and visiting them from time to time during 
 the day to dress their sores, and otherwise minister 
 to their necessities. At that time the ladies of 
 the Mission still lived in Sir John Key's old house 
 at Kisimbani the dearest little house, with 
 walls of stone, mud, and stick, the ceiling made of 
 old packing-cases, so that ' Sir John Key, Pemba,' 
 was printed large over our heads as we sat in the 
 sitting-room. The one upstairs room was like 
 a loft, with boxes stored under the eaves, amongst 
 which rats hunted the pigeons, and snakes the rats, 
 and a clear space in the centre with a window on 
 each side, one facing the clove plantation and the 
 road running through it, the other with a lovely 
 view over a valley rich with tropical vegetation, 
 to the other side where clove woods began again, 
 dotted with picturesque native huts and Indian 
 houses. The dispensary was a little lean-to 
 building, exactly like a garden tool-house, with 
 mud floor and walls, and a thatched roof, from 
 which dust was always showering down, as there 
 was no ceiling : the shelves for the medicine 
 bottles were oil-boxes and packing-cases, and as we 
 could not get these of exactly the same size, the 
 effect was decidedly peculiar. There was a table 
 and chair for the nurse, and some tiny stools for 
 the patients, and to this primitive house of 
 healing came men, women, and children of varied 
 nationalities. 
 
 The Africans came constantly, especially our 
 own converts, for Africans are wonderfully fond
 
 248 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 of daw a, as they call everything medical, 
 from a mustard plaster to a dose of salts or a 
 clinical thermometer. The Indians who form 
 the prosperous class in Pemba, the money-lenders, 
 and shopkeepers came too, sometimes bringing 
 their babies ; but the doctoring of Indian babies 
 is generally unsatisfactory, as the mothers, though 
 they like to have the English nurses treat their 
 children, never think of carrying out orders, or 
 of administering the medicine when obtained. 
 
 Lastly, the Arabs used to come and ask us 
 to visit the sick ladies of their families. These 
 visits were sometimes rather curious experiences. 
 Once an Arab gentleman came to request me to 
 visit his sister, who had symptoms which sounded 
 rather like hysteria. So the next day, putting 
 some medicine into a basket, I ordered my donkey 
 and started for the shore ; here I was met by an 
 Arab, according to agreement, and leaving the 
 donkey and the man in charge of it to await 
 my return, I entered a ' dug-out ' viz. a native 
 canoe made of a hollowed-out tree trunk, and 
 manned by an African, who stood at the stern 
 and paddled it across the creek. 
 
 These dug-outs are such wobbly concerns that 
 you are not allowed to put up an umbrella in mid- 
 stream, and you have to endure the blazing sun as 
 best you can, if you do not want to be blown over. 
 On arriving at the further shore my guide started 
 off along the road, or what we should call the 
 narrow field path, which after winding about for 
 some distance, brought us at last to a native
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 249 
 
 village. There was no Arab house to be seen, 
 which seemed strange, but I was taken to an 
 ordinary African hut, full of people, and when I 
 asked to see the patient, a curtain was drawn 
 aside, showing a bed on which lay no hysterical 
 Arab lady, but an elderly man, apparently uncon- 
 scious, and evidently suffering from a stroke 
 of paralysis ! The hysterical lady did exist, for 
 I was taken a few days later to see her, but the 
 man's friends had evidently obtained leave to 
 keep the appointment with me, and guide me to 
 the more pressing case. 
 
 We had a patient, once, with a very bad ulcerated 
 leg. This, as everyone knows, takes some time 
 to cure, but it was progressing favourably, though 
 slowly, when Alfred got tired, and imagined that 
 we were unable to cure him, so he said he wanted 
 to go to some friends about six miles away for 
 change of air. Of course we guessed that he 
 wished for a change of treatment as well. We 
 don't encourage our Christian converts to consult 
 the medicine men, as, though they do effect 
 undoubted cures, their treatment is mixed up 
 with charms and devil-worship ; but we knew it 
 was useless to object, so he left us, and soon we 
 heard he had put himself under the care of a 
 medicine man, and was kept shut up in a hut, 
 and allowed to see no one. However, I was 
 teaching in the village soon after, and inquired 
 how he was getting on. He heard my voice 
 through the mud walls of his hut, and to my 
 surprise, invited me in. I found him lying on a
 
 250 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 bed, curtained off from the rest of the hut, with 
 a fire burning a special kind of wood on the floor 
 at his feet, his leg, without any dressing on, 
 exposed to the heat, and he was also made to 
 drink a concoction of some of the same wood. 
 
 I was much interested, and he gave me a 
 specimen of the wood. The process he was under- 
 going was called ' dawa ya mti t ' (medicine from 
 a tree). Strange to say, in a short time the 
 leg really did heal, but as soon as he returned to 
 his work it all broke down again, and he was as 
 bad as ever. This time evidently he could not 
 afford the native doctor, and returned to us. Our 
 Bishop, who was a medical man as well, happened 
 to be in Pemba, and he operated on him. 
 
 The table was too short for the man to lie on, 
 so the operation was performed on the floor, 
 the doctor kneeling, on one side, the nurse on the 
 other, and though the place of operation was the 
 dispensary, where all sorts of people used to come 
 and go, and all sorts of sores were treated daily, 
 and though he was nursed in a native hut just 
 outside our house, his leg healed in the most 
 straightforward fashion, and he became the Mission 
 boat-boy, and as far as I know has had no more 
 trouble with his leg. 
 
 Sometimes we have long distances to travel 
 to get to our patients ; I specially remember one 
 lovely ride I had on the big white donkey to a 
 village ten miles off, in order to set and put in 
 plaster a broken leg. The early start, just as 
 people are assembling for the service in the little
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 251 
 
 chapel, the dogs barking, the donkey waiting 
 at the door ; then the donkey boy shoulders the 
 basket containing the lunch and surgical appliances, 
 and we wend our way through the wood, up a 
 steep hill, and then through clove woods nearly 
 the whole way. Oh, those woods ! I wish I could 
 describe them ! Clove avenues are rather like 
 beech woods, with little or no undergrowth, 
 and you see the paths stretching out into the 
 distance. But where there are no clove trees, 
 early in the morning, before the sun is hot, 
 lovely wild flowers border the roads, besides ferns 
 and a tangled mass of shrubs, with parasites 
 climbing up the trees and hanging from the 
 branches in festoons to the ground. Sometimes 
 monkeys are heard chattering in the boughs 
 overhead, and the fox terrier becomes very 
 excited, and barks furiously. Then the road 
 runs along the top of the steep side of a valley, 
 with rice fields below, and perhaps in the distance, 
 a glimpse of the sea between the trees ; then we 
 turn in amongst the cloves again, which give a 
 delicious, dark, cool shade, and so we come to 
 a village. 
 
 A group of native huts, an Indian shop or two, 
 and perhaps an Arab house of greater size and 
 pretension. The people come out to stare, and 
 give us friendly greetings, and the donkey boy 
 stops to gossip, but I go on, for the donkey knows 
 the way if I don't, and generally takes the right 
 path. 
 
 At last, just as the heat is becoming rather
 
 252 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 oppressive, we arrive at our destination, and the 
 people are still more friendly in their greetings ; 
 the boy hurries up from behind, and I descend 
 from my donkey and go to my patient. After 
 I have attended to him the people collect under a 
 big tree, around a native bedstead which they 
 have brought out for me to sit on, and I show 
 them pictures and try to teach them a little, as 
 there is no teacher at this time living in the village, 
 and then I lunch off biscuits, sardines, and tea, 
 giving the remainder to the donkey boy, and 
 what is left of the salt to an old man sitting near, 
 at his earnest request. Salt is evidently con- 
 sidered a great luxury ! After a rest and talk, and 
 another visit to my patient, I start on my return 
 ride, arriving at home by sundown. 
 
 Besides these patients there are the Mission 
 workers, one of whom is generally an occupant 
 of the sick-room, and these are felt to be a great 
 responsibility, for the nearest doctor lives at the 
 other side of the island, and takes three hours by 
 sea with a favourable breeze to reach the Mission 
 station. 
 
 At the time of which I am writing there was 
 no possibility of communicating with Zanzibar 
 except by the Government steamer, which came 
 every fortnight, and if anyone was very ill, and 
 we were anxious to get him away in order to save 
 his life, we were obliged to wait till the next 
 steamer came in the ordinary way, without being 
 able to hasten its arrival. 
 
 Now, however, thanks to Marconi's genius, we
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 253 
 
 are no longer cut off from the outer world between 
 the visits of the Government boat. 
 
 I think one of the greatest fascinations of a 
 nurse's life in Africa is the absence of monotony. 
 You never know, when you rise in the morning, 
 through what curious experiences you may have 
 to pass before night. And another is that you 
 feel so really needed. 
 
 If you cannot help any sick person, there is no 
 one else to do it, and so, however diffident of your 
 own powers, you are bound to try your best, 
 knowing that it must be better than no skilled help 
 at all. 
 
 But the greatest joy of all is the knowledge 
 that your skill may indirectly help the cause of 
 Christ in Africa, and draw souls to Him ! 
 
 ONE OF THE NURSES. 
 
 MISSION HOUSE, PEMBA.
 
 254 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 XX 
 
 DAILY LIFE IN ZANZIBAR HOSPITAL 
 
 IT is rather difficult to know what part of our 
 daily routine in the hospital would be interesting 
 to those at home ; because, after all, many days 
 go by, one very much like another, each one 
 full of the small duties which go to make up the 
 whole of one's working life, either at home or 
 abroad. 
 
 Let me try and give you the outline of a 
 nurse's ordinary day in the hospital. 
 
 We are called at 5 A.M., when it is mostly quite 
 dark, and very difficult, if tired, to bestir oneself. 
 The native night nurse is our ' alarum,' and is 
 always quite pleased when five o'clock comes, 
 for then her duty is nearly at an end, and she 
 joyfully assures you, ' Saa edashara imekwisha, 
 
 At 6 A.M. the sun in full glory has made its 
 appearance, and it is high time to begin work. 
 There are four different posts which are more or 
 less filled in turn by the nurses : (i) dispensary ; 
 
 * Five o'clock is finished, Bibi.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 255 
 
 (2) native wards ; (3) European wards ; (4) house- 
 keeping. 
 
 This is, of course, when we are fully staffed ; 
 which is not often the case for long together. For 
 sometimes a telegram is received to say a nurse 
 is wanted to fill a sudden vacancy, caused by 
 illness, up-country ; or a nurse is coming to 
 recruit from an out-station, and her place must 
 be taken at once ; and often the matron has to 
 add to her many duties that of housekeeper, to 
 set free the nurse who is needed elsewhere. But we 
 will suppose that we are fully staffed for the time. 
 The dispensary nurse takes turns alternate 
 mornings with the native ward nurse to go to the 
 daily celebration in the cathedral, and the house- 
 keeper with the nurse for the Europeans in the 
 same way. 
 
 Breakfast is ready soon after 7 A.M., if the 
 kitchen boy has not been too sleepy to put in his 
 appearance in good time ; some of them suffer 
 much in this way, and cannot be made to realise 
 that it is important to get breakfast in time whether 
 sleepy or not. Some mornings are very trying ; 
 perhaps no less than three of our different native 
 workers will send word ' Siwezi ' (I am not well). 
 It is strange how often they are all ill on the 
 same morning, making it most difficult to find 
 temporary assistance. 
 
 Breakfast over, all go to their several posts. 
 
 The dispensary nurse visits out-patients and 
 attends to all who come to the dispensary, number- 
 ing from forty to eighty in a morning. Patients
 
 256 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 who are very ill are invited to stay as in-patients ; 
 others wait for the doctor ; how they miss Bishop 
 Hine, whom so many had got to know and trust ; 
 time after time patients would ask, ' Has Bwana 
 Mkatwa * returned yet ? ' refusing treatment until 
 he came. 
 
 Extracting teeth, slight operations, dressings, 
 &c., are attended to by the nurse ; piercing cries 
 are heard occasionally from the dispensary, when 
 a poor patient has lost his courage half-way 
 through the prescribed treatment. 
 
 People of very many nationalities avail them- 
 selves of the help of the Mission hospital. In- 
 variably we try to persuade some to go to the 
 Government hospital, where there are men who 
 understand their language, and where special 
 provision is made for the foreigner. The answer 
 is, ' Bibi, we want your medicine ; your medicine 
 good. ' 
 
 As far as possible we endeavour to make those 
 who seem able to do so, pay the small sum of 
 six pice (i|^.) ; but many cannot afford even 
 that small sum. 
 
 In many ways the Medical Mission has won 
 much confidence and trust, which cannot but be 
 of a great help in preparing, if ever so slowly, 
 the way for Christianity. Arabs will bring 
 their wives, and not only ask our advice, but see 
 that our instructions are carried out. Many 
 rich Indians will often try and get the Mission 
 nurse for their sick, and we have to be very firm 
 * Surgeon one who cuts,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 257 
 
 in refusing to attend them ; for it certainly is 
 not our work to attend those who are well able 
 to pay for medical advice. 
 
 Now let us see what the nurse in the native ward 
 is doing. There is the dusting and straightening 
 to be done, the ward boy to be sent out to buy 
 bread or sweet cakes for the patients ; patients 
 to be attended to, dressings to be done ; new 
 patients coming in, men and women, although 
 even now the women are very backward to avail 
 themselves of our help. 
 
 Any time after 10 A.M. the doctor may make 
 his round. When he has gone, those patients 
 who are able go into a small garden, where their 
 meal is served, eleven o'clock being the correct 
 time for it. Rice, with a smaller portion of meat, 
 fish, or dengu, a kind of pea, is the food of the 
 native, partaken of twice a day. They are very 
 pleased if they get fruit, lemons, or pepper pods, 
 as an extra flavouring. 
 
 ' The ward nurse is quite busy attending 
 steadily to her patients. In one bed a very 
 industrious man or boy may be seen embroi- 
 dering a cap, and chattering gaily. Another 
 poor man has got fever, and although it is such 
 a hot day he is huddled up under his blanket, 
 feeling very cold and crotchety ; another has 
 pneumonia, and half an hour is spent trying to 
 entice him to take his food ; he is as stubborn as a 
 mule, and ends in keeping it in his mouth and not 
 swallowing it, waiting for the nurse to turn her 
 back on him. And so one goes on, cheering up the
 
 258 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 poor old depressed folk, and trying to keep the 
 rogues, who are fairly well, in order, and whose 
 spirits at times run away with them. 
 
 We must not forget that many of our own 
 Christians who come to the hospital when sick, 
 perhaps after months of slackness in their religious 
 duties, are really helped, and often go out having 
 made their confession and communion, intending 
 to try their best to lead a better life. Then, 
 again, from time to time, we can trace the first 
 workings and influence towards Christianity of 
 heathen men and women to their time in the 
 hospital ; although for long they are too shy, and 
 wanting in moral courage, to come definitely 
 forward. 
 
 What about the nurse whose duty it is to attend 
 to the Europeans ? The number of her patients 
 varies very much sometimes two, four, or five, 
 sometimes more. Whichever it is there is much 
 to be done cleaning, mending, making. Native 
 women workers want superintending ; perhaps there 
 is a new one to be taught, for if new workers come 
 to the hospital, they require much attention ; 
 everything has to be shown them for many days, 
 and any native will always want some supervision. 
 All native workers come at 6 A.M. every day, 
 but, differing from the English system, 10 A.M. 
 finds them all absent. They go home for a few 
 hours for cooking, &c., then return at different 
 times during the afternoon and evening, as their 
 duties are arranged. 
 
 The patients may be either from the Mission
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 259 
 
 staff, a Government official or his wife, a 
 Portuguese lady, a Parsee lady, a Greek lady 
 or gentleman, and others ; then perhaps the 
 British Consul will ask us to nurse a destitute 
 British subject, usually very ill. I remember 
 one such patient, who in his delirium became so 
 unmanageable that we had to get the ward boy's 
 assistance ; he immediately turned on him, knocking 
 his front teeth out ; after attempting to escape 
 by every door and window, not only in his room 
 but even by the big entrance door of the hospital 
 (this was in the night), we just managed to entice 
 him into one of the native wards, where he settled 
 himself, much to our relief. He was very grateful 
 afterwards, and very sorry for all the trouble and 
 anxiety he had caused, and some time after we 
 had a grateful letter from him, saying he had 
 got work in Nairobi, and his employer was the 
 brother of one of the hospital staff. 
 
 Sometimes the doctor sends up to ask if we 
 could possibly take a patient off a steamer just 
 come in who is too ill to proceed on the voyage. 
 So work goes on, every day bringing something 
 new ; we have to be ready for any emergency and 
 try to help all who appeal to us, European and 
 native alike. 
 
 Perhaps the work of the housekeeper sounds 
 very dry and uninteresting, but all the same 
 much depends on her ; she has to arrange the 
 meals for the patients and the staff, superintend 
 the kitchen and cook, look after the table boy, 
 and all the work of the nurses' home, &c. The
 
 260 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 comfort and well-being of everyone more or less 
 depends on the housekeeper. There are three 
 things which she must watch with a wary eye 
 soap, sugar, and salt. Natives have an eye for 
 all three, and a little extra of either makes for his 
 happiness. 
 
 The duties of the matron embrace a wide circle. 
 The hospital, garden, chickens, the horse (with 
 which the Sultan presented the hospital a few 
 years ago in recognition of services to his house- 
 hold), the building itself, which when rain comes 
 is always ready to disclose a new leak through 
 which the rain will delight to pour all want 
 attention, as well as many other things. 
 
 Many words of counsel are given, and her help 
 is sought by all in times of difficulty. 
 
 Twice a week, Tuesday and Friday, we go 
 over to Ng'ambo, the native village the other 
 side of the creek, to superintend a dispensary in 
 the Mission-house. The number of patients there 
 varies, but it is an opening and a way of getting 
 acquainted with many people who otherwise 
 we should never reach. 
 
 One of our duties every time we go there is 
 to wash a poor bed-ridden woman who was written 
 about in ' African Tidings ' as ' crumply legs ' ; 
 her real name is Binti Mabruki. She lives in a 
 small and rather dark hut, generally alone, and 
 is never able even to sit up. Binti Mabruki is 
 nearly always bright, fond of a laugh, and even 
 fonder of medicine, and she is quite an example 
 to many whose lines are cast in happier places.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 261 
 
 This is a mere outline of the work of the nurses 
 in Zanzibar Hospital, varied by the recreation 
 of an occasional ride on a bicycle or in the small 
 carriage to the out-stations of the Mission. A 
 very full and happy life which we can heartily 
 recommend to all nurses. 
 
 F. M. P. 
 
 NG'AMBO, THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CREEK.
 
 262 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 XXI 
 
 AN AFRICAN VILLAGE AND MATTERS 
 PERTAINING THERETO 
 
 Position of a Village. According to the tribe 
 and conditions of the locality, so the position of a 
 village. In the fertile plains you light upon small 
 clusters of huts hidden away behind a belt of 
 cocoanut palms, with fields of maize, millet, and 
 cassava on every side, to say nothing of the 
 prolific banana. The chief disadvantage is the 
 water, which as a rule is distinctly bad. 
 
 The hillsman, on the other hand, has to contend 
 with severer conditions, and these make for hardi- 
 hood and somewhat less flesh. Perched on the 
 highest point of a steep hill, anything from 2,000 
 to 5,000 feet up, he finds happiness in the mist, and 
 cold and mildness, and lives contentedly on the 
 banana, which he reduces to a most uninteresting 
 and stodgy porridge. But he drinks water from 
 the source clear and cool. He expects less from 
 life than the plainsman, and is not disappointed. 
 But it makes for a stronger character. Again, 
 there are the desert people, apparently obsessed 
 with a desire to escape from their own kind. Away
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 263 
 
 in a sandy patch the traveller comes across three or 
 four huts no trees, no shelter, no water ; only the 
 hot sun and space illimitable. Why they are there 
 at all is a mystery ; why they stay is a greater 
 
 AN AFRICAN VILLAGE. 
 
 until the soul of the African begins to reveal itself 
 in the word kwetu (home). 
 
 And that explains everything. No matter 
 where it is, in the plain, desert, or far up on the 
 heights ; no matter what it is, just a ramshackle 
 hut, smoke-dried and wretched, in his wanderings
 
 264 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 the African turns himself and goes back - 
 home. 
 
 Affection for Home and People. Affection 
 for his people and surroundings is one of the 
 strongest and best features in the African, and it is 
 to be remarked that this is not lost by contact 
 with outside influences. 
 
 One of the tests of the Mission's work is found 
 in the happiness of the boys who return for their 
 holidays to stay with their parents. The boy has 
 been at a school such as Kiungani, where order, 
 discipline, regularity must reign if character is 
 to be formed and developed. Although the life 
 is simple, yet he is aware of a better, higher, cleaner 
 way of living, socially and morally ; moreover, 
 there is the daily contact with holy things. The 
 term ends. He goes up-country to his own people. 
 There he is found by the up-country padre, 
 perfectly content to put up with something less 
 than he has been accustomed to, as proud as 
 possible of his old heathen parents, his face 
 beaming as he trots them out to be shown off. 
 Not a bit of affection lost, yet keeping himself 
 apart as regards matters religious. Here, at 
 least, Christianity is not bound up with civilisation. 
 This is one of the greatest encouragements, and 
 surely work on such lines with such results must be 
 strong and good. 
 
 In reference to the desert people, e.g. the 
 Ziguas, it is remarkable that these who are so 
 difficult to reach, owing to the physical strain 
 attendant upon long and hard marches, and who,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 265 
 
 from their isolation, would seem to be outside the 
 pale of Christian influence, are the very people who 
 are responding so well to the efforts made that 
 new centres of work might be opened to-morrow, 
 and new churches built, to relieve those which 
 they are already overcrowding. 
 
 The Village Proper. To an outsider one 
 village is as much like another, as are the people 
 in it. But an inhabitant knows that there is as 
 much to distinguish his village from the next as 
 the white man holds that his own particular corner 
 in the old country is not, and cannot be, like any- 
 thing else in the wide world. If it were it would 
 not be his own. Man, black or white, takes 
 pride in possession. 
 
 Allowing for tribal and local differences, 
 superior skill in building, and variation in size, an 
 African village comes to this : A number of roughly 
 made huts of wattle and daub, round, in the case 
 of the conservative country people, or oblong with 
 gable ends and much more up to date (even with 
 windows), by the more progressive coast people, 
 who build houses comparatively magnificent, and 
 sometimes go bankrupt over them. That is one 
 of the doubtful advantages of being linked more 
 closely to civilisation. 
 
 Thatch of grass, of palm leaf, of banana bark, 
 comes almost to the ground, affording protec- 
 tion from sun and rain. Occasionally a village 
 catches fire, and then the proper and correct method 
 of fighting it is to clamber up and throw the roof 
 off. A hundred men on as many huts, hard at it,
 
 266 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 gives the onlooker some idea of the African's 
 capacity for work. It is a busy time. 
 
 The huts, as a rule, are built very close 
 together, even in a district where a thousand acres 
 or so laugh men to scorn. 
 
 The wide stretches of plain and desert are a 
 continual protest against man's dependence upon 
 a habitation chiefly remarkable for insignificance 
 and want of ventilation. Overcrowding must be an 
 irresistible instinct in man. 
 
 In England he sleeps thirteen in a room, and if 
 he prefers a field, is locked up. In Africa he 
 inclines to a stuffy hut, door tightly barred, no 
 opening for air or light. Incidentally it is also 
 a precaution against wild beasts. If he slept in the 
 open he would not be locked up it has not come 
 to that yet but he might be eaten. From a sense 
 of protection and safety, then, it is, perhaps, that 
 he builds his hut right up to his neighbour's, and 
 has his house burnt down purely out of a deep- 
 rooted objection to be at any distance from him, 
 and enjoys a large and unselfish use of his pipe and 
 cooking pots. His neighbour is equally broad- 
 minded. Reciprocity is good, but sometimes 
 inconvenient. It is largely a life in common, 
 though by no means a common life. On the 
 contrary, it is often exciting. A small village 
 would consist of half a dozen to fifteen or twenty 
 of these huts, and above that it would be advisable 
 to ascertain the opinion of the villagers themselves 
 as to their standing, otherwise there might be 
 a little coolness, which is to be avoided by a
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 267 
 
 traveller when he has himself and a dozen hungry 
 porters dependent upon the hospitality of the place. 
 Africans of the right sort are jealous of their dignity; 
 when they are not, you can write them down 
 spoilt. Then prepare to ' tip.' 
 
 It is said that in the old days the people lived 
 in very much larger villages towns, in fact. But 
 smallpox broke out, and they agreed that the best 
 way to fight it was to separate practically become 
 isolation wards ; and so there grew up tiny hamlets 
 here and there, more or less family monopolies. 
 Nowadays intelligent governments find, it easier 
 and more economical to collect taxes from a city of 
 huts than from scattered groups, and so encourage 
 the people to build in central and more convenient 
 positions. 
 
 Let us hope they will also, and with more 
 success, persuade their subjects of the need of 
 vaccination. 
 
 Sometimes the village is surrounded by a 
 stockade, high and thick. This belongs to the past 
 rather than to the present. It served its purpose 
 against raiding tribes. It was, and is, useful against 
 prowling beasts. There are two doors or gates, 
 one public, one private, the latter known only to 
 the villagers themselves, and it would go hardly 
 with one who revealed it. 
 
 A stockaded village calls up days of romance 
 and fierce fighting, black warriors, spears and 
 arrows that were poisoned. 
 
 In England we have a ruined castle with its 
 moat and drawbridge, and visions of gallant knights
 
 268 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 who slew mighty foemen, while fair ladies smiled 
 approval. Man is cruel at the best. 
 
 Village Life. It is only by living in a village 
 and learning something of the daily life of its 
 inhabitants that a conception of their character 
 and their needs is possible. The African is a 
 reticent person. He talks, it is true, but not to 
 impart information, merely to acquire it. When 
 you find a particularly responsive villager, look out. 
 The ' confidence trick ' has its Eastern as well 
 as Western variations. The newcomer starts with 
 a false impression, and is almost bound to. If he 
 is a teacher, he is, or ought to be, prepared to sym- 
 pathise with the people, but unfortunately, and 
 perhaps unconsciously, expects something in return, 
 a ready answer to his questions and a revelation 
 of hidden things, and is usually and properly 
 disappointed. So discouragement starts at once. 
 
 If he is merely a passer-by and curious, he sees 
 the ridiculous in the simple and open matters of 
 life. He compares methods of white with black, 
 and in the result is highly satisfied with himself 
 and his kind. He does not concern himself 
 with the meaning of things, nor does he appreciate 
 the fact that black folk also have an eye to the 
 ridiculous and foolish in the white man. 
 
 An African ' Punch ' might solve many prob- 
 lems. It might also surprise the Western, if his 
 pride permitted it. As a rule he is not sufficiently 
 humble to learn. The African is not a fool. 
 ' Casting pearls before swine ' is of universal, not 
 merely national, application.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 269 
 
 Sun and rain control the life of the village, 
 not clocks and railway trains. If they did, doubt- 
 less work would be easier, and so would ill-temper 
 and heart disease. As it is, the African is patient 
 and cheerful, and greatly exercised as to why the 
 European is not. 
 
 Moreover, an operation under large doses of 
 chloroform affects him as little as a bun would an 
 elephant. One day an old man cheerfully had a 
 big toe amputated. He was put into a room to 
 rest, while a woman, not quite so cheerfully, under- 
 went a different operation. In the middle of it 
 a chuckle was heard, and there was the old 
 man standing at the door of the room, a pleased 
 spectator of the proceedings. 
 
 The true countryman rises before dawn. 
 Daylight is reckoned at twelve hours, 6 A.M. to 
 6 P.M., and there is little or no twilight. Time 
 when wanted is calculated by the rising of the 
 sun. 
 
 There is a mysterious and attractive weirdness 
 about a village in the first dim light of early dawn. 
 Men creep out of their cosy, warm huts, shiver with 
 the freshness of the air, throw their thin cloth or 
 blanket over their shoulders, and stalk off silently 
 to their plantations, which may be at some dis- 
 tance. Presently the women appear with w r ater- 
 pot on head, and go as quietly to the well or 
 river for w r ater, so precious in some districts where 
 a village is perhaps miles from any stream. 
 
 The sun is no\v up. The cattle, herded for the 
 night in a large central house, or often kept in a
 
 270 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 part of the owner's hut, are driven forth by the 
 lads responsible for their well-being. Those who 
 possess cattle find it better in many cases to com- 
 bine and supply so many days' work in the month. 
 Several lads are told off to take a turn of two or 
 three days. Shepherding is a valid reason for 
 absence from school. It is always a known period, 
 and seldom exceeds the time mentioned. When 
 it does there is usually something wrong with the 
 lads hunting may interest them more than the 
 alphabet. 
 
 Until sundown the women are practically 
 in possession of the village, except for a few old 
 men, who with their withered skins and whitish- 
 grey beards remind one of the hard conditions 
 of life under a tropical sun. 
 
 The Elders. These old men, elders as they are 
 called, are an asset. Moreover, they are often a 
 nuisance, and seem to block the way to progress 
 and improvement. But then that is from the 
 European point of view, not from theirs, and we 
 forget they have one. When it is brought rather 
 abruptly before our notice we wax indignant. 
 That of course puzzles the African. Hitherto he 
 has regarded us as sane men. 
 
 No village is complete without its green, and 
 thatched shed, where the elders assemble and with 
 the gravest of faces perform the most indecorous 
 of actions. 
 
 But they represent public opinion, and they 
 avoid the whips and scorpions. Wisdom is their 
 portion.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 271 
 
 Respect for old age is ingrained in the African, 
 and the younger serves the elder. Obedience 
 involves protection. 
 
 Now the elders decide the weighty matters of 
 the law, and in a well-governed village there is 
 little that cannot be settled amicably. That 
 influence is dying out under a more powerful and 
 foreign government, and many cases are referred to 
 a district authority which once would have been 
 dealt with by the local elders. It probably makes 
 for more consistent justice, but it certainly disturbs 
 the old family life of the people. 
 
 Housework. The African housewife is a busy 
 person. She is also important in her own sphere, 
 and knows it, though wisely she does not say over- 
 much about it. The early morning means just as 
 much commotion and discomfort in regard to 
 cleaning as in England. All the household gods 
 are brought forth as a preliminary. These consist 
 of several disreputable cooking pots, a small stool, 
 perhaps a plaited reed bedstead and a grass basket 
 or two. It is a simple life. Then a brush made of 
 reeds is vigorously applied, and the apartment is 
 again ready for the good husbandman on his 
 return, to say nothing of casual callers who have 
 an eye for criticism and a tongue for scandal. 
 
 The daughter, meanwhile, has taken a large 
 wooden mortar, carved out of a tree trunk, to 
 another part of the village where other girls have 
 assembled, and fills the bottom with maize or rice 
 in the husk. Up goes the pestle, a pole some five to 
 six feet in length, and a muscular movement of the
 
 272 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 arms drives it hard down on the grain. Husk and 
 grain are now separated by being shaken in a round 
 kind of tray, and the operation seems to provoke 
 competition ; a good hand at this acquires an 
 enviable reputation and excellent qualifications 
 for marriage. 
 
 If the lads are not at school they are out with 
 their fathers, working in the fields or hunting and 
 generally leading a healthy, open-air life, despising 
 the dangers to which they are constantly exposed. 
 
 Once the writer met a troop of small boys 
 descending a hill late at night when they ought to 
 have been at home and in bed. They were carrying 
 food to some one who had arrived. How the 
 some one was to eat it all was apparently not open 
 to discussion. 
 
 But the question of a leopard that frequented 
 the district was. On inquiring whether they were 
 not alarmed by this, they calmly replied that the 
 leopard was not out that evening. What that 
 exactly signified remained a mystery, but one would 
 not ordinarily care to depend upon a leopard or any 
 other beast of prey taking a night off. It is a 
 perpetual surprise that these boys, who can go off 
 at will to hunt in the forest or plains, and to lead 
 a life which is the ideal of most decent-minded, 
 healthy lads, should voluntarily yield up their 
 freedom, and choose to learn dismal letters in a 
 mud school. It is difficult to see the romance in 
 the latter ; it is not, in being chased by a buffalo. 
 If anything speaks of an unseen, compelling 
 influence at work, it is this.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 273 
 
 The day drones along. The sun is immediately 
 overhead, fierce and dazzling. The cattle, thirsty 
 beasts, have been brought back from the hot 
 fields to the cool shade of a spreading tree, outside 
 the village, while the people are either resting in 
 their huts, or lying about wherever there is 
 protection from the intense heat ! 
 
 Courtesies. A stranger arrives, one from a 
 neighbouring tribe. Greetings, chiefly consisting 
 of amiable grunts, are exchanged with the drowsy 
 ones, and the inevitable request for water made. 
 It is hard, fearful work tramping under that blue 
 and gold sky where the sand burns the feet, and the 
 scrub but accentuates the dryness, and makes man 
 cry out often in agony for a draught of water, 
 which is never clear and never enough. 
 
 Two questions follow. These strike new- 
 comers as grossly impertinent : ' Where have you 
 come from ?' ' Where are you going ?' 
 
 But it shows a polite interest in a traveller's, 
 movements and invites a courteous reply. In a 
 land where nothing is easier than to lose the way 
 and come speedily to a disastrous end, it is not 
 altogether wise to reject attentions kindly meant. 
 
 Further conversation turns on the eternal 
 problems of the weather, state of the crops, what 
 the nearest white man is doing, the latest news 
 from the coast, and the forthcoming dance. 
 
 Smoking. Then a pipe of strongest home- 
 grown tobacco. Smoking is an art rather compli- 
 cated by a long stem which shows an inclination 
 to leave the black mud bowl, to which it is loosely
 
 274 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 attached by a thin string. Two or three puffs and 
 the pipe is passed on. 
 
 Boys smoke. Nowadays, unfortunately, cigar- 
 ettes of a particularly vile character can be 
 bought at shops kept by Indians or Arabs. This 
 induces inhaling. 
 
 But in the old days and in some districts boys 
 had first to obtain permission from their fathers 
 before they pulled at a pipe. This was gained by 
 presenting a chicken to the parent. How the 
 chickens were procured is not recorded. A boy's 
 first impressions of a well-matured African pipe 
 were probably very vivid, and perhaps painful. 
 If they were not, he was a brave boy. 
 
 Cattle. Towards sunset the village again 
 shows signs of life. The girls begin to prepare the 
 evening meal, and hot and tired men come in with 
 their hoes, and look in to see how long the food 
 is likely to be in coming. Apparently they are 
 always disappointed, and retire precipitately to 
 a corner whence they can watch the incoming 
 cattle and goats. Sheep there are, but they are 
 nothing accounted of. The pride of the eyes is 
 the goat. He represents stability, cattle-wealth. 
 Cattle that are black and big-horned and good to 
 look upon are beyond the dreams of avarice. The 
 African husbandman may have money coin 
 hidden away in a secret place in a field.or even under 
 the very feet of the unsuspecting wife, but that 
 which brings a look of keen joy to the shrewd old 
 black face is the long procession of beasts that 
 winds nightly into the village.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 275 
 
 While this is going on the men take no interest 
 in aught else. That, to them, is the principal 
 event of the day, of life in fact, and no doubt they 
 wonder how others live without it. 
 
 Food. Then the meal, the second chief meal of 
 the day. The African is content with a lack of 
 
 THE PRIDE OF THE EYES IS THE GOAT. 
 
 variety. Porridge of maize, cassava, banana, 
 with a dish of curry such as only the African woman 
 can make, satisfy him for all time. It is not 
 altogether true to say that he merely requires 
 quantity, though that too is very comforting, but 
 he is touchy as to the cooking. Porridge scorched 
 in the making is immediately rejected, and often
 
 276 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 the occasion of much domestic infelicity. More- 
 over, the wife is conscious of the iniquity of her 
 sin, and calmly submits to a castigation which is 
 not always of the tongue. When a man depends 
 upon one or two kinds of food he wants a lot and 
 he wants it good. There are no course-dinners 
 in Africa. 
 
 Rice is extravagant, but easier to get in coast 
 and inland towns where there is a cosmopolitan 
 population. After a twenty-mile march there is 
 nothing quite so good in the cool of the evening 
 as a dish of well-cooked rice, with grains that drop 
 from the hand one by one, seasoned with young 
 cocoanut and served with a basin of rich curry. 
 And there is nothing so satisfying, except another 
 dish ! It is not the custom for men and women 
 to eat together. Often the men have a common 
 meal and the women likewise, but in different parts 
 of the village. 
 
 A washing of hands precedes the meal, which 
 savours of the ridiculous. A junior carries round 
 a small ladle of water not exceeding a large cupful, 
 and sprinkles it over the fingers of the diners. 
 
 The hand is then thrust into the hot, steaming 
 porridge and a considerable portion brought forth. 
 This is rolled up into convenient balls, which are 
 dipped into the curry and then dexterously bowled 
 into a more or less cavernous mouth. It is a 
 solemn function with a speedy dismissal. 
 
 Little is seen of the inhabitants after the 
 evening meal. There is the low hum of voices as 
 one passes a hut, but as light chiefly consists of
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 277 
 
 the glowing embers, it is easier to pass the dark 
 hours in sleep. 
 
 Dancing. Yet the glorious moon upsets any- 
 thing like routine. The Africans find their chief 
 amusement in dancing. A dance may just be 
 of a few hours' duration, or a few weeks' or 
 months'. It may be good or evil. It may 
 consist of wild-leaping movements, as in the 
 case of the agile Yaos, or in a quiet and dignified 
 ' Here we come gathering nuts and may ' sort of 
 thing. Then there is the circling dance, with an 
 exhibition of wonderful muscular control by a 
 professional. 
 
 The longer dances are connected with tribal 
 rites, and as a rule are mixed up with much evil. 
 
 Other amusements are confined to certain 
 round games, and the playing of musical 
 instruments, e.g. the native piano, a kind of 
 xylophone, which in the hands of a skilful 
 player is distinctly pleasing, the reed pipe with 
 which the lads while away lonely hours in field 
 or forest, and a primitive guitar which emits a 
 truly primitive sound. 
 
 Singing. Singing is very popular amongst 
 certain tribes, and they have some excellent part- 
 songs. Others are of the antiphonal order and 
 intricate. A procession through the hills is to be 
 remembered. One or two men in the front start 
 the song, chanting in a minor key. Then the 
 shrill voices of the boys answer in chorus, blending 
 in weird fashion with the deep and rich bass of the 
 men in the rear. As the Jong line heads its. way
 
 278 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 through the pass the women appear at points 
 here and there overlooking it, and trill out a wild, 
 piercing note. 
 
 The hills on either side send the sound to and 
 fro, and underneath it all is the regular, low, clear 
 chanting of the theme. As an additional effect, 
 supply red paint, spears, bows and arrows, feathers, 
 brass and iron instruments, and there is a taste 
 of the wonderful charm of Africa, something of its 
 very life. 
 
 Religion. The religious side of the African 
 cannot be discussed here ; it is far too big a 
 subject. But this can be said. He is not taken 
 up entirely with material things. Religion is a 
 very real matter to him, whether it be connected 
 with evil spirits and their propitiation, the teach- 
 ings of Mohammed, or the doctrines of Christianity. 
 Enthusiasm marks him. Lukewarmness seems 
 foreign to his nature. He is willing to listen and 
 eager to discuss. That is why men and women 
 who are living out their lives for -his spiritual 
 enlightenment find in him, with all his faults, 
 a powerful factor against prevailing indifference 
 elsewhere, and a strength and support in days of 
 distress and doubt. The African spells Hope. 
 
 Work. It is of faith that the African 
 never works, or if he does, no more than 
 is necessary. It is also of faith that the European 
 does, which is a delightful commentary on the 
 art of self-deception. Now work seems not 
 to be considered such unless it is connected with 
 team and coal, machinery and dividends, and
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 279 
 
 blackness generally. Outside of the hideous 
 creations of man nothing counts, neither God nor 
 nature ; and nothing is work. 
 
 To be out in the fields before dawn, to hoe and 
 sow until the fierce sun playing on the uncovered 
 body means pain and thirst and weariness ; to 
 return at nightfall, spent with the waste of the 
 body, and to go on thus day by day all that is 
 nothing. 
 
 No wonder the African is sometimes puzzled at 
 the Western standpoint. But under the influence 
 of civilisation he is gradually learning what joy 
 lurks in bad liquor, and what beauty lies in nuts and 
 bolts and old straw hats. The Western ought to 
 be satisfied. The African is learning to work. 
 
 Also, methods are primitive, and this the Euro- 
 pean resents, and so improves them, or tries to ; 
 curiously enough, the African resents this in his 
 turn, but being too polite to show it, accepts the 
 situation and spoils the tools. The European is 
 not merely surprised, he is angry. His memory 
 being short, he forgets that men once shed blood 
 over the introduction of improved methods in a 
 more enlightened land. 
 
 It is true that in the old days the African had 
 some leisure which he devoted to certain pleasures 
 making war and feasting. But under a peaceful 
 government that is past, and he now devotes that 
 same leisure to find the wherewithal to pay for his 
 peace. Here are a few ways in which the African 
 is finding himself: 
 
 I. Field Work. This has been remarked
 
 280 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 upon already. It necessitates being out in the sun 
 and rain day after day, at certain periods of the 
 year. The African .and his family depend upon 
 the crops. If they fail, he and his starve. 
 That is all. 
 
 2. Payment of Taxes. These, amounting to 
 three rupees a year (45.), are paid in current coin. It 
 is not always possible to sell produce, nor is it always 
 advisable. There are locusts and famine, and this 
 year's crop may mean next year's too, and roots 
 are not good eating. So it is necessary to go far 
 afield and trade or find rubber. It means time, 
 and the field work surfers, and probably the family. 
 
 3. Repair of the Roads. This is no easy 
 matter where the grass grows so high and to such 
 a density that a man a few yards ahead is lost 
 to the view of his companions. Africa is a land 
 of distances, and roads are long. The government 
 wants roads and the people cut them. They keep 
 them in repair, too. Each village supplies so many 
 men. 
 
 4. Carrying of Loads. Transport is a diffi- 
 culty, and keeps up prices. Therefore, the cheapest 
 and quickest method of transport is desirable. 
 
 Men's heads are both suitable and cheap. The 
 able-bodied are called upon to carry loads of 60 Ib. 
 and upwards for a reward which would be amusing 
 if it were not pathetic. 
 
 5. Building. During the rains the huts 
 surfer often collapse entirely. The African 
 usually is his own builder. His friends help, and 
 in turn he helps them. It is not always an easy
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 281 
 
 matter to find either friends or material. The 
 Western finds profit in trees from which the African 
 builds his house and keeps his fire going. And 
 what of the thatch in a year of dryness ? 
 
 6. Shepherding". Something has been said of 
 this. If a man is enterprising enough to keep 
 cattle he must also look after them himself or pay 
 others to. Even his own sons have to live. And 
 how is he to marry them off without a settlement ? 
 Cattle are a guarantee of good faith ; they are a 
 part of family life. At any time disease may 
 sweep that part away, and leave him a poor and 
 broken man. 
 
 The best and most intelligent way of deciding 
 whether this is work or not is to go and do likewise. 
 
 W. G. WEBSTER.
 
 282 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 XXII 
 
 SUNDAY AT MSALABANI 
 
 NOTE. Msalabani is the head-quarters of the Universities' 
 Mission in the Magila Archdeaconry, on the main- 
 land. It takes a day and a half to get there from 
 Zanzibar, travelling by steamer to Tanga, a coast town 
 in possession of the Germans, where the Mission has 
 a rest-house and small chapel. Travellers generally 
 pass the night here and proceed by train the next 
 morning to Muheza, the nearest station, and three 
 miles distant from Msalabani. The Mission station 
 was started forty years ago. There are stone build- 
 ings, a beautiful church, and large schools, one for 
 boys and one for girls. The people here are called 
 Bondei. In spite of Islam and the nearness of the 
 commercial world, Msalabani is a real stronghold of 
 the Christian Faith. 
 
 THE sort of question that people so often ask us 
 when we come home is, ' What do you do out 
 there ? ' And we missionaries find it so hard to 
 give a satisfactory answer, because most of us are 
 engaged in doing what seem such ordinary things. 
 The routine of the station has become to us so 
 commonplace, and contrasts between church life in 
 Africa and England, which strike those at home as 
 quaintly interesting, no longer seem so to us. 
 Therefore we evade the question by relating 
 some particular incident in our missionary life
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 283 
 
 which has not at all the same interest for our 
 questioner. 
 
 And so, in the hope of satisfying some who may 
 really want to know, I set myself the task of trying
 
 284 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 to picture in words what we do on an ordinary 
 Sunday morning at Msalabani, the central station 
 in the Archdeaconry. 
 
 The first event is the waking bell at 5.45 A.M. 
 The schoolboys immediately turn out of their 
 dormitories and go down to the river for their 
 morning wash, and each boy when he returns brings 
 up a bucket of water for the day's supply. At 
 6.20 a single bell begins to ring. This calls people 
 to Matins, which is said at 6.30. There are present 
 at this service the catechumens of the school, 
 teachers living on the station, boys who are going 
 to communicate, and a few others, including 
 Christians and catechumen boys from a distance, 
 who come here overnight, and find a corner to roll 
 up in and sleep the sleep of the just. At 6.30 also 
 there is an English celebration in the oratory. 
 This enables most of the Mission staff to have a 
 light breakfast at seven o'clock, and so avoid the 
 strain of waiting until after the long service which 
 is to follow. 
 
 At seven o'clock the bells begin. Oh, those bells ! 
 They are quite unique. There are six of them, 
 small and light, but of a very sweet tone. They 
 are rung by the pressure of the hand on pieces of 
 board, which again are attached by cords to the 
 clappers. The boys love ringing them. They 
 strum on the pieces of wood, and the bells just seem 
 to tumble over each other in a joyous disregard 
 to order and method. And then occasionally the 
 ringer presses down several boards at once, making 
 a dreadful clanging. It reminds one exactly of a
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 285 
 
 custom in some villages in England, where the local 
 ringing-choir attempt what they call ' firing ' on 
 great occasions. The bells go on at intervals till 
 7.30, when the church has begun to fill. 
 
 The men and boys, who sit on one side of the 
 church, are most of them dressed in the long white 
 garment called kanzu ; the women and girls, 
 who sit on the other, are clothed in what we 
 call ' sheeties. ' A stranger would imagine that the 
 ladies had taken table-cloths of every conceivable 
 pattern and hue, cut them in half, and wrapped the 
 pieces round them, tying coloured handkerchiefs to 
 match on their heads. It is a picturesque congre- 
 gation. There is generally a churching just before 
 service begins. And here let me say that we follow 
 the rubrics very strictly. The woman comes to 
 church ' decently apparelled/ i.e. she wears on her 
 head a white covering which corresponds to the 
 churching veil of old time. One or two matrons 
 kneel beside her and bear her company during the 
 office. She never fails to bring the ' accustomed 
 offering,' and in most cases she has prepared her- 
 self to receive the Holy Communion, which, as the 
 Prayer Book says, ' is convenient ' for her to do. 
 
 At 7.30 the choir come from the vestry, and 
 proceed to the west end of the church ; the priest, 
 servers, and two cantors take their places in the 
 chancel, and the latter begin the Litany, singing it 
 as far as the priest's part. During the hymn, 
 which is sung between the Litany and Celebration, 
 people crowd into church. 
 
 Some are late because they live a long way off,
 
 286 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 perhaps a walk of two hours or more. But the 
 majority are late because they are Africans, and 
 consequently have no idea of time. There is 
 not the least disturbance. They come in (as they 
 walk out at all times of the service) perfectly 
 silently, and kneel down in some vacant spot. The 
 musical service is adapted from the plainsong of 
 the mediaeval Church. Those who know, and have 
 had years of experience of African singing, say that 
 it lends itself to greater reverence than any other 
 setting of the Holy Communion service that has 
 hitherto been attempted. In the hymns the congre- 
 gation have an opportunity for what they dearly 
 love, viz. a good old shout, and the men of course 
 try and find the parts. But there is no getting 
 away from the fact that the Bantu tribes 
 have no natural ear for this art in the same 
 way that the South or West Africans have. 
 Teachers who can read their tonic sol-fa tune- 
 books sing quite nicely, but the ordinary native 
 when he ' puts in bass,' as he calls it, can only be 
 compared to a bassoon player who has not long 
 been in the band. 
 
 The sermon comes after the Gospel and before 
 the Creed, for the sake of the catechumens, who sit 
 behind a rail near the door of the church. The 
 men listen to the sermon very attentively, much 
 more so than the women, who soon get tired 
 and begin to arrange their own and look at their 
 neighbours' ' sheeties.' But the babies are the 
 preacher's chief distraction. They are supposed 
 to be asleep on their mother's or godmother's back,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 287 
 
 but they generally wake up during the sermon and 
 talk. The padre reminds these mothers every 
 now and then that when they go to market 
 they do not take their babies, but manage to find 
 some one to look after them ; he suggests that they 
 should do the same thing on vSunday morning. 
 However, it seems to have as much lasting effect as 
 sermon's on punctuality. After the sermon come 
 the notices, &c. Included in these are often some 
 that are not heard in an English church. For 
 instance, the congregation is told that So-and-So 
 having broken the seventh commandment, or 
 somebody else having taken part in some bad 
 heathen customs, are put under the censure of the 
 Church until such time as they show signs of true 
 repentance. And then sometimes the priest comes 
 down to the west end of the church, and receives 
 such a one back into the congregation. Next 
 follows the dismissal of the catechumens by the 
 deacon. They kneel, and the congregation re- 
 main standing, and a short litany and prayers are 
 said on their behalf. Afterwards the priest tells 
 them to ' go their way in peace.' Similarly a 
 prayer is said for those under censure, and they are 
 dismissed also ; and those at the back of the church 
 will see one or two leave the penitents' bench (the 
 only one in the nave) and quietly follow the 
 catechumens out of the church. After that the 
 officiant starts the Creed, and the service proceeds 
 in the ordinary way. Perhaps one thing a stranger 
 would notice is the prostration of the whole con- 
 gregation at the consecration prayer. Since there
 
 288 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 are no pews or seats, this act of worship is as simple 
 as it is striking. A congregation of free-born 
 Africans is reverent above all else ; reverence in 
 church is as natural to them as good manners are 
 out of church. 
 
 , After the last hymn the native churchwardens 
 go into the vestry to count the alms in the orthodox 
 way ; they also value the offerings in kind, such as 
 Indian corn, rice, &c. The congregation troop out 
 into the quadrangle, where there are already a 
 goodly number of catechumens and hearers col- 
 lected together, waiting for their classes. This is 
 about 9.15 ; and then for some minutes the place 
 seems to be swarming with people. It is a reunion 
 of Christians from the various villages. They 
 literally sit about ' in companies on the ground.' 
 Christian women gossip near the porch ; catechu- 
 men women gather together near the ladies' 
 quarters ; teachers form one group ; boys from the 
 villages tell their news to their former school 
 friends who are now living as boarders in the cen- 
 tral school ; groups of little heathen boys with only 
 a rag of cloth round their loins sit staring up at the 
 Europeans' quarters, watching those strange beings, 
 the white men, talk and act. Some of this last 
 group never fail to pay a visit to the rubbish pit, 
 in the hope of picking up empty tins, or scraps of 
 newspaper with pictures on them. 
 
 Then at 9.30 three bells tinkle, ding-dong-dell 
 fashion, to call the hearers and catechumens to 
 instruction. First of all the catechumens go to the 
 schoolroom for their names to be called. After
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 289 
 
 that, they are all marched into church, a goodly 
 company of more than a hundred generally ; the 
 service is in Bondei, and consists of the Command- 
 ments, and a metrical litany, followed by a 
 repetition lesson in catechism form. About five 
 questions and answers are attempted on some 
 incident in our Lord's life ; this part is conducted 
 by the head teacher. Then the deacon gives them 
 an address on the subject of their repetition, inter- 
 spersing plenty of questions to keep them awake. 
 After a hymn and some prayers they go out. 
 Meantime the hearers, men, women, and boys, have 
 all had their various classes. This instruction is 
 done by teachers and readers, and although 
 Europeans may be present, everything is left to 
 these native agents. 
 
 All is over by 10.15, and the outsiders begin to 
 go their ways. But there is no peace yet for the 
 European missionaries. Teachers from the out- 
 schools come and pour out to those in authority 
 the troubles that are worrying them. People who 
 could quite well come on Monday try and wheedle 
 medicine out of those in charge of the dispensary. 
 This is a great time too for the schoolboys to come 
 and borrow picture magazines, and needles and 
 cotton to mend their clothes, not to mention razors 
 for shaving their heads. 
 
 At eleven o'clock, both Europeans and central 
 school boarders have their morning meal. Sext 
 follows at 11.30, and by twelve o'clock most of 
 the staff are enjoying a rest which they are prob- 
 ably quite ready for. The boys have disappeared
 
 2go WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 entirely ; some are fishing, others are kicking about 
 a football on the ground below the station, others 
 have gone off to visit their friends and relations. 
 In fact the whole quadrangle seems to be deserted, 
 and is quieter then than at any other time in the 
 week. It remains so until four o'clock, when 
 people come back for Evensong. 
 
 Well, this is one answer to the question, ' What 
 do you do out there ? ' This is how we spend 
 Sunday morning at Msalabani. 
 
 The Catechism. Our readers may also like to 
 hear how the service of the catechism is conducted 
 in Africa. At half-past eight one of the forty daily 
 bells rings out sharply, and this is a signal for all 
 the boys to file out of the upper and lower schools, 
 and to march along the corridor to church, which 
 is prepared for a catechising. The pulpit is stand- 
 ing in the nave, and between the pillars desks are 
 put for the teachers, who are to record the boys' 
 marks. Each boy as he comes in takes from a shelf 
 his own special pile of books, which is held to- 
 gether by a strap, and then they sit down in 
 sections. It is a strange mixture of the familiar 
 and the unfamiliar. The church itself is like a 
 rudely-built village church in England, but the 
 corrugated iron roof reminds us that we are in 
 Africa. There are no pews or chairs either, and 
 the boys sitting on the floor with their knees up to 
 their chins look very different from the rows of 
 Sunday-school children at home. Very African, 
 too, are the basins and bits of coloured rag which are 
 scattered here and there to catch the rain as it leaks
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 291 
 
 through the roof on a wet day. The catechising be- 
 gins as usual with the set questions. The names of 
 the boys are the same as our English names, only they 
 have a Swahili form Petro, Karlo, Jorji, Albano, 
 and so on. The boys are just as keen on answering 
 as boys in England, but they are absolutely unself- 
 conscious, and they have a quiet, dignified way of 
 standing up and sitting down, and show their 
 emotions less than English children. In the jeu 
 de bons points extremely good answers are given. 
 After the hymn the writing-boards are given out, 
 and they begin making notes of the lesson in a 
 business-like way. The lesson is based on one in 
 ' Notes on the Catechism,' but all the illustrations 
 have to be altered to suit African boys. After the 
 psalm the Gospel is sung, and sung faultlessly, by 
 two boys in surplices and red cassocks, and then 
 follow the Creed and the Homily. To-day the 
 Homily is an allegory, and the boys sit motionless ; 
 it is only by watching how their eyes sparkle that 
 one realises how every point goes home. How 
 about the Analyses ? Everyone tries to write a 
 jawabu, as they call it, even the tiny boys and the 
 catechumens. On the whole, the average of know- 
 ledge is very high, and they show great originality 
 in giving illustrations of their own, and in applying 
 texts, antiphons, and hymns to explain a point. 
 Benjamin writes, ' " Out of Egypt have I called my 
 Son " is a prophecy of the Ascension ' ; and Ack- 
 worth explains that ' " Destroy this temple, and in 
 three days I will raise it up," means that the Holy 
 Catholic Church will never die.'
 
 292 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 Sometimes their remarks show great devotion, 
 e.g. ' The Catholic Church is joyful when a Christian 
 makes his Communion.' 
 
 ' If one does not draw nigh to Christ in the 
 Blessed Sacrament, one cannot draw nigh to Him 
 at the Last Day.' 
 
 ' It is true that every time we go to get absolu- 
 tion for sin and confess our besetting sin we get 
 forgiveness, but that sin hinders us.' 
 
 ' If a man cannot pray, let him go to church 
 and say, " Our Father, teach me to pray." 
 
 ' If we say words in prayer which we do not 
 understand, let us take care to fix our eyes on God.' 
 
 ' Let us kneel properly, and not look at people, 
 and then God will see that these boys are trying, 
 even though they are not fundis. ' * 
 
 The boys are very happy and proud when they 
 have gained enough marks on their Analyses to be 
 given a Swahili New Testament. 
 
 But the great reward, though the boys do not 
 realise it at the time, is the foundation of sound 
 doctrine which the Catechism gives them, a foun- 
 dation which will be of such use to them when they 
 become the teachers of the next generation. 
 
 C. C. F. AND D. C. A. 
 
 * Fundi, master of an art.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 293 
 
 XXIII 
 BONDEI WOMEN 
 
 THE Bondei women who live in the Magila district 
 are quite a different type from those in Zanzibar. 
 It was my privilege to work among them for seven 
 years, and I think some account of them may be 
 interesting. 
 
 Appearance. To begin with, their appearance 
 when young is decidedly prepossessing. They 
 are generally quite light brown in colour, their eyes 
 are very large and soft, and their expression modest 
 and gentle, but rather melancholy. 
 
 Work. The women in a village lead a fairly 
 hard life. They trudge off at an early hour in 
 the morning to their work, for a man considers 
 it his wife's business not only to cook his food, 
 but also to help to cultivate the ground which 
 provides that food.* 
 
 Till noon they hoe and weed and plant. The 
 hoe used in these parts, and indeed throughout 
 Africa, is a short-handled one which in using 
 necessitates a stooping posture. The ground is 
 often very hard and stony, and requires an immense 
 
 * A man has his part, a woman hers.
 
 294 
 
 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 amount of strength and energy to break it up 
 
 ready for planting. 
 
 The Meal. At noon a meal must be pre- 
 
 pared. To do this, wood for the fire must be 
 
 collected from the forest, 
 and water fetched from 
 the nearest water-hole 
 in the rainy season, but 
 in the dry weather the 
 women have to tramp 
 to the river, which is 
 often at some distance 
 from the village. 
 
 Then corn for the 
 porridge must be 
 pounded in a wooden 
 mortar with a heavy 
 pole, the corn having 
 been previously shelled 
 from the cob and picked 
 over, for if it has been 
 stored for any time the 
 rats, which abound in 
 native huts, would have 
 made a few meals off it, 
 
 SpOllmg Q. gOOd deal, 
 
 and all respectable 
 Africans are most particular about their food. 
 
 Sometimes the women go to the fields again 
 in the afternoon, and stay until it is time to prepare 
 the evening meal, which is eaten between five and 
 six, the women sitting together by themselves, and 
 
 A BONDEI WOMAN AND HER BABY.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 295 
 
 the husband, sons, and small boys in a separate 
 group in another part of the village. If they 
 
 ;ARKYIXG WATER FROM THE RivtR. 
 
 do not go to the fields again they employ them- 
 selves in pounding more corn, putting out their
 
 296 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 cassava to dry in the sun, and other household 
 duties. 
 
 When there is no field work to be done, which 
 is the case during a very dry season, the women 
 sit about gossiping and playing with their 
 children. 
 
 Mat- and Basket-making. Those who are 
 clever and industrious make mats, weaving the 
 plaits from the dried and split leaves of a certain 
 palm tree. For a coloured mat the palm leaf 
 must first be dyed. The real native dyes are 
 made from leaves, bark, and various other in- 
 gredients, and the secrets for making some of the 
 special colours are jealously guarded by the 
 limited number who know them. But in these 
 degenerate days gaudy and vulgar English dyes, 
 which can be bought at the Indian shops for a 
 few pice, are replacing the rich and sombre fast 
 colours made by the native women. 
 
 Conservatism. African women are very 
 conservative in their occupations, and never do 
 any work which has always been done by men. 
 They entirely refuse to make the thick kind of 
 plait of which the baskets and dishes in general 
 use are made, that always having been a man's 
 trade, so it is quite difficult to get these baskets, 
 for so many men are now employed by the Euro- 
 peans that there is no time left for making them. 
 
 Dwelling's. The houses, or rather huts, in 
 which our Bondei women sleep have already 
 been described in ' An African Village.' The 
 roof is generally used as a granary, and in the
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 297 
 
 thatch money and other small articles are, some- 
 times too securely, hidden away. A nice old 
 Bondei widow had managed to save up sixteen 
 rupees, and hid them in the thatch of her roof. 
 One day when she went to get them they were 
 gone. Being a cheerful old soul, she accepted 
 the inevitable without a murmur. Some time 
 after she moved into a new house, and, according 
 to custom, proceeded to pull down the old one. 
 When she came to remove the thatch, deep down 
 and hidden among it she found her lost rupees, 
 quite black with smoke and dirt. The first 
 thing the old woman did, after washing her precious 
 rupees in the river, was to go to the Mission-house 
 and offer one of them as a thankoffering. 
 
 It is not the custom for a woman or girl to sleep 
 in her parents' house, and nearly every village 
 has public dormitories, both for girls and boys. 
 Christian girls often have a picture or two and 
 their books in their dormitories, and when you 
 go to see them invite you to come in and sit 
 there. 
 
 Common Property. All the utensils in a 
 village seem to be common property. The 
 women borrow each other's mortars, pestles, and 
 baskets, and when they want to light their fire 
 just walk into their nearest neighbour's hut, 
 and calmly take a burning stick from the three 
 stones which do duty for a grate. 
 
 Dress. In the old and simple days the father 
 of a family manufactured loin cloths for himself 
 and his wives from the beaten fibre and bark
 
 2 9 8 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 of trees, or went without ; and children, of course, 
 were content with Nature's clothing. 
 
 Now the two pieces of cloth, or sheeties, which 
 serve to dress a woman with grace and modesty, 
 can be bought from the Indian shops in the nearest 
 town. The Christian women have a specially 
 pretty way of draping the upper sheetie, bringing 
 it over their heads so as to form a veil. 
 
 The patterns of these* garments vary con- 
 siderably, from really pretty floral designs to 
 representations of a train, the Sultan's clock-tower 
 in Zanzibar, or some gigantic animal, printed in 
 black on a white or coloured ground. The price 
 of a sheetie varies from 2s. for an old pattern to 
 double that sum, and more, for the latest and 
 most up-to-date design. 
 
 W : hen a woman ' is at work she discards her 
 second sheetie, or uses it to bind her baby to her 
 back. A husband ought to give his wife a new 
 dress every three months or so, but he does not 
 do it, and his wife is often compelled to get the 
 money for renovating her wardrobe by selling 
 oranges and mangoes by the roadside or in the 
 market. 
 
 Hairdressing. Many of the Bondei women 
 are professional hairdressers ; they comb out their 
 woolly locks till they are quite a respectable 
 length, divide them into many partings and plait 
 them neatly and tightly across the head, charging 
 a few pice for their work. 
 
 Ornaments. The Bondei women, in common 
 with all their African sisters, adorn themselves
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 299 
 
 with quantities of bright-coloured beads, and, 
 if they are rich enough, wear silver necklaces and 
 many rings of brass wire below their knees and 
 on their wrists right up to their elbows. They 
 wear a silver ring with a rupee attached to it on 
 one finger, a little silver stud in the nostril, and 
 sometimes several round the outside edge of the 
 ear. Some of them ornament the lobe of their 
 ears with rolls of coloured paper. 
 
 Wedding Rings. The wedding ring is a 
 Christian innovation, introduced to meet the 
 requirements of the marriage service, and though 
 only made of silver, the bridegroom has been 
 known to demur at the expense of procuring it. 
 The girls marry very young, and it is a reproach 
 to a girl if she does not get a husband as soon 
 as she is of a marriageable age. 
 
 Tribal Dances. Christian girls have a good 
 deal to bear from their heathen surroundings. 
 The tribal dances, which are considered most 
 important and necessary for their well-being, are 
 entirely forbidden as impossible for any Christian 
 to take part in. If a woman's child dies, or is born 
 with anything unlucky or unusual about it, all the 
 heathen are ready at once to say it is because 
 the mother was not danced. Sometimes in a 
 village you see a sort of archway at the entrance, 
 made with three poles, and charms tied to the 
 crossbeam. This signifies that Kiwanga, the 
 dance for women and girls, is taking place. 
 
 Further on in the village there would be an 
 enclosure built of boughs and banana leaves,
 
 300 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 and in front of it a whole flock of waiting girls. 
 You would hear the beat of drums, and see people 
 coming in streams from all directions. 
 
 For these dances are advertised all round the 
 country, and the expenses attendant upon them 
 are paid by the people themselves. They are not 
 allowed to be held near any Mission station, but 
 even if Christians are strong enough to refuse to 
 take any part in them, it is very difficult to keep 
 them from looking on. Of course the Government 
 could put a stop to these dances if it wished, and 
 it is possible the people would not be sorry, for I 
 once heard a heathen man say that he would not 
 have his girls danced, as it was an unclean custom. 
 
 Religion. Perhaps their religion, if indeed 
 it is worthy of that term, can be best described in 
 the one word fear. They have a vague idea of a 
 supreme being who does not trouble himself much 
 about them, but allows them to be annoyed by 
 numerous evil spirits which haunt trees and places 
 as well as human beings. ' Possessed with a devil ' 
 is a very common saying in Africa. These spirits 
 have to be propitiated with offerings, and out- 
 witted as far as possible. Thus, living as they 
 do in constant dread of evil coming to them through 
 the agency of evil spirits, we cannot wonder that 
 the African, man, woman, and child alike, believe 
 firmly in witchcraft, and the power of charms to 
 resist these influences, for in Africa no man is 
 ever believed to die a natural death ; it is always 
 ' an enemy hath done this.' 
 
 Charms. The following are some of the
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 301 
 
 charms most constantly used to prevent sickness 
 visiting a village ; an arch of dried banana stems 
 is built at the entrance, with a half-formed 
 cocoanut, bits of coloured rag, dried fruit, and 
 such-like useless things tied to it. To prevent 
 attacks from robbers, two large shells are placed 
 in little shelters built of stones. 
 
 A baby wears a ring made of feathers bound 
 round with grass, and a string, with a little bit of 
 polished bone hanging from it, is tied to a lock 
 of the child's hair. If her child is ill with any 
 of the small sicknesses common to infants, the 
 mother will wear charms round her breast ; these 
 are little packets bound with blue cord, containing 
 passages from the Koran, or indeed any piece of 
 writing, English or otherwise, which the medicine 
 man may have picked up on his rounds. To 
 enable her child to cut its teeth easily a mother 
 will procure a charm, and fasten it to the cloth 
 which ties the babe to her back. 
 
 I once asked a heathen woman how much 
 she had paid for a charm to cure skin disease, 
 and she told me it had cost as much as one rupee, 
 equal to a shilling and fourpence in English 
 money. It is a sad fact that even Christian women 
 in times of sickness and trouble return to the 
 charms which they had given up, and wear them 
 concealed on their person, or put them on their 
 children, especially before the latter are baptised, 
 saying it does not matter. The charm may 
 have been given by heathen relations, who are 
 always ready with these little attentions ; or some
 
 302 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 trouble may have weakened the mother's faith, 
 and made her think, ' God hath forgotten, He 
 hideth away His face and He will never see.' It 
 must not be forgotten that these charms come 
 from the witch-doctor, and their value consists 
 in the incantations which he has said over 
 them. The medicine man, who is supposed to 
 have the power of driving out evil spirits, 
 procuring rain, averting evil, and finding out the 
 cause and root of every mischief and calamity 
 which overtakes man or beast, is naturally a. 
 person of great power and importance, consulted 
 not only by the heathen, but at times by the 
 weaker brethren among our converts. 
 
 There is one who lives in a solitary hut behind 
 the Mission station at Msalabani, and one day, 
 soon after my first arrival, I was visiting one of 
 the villages and saw a weird-looking creature 
 capering wildly about to the sound of a drum 
 which was being loudly beaten. He was dressed 
 in a skin with a long tail, and was hideously 
 disguised and painted. As I drew near he seemed 
 to make a rush at me, and seized with a foolish 
 panic I took to my heels and sought refuge in the 
 house of a Christian which was near. The man 
 followed me, and insisted on shaking my hand, 
 and then I found it was the medicine man, who 
 had been engaged in driving out a devil ; I do not 
 know if he was personating the evil spirit by his 
 dress. When a devil is being expelled the patient 
 is danced round to the sound of drums for a night 
 or two. when she naturally becomes hysterical,
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 303 
 
 and when this point is reached the devil is supposed 
 to have taken his departure. I have been told 
 that the doctor sometimes declares that the devil 
 is English or German, in which case he has to 
 be addressed in his own language. 
 
 One of our teachers was once asked to assist 
 in driving out an English devil, but I am glad to 
 say he refused. 
 
 Medicine and Sickness. African women (and 
 men) do not think much of any medicine that does 
 not W 7 ork an instant, or at any rate a rapid, cure. 
 Their own methods are open, obvious, and violent, 
 and they often prefer them to ours, which are for 
 the most part hidden and gradual. They would 
 probably think a good deal more of ours if we 
 were to say a few words, or make mysterious signs 
 over it. As it is, their faith in our medicines 
 is not very strong, but even with their own native 
 medicines they are always changing and trying 
 new ones. When suffering from weakness after 
 an illness I have seen sick people grind up a piece 
 of iron very fine and take it as a powder, but 
 they would not come to us and take iron in its 
 medicinal form. In face, however, of this distrust, 
 or whatever it may be, 8,000 were treated in the 
 dispensary in 1908. 
 
 Native Methods. Sometimes when visiting 
 villages I have seen Christian girls being doctored 
 in the native way. The patient sits on the ground 
 with her cloth slipped to her waist ; the doctor cuts 
 her chest and arms, and rubs in some sort of sharp 
 medicine, using appropriate words ; then he gives
 
 304 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 her medicine to drink, and applies some to the 
 parts of her body which are affected with pain 
 or disease. These medicines are contained in 
 gourds or horns arranged round the medicine man, 
 who stands all the time. Finally, the doctor 
 makes a movement with his hands signifying 
 that the illness is cast out from his patient, who 
 gets up and makes a similar motion with her own 
 hands. 
 
 The Christians say there is no harm in this way 
 of being doctored, provided you do not wear 
 the charms which are given to heathen patients. 
 I have also seen a woman being doctored in a 
 really heathen way. She also sat on the ground ; 
 her body was covered with red patches, produced 
 by applying the inner bark of some tree. The 
 medicine man with a wooden rattle, like two goat- 
 bells fastened in the middle, in one hand, and a 
 live fowl, which he held by the legs, in the other, 
 was walking round her singing a monotonous 
 kind of chant, which I afterwards found out from 
 the schoolboys invoked every kind of snake by 
 name to come out of the patient and leave her 
 free to recover. This woman was a Christian ; 
 she had refused to go on with our medicine, which 
 at one time certainly had done her good. Probably 
 her relations had used pressure to make her try 
 this native cure. As soon as she was better she 
 had to be put under censure for a time. 
 
 Another native way is to cast lots to see what 
 the illness is from which a person is suffering. 
 The different diseases are named, and if the lot
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 305 
 
 falls several times to one in particular, that is 
 the one ascribed to the patient. 
 
 There was a woman in a village who, the 
 natives declared, had some mysterious affliction, 
 but who the doctor and nurse knew to be ill 
 with an internal disease. Her husband cast lots 
 about her illness, and she was taken a long way off 
 to the jungle, where she lived in a broken-down 
 hovel open to all the winds of heaven. Naturally 
 she got no better, and after a time she returned 
 to the village, and allowed the Mission nurses to 
 attend her till she died. 
 
 This woman was a Christian, but had cut herself 
 off from the Mission for some years. At her 
 funeral the service was interrupted by her brother, 
 who violently accused her husband of having 
 brought about her death by witchcraft or poison. 
 
 Visiting and Teaching. It will easily be seen 
 that visiting among these women and teaching 
 them the Christian faith is no easy matter. There 
 are about a hundred villages in the Magila district 
 where there are Christian women or catechumens. 
 
 Some of the villages are perched high on the 
 mountains, some nestle in the valleys and slopes, 
 others hang on the sides of palm-crowned hills. 
 Very few of them are at all large ; the number of 
 houses in each varies from six to fifteen. Much 
 time is spent in walking from one to another, 
 and sometimes after a long tramp you find that 
 the one Christian in that particular village has 
 moved off to some distance, entailing another day's 
 walk on some future occasion. I managed to
 
 3 o6 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 visit the nearer villages regularly every month or 
 five weeks, but those at a distance at much longer 
 intervals, and in the hot weather it was almost 
 impossible to climb the mountains or tramp any 
 great distance. 
 
 I found by experience that I was much more 
 likely to find the women at home in the afternoon 
 than in the morning, but even when they were 
 at home there was always a mixed company 
 present, and talking on serious matters was not 
 easy ; in fact I consider that one of the greatest 
 drawbacks and trials to visiting in Africa is, 
 that you always have an audience who are given 
 to make audible, and somewhat embarrassing, 
 comments on what you say. 
 
 Sometimes the women invited me into their 
 houses, or if I had anything particular to say I 
 would call them on one side, -but even then the 
 heathen women followed, to stare and listen to 
 the foreign woman talking. 
 
 Courtesy. Sitting in the houses of the women 
 I often admired the courtesy, patience, and good- 
 humour of the hostess over the constant inter- 
 ruptions and intrusions. 
 
 When I left a village the Christians and 
 catechumens would often walk part of the way 
 with me, and then perhaps they would grow con- 
 fidential, and speak of their most private affairs 
 which they were afraid to mention in the village, 
 where ears are sharp, and walls of a hut very thin. 
 
 The visits were opportunities for inquiring 
 about the children ; why the mothers had not been
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 307 
 
 coming to church ; for reminding them of fasts 
 and festivals, and for giving them a little religious 
 teaching; sometimes for teaching them their 
 prayers over again, for African women easily 
 and quickly forget, and need to be constantly 
 reminded of their duties, though they all come 
 more or less regularly to classes. 
 
 The Christian women are for the most part very 
 regular communicants. If they stay away it is 
 generally because they are not agreeing with their 
 husbands or neighbours, or they are falling into bad 
 ways. It is the custom at Magila for those women 
 who are going to make their communion on Sunday 
 to give in their names the previous Friday, and there 
 is an instruction class for them on these days to 
 which they come very regularly, though to do so 
 they have to start all their preparations for the 
 evening meal much earlier, so as to have every- 
 thing ready for their husbands when they come 
 home about 5 P.M. 
 
 Heathen. The heathen women in a village 
 are as a rule hard to rouse to any interest in 
 religion, but girls will very often come forward 
 to be taught, and sometimes a heathen girl who 
 is being courted by a Christian or catechumen 
 brings her companions with her to a hearers' class, 
 and they persevere for the two years' teaching 
 required before they can be baptised. 
 
 The women are indeed quite ready to listen 
 while you talk to them on religion, and will even 
 leave their work to attend weekly preachings for 
 a time, but they do not always follow it up by
 
 308 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 going to the nearest Mission station to put them- 
 selves under regular instruction for becoming 
 catechumens. 
 
 Results. There is not very much to show 
 for seven years' work among the Bondei women. 
 A little reminding, a little teaching, a little pray- 
 ing, a little drawing nearer to God. Weak faith, it 
 may be, strengthened, an erring sheep restored, and 
 now and then, thank God, a true Christian added 
 to the little flock, of which I give one instance. 
 
 She was a heathen woman who came to the 
 dispensary first, and then asked to be taught. 
 It was a long time before she was allowed to receive 
 the cross, but when I left Magila she was an 
 exemplary Christian. Her husband deserted her 
 many years ago, and she is very poor and lives 
 with a sister who is a heathen. 
 
 A great friend and supporter of the Mission 
 (now at rest) never forgot to pray for this woman, 
 and I have always thought her goodness was the 
 result of those prayers. Lately a man wished to 
 marry her ; he was a heathen, but said he would 
 be taught ; he did not, however, persevere, and 
 though a husband would be a great help and 
 comfort to her, this steadfast Christian entirely 
 refuses to marry a heathen. 
 
 Of one thing I am very sure, that unless we 
 can reach the women the progress of Christianity 
 will be seriously checked, as by their ignorance 
 and superstition they hold back the men from 
 accepting the faith. 
 
 M. W.
 
 MSALABANI GATEWAY.
 
 310 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 XXIV 
 A DAY AT MSALABANI SCHOOL 
 
 THE day begins at about twenty minutes to six, 
 when a sleepy figure draped in a blanket appears 
 out of the dormitory and goes off to ring the 
 waking bell. This same figure is a pupil teacher 
 at ordinary times, but is barely recognisable in 
 his present garb. Properly all boys and teachers 
 should rise at the sound of the bell, but those on 
 the station like most English boys snatch a 
 few minutes' more sleep when possible. 
 
 In the dormitories which are at some distance 
 from the station, where the majority of the 
 schoolboys sleep, the bell is a sign for hurry and 
 bustle, because all have to be out within five 
 minutes in order to give the boys whose turn it is 
 time to sweep out the dormitory. Prayers are 
 said privately by each boy, and then blankets are 
 folded and beds stood on end against the wall 
 for the convenience of the sweepers, and then 
 the boys run off to the river to wash, seizing 
 hold of buckets which are put ready over-night 
 to take with them ; for each boy is responsible for
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 311 
 
 drawing a pail of water, and woe betide anyone 
 whose bucket is not full, or who arrives with it 
 after time. 
 
 On returning to the station, all is life ; the 
 Angelus has rung on the big bell, which means 
 that it is past six o'clock. Water-drawers are 
 
 A MAG1LA BOY. 
 
 still coming in ; those who have finished bring- 
 ing it, set to at their work of sweeping the 
 dormitories on the station ; others begin their 
 allotted tasks for the month. 
 
 Ten past six ; the Matins bell has begun, 
 and almost simultaneously the teacher, marking 
 off the water-drawers, blows his whistle and
 
 3 i2 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 all those whose turn it is to attend Matins (all 
 catechumens and Christians, turn by turn, half 
 the school at a time) form up in line for roll- 
 call, then march into church. 
 
 Meanwhile, the business of water-drawing 
 and housework goes on ; and now Matins is 
 nearly over, for the catechumens are coming out, 
 and that means the service has got as far as 
 the Creed. More water-drawing and workers, 
 for the third boy to each bucket is almost always 
 a catechumen. 
 
 Twenty-five minutes to seven ; the bell for 
 Celebration has begun this time, and it will ring 
 for ten minutes, not five as at Matins, so there 
 is time to clear up and get ready. Twenty to 
 seven ; the whistle goes again, and the Christian 
 boys whose day it is to attend Celebration run 
 into line for roll-call, then march into church. 
 The Matins boys are now hard at work ; rooms, 
 verandahs, corridors, school, quad, drains, and 
 gutters all must be swept and tidied, and each 
 boy knows his work for the month. 
 
 Celebration over, out come the worshippers, 
 just in time to look round and finish any inter- 
 rupted work. What day is it ? Monday ? Then 
 each must take his Old Testament into school 
 with him. Tuesday ? Then the New Testament 
 will be required. 
 
 At 7.20 the first bell goes to warn all boys 
 and teachers to be ready ; at 7.25 second bell 
 and a rush for places in line. No slacking now, 
 or you '11 be late. One minute suffices to get
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 313 
 
 into line, then ' Right turn ! ' and ' Forward ! ' 
 into school. Names are called, school prayers 
 said, and school work begins in earnest at half- 
 past seven exactly. 
 
 At last there is silence on the station, rippled, 
 one may say, by a low hum from the two schools 
 the hum of steady workers. Eight o'clock brings 
 change of work, divisions change orderly and 
 quickly, then on again for an hour this time. 
 No noise, no talking ; we came here of our own 
 free-will, and we mean to make the most of our 
 time. 
 
 Eight fifty-five the school gong sounds, and then 
 comes general post. Religious instruction now 
 divisions all different ; big school and small 
 school mixed ; Christians and catechumens all 
 according to age and standing ; baptismal classes, 
 confirmation classes, first Communion classes, all 
 to their places. Then on until 9.45, when out 
 come the Testaments, New or Old, according to 
 the day, and steady Bible reading until ten. 
 
 The school gong again ; one ! two ! three ! all 
 ready ? Right turn ! Out you go, and now 
 you 've been very quiet and worked well, but you 
 are boys, and must use your lungs and your 
 limbs. Play, shout, romp, do what you like, 
 but do not go far away, because the food bell 
 will ring as soon as the boys for the week have 
 dished up. 
 
 There goes the bell, and now there is a rush for 
 the corridor where the plates of food rice or 
 porridge or Indian corn, with a piece of meat
 
 3 i4 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 or vegetable hash to help down the rice are 
 all arranged on the ground in lines ; small boys, 
 three to a plate ; big boys and teachers, two to 
 a plate. All here ? then ring the second bell 
 Silence, now, while the teacher in charge says 
 grace. Not too much noise, as there is not much 
 time, and the boys have to clear up and sweep 
 before the bell goes. 
 
 All finished ? Then on duty again ! Silence 
 for prayers ! 
 
 Twenty minutes to eleven ; just a quarter of 
 an hour for play. 
 
 At ten minutes to eleven the first bell goes, 
 then the second bell five minutes later and a 
 rush into line. Right turn ! and March ! into 
 school again. 
 
 Half-hour lessons now, as it is getting hotter, 
 and one feels sleepy after food. Twelve o'clock 
 goes, and with it the Angelus rings out, one ! 
 two ! three ! and every boy in a low voice 
 repeats the prayer commemorating the Incarna- 
 tion of our Lord and Saviour. To work again 
 until 12.30, then out and down to the river for 
 a bathe, and then a cool rest under the trees in 
 the orange grove. The sun is too hot for much 
 walking about at this time of day. 
 
 At ten minutes to two o'clock the warning 
 bell goes for afternoon school, or rather afternoon 
 work, because only the pupil teachers, and possibly 
 the monitors, study in the afternoon. Second 
 bell and a scamper into line drill lines this time, 
 section by section, five divisions in ' column
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 315 
 
 of company.' Are we wanted for church practice ? 
 No ? Then off to industrial work. Boys for the 
 plantation get their hoes (each boy must have 
 his own hoe) and go to the shamba boys for 
 the potato beds, boys for the Indian corn, boys for 
 the cassava, all go in their several directions. 
 Sewers to their machines, typists to their copying, 
 jamvi makers and rope twisters to their places ; 
 and there is plenty of talking and fun now, 
 if it does not interfere with work. Teachers 
 responsible for various works go off with their 
 gangs of workers and set them on to work, then 
 some, putting a big boy in charge, hurry back to 
 the station to instruct pupil teachers or monitors, 
 to prepare lessons, or to receive instruction. 
 
 At a quarter past four the school bell goes to 
 call in the workers at a distance and to warn others 
 to get ready for Evensong. The more fortunate 
 boys working near the river throw down their 
 hoes and plunge in before hurrying to the station. 
 At twenty minutes past four the church bell begins, 
 and the boys return their hoes and put away their 
 rope, &c., sweep up and prepare for the whistle 
 at twenty-five past ; then a rush into line and 
 march into church. 
 
 After Evensong there is a rest nothing more 
 to do to-day. Some boys go out for a walk, 
 some get their hoes and go to their own little 
 gardens, others make for the river, others play 
 in the quad. Six o'clock the Angelus again 
 sounds, and now all must return to the station, 
 because gates are shut and names called at 6.15.
 
 316 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 Games go on in the quad rounders, or football 
 played with a tennis ball. Soon the gong goes for 
 the evening meal, and all make off to the verandah, 
 where food has been put out by the patient 
 boys on duty. Food over and thanksgiving 
 said, there is quiet until bedtime. Quiet that 
 is if there is no dance going on ; if there is, one 
 must give up all hope of doing any work, because 
 the noise is like bedlam let loose. 
 
 Ordinarily there is no dance, and the pupil 
 teachers and monitors have half an hour's in- 
 struction, or do some work set for them during 
 the preceding day. 
 
 At half-past eight the bugle sounds for all boys 
 in the outer dormitories to leave the station, and, 
 seizing their buckets, the boys flock to the gates, 
 for they must be outside and the gates re-locked 
 within five minutes of the bugle. 
 
 All sleepy ones can now turn in, but the 
 final quietus for the night takes the form of a 
 silence bell at 9.15, when the boys must go to 
 their dormitories and cease all noise. Then 
 well-earned sleep, the sleep of God's children 
 tired out with the work of a day well spent 
 a busy, happy day, and one of real self-discipline 
 and self-sacrifice, because it is a willing service, 
 sanctified to the glory of God. 
 
 C. C. F.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 317 
 
 XXV 
 
 THE STORY OF A MAGILA BOY 
 
 The facts in this story are true, but names and certain 
 details are altered for obvious reasons. 
 
 YOHANA BWEDO was certainly not cast in the heroic 
 mould. When at school he was known as the cod- 
 fish, because he was a big, loutish fellow, with fishy 
 eyes, half-open mouth, and not very much brains. 
 He had no vocation to be a teacher, so when he left 
 school he took work as a clerk in an Indian shop, 
 which was run by a German. It so happened that 
 Yohana's uncle Tupa was cook to the said German, 
 and he traded on the Bondei ideas of filial duty, 
 which are very strongly developed, and Yohana's 
 good-natured simplicity. First he borrowed forty 
 rupees of the lad's own savings, and then began to 
 run up a large bill at the shop. Yohana, however, 
 was not so simple as he looked ; he was willing 
 enough to lose his own savings, but he knew it was 
 not right to risk the goods with which he was en- 
 trusted, so he went to the German and showed the 
 amount of Tupa's debt. Tupa at once denied all 
 knowledge of the debt, and accused Yohana of hav- 
 ing stolen the goods himself. He was so plausible 
 and brazen about it that the German believed
 
 318 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 him, and said that Yohana must go down to 
 Tanga to be tried for theft ; he was accordingly 
 handed over to two sailors, who were threatened 
 with having their wages cut if Yohana escaped. 
 
 Yohana merely said, ' I shall not run away/ 
 and then waited patiently on board till the German 
 and Tupa arrived ; after that the sail was hoisted 
 and the dhow started for Tanga. 
 
 Presently Yohana called Tupa and said to him, 
 ' When we reach the court at Tanga I must speak 
 the truth about you.' Then Tupa got very angry, 
 and said, ' If you do, I will kill you.' Later on in 
 the evening he came to Yohana and said, ' Get up 
 do not sleep here ; you are to sleep on deck. 
 Give me your knife and your cross and your watch 
 chain. Now tell me, do you mean to tell of me at 
 Tanga ? ' And Yohana answered him, ' Yes, I must 
 speak the truth. ' So Tupa went away, saying, ' Wait 
 till to-night.' Yohana does not seem to have been 
 afraid ; his conscience was clear, so he slept soundly. 
 .Suddenly he found himself in the sea; the water 
 surged round him and he sank to the bottom and 
 rose again ; he thought he was drowning, so he said 
 the Lord's Prayer, and then he became unconscious; 
 and when at last he came to himself he found that 
 he was lying on the shore bruised and bleeding, but 
 alive. He made his thanksgiving, and then he 
 took a path leading away from the coast, and went 
 on and on, not knowing where he was, till at last 
 he reached Kigongoi,* where they helped him to 
 make his way back to Misozwe.* 
 
 * Stations near Magila.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 319 
 
 Meanwhile, news had come to Archdeacon 
 Woodward that Yohana had had a fit on the dhow, 
 and that he had fallen from the upper deck into the 
 sea and had been drowned. Prayers were asked for 
 the repose of his soul, and no foul play was sus- 
 pected till a report came from Tanga that Tupa had 
 blurted out in a drunken fit that he had murdered 
 Yohana. Everyone was afraid that, in any case, 
 Yohana was really dead, so that when he arrived 
 at Misozwe he was greeted as if he had risen from 
 the grave. His relations made a great feast for 
 him, and then, after the Bondei fashion, he washed 
 his hands and they all drank the water, to show 
 their joy and happiness. 
 
 When Archdeacon Woodward had heard Yo- 
 hana's story, he said that he must go down to 
 Tanga, so that the whole affair might be judged, 
 and the boy willingly consented. As soon as he 
 reached Tanga, he went to the court and was told 
 to wait his trial ; in the meantime he was chained 
 and taken off by a soldier. 
 
 Yohana's account of his trial is as follows : 
 ' The judgment went thus. The Bwana asked me, 
 ; ' Yohana, why have you stolen Rs. 100 and then 
 run away ? " And I said, " I did not steal, nor did 
 I run away ; it \vas Tupa who borrowed money 
 and broke the shop, and when I said I must report 
 this, he said, ' I will kill you ! ' Then in the 
 evening he took my cross and knife and chain and 
 moved me from the place where I was to the upper 
 deck, and in the night he threw me into the sea ; 
 but by the mercy of God I reached the shore, and
 
 320 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 then I got back to the Mission, and I met the Arch- 
 deacon and he telegraphed to the court, and you 
 said I was to come to Tanga, and I have come. 
 Now you ask me, and I say truly It was this man 
 who threw me into the sea, and who stole the 
 money." 
 
 ' Then the Bwana said, " Yohana, when you 
 escaped you went to the Mission at Msalabani. 
 We believe that Tupa threw you into the sea, but 
 you depend much upon the English, and how do 
 you account for those Rs. 100 ? " Then I answered 
 hinr, " I did not steal ; the money was borrowed 
 from the shop." The Bwana said, " If you are 
 owed anything by a man you must claim it. We 
 believe that Tupa threw you into the sea, but why 
 did you go to the Mission ? " 
 
 ' Then the next morning I was sentenced to 
 eighteen months' imprisonment and to have 
 twenty-five strokes twice over ; and I said, 
 " Bwana, I cannot endure twenty-five strokes 
 twice over." And he said, "You will get seven- 
 teen." And I went and I was chained, and I had 
 many sufferings, illness, and troubles, and beatings 
 from the soldiers.' 
 
 As the boy was being led away to prison the 
 warder grimly remarked that he need not mind the 
 length of the sentence, for he would die long before 
 the end of the eighteen months. It was wonderful 
 that Yohana did live through it, for his next 
 neighbour in the chain gang died of smallpox ; it 
 was partly owing to the devotion of his old mother, 
 who went down to Tanga so that she might cook
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 321 
 
 food for him every day. The last day of his im- 
 prisonment Yohana had his second flogging. 
 
 The first thing that he did after his release was 
 to go to Evensong to make his thanksgiving ; and 
 then, as soon as his stripes were healed, he came to 
 Magila for his Easter Communion. 
 
 Though he had been the victim of false evidence, 
 he seemed to feel no bitterness at all ; his one idea 
 was how thankful he ought to be for his preserva- 
 tion through so many dangers. 
 
 At first it seems a wasted eighteen months, but 
 Yohana, the codfish, has shown that his Chris- 
 tianity is vital, and that he is made of the stuff of 
 which heroes are made. 
 
 ' Sweet are the uses of adversity,' because after 
 all adversity is one of the blessings of the New 
 Testament. D. C. A. 
 
 MAGILA BOYS.
 
 322 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 XXVI 
 NURSING AT MAGILA 
 
 IN the ordinary acceptation of the term there 
 is very little nursing at Magila. The health 
 of the staff is so much improved in these days 
 that the members make very little work, and 
 in any case nursing Europeans is much the same 
 all the world over, and most people know what 
 it is like from personal experience, either as nurse 
 or patient. 
 
 After all this I hear some one say, ' Why, 
 then, are there always two nurses stationed at 
 Magila if there is so little to be done ? ' and 
 it is the work of these two nurses and not the 
 nursing work that I want to try and describe. 
 
 And first, in case people think I am making 
 a distinction without a difference, I will begin 
 by describing our hospital. 
 
 Picture then, a large shed with walls of corru- 
 gated iron, a grass roof, and a cement floor, 
 a dozen bedsteads more or less, with grass mats 
 and blankets, a bucket of water and a dipper, 
 a stool with a few plates and little basins on 
 it. This constitutes the entire hospital and its
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 
 
 323 
 
 equipment. Our patients have a bucket of water 
 outside the door, where they perform their morning 
 
 ablutions ; there are no beds to make, no bathing 
 of patients between blankets, no smoothing and
 
 324 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 turning tumbled pillows, no dusting, tidying and 
 polishing of a spick and span hospital ward, 
 all of which goes to fill up the time of a nurse 
 at home. 
 
 One of the things that it is most difficult to 
 get accustomed to in working out here is the 
 very little nursing the people want ; there is so 
 little we can do to make them what we would 
 call comfortable, though in reality they are 
 quite comfortable if left to be so in their own 
 way, which as often as. not takes the form of lying 
 out on the ground in the sun, when they get 
 tired of lying in bed, or of having their limbs 
 all stretched and their fingers and toes pulled 
 in a way that looks to us most uncomfortable, 
 not to say painful. 
 
 A large proportion of our patients have large 
 and painful ulcers which take a long time to heal 
 up, and in these cases the African capacity for 
 sitting still, physically and mentally, comes 
 in very useful, as it is often a long and weary 
 business getting them well. Some months ago 
 a youth limped into the dispensary with a large 
 deep ulcer on his leg, and we settled that he was 
 a suitable case for admission ; he was a curious- 
 looking person, with his head shaven, except 
 for a tuft of hair on one side. It was very difficult 
 to understand what he said, as he came from a 
 country much further inland where they speak 
 very little Swahili. He had come in search of 
 work on the plantations, but his leg got bad 
 on the way. He gave his name as Durufu.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 325 
 
 After he had been here a short time I noticed 
 he was wearing a string of beads which looked 
 like a rosary without the crucifix, and asked 
 about it. It turned out that he was a Christian 
 from a Roman Catholic Mission, and much to 
 his distress he had lost his cross on the road. 
 He asked if he might go to church, and of course 
 he was given leave. He can read a little, and he 
 promptly set to work to learn the prayers in 
 Swahili, and also some of the hymns. He had 
 the most weird idea of singing ; however, by dint 
 of constant practice, he has now learnt several 
 hymns, tunes, and plainsong chants. His leg 
 is better, and he no longer lives in the hospital ; 
 he has been taken on as a day labourer, and is 
 saving money out of his wages of 2s. a week 
 to take him home to his own country. He still 
 persists that his name is Durufu ; whether it 
 is Rudolph, or what, I can't say, but Durufu 
 has become quite an institution, a general favourite, 
 hard-working, fat, smiling and jolly, quite a 
 credit to the establishment, and the tuft of hair 
 has disappeared. 
 
 We have had several cases of cataract 
 (these, of course, when we had a doctor here). 
 One old man, very tall, with a face which our 
 native dispenser said was like a picture he had 
 once seen of the Pharaoh whom Joseph served, 
 and true enough, when one came to think of it, 
 he was just like an old Egyptian sculpture. He 
 was a chief. He had come a two days' journey 
 by road and thirty miles in the train to have his
 
 326 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 eyes seen to. He had spent a great deal of money, 
 or rather a great many cows and goats on native 
 medicine, but all to no avail. When his own 
 medicine men found he was coming to try European 
 treatment they tried to dissuade him by telling 
 him that the Mzungu (that is the European) 
 would take his eyes out, and put them in at the 
 back of his head ; however he came, in spite 
 of these warnings, a very tall, solemn old man 
 (I never saw him smile), led by a very tall, young, 
 and cheerful grandson. 
 
 His was a complete cure, and he went home 
 again after some weeks in great spirits. I should 
 love to have heard the tales he told, and to have 
 watched the discomfiture of the medicine men 
 when he walked in, seeing, and with his eyes in 
 their proper place. Another patient went by the 
 name of the ' puff-adder ' (he was really a most 
 harmless person), because he was all puffy and 
 swollen about the face. He was a lad of seventeen 
 or eighteen, and though we did not cure him he 
 went away much better ; he had some obscure 
 disease that we never got to the bottom of. He 
 was firmly persuaded that he could not eat meat, 
 so he used to go out and gather green stuff for 
 himself, and cook it over a little fire. Meat was 
 his mwiko he said, that is ' a thing forbidden.' 
 He was a butcher's boy by trade ; perhaps that 
 explained his mwiko. He had a thirst for 
 knowledge, and used to sit at the back of the 
 school-house and pick up scraps of the teaching 
 that was going on inside, particularly on Sunday
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 327 
 
 mornings, when the teaching was very elementary 
 religious instruction given to hearers. He never 
 came forward for any definite teaching, but one 
 hopes that some day the scraps he picked up 
 thus surreptitiously will lead to his becoming 
 an African Epictetus. Nearly all our patients are 
 characters in their way, but I have not space to 
 describe them all, and some make us very sad 
 and yet very glad ; there are Christians who 
 have neglected their religion perhaps for years, 
 but who when they become very ill come to them- 
 selves, so to speak, and turn to the Mission, and 
 choose to come and die within reach of the consola- 
 tion of the Sacraments of the Church. 
 
 Next door to the hospital is the sick-room 
 for schoolboys of this school, and in addition to 
 beds this boasts a table, one or two stools, and 
 some pictures. Here the schoolboys come when 
 they have fever and minor ailments. We have 
 sometimes had it full to overflowing when there 
 is an epidemic about, measles, whooping cough, or 
 mumps, but this does not often happen. In 
 connexion with this is the evening dispensary, 
 which is only for people living on the station, 
 schoolboys, workboys, &c. When life is a little 
 dull, and there is no special game or dance 
 going on, the dawa * forms a favourite amuse- 
 ment ; probably you don't want any for yourself, 
 but you come to see a friend dosed with quinine, 
 or something equally unpleasant, or just because 
 life is dull and there is nothing much to do you 
 * Dawa is Swahili for medicine.
 
 328 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 discover that you have a cough or a headache ; 
 and the fact that the nurse sees through the 
 subterfuge and refuses any dawa, only adds 
 to the fun, as you then try your powers of 
 persuasion and she combats the argument, 
 often in very broken Swahili, which is doubt- 
 less most amusing, though I must say the 
 boys are too polite to laugh openly at any such 
 mistakes. 
 
 We all manage to get a good deal of fun out of 
 this department, but it is also very useful, as a 
 timely dose will often save a boy from fever that 
 would keep him out of school for two or three days. 
 As people come here to work and not to loaf, 
 fever must be prevented as far as possible ; for if 
 you have fever you must loaf, you are not capable 
 of doing anything else. 
 
 The largest and most important part of the work 
 is the dispensary, which is open every day but 
 Sunday from eight to twelve for ordinary patients ; 
 of course people can have medicine or any other 
 attention they require at other times in cases 
 of emergency. If you could come and visit 
 us on any morning you would meet a most motley 
 crowd, and hear the most wonderful symptoms 
 described. Here you would meet the typical 
 dispensary old lady (only she is dark brown 
 instead of white) who suffers from chronic indiges- 
 tion, and has pains that begin in some spot very 
 clearly defined, and climb up or spread down, as the 
 case may be, going through various wonderful 
 processes of burning, cutting, or twisting her
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 329 
 
 internal arrangements in this course, and making 
 the most wonderful noises described by to I to ! 
 to I or rrh ! rrh ! rrh ! or kwe ! kwe ! kwe ! as 
 the case may be. 
 
 Then there are the babies, fat babies and 
 thin babies, pretty babies and plain babies ; 
 babies who cry at the sight of a white face, 
 and babies who make friends at once; babies 
 entirely clothed in wonderful charms beads 
 and shells and strings and little packets hung 
 round them in every direction, even hanging 
 from their hair ; and babies clad in their birthday 
 garments all over dimples. They nearly all 
 have fever, it being a phase that every African 
 baby has to go through, and it is very much a 
 case of the survival of the fittest. By judicious 
 dosing with quinine much can be done to lessen 
 the danger, but even in spite of that, the infantile 
 mortality is very high. Improper feeding is 
 another cause of much sickness ; it seems to be 
 nearly as much the fashion here as at home to give 
 the baby ' a bit of what's going,' and with dis- 
 astrous results. There are ears to be syringed, 
 eyes to be bathed, sores cut, bruises and wounds in 
 endless variety to be dressed, and last, but not least, 
 teeth to be drawn. This is the only operation for 
 which there is a regular charge ; 4^. is what we ask. 
 
 In consequence it has to be as imposing as 
 possible ; a chair is set, a large glass of weak 
 Condy's fluid is prepared, and a great parade of 
 choosing the forceps is made, and then begins 
 the struggle. If unfortunately the tooth is
 
 330 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 broken then the 4^. is not charged; sometimes 
 when it comes to the point the patient's courage 
 fails him, and he goes away, but generally to 
 come back in a day or two, when he quietly submits 
 to the treatment. 
 
 No account of the dispensary would be com- 
 plete without a w y ord about Yohana, the native 
 dispenser a man of parts, who knows his work, 
 as far as he has been taught it, thoroughly. He 
 has the gentle but firm touch of a born ' dresser ' ; 
 I have seldom seen a patient flinch under his 
 handling of their wounds, and that is saying a 
 good deal; but they often flinch under the lash 
 of his tongue ; he cannot stand stupidity. A 
 stock question is, ' How long have you had these 
 symptoms ? ' and an equally stock answer is, 
 ' Siku ningi,' that is, many days, which may 
 mean anything from a week to five years. Yohana's 
 quiet but scornful way of saying, ' Do you mean 
 a week, or a month, or a year, or ever since you 
 were born ? ' generally reduces the unfortunate 
 patient to pulp, and the waiting crowd to con- 
 vulsions of laughter. 
 
 When we all went to Zanzibar lately, we 
 left Yohana in charge of the dispensary, and he 
 seems to have prescribed to all and sundry to their 
 entire satisfaction, and he kept the case-book and 
 wrote out the patients' tickets most beautifully. 
 He writes a really educated hand, and knows 
 English well ; he also writes verses ; there is a hymn 
 of his in the Swahili Hymn Book, and he does most 
 beautiful needlework.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 331 
 
 Yohana has an understudy, Stefano, who is 
 very good in his way. He is very anxious to learn 
 English and comes two days a week, after work 
 hours, for lessons ; but, as Yohana says, ' His tongue 
 is thick,' and he does not make much head- way. 
 In the same way he can do ordinary dressings 
 quite nicely, but when it comes to anything really 
 tender and painful his hand is heavy. In spite of 
 this Stefano has a high ideal, considering himself 
 ' called ' to his work, just as much as his fellows 
 are ' called ' to be deacons and teachers. On 
 the whole he is good at his post, very regular and 
 painstaking. There is still another side of nursing, 
 which is visiting people in their own homes, 
 who are too ill to come here, and doing things that 
 would make a nurse's hair stand on end in England, 
 such as opening an abscess with a hatpin, sterilized 
 in the fire (the operation was entirely successful), 
 and other equally astonishing performances, but 
 which seem quite ordinary here. 
 
 All these things, with the house-keeping, 
 altar flowers, making and mending for the house, 
 the hospital, and the church, giving English 
 lessons, acting as secretaries to the ' catechism/ 
 and a variety of other odd jobs, go to make up a 
 fairly busy and a very varied life. 
 
 MARY WALLACE.
 
 332 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 XXVII 
 
 ALL ABOUT BLACK BABIES AT MAGILA 
 
 AN African baby is ushered into the world with as 
 much publicity as a prince, for not only must 
 both grandmothers and another nurse be present, 
 but all the women in the village who can squeeze 
 into the hut, come too. 
 
 Fortunately, the mother is used to darkness, 
 heat, and crowding, and she and the new-born babe 
 seem none the worse for it ; indeed the day after the 
 baby is born the mother has been known to sit up in 
 bed and hold her baby up by one heel, to show 
 howstrong they both were. Five days after the baby 
 is born a Bondei mother comes outside the house 
 and shaves her head, just leaving a little tuft on 
 the top, and then all her friends come to see her. 
 
 After the usual long greeting, the question is 
 asked, ' What of the conflict ? ' and the mother 
 answers, ' It has gone well, friend, here you have 
 your father or your mother,' according as the 
 child is a boy or a girl. Then the baby, a reddish- 
 brown scrap of humanity, with little pink soles and 
 palms, is handed over to the visitor, who returns 
 the compliment by giving a present of some 
 pice to the mother with which to buy oil to rub 
 the baby, arid then together they talk over all
 
 BABIES AND THEIR MOTHERS.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 335 
 
 the incidents of the child's advent, and the child's 
 name is told. 
 
 The Washambala* have a curious custom ; the 
 father is not allowed to know either the name or sex 
 of his child till two or three months have gone by. 
 
 An African baby then begins a struggle for 
 existence. Very soon after its birth the mother 
 says, 'This my child has no strength,' and forthwith 
 she makes porridge of ground-up Indian corn and 
 water, and stuffs it into the baby's mouth. The 
 baby, being more sensible than its mother, promptly 
 rejects the porridge, but the mother becomes 
 more and more anxious, and with her thumb 
 forces the porridge down its throat, and when 
 the child gets ill never thinks of connecting 
 cause and effect, but probably ties a gourd as a 
 charm into her carrying cloth, and thinks she 
 is doing very well by her child. If the bibi daktari 
 (lady doctor) explains to her that surely God has 
 provided the best means of nourishing the child, 
 and that even the goats know better than to 
 break His laws, the mother looks at her with a 
 pitying, incredulous smile, and continues the 
 porridge diet the minute the bibi's back is turned. 
 If the child manages to survive this, there is still 
 fever to contend with. The mosquitoes love the 
 babies' soft, tender little bodies, and fevers come 
 thick and fast, so that it is a case of the survival 
 of the fittest. The weakly babies succumb. 
 
 In old days, especially in the Korogwe district, 
 many babies not only died but were hurried 
 * A tribe in the archdeaconry.
 
 336 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 forcibly out of the world, because they were 
 vigego, .or ill-omened. 
 
 There were so many things to make them ill- 
 omened, such as being twins, babies who cut 
 their upper teeth first, or who were born with 
 teeth, or who fell off their mothers' backs.; these 
 were all taken off to the men whose business it 
 was to get rid of these unfortunate little children, 
 who were supposed to bring ill luck to the whole 
 village. Even if the mother is stung by a bee, or 
 cuts her foot, or lets her nose bleed, or if either of 
 the parents have refused to enter the vile tribal 
 dances before the child's birth, the child is kigego* 
 although it has no direct responsibility for these 
 things. In addition to all these dangers to child 
 life, the parents are in constant dread of the 
 malign influence of evil spirits, so the babies are 
 smothered with charms. Dirty bits of string 
 threaded with bits of wood and tin, and little 
 bags of blue calico with roots sewn up in them, 
 are hung round the child's neck, a bracelet of 
 goat's skin is put round its tiny wrist to save it 
 from smallpox ; dead beetles and other things 
 are fastened into its hair ; and though the 
 babies often die in spite of all these precautions 
 the heathen mothers still keep their faith in the 
 charms. 
 
 The children of the Christians have a much 
 
 happier life, the mothers are really beginning to 
 
 give up feeding them with porridge, and when 
 
 the babies get fever they bring them to the bibi 
 
 * Vigego, plural ; kigego, singular.
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 337 
 
 4 
 
 daktari for a small dose of quinine, and instead of 
 charms the babies wear a cross or a string of beads. 
 
 The christening day is a great day. On 
 Sunday morning the mother comes to make her 
 thanksgiving and to receive the Blessed Sacrament. 
 Then in the afternoon she comes with the baby tied 
 on her back, and the godparents with her, and the 
 padre takes the naked brown atom of humanity 
 and baptises it, and gives it a little white chrisom 
 with a red cross embroidered on it, and the god- 
 mother holds a lighted candle to remind them all 
 that the newly-baptised child is now a child of light. 
 
 All the Christian babies come to church from 
 their christening day onwards, for the mothers 
 do not like to leave them behind with the heathen, 
 because many of the Christian parents have 
 never entered the tribal dances, so that according 
 to heathen ideas the babies are ill-omened, and it 
 would be a meritorious action to put a little ground 
 glass or poison into their food when the mother 
 was safely out of the way. 
 
 The babies enjoy coming to church very much. 
 There are all the other babies there, and the 
 mothers are so anxious to keep the children good 
 that the}' give them silver chains, bunches of 
 keys, and all sorts of nice things to amuse them. 
 Besides that every mother likes to adorn her 
 child with one of the quaint, patchwork, African 
 babies' caps, and the babies love to claw off the 
 caps and play with them. Then, when all these 
 joys pall they begin to whimper, especially if it 
 is sermon time, and then there is all the excitement 
 
 z
 
 338 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 % 
 
 of being picked up and carried out of church. 
 Once outside the baby is tied on its mother's back 
 again, and she jogs it up and down, and perhaps 
 croons the African babies' lullaby, 
 
 Mame yo, Mame yo, 
 
 Mwana aila, katombo ka mwana, 
 
 Katombo ka mwana, 
 
 Mkana enge enge 
 
 Nenkani sime, senge tinde 
 
 Nynwe mazi do. 
 
 It is small wonder that with all this baby mind- 
 ing, the mothers do not know much about the 
 sermon, and miss part of the service. Moreover, 
 when the sermon is long, and hard to understand, it 
 is very tempting to pinch the baby a little to make 
 it cry and so get an opportunity for a gossip 
 outside. Even the people who stay in church 
 find it difficult to attend sometimes. A most 
 fascinating baby called Angelina comes into 
 church with a yellow handkerchief decorated 
 with a rampant red lion as her only garment. 
 At first she kneels down devoutly, and imitates 
 her mother ; then she wants to display the red 
 lion, so she pulls off the handkerchief and holds 
 it up for admiration. It is put on once more, and 
 then she pulls it off and makes a dash for her 
 father on the other side, and begins to dance. 
 He carries her back to her mother, and this time 
 the yellow handkerchief is knotted on firmly, 
 so Angelina, not to be outdone, plays football with 
 a tomato. 
 
 Lucy, who is a little older, goes to school, and 
 knows that she learns her prayers there, but she
 
 AND WHAT WE DO 339 
 
 also learns her tables ; she feels that she must be 
 good and quiet in church, so she begins to murmur 
 softly, ' Twice one are two, twice two are four/ 
 and who can help smiling ? 
 
 Yes, the babies are very distracting, but perhaps 
 their inarticulate praise is acceptable when our 
 stony hearts refuse to cry out, and the self- 
 sacrifice of the mothers doubtless is no unworthy 
 part of the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. 
 
 As soon as the babies can toddle a little they 
 begin to play their part in life. Roda, aged three, 
 can sit on the ground with her legs stretched 
 out like compasses, and hold her baby sister of 
 three months old, while the mother is pounding corn. 
 
 Small Yusuf, who can only just walk, as soon 
 as he hears a dance tune puts his head on one side, 
 and begins to sway to and fro in time to the music, 
 and stamp with his tiny feet. 
 
 The baby girls all have a minute mortar given 
 to them, and a light pestle and they begin to 
 learn to pound as soon as they can stand ; when 
 their mother goes to cut firewood they go too, and 
 bring home a little faggot on their heads. 
 
 Then, when meal-time comes, it is their work to 
 dip the cocoanut ladle into the earthen waterpot, and 
 then pour the water over the hands of their elders. 
 
 If they are lucky enough to get a doll to play 
 with, at once they put the doll on their backs, and 
 tie it on with a cloth, and jog it up and down in 
 quite the orthodox fashion. 
 
 Then of course, like children all the world over, 
 they love to pretend to cook, and make mud pies, 
 and imitate their elders.
 
 340 WHERE WE LIVE 
 
 When they are four or five years old they start 
 coming to school. By this time they have left off 
 baby frocks, and have learnt to gird a little bit of 
 blue calico under their arms like the grown-up girls. 
 They insist on doing everything. If the big girls 
 have slates the little ones rebel against sand-trays, 
 and grasp a bit of slate pencil in their little 
 hands, and try in vain to make straight strokes. 
 The catechism answers are very hard, but they learn 
 one or two, and these can be used to fit any question. 
 As for the singing they often do better than the 
 elders, for they make the handsigns, and sing the 
 scale quite perfectly. 
 
 At this age they are not a bit shy, they have 
 not learnt to be secretive, and they prattle just 
 as English children do. Then the day comes 
 when they begin to get more sedate and more 
 reserved, and one suddenly realises that they are 
 babies no longer, and one thinks of the shades 
 of the prison-house beginning to close around them, 
 and sighs regretfully to think of the time when 
 they lay in one's arms, looking like little brown 
 Botticelli babies, with fathomless brown eyes and 
 crisp black ringlets. To African babies the battle 
 of life begins early, and life in a heathen village soon 
 drives away the trailing clouds of glory ; but the 
 babies become mothers, and African mothers under- 
 stand as well, and perhaps better, than most 
 mothers ' the still sad music of humanity ; ' so loss 
 is really gain. D. C. A. 
 
 Sfiottiswoode & Co. Ltd., Printers, Colchester, London and Eton
 
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