MATABELELAND by F. L. Mead

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 30, 1900

MATABELELAND.

By F. L. Mead

NO DOUBT many of our brethren in America think it strange that I do not report oftener through the REVIEW. I wished to wait until I should obtain some information from experience, when I should be able to report more intelligently. Life in Matabeleland is quite different from what I had expected, although I was prepared for a great change from my former experiences during my fifteen years' connection with the work. I often smile out loud when I contrast the ideas I once held in regard to this country and the people in general with the real facts as I find them. The people in America believe many things about this country that are not true.

Blacksmith's Shop. The First House. Old Church. Store. Brother Armitage's House. Children's Home. Brother Armitage's First House. Brother Mead's House.

Matabeleland is level in some parts, and rolling in others. It is impossible to describe the scenery. The most peculiar feature is the prevalence of large piles of rocks, from twenty to one hundred and sixty feet high, and from four rods to two or three miles long; these huge piles are called kopjes (pronounced “coppies”). The soil is reddish sand and clay. The sand predominates, and is very coarse, so water drains out quickly, and crops suffer for lack of richness and moisture. In some lowlands, or ravines, the soil is richer. On this farm of twelve thousand acres there is probably two hundred acres worth cultivating; but it is scattered in small patches, from one-half to five acres in a place, and from two hundred rods to six miles from the home station.

There is nothing around here that would be called timber in America. The trees are short, crooked affairs, with flat tops, and trunks from two to ten inches through. I hauled a stick nearly twenty miles for a wagon tongue, and was glad to get it at that price. I have not seen half a dozen trees that would make a saw log twelve feet long and one foot through.

The grass, except on lowlands, is a coarse, joint variety, and grows from three to eight feet tall, covering about one fourth of the ground. The stock do not eat it except some short shoots at the base. The stock find feed in the ravines; they also eat a short grass on high ground, which closely resembles buffalo-grass in the States. After the natives have gathered their grain, the stock find feed for several weeks in these gardens. During the months of September and October the grass and water get rather short; but when the rains begin, the new feed starts very quickly.

There are but few native fruits that are suitable for food, most of them being sour, bitter, or in some other way undesirable. There are two seasons, the wet and the dry. From November to April is the wet, and from April to November the dry, season. The weather is changeable; one day it may be so hot that one can not work in the sun during the middle of the day; and the next day one will need extra clothing in order to be at all comfortable. One trying feature of the climate is the great contrast between the temperature during the day and that during the night. A change of thirty or forty degrees is a common thing. In traveling, as I have been much of the time since I came here, my heavy ulster has been my daily companion. No matter how hot it is in the sun, it is cool in the shade, even if the shade is produced by a piece of canvas spread for a covering. The climate is such that a person can not stand the same amount of work here that he can in America.

For agricultural purposes, I would prefer a farm in western Kansas or Nebraska, poor as they are, to a farm here. As a business enterprise, I would not give a dollar for this big farm of twelve thousand acres, and be obliged to live on it a year. As a mission station and a missionary field, that is quite a different question. This is, however, a fairly good grazing country; and if we had two or three hundred young cows, we could, no doubt, do well raising stock; for stock of any grade at the present time brings a good price; but what the future will be I am not able to tell. Stock raising for self-supporting work is far ahead of anything we can do at the present time. If each year we had one hundred cattle to sell, you can see how our work could be made self-supporting with far less hard labor than it can be done under present plans. But we can not sell cattle unless we have stock to raise them. Diseases among cattle have largely disappeared since the plague of rinderpest.

The principal crops are corn, called mealies; kaffir corn; and enyout. The latter is a small grain extensively used by the natives for porridge. A native cultivates about two acres of ground, and, from the time his crop is planted until it is harvested, watches it night and day to protect it from numerous pests, which would otherwise destroy it. These two acres will raise about eight hundred pounds of grain, worth perhaps ten dollars in trade; among the grain, pumpkins are raised, also a kind of citron called jodas, and an inferior quality of beans. This constitutes their year's living, except as they earn something elsewhere. Owing to the barrenness of the soil and the lack of manure, the land is used only about three seasons. After several years' rest the land is again cultivated by succeeding generations.

To make a road, we simply go for a time in one place on the veldt (prairie) or through the bushes; and when that place gets too badly worn by hauling heavily loaded wagons over it, we deem it time to turn out and make another track. The rivers are crossed where we can find the best place. There are no bridges, at least I know of only one in Rhodesia, and that is in Buluwayo; but no heavy wagons are allowed to cross it. The rivers are dry most of the year. Being fed by the rains, they quickly dry out when the rainy season is over. Some of the rivers are hard to cross on account of steep banks and sand beds.

A native man has as many wives as he can buy, and a wife costs from two dollars and a half to twenty-five dollars. The wives do the most of the work, raising the children, and cultivating a large share of the crops, while the man bosses the job. There was a time when these natives had an unwritten code of laws and morality that would put to shame the white persons who have come here, and pose as civilizers of the country and promoters of “commerce,” liberty, and equality. The natives are imitating all the vices of the whites, and, generally speaking, they have seen little else to copy. The civilization brought by the whites who are here to make money is simply a curse to these poor ignorant souls. Oh! it makes my blood boil to see how these dark-skinned people have been and are now being wronged by wicked, designing white persons.

Our houses are made of brick, with thatched roof. A veranda extends on all sides. There are two outside doors, but no doors are hung inside as yet, although there are places for them. The house in which we live has no ceiling except the roof, but Brother Armitage's house has a cloth ceiling. The partitions are made of brick, plastered with mud; a poor kind of cement was used for the floors, which are so badly worn that they are no better than a dirt floor. While the house is not all we would desire, we are nevertheless comfortable. Our fuel is wood, and there is plenty of it.

It being necessary for me to go to the out-stations occasionally, also to do the buying in Buluwayo, I needed a team at my disposal. When I came here, there was one team of eight mules, and another team of twelve donkeys. I drove the mules for a time, but have now made a change, and have two ox teams; a good team here consists of from twelve to eighteen bullocks. I have also a horse and saddle, which I use considerable. I have been to Buluwayo, on an average, twice a month. It is no small job to drive twelve or sixteen oxen with a load over these sandy wastes, improperly called roads. Sometimes I have had a native driver to swing the large thirty-foot whip and handle the oxen for me.

Going to Buluwayo, thirty-five miles away, means to leave home Sunday afternoon, and reach home the following Thursday afternoon or Friday morning, sleeping on the wagon or on the ground, and eating cold food, only as I can make coffee or something after that order. I have often eaten with my overcoat and gloves on; and while this may sound like a cold story for tropical Africa, it is no colder than the reality. Everything here costs from two to five times as much as it does in America. People, in speaking of prices, talk of pounds sterling (five dollars) as freely as dollars are spoken of in the United States of America.

I will mention a few things that we have, by the blessing of God, been enabled to accomplish since we reached the mission farm: Opened two out-stations; built brick houses at each station, fourteen by thirty feet; built a brick church here at the home station, twenty-six by thirty-six feet; erected a building, fourteen by twenty-four feet, for an office and treatment room for Dr. Green's use; built a house, fourteen by twenty-four feet, for the hired help to occupy; have bought about eight hundred bags of grain, weighing two hundred pounds each. We had hoped to sell this grain at a fair profit, but the war in the Transvaal is stagnating business, and the outlook is rather dark. At one time Buluwayo had about six thousand inhabitants; now it has not over fifteen hundred, or possibly two thousand. Business is flat. It was good up to the first of July, but since that time it has gone down rapidly. Buluwayo has all the appearance of an American boom-blasted town. Since the war opened in the Transvaal, we are cut off both by railroad and telegraph, and the situation in Buluwayo is bad.

Some have an idea that emigration is pouring into Rhodesia as it used to into America a few years ago. This is a mistake. There is, however, quite an exodus out of this country. That is all the emigration I know of. There is no encouragement offered to remain; and all people can see is to get out before things are worse.

We have opened a school for the native children, who come from the kraals, and spend two hours each morning learning to read; and have also begun school work at a few of the kraals on the farm. We hope that this is but the beginning of the educational work among this people. Our prayers ascend daily that a desire may be created in the hearts of this people to learn to read; and if this is realized, then we hope that a knowledge of God's word can be brought to them as a nation. Each morning, worship is conducted with the hired native help. A native young man, who was herding donkeys when we came, shows signs of real Christian experience. He has become interested in learning to read, and has made such progress that already we have started him out among the kraals to spend a few hours each day with his own people. Sister Taba, the wife of the native teacher who died soon after Elder Tripp's death, is also interested in laboring among the kraals a few hours each week. Her regular work is sewing for the children in the “home,” and she does the home washing.

Self-supporting missionary work is a fine thing to talk about, and it is what we are trying to do; but the most conspicuous thing around is our inconveniences, and these are so prominent that it requires about twice as much time and labor to accomplish a given amount of work here as it does in the States. We are about as well equipped for self-supporting missionary work as a carpenter would be if his tools consisted of a saw, an ax, and a jack-knife.

We often wonder when the Mission Board will send us more help. If helpers could reach us each year about April 1, they could, while becoming acclimated, learn the language, and also assist at the home station; and as soon as their knowledge of the language would permit, they could begin work among the natives. Our company were all plunged into hard manual labor as soon as we reached the farm, and we have been at it ever since, with no time for study; and because of our lack of ability to talk with the natives, we have labored under great embarrassment, such as I would not like to see others meet. We need married men and their wives, from twenty to thirty years of age,—men and women of good common sense, who are used to hard work, and are not afraid of trying experiences, persons who can keep sweet-tempered under difficulties. We need men and women of a high-school education, who are adapted to learning a new language, and who, after learning the language, could become efficient teachers. We don't ask for doctors (we have one good one), nurses, preachers, or farmers; but we do need teachers with adaptability and willingness to do anything, willing to lay aside many things that they think they know, and to learn from those who have spent a little time here.

It would not be wise for persons to come here for their health or for romance. This country is no health resort; and as for romance, there is but little of that. On the other hand, there is a large amount of hard work and many inconveniences to grapple with.

I know that many of our friends think that we have come to a heathen country, where people go nearly or wholly naked. They pity us, and think we must be very homesick. Yes; we have come to a heathen country, and that is why we are needed here. It is quite true that people go around with but few clothes on, but we don't mind that. I am led to believe that the clothing piled on many a white person's back often covers more impurity and immorality than we have yet discovered among this dark-skinned people. Homesick?—No; we don't know of a place where we would rather be than right here. We know that the Lord brought us here, therefore we are happy in being right where we know the Lord wishes us to be.

Our anxiety is to learn the best way to bring the light of the gospel to these natives, and the dear Lord is helping us in learning how to reach them. In our school work among the natives we are using a little book printed in the Matabele language. It was translated by Mr. Carnagie, the missionary nearest to our station, but under the London Missionary Society. He has also translated the book of Matthew, and is at the present time translating

the book of Acts. We have a few of his little native song-books, and the natives have learned the words to a few of the hymns. You see we are trying to be aggressive in our work, even if we do not have many conveniences, to say nothing of luxuries, and live on dirt floors under thatched roofs with no ceilings, no electric lights, no street cars nor side-walks, neither bicycle paths nor public water works.

On the Sabbath, after our Sabbath-school and native meeting in the church, the white people gather at our house, and we spend an hour together. For a few weeks we read the Bible studies in the General Conference Bulletins. Sometimes we have prayer and social meetings; and as we have sought the Lord, he has come very near. We are able to testify that the blessing of the Lord is not confined to numbers or places. The good REVIEW is greatly prized, although it is six weeks old when it reaches us. We are very thankful for the good reading we have in our various periodicals, and we hope to keep pace with the message of truth, even if we are isolated from the majority of our brethren and sisters. Letters from our friends are appreciated, but we hope no one will think that he is neglected if we do not answer at once. The days go by as rapidly as they ever did in America, and weeks pass before we accomplish what we planned to do in much less time.

The Store. Brother Armitage's House. Children's Home. Brother Mead's House. Brother Anderson's House (recently burned).

I suppose you have learned about the loss we have had here by fire. It happened the morning of September 27. The house occupied by Brother Anderson and Dr. Green caught fire from the chimney flue, and it was not many minutes until the whole structure was in flames, the thatched roof going like tinder. They lost practically everything. All of Dr. Green's books, medical works, etc., went in smoke. He felt it keenly; indeed we all felt very sad; for we knew something of what it means to replace necessary articles in this country. We are not where we can step into stores and get whatever we need. Although at the best we have none too much room, we have made all as comfortable as we can, and hope in time to build another house. It will take some time to replace the articles that Brother and Sister Anderson had worked hard for, during their stay in Matabeleland; but in order to keep house and have food properly cooked, it will be necessary to have them. Dr. Green and his wife brought many things with them, and now these will have to be replaced.

As a family we have all been quite well since we left America, one year ago the thirtieth of this month. We acknowledge the goodness of the Lord to us, and daily dedicate ourselves anew to his service. F. L. MEAD.