They have a remarkable ceremony which illustrates the force and vividness of
their belief in spirits:
When the dead are weary of staying in the bush, they come for one of their
people whom they most affect. And the spirit will say to the man: “I am tired of
dwelling in the bush; please to build for me in the town a little house as close as
possible to your own.” And he tells him to dance and sing too; and accordingly
the man assembles the women at night to join in dance and song.
Then, next day, the people repair to the grave of the Obambo, or ghost, and
make a rude idol; after which the bamboo bier on which the body is conveyed to
the grave, and some of the dust of the ground, are carried into a little hut erected
near the house of the visited, and a white cloth is draped over the door.
It is a curious fact, which seems to show that they have a legend something like
the old Greek myth of Charon and the Styx, that in one of the songs chanted
during this ceremony occurs the following line: “You are well dressed, but you
have no canoe to carry you across to the other side.”
According to Mr. Reade, these savages have their Naiads and Dryads; their
spirits of the mountains and the forests, the lakes and the streams, and the high
places. They have also their Typhon and their Osiris, their Good and Evil
Genius; thus recognising, in common with almost every other race, the enduring
antagonism between the Principles and Powers of Good and Evil. The Evil
Spirit, Mbwiri, they worship with a special homage; his might is to be dreaded,
and his anger, if possible, averted. He is the lord of earth; and before him, as
before a tyrant whose hand can grasp their lives and fortunes, they bend in
humble adoration. But as the Good Spirit will do them no injury, they conceive it
unnecessary to address to it any regular or formal prayer. “The word by which
they express this Supreme Being answers exactly to our word of God. Like the
Jehovah of the Hebrews, like that word in masonry which is only known to
masters, and never pronounced but in a whisper and in full lodge, this word they
seldom dare to speak; and they display uneasiness if it is uttered before them.
Twice only,” says Mr. Reade, “I remember having heard it. Once when we were
in a dangerous storm, the men threw their clenched hands upwards and cried it
twice. And again, when I was at Ngambi, taking down words from an Ashira
slave, I asked him what was the word for God in the language of his country. He
raised his eyes, and pointing to heaven, said in a soft voice, Njambi.”
Epileptic diseases, in almost all uncivilised countries, are assumed to be the