John H. Weeks

Summary

John H. Weeks Congo life and folklore (1911)

The excitement of the funeral festivities, and of the hunt for and murder of the witch had passed away, leaving a deadly dulness on the town. The men suspiciously snarled at one another, and the women quarrelled with monotonous regularity. Their lives were petty, mean, and there was not enough dignity in a whole village to supply one man. For generations they had lived on a low level, with their eyes, thoughts, and hearts on the ground, and apparently the art of looking into the infinite spaces of God above and around them had been lost in their animalism.
Source: Gutenberg

John H. Weeks Congo life and folklore (1911)

By the time the old man had finished his invectives the two chief actors in this scene were standing by themselves in a circle of anxious, terror-stricken faces. They were types of the old order and the new--the old order, slaves to witch-doctors, charms and superstitions that demanded the continuance of things as they are; the new order, men and lads upon whose minds new ideas were dawning and struggling for the mastery against their crude, superstitious fears,--men who were yearning for they knew not what, and were restless through strange strivings in their hearts.
Source: Gutenberg

John H. Weeks Congo life and folklore (1911)

He will heal my scalded arm, and teach me God’s palaver.”
“Wait until the morning,” pleaded Tumbu. “Don’t travel in the dark, or the evil spirits will throttle and squeeze the life out of you.”
“Who talks about evil spirits?” asked Bakula. "Only the ‘medicine men,’ and perhaps what they tell us about them is as great a lie as their charms, fetishes and ordeals. I will test that to-night as I have tested their other teaching to-day." And a look of undaunted determination came into the brave fellow’s face, which, being seen by Tumbu in the flickering firelight, stopped his further arguments.
Source: Gutenberg

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