Luke Williams - The Echo Chamber

Those savages were standing in the way of progress, of civilization, of commerce, obstructing all the forces working towards the great scheme of perfect happiness, and not only for the citizens of Europe, but for the entire population of the world as well, including (so I thought) my beautiful proto-nation of Nigeria. We (the British and educated Nigerians such as myself who assisted them in their work) took no account of incidental suffering, and our soldiers exterminated such brutes who stood in the way. We were alone in the forest. Who would talk, if we held our tongues?

So I translated, and the chiefs signed, and all the while I was harbouring a secret desire as ambitious as the British whose work I facilitated. I wanted to be the African Herodotus, the first to chronicle my continent’s past, completely and exhaustively, studying every angle, cultural, economic, anthropological, diplomatic, social, geographical, intellectual, economic, martial, medical, political, psychological, etc., etc. For that, I required stories. The difficulty (which I hoped to turn to my advantage) was that Nigeria had no written record of her past. It was stored between the ears of griots, fetid ancients whom I grabbed with my young man’s fingers and grilled at every opportunity, even when they were in the line of fire, especially then, since I needed their stories before they were lost. Then, later in my tent, I transcribed their words into my India-paper jotter. I had a vision of our nation’s history set down in ink, then printed and bound, and presented to the world, in a book! I was the Edison of History (so I thought), my pen like the needle of the phonograph, that sensitive point which scratches at the wax disc, translating sound and preserving it as signs.

Do not think I was unaware of the butchery going on in the name of Progress, or that I was ignorant of my part in this butchery. Regarding the suffering of my African brothers, well, I suffered along with them (so I imagined). Their pain stabbed me like a spear in the heart or a bayonet in the heart. That was the price I paid for electing to chronicle our history.

But let me return to the story at hand. I have told you that we visited many chiefs and used various methods of flattery, threats, bribery and violence to make them sign our treaties. In time, however, we encountered a chief who was wiser than the rest. Or prouder, richer, or less greedy, or more ignorant, or better armed, or else unable to understand my translation. This chief was the Oba of Benin, and he rejected the opportunity to gift his kingdom for illusory gains. One who has been bitten by a snake lives in fear of worms (as the prophets say). He not only defied the British, he banished them from his territory as well, killing over 200 of their men, including several whites!

This was in late December 1896. Soon news of the ‘Benin Disaster’ reached England. It was put about by the press that this Oba was a savage king. He had ambushed an innocent party who were trying to liberate the people of that territory, themselves exploited by their Oba. A cannibal, a great man for human sacrifice, men and women were being disembowelled on the orders of the fetish priests, and the Oba’s palace was filled with human skulls. It was also agleam with gold, ivory, bronze, palm oil, valuable antiquities, etc., etc. The press named Benin the ‘City of Blood’ and demanded revenge.

Two weeks later the British had amassed a mighty force. The ‘Benin Punitive Expedition’ consisted of eight warships, 1,400 soldiers (armed with rifles, Maxim guns, rocket tubes, 7-pounders and mines), as well as 2,000 bearers, several doctors and 1 translator (myself). One morning in February 1897 we started up the Benin River. On either side of us rose steep walls of trees, millions of them, massive trees with rotting foliage, dripping thickets, hairy vegetation and provocative flowers clinging to their trunks. The river was narrow in places, and, as the ships steamed along, we could almost touch the trees (if we dared). I, however, stayed in the hold. Never without my notes and textbooks, I read, amassed knowledge and marshalled my arguments. At Warrigi we put ashore and set up camp.

It was later that evening (the moon was rising through a screen of crimson dust) when for the first time I set eyes on our leader, Rear-Admiral Harry Rawson. As he came out of his tent to detail the plan of attack, the night got darker, and the forest grew closer, and those who minutes before were chatting or smoking or cleaning their guns or eating or drinking or passing round pornographic playing cards, stopped. In the instant of seeing him, I knew him, without however knowing much about him. Let me mention, briefly, what I knew.

His eyes were like boiled eggs.

His lungs were like a diseased plant.

His fingers were like fufu squeezed inside pig-skin gloves.

When he spoke black rainbows came from his mouth.

His jokes were like wasps attacking a sick goat.

His stomach was like a barrel of maggots, and his arms were like legs.

His tongue was a hamper of soiled laundry left out in the sun.

His teeth were like gravestones.

His promises were like tsetse flies.

His orders were like being flogged with hippopotamus hide.

I should have mistrusted those orders. I should have thought: What do those orders mean? I should have asked myself which kind of man flogs you instead of telling you what to do. I should have consulted Herodotus for historical examples of fanatical leaders and I should have correctly identified the orders of Admiral Rawson as marking the beginning of my destruction.

But I did not, and that night went to my tent and fell asleep to the sound of witches feasting, whispering and copulating.

The following day the temperature reached 140 degrees. We could go no further by boat, and were forced to battle through the steaming bush. The column of scouts, Hausa soldiers, probed ahead, cutting through the foliage and searching out the enemy. Between the 10th and 12th our columns were engaged in sharp fighting. This removed any suspicion that the capture of Benin would be easy or that the people were cowardly or reluctant to fight, as the press had claimed.

Jungle warfare is a particularly harrowing and unnerving business. We had to move slowly through unmarked paths, and we were vulnerable to ambush at any time. So, every 500 yards we halted, set up our weaponry and astonished the bush with fire. The rocket tubes fizzed and crashed and the Maxims spluttered like handfuls of matches, sending swarms of angry bullets into the forest. The rifles grew hot, the Maxims exhausted all the water in their jackets, and the empty cartridge cases, tinkling to the ground, formed giant heaps round each man. And all the time our bullets were shearing through flesh, smashing and splintering bone. But the Benin army kept on coming, all day for many days, as we advanced towards the capital.

Dear reader, we took no chances. When we came to a village our soldiers fired volley after volley until the enemy was driven into the centre, which was then shelled remorselessly, rushed and captured. On arrival in a village Rawson would march in and call for the chief. I translated. He had a great idea that African chiefs should creep on all fours and kiss his left boot. Then we would plunder the supplies, throw fire into the huts and smash everything that would not burn. It was the same spectacle everywhere.

Did the British have no law against shooting at people they couldn’t even see? It was an atrocity that ran contrary to the conventions of war in Europe, which forbade violence against those who were unable to defend themselves. Did such conventions not extend to Africa? Did the hearts of those officers not feel tainted by the slaughter they enacted? Were their souls not inwardly marked? Were they not cursed in later life, like myself? Did they not wake up exhausted with fevered dreams? The evidence points in the opposite direction. After the expedition, Rawson was knighted, and a Benin clasp was added to the General Africa Medal. Captains received CBs, Distinguished Service Orders, officers were promoted, etc., etc.