The general council’s meeting went off better than I had expected. It is true the Kimi Kambu, ostentatiously respectful, spoke some very cruel words to the king concerning public affairs in general, and the late war in particular, but the majority of the elders received these coolly and seemed pleased that peace had been made.

As the Kimi Kambu left the Assembly I joined him and tried to soften his heart towards the king. Though years had bent his shoulders, the old man stood a good head taller than I; now he leant forward and looked straight into my eyes: "Mingenja," he said, "you think that I am one of those who always want to kill the cuckoo, the cock, and the weaverbird [a Bushongo saying for a very quarrelsome person: these three birds announce in succession the coming day]; you are mistaken. I am old and want peace and rest; but I want such a peace as is given to the elephant who does not want to hurt anyone, but whom nobody dares to hurt; I have no use for the peace of the worm who cannot hurt anyone and nobody thinks worth hurting. I want rest, but how can I have rest when I see my country perishing? While I live I must try to avert its doom. Where is the king’s authority? The Bangendi defy it with impunity. Where is the valor of our young men? They show it when facing the fleshpot and the cup. What becomes of our art? People disdain the cloth we make and crave for foreign goods. What about our morals? Young men who ought to be fully initiated have not yet passed the first tests. Even our old language is forgotten, and besides myself there are not twenty men who understand it."¹

¹Torday, E.n/an/an/an/an/a, , 161–162 (London: Seeley, Service and Co.; Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company. By permission).