The men are usually tall, athletic and remarkably well-formed, though not
as full in the chest as a perfect physique would require. Most of the
younger men are good-looking. Many of the younger women have decidedly
pretty faces, but they are not as intelligent-looking as the men. Most
of the children are beautiful, with sweet, good-natured faces and
lovely eyes. Indeed, all of those whom one would call good-looking have
beautiful, large and expressive eyes, that can look brimful either of
laughter or affection; and the boys, to the age of fourteen or fifteen,
have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.
The Bulu people were unmistakably friendly and fluently sociable. It
did not seem to matter much that during those first days we did not
understand a word they said. The women were more sociable than the men,
but the men were more dignified and self-respecting. Most sociable of
all was the head-wife of the principal chief. In the usual traveller’s
book he would be called a king and she a queen, but these titles are
misleading without explanation. This “queen” often used to come to Efulen
selling potatoes, half a bucketful at a time, for which she bought more
beads. She was getting along in years, but still maintained an air of
superannuated gaiety. Upon her back were several ugly scars where his
lordship, her husband, had struck her with a cutlass—an unpleasant habit
quite characteristic of African husbands. One day, wishing to strengthen
the bond of friendship, she presented us with a coil of snake for our
dinner, which we declined with profuse thanks. On another occasion,
after our house was built, she came with five junior wives of the same
chief, and asked that they be shown through our house. I escorted them
through the house, as one might escort a party through the White-house
in Washington. Shrieks of wonder accompanied their inspection of every
article. Finally this head-wife, in lively gratitude, insisted upon
dancing in the dining-room for our entertainment. The feet are the least
active members in this singular dance. Most of the time she stands
in one place; nor does she pirouette like the dervish of Egypt. The
dance has not the gladsome hop of the Bohemian dances, nor the swift
glide of the tarantella; and of course it is altogether unlike any
of our conventional dances. It is an amazing and rapid succession of
extravagant gestures, grotesque poses and outrageous contortions. The
shoulders and stomach and all the muscles of her seeming boneless body
are set in violent motion. If dancing is “the poetry of motion,” this
is downright doggerel. She accompanies it with a vocal imitation of
their several wooden instruments, as incongruous as the dance itself.
She seems to be imitating half a dozen instruments at once, while deaf
to either applause or remonstrance on our part she dances on heedless
of perspiration and decorum. Finally this lady came to me one day and,