MRS. W. H. ANDERSON by MRS. W. H. ANDERSON

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Mar 18, 1915

MRS. W. H. ANDERSON

By MRS. W. H. ANDERSON

The Native of the Kraals as I Know Him — No. 5

MRS. W. H. ANDERSON

After having been in the country for several years with no change, my husband's health was such that he had to go to the coast. He drove into Bulawayo in the cart, and had two of the schoolboys with him to help him on the train with his luggage. The train was delayed for a day or two, so they had to camp near the town. There was a heavy storm approaching, so Mr. Anderson thought it unadvisable to sleep out, and took a room in the hotel. The hotel was a new brick building, and was quite a wonder to the natives, as they had not seen the like before; for at that time there were no brick dwellings at the mission, only huts made after the fashion of the native ones. As Mr. Anderson went into the room, he had the boy carry in his belongings. The room was nicely papered, and quite well furnished. The boy stood gazing in wonderment, when my husband said, “Malomo, what do you think of it?” “Well,” he said, “if heaven is anything like this, I want to be there.” They think the white men are very few in the world because there are so few in their country. They think that Bulawayo must be the white man's country.

When a boy comes to work for a white woman, he considers it a wonderful thing. She has so many things in her house, and when she can talk with the boy a little, he gets very inquisitive, and many times his inquisitiveness takes on a very personal nature. “Ah? Ah?” and a pause. “May we come quite close so we can see your hair? Why, it is not like hair, it is like cotton. How long is it? We shingle our heads sometimes, and the hair does not get very long. That is a very nice hat you have on, but you wear another on Sabbath. How many hats have you? Look at all your children, they have not even one hat among them. What cloth is that your dress is made of? It is not calico, such as we buy. It is very good cloth. If we could get a piece of cloth like that, it would last us a whole year. Look at my skirt; it is only a piece of cowhide; and when I stand close to you, I look so bad. I seem to have no clothing at all.” And so the conversation goes on, ranging all over the whole world in which they live and move.

“Yes, the mishishi is a wonderful being.” Just a few months after I came

here, a boy from the village came to the house, and I told him to do something. I did not know the language very well, still I could give a few simple commands. After I had spoken to him, he turned and asked one of the schoolboys, who was standing near, what I said, and the boy repeated exactly my words. I said, “Why could he not understand me?” “O, you are a white woman!” It seemed so wonderful to him to hear a white woman speak in his language that he could not believe his ears.

After they have been in the employ of the white man for a while, they become very wise. Perhaps the native doctor has given them some medicine to acquire some of the makua's wisdom, and indeed you have to be at hand if they are using any of your tools. A little way from the mission station is a pumping station, to supply the railroad engine with water. The water is pumped by native boys. The “boss” came along one day and found the pump throwing a very little stream of water. He inspected, and found that the boy had loosened some taps so the water could run back and not require so much of his strength to raise it. The boss tightened the taps and said, “Now, the man that made that pump said that these taps were not to be meddled with.” The boy remarked, “The man that made that pump might know how to make a pump, but he does not know how to run a pump.”

To know the native is to live with him and work for him. Many are the perplexities that come to the missionary. We must show an interest in all their doings, which so many times seem so ridiculous to us. Only the gospel of Christ can change the heart, whether the man is white or black. The Bible has no rival in Africa. Our greatest desire is to get the native away from his old environments, and teach him to read, so he can take the dear old Book and read it for himself. It is a very desirable but hard task to undertake. But once they let the light in and are willing to give up their heathen customs, they become changed men and women. Nineteen of the best years of my husband's life have been spent for this people. As we look over the broad field, we see but little accomplished, but by closer examination we see here a soul and there a soul, as it were, “a firebrand plucked out of the burning.”