Baron Trenck - "The Life and Adventures of Baron Trenck Volume 2"

Ralph Bonehill - "The Boy Land Boomer"

Austin Dobson - "De Libris: Prose and Verse"

Various - "The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 4, No. 24, Oct. 1859"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

From Pole to Pole

S >> Sven Anders Hedin >> From Pole to Pole




His staff of servants soon proved to be a worthless lot. The Indians
were dismissed, and few of the others could be depended on. The best
were Susi and Chuma, who by their faithfulness gained a great reputation
both in Africa and Europe. Musa, on the contrary, was a scoundrel. He
heard from an Arab slave-dealer that all the country through which
Livingstone was about to travel was inhabited by a war-like tribe, who
had lately fallen upon a party of forty-four Arabs and killed all but
the narrator himself. Musa and most of his comrades were so frightened
that they ran away. On his arrival at Zanzibar, Musa informed the
British Consul that Livingstone had been attacked and murdered and all
his goods plundered. The false account was so cleverly concocted and so
thoroughly rehearsed that Musa could not be convicted of deceit. Every
one believed him, and the English newspapers contained whole columns of
reminiscences of the deceased. Only one friend of Livingstone, who had
accompanied him on one of his journeys and knew Musa, had any doubts. He
went himself to Africa, followed Livingstone's trail, and learned from
the natives that the missionary had never been attacked as reported, but
that he was on his way to Lake Tanganyika.

The road thither was long and troublesome, and the great explorer
suffered severe losses. Provisions ran short, and a hired porter ran
away with the medicine chest. From this time Livingstone had no drugs to
allay fever, and his health broke down. But he came to the southern
extremity of Tanganyika, and the following year discovered Lake
Bangweolo. He rowed out to the islands in the lake, and very much
astonished the natives, who had never seen a white man before. Extensive
swamps lay round the lake, and Livingstone believed that the
southernmost sources of the Nile must be looked for in this region. This
problem of the watershed of the Nile so fascinated him that he tarried
year after year in Africa; but he never succeeded in solving it, and
never knew that the river running out of Bangweolo is a tributary of the
Lualaba or Upper Congo.

Most of his men mutinied on the shore of Bangweolo. They complained of
the hardships they endured and were tired of munching ears of maize, and
demanded that their master should lead them to country where they could
get sufficient food. Mild and gentle as always, Livingstone spoke to
them kindly. He admitted that they were right, and confessed that he was
himself tired of struggling on in want and hardship. They were so
astonished at his gentleness that they begged to remain with him.

Livingstone was dangerously ill on this journey and had to be carried on
a litter. There he lay unconscious and delirious with fever, and lost
entirely his count of time. The troop moved again towards Tanganyika,
and was to cross the lake in canoes to the Ujiji country on the eastern
shore. If he could only get so far, he could rest there, and receive new
supplies and letters from home.

Worn out and exhausted he at length reached Ujiji, a rendezvous for the
Arab slave-dealers. But his fresh supplies had disappeared entirely. He
wrote for more from the coast, and urged the Sultan of Zanzibar to see
that nothing went astray. He wrote heaps of letters which never reached
their destination. A packet of forty-two were sent off at one time, not
one of which arrived, for at that time the tribes to the east of the
lake were at war with one another.

Livingstone did not allow his courage to fail. No difficulties were
great enough to crush this man. With Susi and Chuma and a party of newly
enlisted porters, he set out westwards across the lake, his aim being to
visit the Manyuema country, through the outskirts of which flows the
Lualaba. If Livingstone could prove in which direction this mighty river
ran, whether to the Mediterranean or the Atlantic, he could then return
home with a good conscience. He had determined in his own mind that he
would not leave the Dark Continent until he had solved the problem, and
for this he sacrificed his life without result. The canoes sped over the
lake, and on the western shore he continued his journey on foot to the
land of the Manyuemas. He marched on westwards. When the rainy season
came on he lost several months, and when he set out again on his next
march he had only three companions, two of them being the faithful Susi
and Chuma. In the dark thickets of the tropical forests he wounded his
feet, dragged himself over fallen trunks and decaying rubbish, and waded
across swollen rivers; and among the crowns of the lofty trees and in
the dense undergrowth lurked malaria, an invisible miasma. He fell ill
again and had to rest a long time in his miserable hut, where he lay on
his bed of grass reading his tattered Bible, or listening to the
native's tales of combats with men and apes, for gorillas lived in the
forests.

Thus year after year passed by, and not the faintest whisper from the
noisy world reached his ears. The only thing that retained him was the
Lualaba. Did its waters run in an inexhaustible stream to the western
ocean, or did they flow gently through forests, swamps, and deserts to
Egypt? If he could only answer that question, he would go by the nearest
way to Zanzibar and thence home. He had heard nothing of his children
and friends for years. The soil of Africa held him prisoner in a network
of forests and lianas.

In February 1871 he left Manyuema and came to Nyangwe on the bank of the
Lualaba, one of the principal resorts of slave-dealers. The natives were
hostile, believing that he was a slave-trader; and the slave-traders who
knew him by sight hated him. He tried in vain to procure canoes for a
voyage down the great river. He offered a chief, Dugumbe, a liberal
reward if he would help him to prepare for this expedition. While
Dugumbe was considering the offer, Livingstone witnessed an episode
which surpassed in horror all that he had previously met with in Africa.
It was a fine day in July on the bank of the Lualaba, and 1500 natives,
mostly women, had flocked to market at a village on the bank.
Livingstone was out for a stroll, when he saw two small cannon pointed
at the crowd and fired. Many of the unfortunate people, doomed to death
or the fetters of slavery, rushed to their canoes, but were met by a
band of slave-hunters and surprised by a shower of arrows. Fifty canoes
lay at the bank, but they were so closely packed that they could not be
put out. The wounded shrieked and threw themselves on one another in
wild despair. A number of black heads on the surface of the water showed
that many swimmers were trying to reach an island about a mile away. The
current was against them and their case was hopeless. Shot after shot
was fired at them. Some sank quietly without a struggle, while others
uttered cries of terror and raised their arms to heaven before they went
down to the dark crystal halls of the crocodiles. Fugitives who
succeeded in getting their canoes afloat forgot their paddles and had to
paddle with their hands. Three canoes, the crews of which tried to
rescue their unfortunate friends, filled and sank, and all on board were
drowned. The heads in the water became gradually fewer, and only a few
men were still struggling for life when Dugumbe took pity on them and
allowed twenty-one to be saved. One brave woman refused to receive help,
preferring the mercy of the crocodiles to that of the slave-king. The
Arabs themselves estimated the dead at 400.

This spectacle made Livingstone ill and depressed. The description of
the scene which afterwards appeared in all the English journals awakened
such a feeling of horror that a commission was appointed and sent out to
Zanzibar to inquire into the slave-trade on the spot, and with the
Sultan's help devise means of suppressing it. But we know that in
Gordon's time the slave-trade still flourished in the Sudan, and several
decades more passed before the power of the slave-dealers was broken. As
for Livingstone, it was fortunate that he did not accompany Dugumbe, for
the natives combined for defence, attacked the chiefs party and slew 200
of the slave-dealing rabble.

Thus the question of the Lualaba remained unsolved, but Livingstone
began to suspect that his theory of the Nile sources was wrong. He heard
a doubtful tale of the Lualaba bending off to the west, but he still
hoped that it flowed northwards, and that therefore the ultimate source
of the Nile was to be found among the feeders of Lake Bangweolo. When
difficulties sprang up around him, his determination not to give in was
only strengthened. But he could do nothing without a large and
well-ordered caravan, and therefore he had to return to Ujiji, whither
fresh supplies ought to have arrived from the coast. And amidst a
thousand dangers and lurking treachery he effected his return through
the disturbed country. Half dead of fever and in great destitution he
arrived at Ujiji in October.

There a fresh disappointment awaited him. His supplies had indeed come,
but the Arabian scoundrel to whose care the goods had been consigned had
sold them, including 2000 yards of cloth and several sacks of glass
beads, the only current medium of exchange. The Arab coolly said that he
thought the missionary was dead.

We read in Livingstone's journal that in his helplessness he felt like
the man who went down to Jericho and fell among thieves. Five days after
his arrival at Ujiji he writes as follows: "But when my spirits were at
their lowest ebb, the good Samaritan was close at hand, for one morning
Susi came running at the top of his speed and gasped out 'An Englishman!
I see him!' and off he darted to meet him. The American flag at the head
of a caravan told of the nationality of the stranger. Bales of goods,
baths of tin, huge kettles, cooking pots, tents, etc., made me think
'This must be a luxurious traveller, and not one at his wits' end like
me!'"


HOW STANLEY FOUND LIVINGSTONE

Now we must go back a little and turn to another story.

Henry Stanley was a young journalist, who in October happened to be in
Madrid. He was on the staff of the great newspaper, the _New York
Herald_, which was owned by the wealthy Gordon Bennett. One morning
Stanley was awakened by his servant with a telegram containing only the
words: "Come to Paris on important business." Stanley travelled to Paris
by the first train, and at once went to Bennett's hotel. Bennett asked
him, "Where do you think Livingstone is?"

"I really do not know, sir."

"Do you think he is alive?"

"He may be, and he may not be."

"Well, I think he is alive," said Bennett, "and I am going to send you
to find him."

"What!" cried Stanley. "Do you mean me to go to Central Africa?"

"Yes; I mean that you shall go and find him. The old man may be in want;
take enough with you to help him, should he require it. Do what you
think best--_but find Livingstone_."

In great surprise Stanley suggested that such a journey would be very
expensive, but Bennett answered, "Draw a thousand pounds now; and when
you have gone through that, draw another thousand, and when that is
spent, draw another thousand, and when you have finished that, draw
another thousand, and so on; _but find Livingstone_."

"Well," thought Stanley, "I will do my best, God helping me." And so he
went off to Africa.

He had, however, been charged by his employer to fulfil other missions
on the way. He made a journey up the Nile, visited Jerusalem, travelled
to Trebizond and Teheran and right through Persia to Bushire, and
consequently did not arrive at Zanzibar until the beginning of January,
1871.

Here he made thorough preparations. He had never been before in the
Africa of the Blacks, but he was a clever, energetic man, with a genius
for organisation. He bought cloth enough for a hundred men for two
years, glass beads, brass wire and other goods in request among the
natives. He bought saddles and tents, guns and cartridges, boats,
medicine, tools, provisions and asses. Two English sailors volunteered
for the expedition, and he took them into his service, but both died in
the fever country. Black porters were engaged, and twenty men he called
his soldiers carried guns. After he had crossed over from Zanzibar to
the African mainland, the equipment of the expedition was completed at
Bagamoyo, and Stanley made haste to get away before the rainy season
commenced.

The great and well-found caravan of 192 men in all trooped westwards in
five detachments. Stanley himself led the last detachment, and before
them lay the wilderness, the interior of Africa with its dark recesses.
At the first camping-ground tall maize was growing and manioc plants
were cultivated in extensive fields. The latter is a plant with large
root bulbs chiefly composed of starch, but also containing a poisonous
milky juice which is deadly if the roots be eaten without preparation.
When the sap has been removed by proper treatment, however, the roots
are crushed into flour, from which a kind of bread is made. Round a
swamp in the neighbourhood grew low fan-palms and acacias among
luxuriant grass and reeds.

Next day they marched under ebony and calabash trees, from the shells of
which the natives make vessels of various shapes, for while they are
growing the fruits can be forced by outward pressure into almost any
desired form. Pheasants and quails, water-hens and pigeons flew up
screaming when the black porters tramped along the path, winding in
single file through the grass as high as a man. Hippopotami lay snorting
unconcernedly in a stream that was crossed.

Then came the forerunners of the rainy season, splashing and pelting
over the country, and pouring showers pattered on the grass. Both the
horses of the caravan succumbed, one or two fellows who found Bagamoyo
more comfortable ran away, and a dozen porters fell ill of fever.
Stanley was still full of energy, and beat the reveille in the morning
himself with an iron ladle on an empty tin. On they went through dense
jungle. Now a gang of slaves toils along, their chains clanking at every
weary step. Here again is a river, and there the road runs up a hill.
Here the country is barren, but soon after crops wave again round
villages. Maize fields in a valley are agitated like the swell of the
sea, and gentle breezes rustle through rain-bedewed sugar-cane. Bananas
hang down like golden cucumbers, and in barren places tamarisks and
mimosas perfume the air. Sometimes a halt is made in villages of
well-built grass huts.

Over swampy grasslands soaked by the continuous rains Stanley led his
troop deeper and deeper into Africa. After having lasted forty days, the
rainy season came to an end on the last day of April. The men marched
through a forest of fine Palmyra palms, a tree which grows over almost
all tropical Africa, in India, and on the Sunda Islands, and which is
extolled in an old Indian poem because its fruits, leaves, and wood can
be applied to eight hundred and one various uses. Afterwards the country
became more hilly, and to the west one ridge and crest rose behind
another. The porters and soldiers were glad to leave the damp coast-land
behind and get into drier country, but the ridges made travelling
harder. They encamped in villages of beehive-shaped huts covered with
bamboos and bast, and surrounded by mud walls. Some tracts were so
barren that only cactus, thistles, and thorny bushes could find support
in the dry soil, and near a small lake were seen the tracks of wild
animals, buffaloes, zebras, giraffes, wild boars, and antelopes, which
came there to drink.

Then the route ran through thickets of tamarisk, and under a canopy of
monkey bread-fruit trees, till eventually at a village Stanley fell in
with a large Arab caravan, with which he travelled through the dreaded
warlike land of Ugogo. When they set out together the whole party
numbered 400 men, who marched in Indian file along the narrow paths.

"How are you, White Man?" called out a man at Ugogo in a thundering
voice when Stanley arrived, and when he had set up his quarters in the
chief's village the natives flocked around to gaze at the first white
man they had ever seen. They were friendly and offered milk, honey,
beans, maize, nuts, and water-melons in exchange for cloth and glass
beads, but also demanded a heavy toll from the caravan for the privilege
of passing through their country.

The caravan proceeded through the avenues of the jungle, from time
immemorial frequented by elephants and rhinoceroses. In one district the
huts were of the same form as Kirghiz tents, and in another rocks rose
up in the forest like ruins of a fairy palace. The porters were not
always easy to manage, and on some occasions were refractory. But if
they were given a young ox to feast on, they quickly calmed down and sat
round the fire while strips of fresh meat frizzled over the embers.

Now it was only one day's march to Tabora, the principal village in
Unyamwezi, and the chief settlement of the Arabs in East Africa. The
caravan set out with loud blasts of trumpets and horns, and on arrival
discharged a salvo of guns, and Arabs in white dresses and turbans came
out to welcome the explorer. Here Stanley found all his caravans, and
the Arabs showed him every attention. They regaled him with wheaten
loaves, chickens and rice, and presented him with five fat oxen, eight
sheep, and ten goats. Round about they had cultivated ground and large
herds, and it was difficult to believe that the stately well-grown men
were base slave-traders.

Just at this time the country of Unyamwezi was disturbed by a war which
was raging with Mirambo, a great chief in the north-west, and
consequently when Stanley left Tabora, now with only fifty-four men, he
had to make a detour to the south to avoid the seat of war. At every
step he took, his excitement and uncertainty increased. Where was this
wonderful Livingstone, whom all the world talked about? Was he dead long
ago, or was he still wandering about the forests as he had done for
nearly thirty years?

A bale or two of cloth had frequently to be left with a chief as toll.
In return one chief sent provisions to last the whole caravan for four
days, and came himself to Stanley's tent with a troop of black warriors.
Here they were invited to sit down, and they remained silent for a
while, closely examining the white man; then they touched his clothes,
said something to one another, and burst out into unrestrained laughter.
Then they must see the rifles and medicine chest. Stanley took out a
bottle of ammonia, and told them that it was good for headaches and
snake-bites. His black majesty at once complained of headache and wanted
to try the bottle. Stanley held it under the chiefs nose, and of course
it was so strong that he fell backwards, pulling a face. His warriors
roared with laughter, clapped their hands, snapped their fingers,
pinched one another, and behaved like clowns. When the king had
recovered, he said, as the tears ran from his eyes, that he was quite
cured and needed no more of the strong remedy.

A river ran among hills, through a magnificent country abounding in
game, and lotus leaves floated on the smooth water. The sun sinks and
the moon soars above the mimosa trees, the river shines like a silver
mirror, antelopes are on the watch for the dangers of the night. Within
the enclosure of the camp the black men sit gnawing at the bones of a
newly-shot zebra. But when it is time to set out again from the
comfortable camp, the porters would rather remain where they are and
enjoy themselves, and when the horn sounds they go sullenly and slowly
to their loads. After half an hour's march they halt, throw down their
loads, and begin to whisper in threatening groups. Two insubordinate
ruffians lie in wait with their rifles aimed at Stanley, who at once
raises his gun and threatens to shoot them on the spot if they do not
immediately drop their rifles. The mutiny ends without bloodshed, and
the men promise again to go on steadily to Lake Tanganyika, according to
their agreement.

Now Stanley is in a forest tract where cattle of all kinds are pestered
by the tsetse fly, and where the small honey bird flies busily about
among the trees. It is like the common grey sparrow, but somewhat
larger, and has a yellow spot on each shoulder. It receives its name
from its habit of flying in short flights just in front of the natives
to guide them to the nests of wild bees, in order to get its share of
the honey. When a man follows it, he must not make a noise to frighten
it, but only whistle gently, that the bird may know that its intention
is understood. As it comes nearer to the wild bees' nest, it takes
shorter flights, and when it is come to the spot, it sits on a branch
and waits. Stanley says that the honey bird is a great friend of the
natives, and that they follow it at once when it calls them.

Stanley now turned northwards to a river which flows into Lake
Tanganyika. The caravan was carried over in small frail boats, and the
asses which still survived had to swim. When the foremost of them came
to the middle of the river he was seen to stop a moment, apparently
struggling, and then he went down, a whirlpool forming above his head.
He had been seized by a crocodile.

A caravan which came from Ujiji reported that there was a white man in
that country. "Hurrah, it is Livingstone! It must be Livingstone!"
thought Stanley. His eagerness and zeal were stimulated to the
uttermost, and he offered his porters extra pay to induce them to make
longer marches. Eventually the last camp before Tanganyika was reached
in safety, and here Stanley took out a new suit of clothes, had his
helmet chalked, and made himself spruce, for the reports of a white
man's presence at the lake became more definite.

The 28th of October, 1871, was a beautiful day, and Stanley and his men
marched for six hours south-westwards. The path ran through dense beds
of bamboo, the glittering, silvery surface of Tanganyika was seen from a
height, and blue, hazy mountains appeared afar off on the western shore.
The whole caravan raised shouts of delight. At the last ridge the
village of Ujiji came into sight, with its huts and palms and large
canoes on the beach. Stanley gazed at it with eager eyes. Where was the
white man's hut? Was Livingstone still alive, or was he a mere dream
figure which vanished when approached?

The villagers come streaming out to meet the caravan, and there is a
deafening noise of greeting, enquiries, and shouts.

From the midst of the crowd a black man in a white shirt and a turban
calls out, "Good morning, sir!"

"Who the mischief are you?" asks Stanley.

"I am Susi, Dr. Livingstone's servant," replied the man.

"What! Is Dr. Livingstone here?"

"Yes, sir."

"In this village? Run at once and tell the Doctor I am coming."

When Livingstone heard the news he came out from his verandah and went
into the courtyard, where all the Arabs of Ujiji had collected. Stanley
made his way through the crush, and saw a small man before him, grey and
pale, dressed in a bluish cap with a faded gold band round it, a
red-sleeved waistcoat, and grey trousers. Stanley would have run up to
embrace him, but he felt ashamed in the presence of the crowd, so he
simply took off his hat and said, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?"

"Yes," said he, with a kind smile, lifting his cap slightly.

"I thank God, Doctor, I have been permitted to see you."

"I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you."

* * * * *

They sat down on the verandah, and all the astonished natives stood
round, looking on. The missionary related his experiences in the heart
of Africa, and then Stanley gave him the general news of the world, for
of course he knew nothing of what had taken place for years past. Africa
had been separated from Asia by the Suez Canal. The Pacific Railway
through North America had been completed. Prussia had taken
Schleswig-Holstein from Denmark, the German armies were besieging Paris,
and Napoleon the Third was a prisoner. France was bleeding from wounds
which would never be healed. What news for a man who had just come out
of the forests of Manyuema!

Evening drew on and still they sat talking. The shades of night spread
their curtain over the palms, and darkness fell over the mountains where
Stanley had marched, still in uncertainty, on this remarkable day. A
heavy surf beat on the shore of Lake Tanganyika. The night had travelled
far over Africa before at last they went to rest.

The two men were four months together. They hired two large canoes and
rowed to the northern end of Tanganyika, and ascertained that the lake
had no outlet there. Only two years later Lieutenant Cameron succeeded
in finding the outlet of Tanganyika, the Lukuga, which discharges into
the Lualaba; and when he found that Nyangwe on the Lualaba lies 160 feet
lower than the Nile where it flows out of the Albert Nyanza, he had
proof that the Lualaba could not belong to the Nile, and that
Livingstone's idea that the farthest sources of the Nile must be looked
for at Lake Bangweolo was only an idle dream. The Lualaba therefore must
make its way to the Atlantic, and in fact this river is nothing but the
Upper Congo. Lieutenant Cameron was also the first European to cross
Central Africa from east to west.

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