THE following letter has been received from Mr. Radasi by the Rev. John R. Mackay, M.A., Inverness:—
BULAWAYO, RHODESIA (P.O. Box 94),
February 9th, 1905.
MY DEAR MR. MACKAY,—I hope you are keeping well, and that your dear mother is keeping well too. I have been often thinking about her, and wondering how she is. I am sure I shall never forget the kindness and interest that you all showed me. I hope all the kind friends in Inverness are well. I am not feeling as well as I was in Scotland, although thankful to say I am not in bed. I suppose its on account of the excessive heat; it is hotter here than in the Cape Colony, and the water here is far from being good. I understand it’s safer to boil it before drinking it, having allowed it to cool; but a thirsty person can hardly wait for that.
I went to preach to some native kraals in Gwanda, and held services in a hut. The place is about ninety miles from Bulawayo by train, and then you walk a little distance to the kraals. You cannot go anywhere here without getting a pass from the Commissioner of Police. The law is that all natives must carry passes, and report themselves to the police authorities wherever they go. I obtained an exemption pass for Bulawayo, but when I go away out of Bulawayo I have to go and get another. You must produce a pass here from the police before you can get a railway ticket. Of course, the pass officer asks you where do you want to go to, and what are you going to do there, and then he gives you so many days to go to that place. I feel here as if I were in a foreign country, and not in British territory at all. The laws are so different from those of Cape Colony. There are monthly passes. . . . I had to get a special pass when I went to Gwanda, and another one when I returned. Of course, I told them I was going there for missionary work. Neither are private houses respected, as long as they belong to natives. A policeman is quite at liberty to come and ask for passes there.
This is a dreadful place for Sabbath breaking. It is very, very sad indeed to see the Sabbath breaking that is going on. The Europeans here think nothing of horse-racing, playing cricket and all games on the Sabbath day.
I have no place to preach in. I just have to preach anywhere—in a hut or outside. There are in Bulawayo, though it’s such a small place, eight European churches and four native. The native churches are United Free Church, Wesleyan Methodist, Baptist, and Church of England. And some of these churches have just a very few people attending them.
I have to explain to you how these missions here were formed, and how they form missions among the heathen. Of course, now the whole country belongs to the Chartered Company, and it is not easy to get land without paying for it. All these Churches here have bought ground and built churches on it, manses, and schools, at their own expense. When you start a mission among the uncivilized natives first, they expect you to put up your own church, and manse, and school, as the uncivilized natives do not understand the value of these things. It is only when they have embraced Christianity, they begin to understand and value these things, and see that they are for their benefit. It is then you ask them to give something. Of course, a person cannot tell how long it will be before the mission would be self-supporting. And so starting a new mission is rather an expensive thing, especially in a place like Rhodesia, where everything is so dear. As far as I understand, although some of these native missions here in Bulawayo were formed about 14 years ago, they are not yet self-supporting. Of course, the natives who have embraced Christianity do give something, but I understand that they are still greatly assisted from Europe. Of course, had the country still belonged to the King and his chiefs, you would not need to purchase the ground to build upon. You would ask the King of the country to preach to his people, and if he consented he would give you the ground to build your mission upon for nothing.
The country is divided into large farms. These farms are either owned or rented by Europeans, who generally place a certain number of native tenants, and draw rent from them, and the rest are owned by the Government. Where the land is owned by farmers, before you can preach in the native kraals there, you have to get permission from the owner of the farm, and if he says “Yes,” you have then to ask the people themselves if they would like you to preach to them. And if you want to go and preach in the place where the natives are on Government land, you ask permission from the Police Commissioner and from the headman appointed by the Government. If either of them refuses, you cannot preach. I have not seen yet any native reserves—I mean land entirely set apart for natives, where it can never be taken away from them unless they rebel against the Government.
This country is a very difficult country to travel in. There are practically no means of conveyance. The trains only go to a few places in Southern Rhodesia—from Bulawayo to Gwelo, Gwanda, Selukwe, and Salisbury; but Salisbury is in Mashonaland. The horses and cattle here don’t live; they die. There are very few horses, and their prices are from £45 to £75 each, and you cannot be sure that they will live long. Only well-to-do Europeans have them, and the police. The missionaries generally use bicycles. Mules are used for ploughing. They are able to live in this country, and they are £25 each. Of course, the natives plough their patches of ground with their hands. On that account it is very difficult indeed to go any distance inland. The country is not half opened up yet. It is still walked by footpaths. There are very few roads, and these only go to the small villages, where there are Europeans. The country is still full of forests, and it would not be safe to go without a guide.
Dear Mr. Mackay, I fully understand that we have not got the means to build churches, and manses, and schools, and to pay for evangelists, as the other Churches can, as we are a poor, struggling Church. Of course, others spare no money in building churches, manses, and schools, and entering into great expenses, although some of these churches are half empty. And I fear, too, there is very little Gospel preached in them. Of course, our Church went out penniless, and left everything to uphold our testimony. I always think of what you said once in the course of your sermon, “The salvation of one soul is to God worth more than the whole material universe.”
You remember, I spoke to you some time ago about an uncle of mine. You remember my telling you that my father was a preacher, and that an uncle of mine was also a preacher. Of course, they were not paid for it. My uncle is dead. He died a little over two months ago, and his last words were: “I am going home; I am going to rest forever; but I cannot help but cry when I think of the mercy of the Lord to such a great sinner as I am.”
Please remember me to all the friends in Inverness, and to all your people at home. . . .
Yours sincerely,
J. B. RADASI.
A Good Prayer.
A little African was one day heard to pray thus—”Lord Jesus, my heart bad too much. Me want to love You, me want to serve You, but my bad heart will not let me. O Lord Jesus, me can’t make me good. Take away this bad heart. O Lord Jesus, give me new heart! O Lord Jesus, me sin every day. Pardon my sin! O Lord Jesus, let me sin no more!” —From “Casket of Odds and Ends.”
What to Do, and How to Do It.
The remark of Rev. John Newton below deserves to be written on the tablet of every heart—”I see in this world,” he observes, “two heaps—one of human happiness, and one of misery; now, if I can take but the smallest bit from the second heap, and add to the first, I carry a point. If, as I go home, a child has dropped a halfpenny, and if, by giving it another, I can wipe away its tears, I feel that I have done something. I should be glad, indeed, to do great things, but I will not neglect such little ones as this.” These little things are what we all can do, and we should encourage ourselves with the thought, that
“The drying up a single tear hath more
Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.”
—From “Casket of Odds and Ends.”