p. 11 | Nyasaland Missions by G. A. ELLINGWORTH

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D. C. · Apr 15, 1915

Nyasaland Missions

By G. A. ELLINGWORTH

G. A. ELLINGWORTH

PERHAPS you would like to go with me on a trip to our outschools on the Chiromo plains, which I visited after a phenomenal rainstorm. Accompanied by five carriers, we leave the mission. We ride on donkeys to the top of Mtumbulendi, and on foot descend its two thousand feet to the plain, from which an eight-mile walk brings us to the rest house at Masenjere at about five o'clock in the afternoon. The road is very heavy with mud and tall grass. We see that the Masenjere stream has uprooted a huge fig tree, and has destroyed part of the native gardens.

Some natives from Chiromo have arrived before us, so we have to share with them the only reed hut left. None of us sleep much, for the mosquitoes are terrible. All night long the boys are slapping themselves, or occasionally one rubs his legs to drive off the bloodthirsty insects.

We are up early next morning, and push our way through tall grass or wade through mud another eight miles to the Muona school. Although the school is standing and can boast of being on the only dry spot, it is plainly to be seen that the insignificant Thangadzi stream has been swollen to an angry torrent, sweeping corn gardens out of existence and destroying long rows of bananas and plantains, which before lined the high banks. Part of the stream left the course just above the Chiromo road, and took a short cut to the lower plain through native gardens. On a small island recently formed, we find Lemons (teacher) and his family, with a big mtondo tree at hand in which they could have climbed had the water risen much higher. It is impossible for us to go straight across the plain, there being from two to sixteen feet of water on the path: so we must go around to Chikhonji, on the Ruo River, and then follow the railway to Chiromo, thence across the Shire by canoe to the Chisi school. At Chikhonji we tie together a number of reeds to measure the height of débris in a tree, and find it thirty-two feet above the ordinary high-water mark.

Some three miles of railway embankment above Chiromo and several miles below, have suffered severely. In some places quite large streams are rushing through to the lower plains, leaving the railway track hanging like suspension bridges.

At Chiromo a number of trees have been uprooted, several Indian stores ruined, and a government official's boat swamped in the main street. Several inches of water invaded the customs offices, which were supposed to be above flood level. Chiromo must be unhealthful just now, with quantities of decaying débris and mud everywhere.

The Chisi school was leveled, and several loads of corn for the teachers were destroyed. Wilson (teacher) and his family took refuge in a tree until taken off by a canoe. The headman and his elders have since rebuilt the school, and a goodly number are attending again. The river has deposited over a foot of mud on the island near the school.

The next morning we go downstream to see how Josiah (teacher) has fared at the Pokera school, and Lamuel (teacher) at Kadamera village. Lamuel's school has a coating of mud to remind one of the flood. Josiah has lost a promising crop of corn, but has a good school, thirty pupils attending on an average. The return journey of seven miles by canoe takes us several hours, owing to the strong current still running.

Next morning we take to the canoe again to reach Harrison's school, at Dambanye. For nearly five hours we punt or paddle through flooded gardens or villages. In some cases the people have returned, and by making hammocks to sleep in are trying to take up the thread of life again with water more than ankle deep running through the village.

Arriving at Dambanye, we find the teacher safe, and settle down to enjoy a needed rest till Sunday morning. Here the water came just up to the school, leaving most of the village dry, but spoiled almost all the gardens. The school is in a flourishing condition. Early Sabbath morning a goodly number gather to hear the word, and then the boys go to other villages to tell the glad tidings.

In the daytime one is struck with the thousands of different-colored dragon flies that flit to and fro in the hot sun. As the sun sets, something more than imagination is struck by the innumerable proboscides that attack one from all quarters; even the net does not keep all the mosquitoes out. At night, with the help of the boys and torches of grass, I kill all that are in the net, but in the morning I find a few fat ones that had evidently regaled themselves during the night.

Saturday night, after more than an hour's attempt to sleep, sounds come from the middle of the village that remind us of the “Punch and Judy show” of childhood days, but with some deep-toned string instrument accompaniment. We listen for a long time to these amusing sounds, which produce roars of laughter from the crowd gathered to enjoy the fun. When I can make myself heard, I call to the boys to know what it is. The culprit is the very tall old man who greeted me so effusively when I arrived in the village. At my request to know how he did it, Fambi sits down on the court near my bed and honors me with two selections. The first represents chickens in the village, the second is descriptive of war with the Portuguese, being quite an able imitation of the whistle of bullets and the buzz of small cannon shells. He uses the ngoli, which is an instrument of one string, the body a gourd with a bent stick passed through it, to which the string is fastened. It is played with a bow strung with a strip of palm leaf. The nembe is a piece of reed about a foot long, with a mouthpiece cut out of the center, and each end covered with a spider web that resembles parchment. A bunch of feathers tied loosely on each end, and a string to hold the instrument close to the mouth, completes the outfit with which Fambi delights the villagers wherever he deigns to stay.

Sunday we put our loads into the dugout, clamber in ourselves, and start across the country, where, the last time I visited these schools, I saw herds of buffalo and water buck, reedbuck, and a tiger cat.

We stop at Muona for the boys to get food. I improve the time by exhorting the headmen to send their children to school to learn. We are all glad to climb the hills again to get out of reach of the swamp mosquitoes, and to get where cool breezes temper “Old Sol's” rays.