“You mustn’t, it’s not safe,” pleaded Mr. Bishop. “And besides, your feet will be ripped to pieces….”
Mr. Bishop’s words trailed off as Mary took the lantern and headed into the jungle. Mary sang loudly as she walked, trying not to imagine what might have caused a flock of birds to scatter from the top of a tree high above or what the crackling sound was farther along the path. When she finally reached the river, she was not surprised to see that the canoe had been pushed into the water, where it was anchored about ten feet out. She knew the men would have done this to make it more difficult for the Okoyong warriors to attack them and to keep leopards from pouncing on them. A canvas tarpaulin had been pulled over the top of the canoe, and Mary guessed the paddlers were soundly asleep underneath it.
Mary stood for a moment unsure of what to do next. She had come this far and refused go back empty-handed. Ignoring the threat of crocodiles, she stepped into the water. Her skirt billowed around her waist. She was up to her armpits in water before she reached the canoe. She pounded on the canoe with her fist, yelling at the men to wake up. Then she found a spot where the cover was not tied down, and she whipped it back, yelling some more.
“Okoyong,” screamed one of the startled men. Instantly, the whole crew was awake, groping for their weapons.
Mary managed to calm them before they did her any harm, and with a few well-chosen words, she shamed them into jumping overboard and hauling the canoe ashore. By now the moon was hidden behind a bank of clouds, and the sky was pitch black. Somehow the five-foot tall, fire-haired woman from Dundee managed to cajole the paddlers into trekking four miles through enemy territory in the dark carrying her boxes.
Mary and the paddlers arrived at Ekenge just before midnight. Mr. Bishop was sitting beside the puny fire waiting for Mary. He was amazed to see all the men with her. “How did you get the men to work?” he demanded. “I tried everything I could think of and decided it was impossible!”
Mary smiled wearily and opened one of the boxes that had a change of clothes inside. Then she bid everyone good night and, totally exhausted from stumbling and clawing her way through the jungle, went into the hut to be with her children.
Mary awoke the next morning to the sound of steady rain on the thatched roof. She was too stiff to roll over. Her feet throbbed with pain, and her legs and arms were a mass of cuts and bruises. Then Mary remembered what day it was—Sunday. But not just any Sunday. It was Sunday, August 5, 1888, twelve years to the day since she had set sail from Liverpool to be a missionary in Calabar. She had left Scotland with a dream and had fought for twelve long, hard years to make it come true. Today was a day of victory. She was in Ekenge, a village in the Okoyong territory, her new home. Yet she was too tired and too sore to celebrate.
Mary could not lie in bed for long, though. There were children to dress and feed and a Sunday service to hold. It was a simple service, attended by Mr. Bishop, the paddlers from the canoe, and the few slaves left in the village. The men sang two hymns, and Mary, sitting on a box because standing was too painful, talked to them about God’s love. She knew, of course, that the slaves could not understand what she said, but she hoped they would enjoy the singing.
The next day, Monday, Mary convinced the paddlers to bring the rest of her luggage from the canoe, since she could not do it herself with her swollen, cut feet. Indeed, she could barely shuffle around the hut on them. One piece of luggage still to be brought from the canoe was a small portable organ the missionaries in Duke Town had given her. Once it arrived and was placed in her hut, there was no room for her to walk around. And when she looked up at the still dripping roof, she resolved that as soon as Chief Edem, leader of Ekenge, got back from the funeral she would ask him to start building the house and school he had promised her.
It was Tuesday morning before all of Mary’s things had been carried down the slippery trail to Ekenge. Once everything arrived, Mr. Bishop and King Eyo’s paddlers began the journey back downriver. As Mary watched the relieved paddlers disappear into the bush, she felt more alone than ever before in her entire life. She saw clearly the challenges that lay ahead of her: the constant rain, the threat of sickness, the bloody and brutal customs and superstitions, the lack of respect the people of the Okoyong region had for life itself. As Mary stood there, she found herself praying that God would protect her and the children, at least long enough to show the tribe there was a better way to live.
Chapter 13
Deserting the Old Customs
The members of the tribe straggled back into Ekenge a few at a time. No one seemed particularly pleased that Mary had arrived, and when Mary spoke to Chief Edem about her need for a larger hut, he begrudgingly gave her one in his yard. The hut was filthy, and it took Mary several days to scrub it and whitewash the walls. Mary had one helper besides her children. The helper’s name was Ekpa, a twelve-year-old Okoyong boy. Mary hadn’t asked for his help; Ekpa just showed up. He worked alongside Mary all day, cleaning and cooking. He even helped knock holes in the wall to fit the window and door frames Mary had brought with her from Creek Town. As they worked together, Mary began to pick up the Bantu language from Ekpa. She also began to wonder whether Ekpa might become her first convert in Ekenge.
A week after moving into her new hut, Mary heard laughter and chanting coming from the village meeting area. Curious to see what was going on, she left the children in the hut and walked over to where the people had gathered. She could see a pot of liquid boiling over an open fire, and she assumed the people must be going to have some kind of special meal together. As she watched, a village elder stepped forward and spoke a few words. Mary wished she could understand what he was saying. Was he giving some kind of thanks for the food? If he was, his voice sounded particularly harsh. As he spoke, she noticed Ekpa standing at the front of the crowd flanked by two big men.
Then everything happened so quickly. The elder reached down, picked up a ladle, and scooped out some of the hot, glistening liquid, which Mary could tell was boiling oil. Mary watched in horror as Ekpa was dragged over to the elder. Suddenly she realized what was about to happen. She yelled and pushed her way through the crowd, but it was too late. The boiling oil had been poured over Ekpa’s hands and arms, and Ekpa lay on the dusty ground screaming in agony.
Mary’s white freckled face immediately turned bright red. She was furious. She spun around and screamed at the elder in Efik. By the way the elder spat in her face, she knew he had understood her. Then she ordered the two men to carry Ekpa to her hut. The elder translated her command as Mary led the way to her hut. There was not much Mary could do for Ekpa except dose him with laudanum and dress his wounds. As she treated him she prayed, hoping he wouldn’t lose the use of his hands through infection. She wondered whether Ekpa’s punishment had something to do with his helping her. In the pit of her stomach, she had a sickening feeling it did.
Mary didn’t know it, but one woman had been impressed by her courageous attempt to rescue Ekpa. The woman, Ma Eme, was the sister of Chief Edem. The day after the boiling oil incident, Ma Eme came to Mary’s hut. “Come sit at the back of the hut with me,” she whispered in Efik, gesturing with her head at the same time.
Mary nodded and followed the large woman. Together they squatted in the dirt at the back of the hut.
“It’s dangerous for us to be seen alone,” whispered Ma Eme, “but I want to tell you I welcome you here. I will do what I can to help you. However, if anyone finds out I am your friend, we will both be killed. Do you understand?” Her voice was suddenly urgent.
“Yes,” replied Mary. “Is that why Ekpa was burned? For being my friend?”
Ma Eme nodded. “It was said he spent too much time with you, and when he did not go on a raiding party with the other young men, he was accused of deserting the ancient customs of our people.”
Mary had guessed right, but it was still a shock to hear that someone had been deliberately hurt just for helping her clean up her hut. She looked at Ma Eme, who, she thought, must be putting herself in danger, too. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.
Ma Eme looked around nervously before speaking. “The other wives are in the garden. I will tell you.” She took a deep breath before going on. “I have tired of the old ways. Once I was happy with them. I was the first wife of an important chief. I had many servants, and my husband was good to me. Sometimes he hit me and bit me.” She pointed to a deep scar on her left arm and then shrugged. “But he bit the other wives, too. And after all, we are just women!”
Ma Eme was silent for a moment, and Mary prodded her on. “What changed things? What made you sick of the old customs?”
Ma Eme’s big brown eyes widened. “It was the funeral, the funeral of my husband. When he died, all of the wives were naturally under suspicion. It was decided that one of us must have killed him. The witch doctor was sent to find out who it was. He made all the wives stand in a circle, and then he chopped the head off a chicken and threw the chicken into the middle of the circle. It was horrible, horrible.”
Mary listened carefully as Ma Eme continued her story. “We all waited. Whoever was nearest to the headless chicken when it stopped running would be the one the witch doctor accused of murdering the chief. The chicken was near me when it finally stopped, but it was a little closer to one of the new wives. She was declared a murderer and dragged off to have her arms and legs broken and be thrown into my husband’s open grave. I fainted, and they left me there with the dead chicken.”
Mary let out a deep sigh. “What happened then?” she asked.
“I came to live with my brother, and he is good to me. I am able to walk around the village freely. I will come again to visit when I can.”
For such a big woman, Ma Eme got to her feet with surprising speed and ease. “Now I must go. I have stayed too long already. Watch yourself,” she whispered to Mary.
After Ma Eme left, Mary squatted at the rear of her hut for a long time, her back resting against the warm mud-caked wall. She thanked God for sending a friend like Ma Eme, and she wondered how she would ever make progress in the village if their being friends meant risking torture or even death.
Finally, Janie broke into Mary’s thoughts with news that Ekpa had awakened and was asking for food. This was a good sign, and Mary hurried off to get the sweet potato she’d saved for him.
True to her word, Ma Eme came nearly every day to talk with Mary. After a couple of weeks, some of the other women grew enough used to Mary’s presence that they began hanging around Mary’s hut to see what she was doing. They were especially fascinated by the portable organ and Mary’s sewing machine, though they resisted Mary’s attempts to sew some clothes for them. Just weeks before, seven men in a village downriver had been killed for wearing clothes. Once again, their deaths were attributed to deserting the old customs.
Although living in Ekenge was very different for Mary, some things were the same as they had been in Creek Town and Duke Town, such as the never ending stream of people who needed medical attention. Every day Mary nursed ten or twenty people with all manner of ailments. Indeed, it was treating the sick that indirectly led to her first disagreement with Chief Edem.
The conflict began one day when a runner arrived from a village about an eight-hour walk from Ekenge. The runner presented Mary with four brass rods (which the locals used as a form of money), a bottle of gin, and an urgent request. A woman visiting the man’s village had told everyone about the white ma who lived at Ekenge and could cure illness. She had told them that Mary had cured her dying grandson who had been brought to her from a nearby village. This was important information for the village because their chief was gravely ill and would probably not live longer than a day or two. The runner had come to ask Mary to accompany him back to the village to cure the chief.
