The Narrative and
Journal of Gerald McKiernan in
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Edited by P. Serton. Gerald McKiernan |
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Gerald
McKiernan was an American trader, operating in |
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and were
often not as stupid. It always seemed to me that a native knew more, or was
quicker to comprehend at 12 than at 25. I
never thought it possible that anyone could be so stupid as not to be able to
turn a grindstone, which is as simple a process as I know of, but we had
Bushmen with us who could not do it after repeated trials. At walking or
running few can excel or equal a Bushman, but at lifting weights or any bodily labour they are of but little use; but the women bear large
burdens on their heads for miles with ease. I never saw any signs of love or
affection between the sexes. I suppose they have preferences, but not such as
exist amongst civilized people. I have observed women kissing their children,
but I cannot say whether it was in imitation of whites or not. Different tribes
have different manners and customs, and one description will not do for all. Damaras—Ovaherero—will stare you
out of countenance when at meals and, as Mark Twain says of some of the natives
of Palestine, swallow every time you do; but I have found true native
politeness amongst Bushmen. They were very fond of squatting about the tent and
looking at the objects that were strange to them, but when food was brought,
they almost invariably retired to a distance; very often when they were half
starved too. Their life is that of a stray dog, full today, empty tomorrow; and
like a dog, when they are full, they coil down and go to sleep (and) never rise
until forced by hunger. Happy existence: no care, no ambition; nothing but the
animal wants to satisfy.
I
never could determine whether they have an idea of a future existence or not.
They have no rites or ceremonies that I am aware of, excepting that of driving
out the evil in sickness, which is a powwow something like that performed by
the Indians, and often described. I once asked a Bergdamara
who made him; he did not comprehend the question. I then asked him where his
people came from in the beginning. He said that they came down in the rain; all
of their blessings follow the rain, so that was a natural deduction. I then
asked him what he thought became of the sun when it set. He said that a man
carried it back to the place of rising while we slept. I was satisfied, and
left him in darkness. I once asked Noora, an Ondonga Ovampo, what would become
of him when he died. He said the hyenas would eat him—the Ondongas
do not bury the dead. ‘And what then?’ I asked him.
‘When the hyenas have eaten me, what is there left?’ was the question I got in
answer to mine. The Ovaherero must have an idea of
immortality. At the death of the head of a family all the choice oxen of the
herd are slaughtered and usually of a certain color that he most admired. In
fact, they are selected, when calves, by him, and are on no account sold or
slaughtered till his death, if they survive him. If they die before he does,
they die a natural death, but that is no loss: they are eaten all the same. A Damara never likes to speak of his belief and, I think, has a great dread of death. I do not think
they believe in natural deaths, but attribute it to evil influence of others.
They are firm believers in the evil eye. They practice circumcision and have a
grand ceremony once a year, when bullocks are sacrificed. The animals are
smothered to death; no blood is shed in taking the life. What importance they
attach to the observance, I do not know; I never could find out, but I think it
likely that they practice it from custom, but have long since lost the import
of it. Many of the Kaffir tribes practice the same rite; all undoubtedly came
from the north, and may in past ages have acquired it in the countries
bordering on
Nearly
all tribes have witch doctors who are also prophets, and
are
always consulted before any undertaking by the chiefs who maintain them. They
are cunning and unscrupulous and manage to deceive. Like all oracles they are
fond of good living and always 4emand oxen to be slaughtered, otherwise the
oracle will not Work. Rain being the great blessing, it is manufactured to
order. Raindoctors are found in most of the tribes, Some more potent than others. Nahanda,
chief or king of the Evara (Evare), a tribe of Ovampo on the Cunena River
(Kunene), is the great raindoctor those latitudes,
and large presents of cattle and ivory are annually sent him by the surrounding
tribes, some living 300 or 400 miles away, for the supply of rain, that the
crops may be planted early by those that live by agriculture, and to grow grass
for the pastoral people. The raindoctors work in
secret and the process is unknown, but as the season of periodical rains does
not often vary more than month and usually begins with a new moon—and they
reckon time by moons—they are never out much, and manage to hold their
reputation If they fail in their predictions, they manufacture a good excuse,
and so keep their reputation. At