Gilbert K. Chesterton - "The Napoleon of Notting Hill"

Various - "Scientific American Suppl. No. 299"

Charles Nordhoff - "The Communistic Societies of the United States"

Hall Caine - "The Christian"

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




On the shores of the great lake the two travellers beheld a series of
beautiful landscapes. There lay villages and fishing-stations in the
shade of palms and mimosas, and round the villages grew maize and durra,
manioc, yams, and sweet potatoes. In the glens round the lake grew tall
trees from which the natives dig out their canoes. Baboons roared in the
forests and dwelt in the hollow trunks. Elephants and rhinoceroses,
giraffes and zebras, hippopotami and wild boars, buffaloes and antelopes
occurred in large numbers, and the northern extremity of the lake
swarmed with crocodiles. Sometimes the strangers were inhospitably
received when they landed, and once when they were off their guard the
natives plundered their canoes. Among other things they took a case of
cartridges and bullets, and the travellers thought it would be bad for
the thieves if the case exploded at some camp fire.

It soon became time, however, for Stanley to return to Zanzibar and
inform the world through the press that Livingstone was alive. They went
to Tabora, for Livingstone expected fresh supplies, and in addition
Stanley gave him forty men's loads of cloth, glass beads and brass-wire,
a canvas boat, a waterproof tent, two breech-loaders and other weapons,
ammunition, tools, and cooking utensils. All these things were
invaluable to Livingstone, who was determined to remain in Africa at any
cost until his task was accomplished.

The day of parting came--March 14, 1872. Stanley was very depressed,
believing that the parting was for ever. Livingstone went with him a
little way and then bade him a hearty farewell, and while Stanley made
haste towards the coast the Doctor turned back to Tabora and was again
alone in the immense wilds of Africa. But he had still his faithful
servants Susi and Chuma with him.


THE DEATH OF LIVINGSTONE

At Zanzibar Stanley was to engage a troop of stout, reliable porters and
send them to Tabora, where Livingstone was to await their arrival. He
had entrusted his journals, letters, and maps to Stanley's care, and
that was fortunate, for when Stanley first arrived in England his
narrative was doubted, and he was coldly received. Subsequently a
revulsion of feeling set in, and it was generally recognised that he had
performed a brilliant feat.

In due time the new supply of porters turned up at Tabora, fifty-seven
men. They were excellent and trustworthy, and in a letter to Stanley,
Livingstone says that he did not know how to thank him sufficiently for
this new service. At the end of August the indefatigable Doctor set off
on his last journey. He made for Tanganyika, and on New Year's Day,
1873, he was near Lake Bangweolo. It rained harder than ever, pouring
down as if the flood-gates of heaven were opened. The caravan struggled
slowly on through the wet, sometimes marching for hours through sheets
of water, where only the eddies of the current distinguished the river
from the adjoining swamps and flooded lands. The natives were
unfriendly, refused to supply provisions, and led the strangers astray.
Livingstone had never had such a difficult journey.

His plan was to go round the south of Lake Bangweolo to the Luapula,
which flows out of the lake and runs to the Lualaba. Then he meant to
follow the water in its course to the north, and ascertain its direction
and destination.

But whichever way the mysterious river made its way to the ocean, the
journey was long, and Livingstone's days were numbered. He had long been
ill, and his condition was aggravated by the hardships of the journey.
His body was worn out, and undermined by constant fever and insufficient
nourishment. Yet he did not abandon hope of success and conscientiously
wrote down his observations, and no Sunday passed without a service with
his people.

Month after month he dragged himself along, but his strength was no
longer what it had been. On April 21 he wrote with trembling hand only
the words, "Tried to ride, but was forced to lie down and they carried
me back to vil. exhausted." A comfortable litter was made, and Susi and
Chuma were always with him. Livingstone asked the chief of the village
for a guide for the next day, and the chief answered, "Stay as long as
you wish, and when you want guides to Kalunganjovu's you shall have
them."

The day after he was carried for two hours through marshy, grassy flats.
During the next four days he was unable to write a line in his diary,
but was carried by short stages from village to village along the
southern shore of Lake Bangweolo. On April 27 he wrote in his diary,
"Knocked up quite, and remain--recover--sent to buy milch goats. We are
on the banks of the Molilamo." With these words his diary, which he had
kept for thirty years, concluded. Milch goats were not to be had, but
the chief of the place sent a present of food.

Four days later the journey was resumed. The chief provided canoes for
crossing the Molilamo, a stream which flows into the lake. The invalid
was transferred from the litter to a canoe, and ferried over the swollen
stream. On the farther bank Susi went on in advance to the village of
Chitambo to get a hut ready. The other men followed slowly with the
litter. Time after time the sick man begged his men to put the litter
down on the ground and let him rest. A drowsiness seemed to come over
him which alarmed his servants. At a bend of the path he begged them to
stop again, for he could go no farther. But after an hour they went on
to the village. Leaning on their bows, the natives flocked round the
litter on which lay the man whose fame and reputation had reached them
in previous years. A hut was made ready, and a bed of grass and sticks
was set up against the wall, while his boxes were deposited along the
other walls, and a large chest served as a table. A fire was lighted
outside the entrance, and the boy Majwara kept watch.

Early on April 20 the chief Chitambo came to pay a visit, but
Livingstone was too weak to talk to him. The day passed, and at night
the men sat round their fires and went to sleep when all was quiet.
About eleven o'clock Susi was told to go to his master. Loud shouts were
heard in the distance, and Livingstone asked Susi if it was their men
who were making the noise. As the men were quiet in their huts, Susi
replied, "I can hear from the cries that the people are scaring away a
buffalo from their durra fields." A few minutes later he asked, "Is this
the Luapula?" "No," answered Susi, "we are in Chitambo's village." Then
again, "How many days is it to the Luapula?" "I think it is three days,
master," answered Susi. Shortly after he murmured, "O dear, dear!" and
dozed off again.

At midnight Majwara came again to Susi's hut and called him to the sick
man. Livingstone wished to take some medicine, and Susi helped him, and
then he said, "All right, you can go now."

About four o'clock on the morning of May 1 Majwara went to Susi again
and said, "Come to Bwana, I am afraid; I don't know if he is alive."
Susi waked Chuma and some of the other men, and they went to
Livingstone's hut. Their master was kneeling beside the bed, leaning
forward with his head buried in his hands. They had often seen him at
prayer, and now drew back in reverential silence. But they felt ill at
ease, for he did not move; and on going nearer they could not hear him
breathe. One of them touched his cheek and found it was cold. The
apostle of Africa was dead.

In deep sorrow his servants laid him on the bed and went out into the
damp night air to consult together. The cocks of the village had just
begun to crow, and a new day was dawning over Africa. Then they went in
to open his boxes and pack up everything. All the men were present so
that all might be jointly responsible that nothing was lost. They
carefully placed his diaries and letters, his Bible and instruments, in
tin boxes so that they might be safe from wet and from white ants, which
are very destructive.

The men knew that they would have great difficulties to encounter. They
knew that the natives had a horror of the dead, believing that spirits
in the dark land of the departed thought of nothing but revenge and
mischief. Therefore they perform ceremonies to propitiate departed
spirits and dissuade them from plaguing the living with war, famine, or
sickness.

Susi and Chuma, who had been with their master for seven years, felt
their responsibility. They spoke with the men whom Stanley had sent from
the coast and asked their opinion. They answered, "You are old men in
travelling and hardships; you must act as our chiefs, and we will
promise to obey whatever you order us to do." Susi and Chuma accordingly
took the command, and carried out an exploit which is unique in all the
history of exploration.

First of all a hut was erected at some little distance from the village,
and in this they placed the body to prepare it for the long journey. The
heart and viscera were removed, placed in a tin box, and reverently
buried in the ground, one of Livingstone's Christian servants reading
the Funeral Service. The body was then filled with salt and exposed for
fourteen days to the sun in order to dry and thus be preserved from
decay. The legs were bent back to make the package shorter, and the body
was sewed up tightly in cotton. A cylinder of bark was cut from a tree
and in this the body was enclosed. Round the whole a piece of canvas
was bound, and the package was tied to a pole for convenience of
carrying. On a tree near, Livingstone's name was cut and the date of his
death, and Chitambo was asked to have the grass rooted up round the tree
so that it should not at any time be destroyed by a bush fire.

When all was ready two men lifted the precious burden from the ground,
the others took their loads on their backs, and a journey was commenced
which was to last nine months, a funeral procession the like of which
the world had never seen before. The route ran sometimes through
friendly, sometimes through hostile tribes. Once they had to fight in
order to force their way through. News of the great missionary's death
had preceded them. Like a grass fire on the prairie it spread over
Africa from coast to coast, creeping silently through the forests. In
some districts the people ran away from fear of the sad procession,
while in others they came up to see it. Bread-fruit trees stretched
their boughs over the road like a canopy over a victor returning home,
and palms, the emblems of peace and resurrection, stood as sentinels by
the way, which was left clear by the wild animals of the forest. And
mile after mile the party marched eastwards under the green arches.

In Tabora they met an English expedition sent out too late for the
relief of Livingstone, and its members listened with emotion to the tale
of the men. They wished to bury the corpse at Tabora, but Livingstone's
servants would not hear of it. A few days later they met with serious
opposition. A tribe refused to let them pass with a corpse. Then they
made up a load resembling that containing the body, and gave out that
they had decided to return to Tabora to bury their master there. Some of
the men marched back with the false package, which they took to pieces
at night and scattered among the bush. Then they returned to their
comrades, who meanwhile had altered the real package so as to look like
a bale of cloth. The natives were then satisfied and let them move on
unmolested.

In February, 1874, they arrived at Bagamoyo, and the remains were
carried in a cruiser to Zanzibar and afterwards conveyed to England. In
London there was a question whether the body was really Livingstone's,
but his broken and reunited arm, which was crushed by the lion at
Mabotsa, set all doubts at rest. He was interred in Westminster Abbey in
the middle of the nave. The temple of honour was filled to overflowing,
and among those who bore the pall was Henry Stanley. The grave was
covered with a black stone slab, in which was cut the following
inscription:--

"BROUGHT BY FAITHFUL HANDS
OVER LAND AND SEA,
HERE RESTS
DAVID LIVINGSTONE,
MISSIONARY, TRAVELLER, PHILANTHROPIST.
BORN MARCH 19, 1813,
BLANTYRE, LANARKSHIRE.
DIED May 4th, 1873,
AT CHITAMBO'S VILLAGE, ILALA.
FOR THIRTY YEARS HIS LIFE WAS SPENT
IN AN UNWEARIED EFFORT TO EVANGELISE
THE NATIVE RACES, TO EXPLORE THE
UNDISCOVERED SECRETS,
AND ABOLISH THE DESOLATING SLAVE-TRADE
OF CENTRAL AFRICA...."

The memory of the "Wise Heart" or the "Helper of Men," as they called
Livingstone, is still handed down from father to son among the natives
of Africa, and they are glad that his heart remains in African soil
under the tree in Chitambo's village. His dream of finding the sources
of the Nile, and of throwing light on the destination of the Lualaba,
was not fulfilled, but he discovered Ngami and Nyassa and other lakes,
the Victoria Falls and the upper course of the Zambesi, and mapped an
enormous extent of unknown country.


STANLEY'S GREAT JOURNEY

In the autumn of 1874 Stanley was back in Zanzibar to try his fortune
once more in Darkest Africa. He organised a caravan of three hundred
porters, provided himself with cloth, beads, brass-wire, arms, boats
which could be taken to pieces, tents, and everything else necessary for
a journey of several years.

He made first for the Victoria Nyanza, and circumnavigated the whole
lake. He visited Uganda, came again to Ujiji, where Livingstone's hut
had long been razed to the ground, and sailed all round Lake
Tanganyika.

Two years after he started he was at Nyangwe on the Lualaba. Livingstone
and Cameron had been there before, and we can imagine Stanley's feelings
when he at last found himself at this, the most westerly point ever
reached by a European from the coast of the Indian Ocean. Behind him lay
the known country and the great lakes; before him lay a land as large as
Europe, completely unknown and appearing as a blank on maps. Travellers
had come to its outskirts from all sides, but none knew what the
interior was like. It was not even known whither the Lualaba ran.
Livingstone had vainly questioned the natives and Arabs about it, and
vainly Stanley also tried to obtain information. At Nyangwe the Arab
slave-traders held their most western market. Thither corn, fruit, and
vegetables were brought for sale; there were sold animals, fish, grass
mats, brass-wire, bows, arrows, and spears; and thither were brought
ivory and slaves from the interior. But though routes from all
directions met at Nyangwe, the Arabs were as ignorant of the country as
any one.

The black continent, "Darkest Africa," lay before Stanley. He was a bold
man, to whom difficulties were nothing. He had a will of iron. All
opposition, all obstacles placed in his way, must go down before him. He
had determined not to return eastwards, whence he had come, but to march
straight westwards to the Atlantic coast, or die in the attempt.
Accordingly, early on the morning of November 5, 1876, Stanley left
Nyangwe in company with the rich and powerful Arab chief, Tippu Tib, and
directed his way northwards towards the great forest. Tippu Tib's party
consisted of 700 men, women, and children, while Stanley had 154
followers armed with rifles, revolvers, and axes. "Bismillah--in the
name of God!" cried the Mohammedan leaders of the company, as they took
the first step on the dangerous road.

The huge caravan, an interminable file of black men, entered the forest.
There majestic trees stood like pillars in a colonnade; there palms
struggled for room with wild vines and canes; there flourished ferns,
spear-grass, and reeds, and there bushes in tropical profusion formed
impenetrable brushwood; while through the whole was entangled a network
of climbing plants, which ran up the trunks and hung down from the
branches. Everything was damp and wet. Dew dropped from all the branches
and leaves in a continuous trickle. The air was close and sultry, and
heavy with the odour of plants and mould. It was deadly still, and
seldom was the slightest breeze perceptible; storms might rage above
the tree-tops, but no wind reached the ground, sheltered in the dimness
of the undergrowth.

The men struggle along over the slippery ground. Balancing their loads
on their heads with their hands, they stoop under boughs, push saplings
aside with their elbows, thrust their feet firmly into the mud in order
not to slip. Those who are clothed have their clothes torn, while the
naked black men graze their skins. Very slowly the caravan forces its
way through the forest, and a passage has frequently to be cut for those
who carry the sections of the boats.

All who, after Stanley, have travelled through the great primeval forest
in the heart of Africa have likewise described its suffocating hot-house
air, the peaceful silence, only broken by the cries of monkeys and
parrots, its deep, depressing gloom. If the journey is of long duration
men get wearied, experiencing a feeling of confinement, and long for
air, freedom, sun, and wind. It is like going through a tunnel, no
country being visible on either side. The illumination is uniform,
without shadows, without gleams, and the perpetual gloom, only
interrupted by pitch-dark night, is exceedingly wearisome. Like polar
explorers in the long winter night, the traveller longs for the sun and
the return of light.

The party travelled northwards at some distance east of the Lualaba.
Stanley climbed up a tree which grew somewhat apart on a hillock. Here
he found himself above the tree-tops, and saw the sunlit surface of the
primeval forest of closely growing trees below him. A continuous sea of
boughs and foliage fell like a swell down to the bank of the Lualaba. Up
here there was a breeze and the leaves fluttered in the wind; but down
below reigned darkness and silence and the exuberant life of the
tropics.

Even for such a man as Stanley this primeval forest was a hard nut to
crack. Sickness, weariness, and insubordination prevailed in his troop.
The great Tippu Tib considered it impossible to advance through such a
country, and wished to turn back with all his black rabble, but after
much hesitation he was at last persuaded to accompany Stanley for twenty
days longer. So on they went once more, and after innumerable
difficulties came again to the bank of the Lualaba.

The huge volumes of water glided along silently and majestically. Brown
and thick with decaying vegetation, the Lualaba flowed between dense
woods to the unknown region inhabited by negro tribes never heard of by
Europeans, and where no white man had ever set his foot. Here Stanley
decided to leave the terrible forest and to make use of the waterway of
the Lualaba. There were the boats in sections, and a whole fleet of
canoes could soon be made from the splendid trees growing at hand. The
whole caravan was accordingly assembled, and Stanley explained his
purpose. At first the men grumbled loudly, but Stanley declared that he
would make the voyage even if no one went with him but Frank Pocock, the
only survivor of the three white men who had started with him from
Zanzibar. He turned to his boat's crew and called out, "You have
followed me and sailed round the great lakes with me. Shall I and my
white brother go alone? Speak and show me those who dare follow me!" On
this a few stepped forward, and then a few more, and in the end
thirty-eight men declared themselves willing to take part in the voyage.

At this juncture many canoes full of natives were observed at the
opposite side of the river, so Stanley and Tippu Tib and some other
Arabs entered the boat and rowed up to a small island in mid-stream.

Here the black warriors were in swarms, and thirty canoes lay at the
water's edge. At a safe distance, Stanley's interpreter called out that
the white man only wished to see their country, that nothing belonging
to them should be touched, and that they themselves should not be
disturbed. They answered that if the white man would row out to the
island in the morning with ten servants, their own chief would meet him
with ten men, and would enter into blood-brotherhood with him. After
that the strangers might cross the river and visit their villages.

Suspecting treachery, however, Stanley sent twenty armed men by night to
the island to hide themselves in the brushwood. Then in the morning
Pocock and ten men rowed out to the meeting-place, near which Stanley
waited in his boat. A swarm of canoes put out from the western bank, and
when they came to the island the rowers raised their wild war-whoop,
_Ooh-hu! Ooh-hu-hu!_ and rushed ashore with bows bent and raised spears.
Then Stanley's twenty men came out of their hiding-place, the fight was
short, and the savages dashed headlong into their boats and rowed away
for their lives.

The next morning, with thirty men on board his boat, Stanley began his
journey down the river, while Tippu Tib and Pocock marched with all the
rest of the troop along the bank. The natives had retired, but their cry
of _Ooh-hu-hu!_ was still heard in the distance. On an island between
the main river and a tributary Stanley's party landed to wait for the
caravan and help it over the affluent. In the meantime Stanley made a
short excursion up the tributary, the water of which was inky-black
owing to the dark tree roots which wound about its bottom. On his return
he found the camp island surrounded by hostile canoes and heard random
shots, but when his boat drew near, the savages were frightened and
rowed away.

At length Tippu Tib straggled up with his party, and the journey could
be continued. The boat was rowed near the bank, and the two divisions
were kept in touch with each other by means of drums. All the villages
they came to were deserted, but the natives were evidently keeping a
close watch on these wonderful strangers, for one day when some of
Stanley's men were out scouting on two captured canoes, they were
attacked, and when they tried to escape they came among eddies and
rapids, where their boats capsized and four rifles were lost. The men
climbed up and sat astride the upturned canoes until they were rescued
by their comrades.

Then the expedition went on again. The river was usually half a mile
broad or more, and frequently divided by long rows of islands and holms.
The large village of Ikondu consisted of cage-like reed huts built in
two long rows. All the inhabitants had fled, but pitchers full of wine
were suspended from the palms, melons and bananas emitted their
fragrance, and there was plenty of manioc plantations, ground-nuts, and
sugar-cane. Near the place was found a large old canoe, cracked, leaky,
and dilapidated, but it was patched up, put in the river, and used as a
hospital. Smallpox and dysentery raged in the caravan, and two or three
corpses were thrown daily into the river.

Once, as the small flotilla was rowing quietly along not far from the
bank, a man in the hospital canoe cried out. He had been hit in the
chest by a poisoned barb, and this was followed by a whole shower of
arrows. The boats were rowed out from the dangerous bank, and a camp was
afterwards pitched on an old market-place. The usual fence was set up
round the tents, and sentinels were posted in the bush. Then were heard
shots, cries, and noise. The watchman ran in calling out, "Look out,
they are coming," and immediately arrows and javelins rattled against
the stockade, and the savages rushed on, singing their dreadful
war-songs. But their arrows and javelins were little use against powder
and ball, and they soon had to retire. They were reinforced, however,
and returned again and again to the attack, and did not desist till the
fight had lasted two hours and twilight had come on.

After other combats, Stanley and Tippu Tib came to a country on the
western bank densely peopled with hostile natives, where they had to
fight again. The savages were repulsed, and rowed out to a long island,
where they moored their canoes by ropes fastened round posts. They would
certainly renew the attack next day. But this time they were to be
thoroughly checkmated. Rain pelted down on the river, the night was
pitch dark, and there was a fresh breeze. Stanley rowed to the island,
and his boat stole silently and cautiously under the high tree-covered
bank. He cut the ropes of every canoe he got hold of, and in a short
time thirty canoes were sent adrift down the river, many of them being
caught by boatmen posted farther down stream. Before dawn the men were
back at the camp with their looted boats.

The savages, who lay crouching in their grass hovels on the island, must
certainly have felt foolish in the morning when they found that they had
lost their canoes and were left helpless. Then an interpreter rowed out
to them to put before them the conditions exacted by the white man. They
had treacherously attacked his troop, killing four and wounding
thirteen. Now they must furnish provisions, and then they would be paid
for the captured canoes and peace would be established.

It was important that the expedition should have a few days' rest at
this place, for Tippu Tib had had enough, and refused to advance a step
farther down the river with its warlike natives. Accordingly, he was to
turn back with his black retinue, while Stanley was to continue the
journey with a selected party, many of whom had their wives and children
with them. The troop consisted of a hundred and fifty souls. Provisions
were collected for twenty days. The canoes were fastened together in
pairs by poles, that they might not capsize, and the flotilla consisted
of twenty-three boats.

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