result of demoniac possession. In Africa the sufferer is supposed to be possessed
by Mbwiri, and he can be relieved only by the intervention of the medicine-man
or fetich. In the middle of the street a hut is built for his accommodation, and
there he resides until cured, or maddened, along with the priest and his disciples.
There for ten days or a fortnight a continuous revel is held; much eating and
drinking at the expense of the patient’s relatives, and unending dances to the
sound of flute and drum. For obvious reasons the fetich gives out that Mbwiri
regards good living with aversion. The patient dances, usually shamming
madness, until the epileptic attack comes on, with all its dreadful concomitants
—the frenzied stare, the convulsed limbs, the gnashing teeth, and the foam-
flecked lips. The man’s actions at this period are not ascribed to himself, but to
the demon which has control of him. When a cure has been effected, real or
pretended, the patient builds a little fetich-house, avoids certain kinds of food,
and performs certain duties. Sometimes the process terminates in the patient’s
insanity; he has been known to run away to the bush, hide from all human
beings, and live on the roots and berries of the forest.
“These fetich-men are priest doctors, like those of the ancient Germans. They
have a profound knowledge of herbs, and also of human nature, for they always
monopolize the real power in the state. But it is very doubtful whether they
possess any secrets save that of extracting virtue and poison from plants. During
the first trip which I made into the bush I sent for one of these doctors. At that
time I was staying among the Shekani, who are celebrated for their fetich. He
came attended by half-a-dozen disciples. He was a tall man, dressed in white,
with a girdle of leopard’s skin, from which hung an iron bell, of the same shape
as our sheep bells. He had two chalk marks over his eyes. I took some of my
own hair, frizzled it with a burning glass, and gave it to him. He popped it with
alacrity into his little grass bag; for white man’s hair is fetich of the first order.
Then I poured out some raspberry vinegar into a glass, drank a little of it first,
country fashion, and offered it to him, telling him that it was blood from the
brains of great doctors. Upon this he received it with great reverence, and
dipping his fingers into it as if it was snap-dragon, sprinkled with it his forehead,
both feet between the two first toes, and the ground behind his back. He then
handed his glass to a disciple, who emptied it, and smacked his lips afterwards in
a very secular manner. I then desired to see a little of his fetich. He drew on the
ground with red chalk some hieroglyphics, among which I distinguished the
circle, the cross, and the crescent. He said that if I would give him a fine ‘dush,’
he would tell me all about it. But as he would not take anything in reason, and as
I knew that he would tell me nothing of very great importance in public,