Bringer of Prosperity

Since the previous night a thick fog had shrouded the entire village in semi-darkness. The men of the village thought a storm was brewing, and urged the women to find their children and take their drying maize into the huts. It was during the preparation for shelter the men noticed the boat, a fuzzy dot on the horizon as far as they could see. The villagers thought it must be a surviving straggler stuck out there, and the chief ordered a few men for the dangerous trip to go fetch them before the storm did. When the men slowly rowed their little canoes closer to the straggler, the boat looked different – it had high hulls and high poles which hung a pure white cloth, unlike anything they had ever seen. As they rowed closer still, the boat grew unnaturally larger, until when they were almost side-by-side, the men realised it wasn’t a boat – it was a fortress; as the men came to the giant boat’s side, the momentum of the giant pushed the seas around it away with ease, which rocked the little canoe and its frightened men side from side. The entire boat was made of wood not even the most ferocious waves could break, and in between the wood were large windows, protruding something like thick metal tubes the size of a man’s head. When the men tried to look up, they realised not even four of the tallest warriors on one another’s shoulders could reach the top of the hull. Even higher above the hull was the pole, vanishing into the depth of the dark clouds, hanging a gigantic white fabric that bellowed in the wind, as though shouting a war cry at the men’s village.

On land the villagers could already notice something was wrong, and many had already realised the sheer size of the boat in comparison to their own. The frightened villagers sought wisdom from the chief, heatedly debating whether this was a special weapon created by their enemy villages, or by the prophecy of the shamans a magnificent gift handed down by the heathen gods. The chief himself was torn between halves, aware of the danger this thing brings with itself, but at the same time afraid to anger the gods if it was indeed a divine endowment. The villagers stood by the edge of the waters, unable to decide whether they were afraid or not, as the large structure lowered a boat of its own into the waters. As the crew of that fortress rowed nearer and nearer, they all gasped.

They were white, literally pure white from head to toe, a colour in itself so rare in the village and the forests that it was viewed as a colour of pureness and divinity, a colour only the chiefs could wear proudly. Their hair was long and sleek and of every colour imaginable, their eyes were glistening like prestigious coloured jewels, and all of the strangers wore clothes made of a fine material that waved in the wind like the sea, which fascinated the women. When they finally landed on land, one particularly finely dressed man, in fabrics of even finer quality than that of his men and billowing cloak embroidered with some shining linen on its borders, walked with an impression the villagers later understood to be gracefulness, which they had never seen before and lacked in all the men they knew.

The finely dressed man approached the chief with a man just like themselves, dark-skinned but dressed in the same cloth as the other white men. The white leader spoke of some foreign tongue which none could understand, but was converted, badly, by the black man to their own tongues.

 “I come in peace. We merely wish to trade our valuables with you, I am a trader.”
The last word was not particularly clear, for the translator used a phrase in his own tongue, but his expression was sufficient to understand these men wished to trade items with them.
“Are you sure you’re not here to wage war with us, or lay our land in ruins?”
The translator thought for a while, and he muttered something to the foreign leader, who nodded.
“No, we have travelled a long way from our distant kingdom in search of such exotic cultures such as your own, and we merely like to know more about your village, and hopefully to show you what we have to offer you.”
And from a pocket of his great robe, the trader revealed a golden object the size of an egg, and when he opened this golden sphere, the chief was shocked to see little needles spinning continuously inside, directing at strange characters with no apparent force to move it at all. Noticing the incredulous expression on the chief’s face, the trader smiled satisfactorily.
“A gift of peace, for our prosperous future.”
Timidly, the chief took the ticking golden egg, and held the fantastic contraption as though it had a life, a heartbeat of its own. He then passed the egg to the warriors, who each held in turn, baffled by the mystery of the turning needles, one even proclaimed the item to be a sacred talisman, worked by magic.
Eager to see more and know more about the benevolent trader, he invited the man and his translator into the chief’s hut. His men would go back to their sea-borne fortress and bring more goods. The chief’s hut was the largest in the village, with two opposing windows shielded by a thatched straw dome above, supported by wooden beams and a single tree trunk supporting the conical roof. On the matted ground were several animal skins, a large table carved out of a single tree trunk, and several wooden stools. A faint smell of roast meat rose from a rack in front of the table, a small fire sparkling beneath the meat, but the trader could detect none of the spices. The walls were made of wood and mud, lined with assortments of weapons as well as several dark wooden masks with vibrant stripes. However as he strolled around the spacious hut none of these interested the trader, until he noticed the tusk.
Glad the trader had found something of equal value to the golden egg he had given; the chief came to the thoughtful trader.
“Is this a tusk from an elephant?”
“It is,” the chief knew nothing of the value of an elephant tusk, but he was eager to prove the village’s worth in front of this foreign man. “When we come across a stray elephant we kill it and the tusks are kept as souvenirs.”
“Would it be possible to trade our goods for these elephant tusks?”
The chief considered, thinking how so he would not offend the far-away trader.
“What… other goods do you have?”
The merchant smiled, waved imperiously at his translator without words, and gestured the chief to accompany him. When they reached the shore once again, the atmosphere wasn’t that of the initial tense uncertainty, but the villagers were scrambling beside wooden crates already brought ashore. The chief edged closer, and was dazzled by the blazing treasures that threatened to spill over. There were metallic vases with extravagant embossed curves, which made their mud pots look like children’s sculptures, there were necklaces made of a particularly shiny metal that blazed with a blinding whiteness, as well as rings and bracelets made of the same material. It seemed the word that the foreigners wanted elephant tusks was already about, and the wives ran between their huts and the crates, bringing what valuables they had to trade for the exotic fabrics, completely oblivious to the kids on the ground, pressing down on thin twirls of metal and laugh as the twirls bounced. Even the warriors were attracted to a variety of weapons. From spears to strong bows; they were all of a much better quality than the sticks they owned, and when light reflected on the brutally sharp edges the warriors themselves winced. The trader walked on top of a crate, confidently swept his robe over the goods and magically appeared with a long, cylindrical object. When the villagers passed around this contraption they were momentarily disconcerted as far-away landscapes suddenly appeared right in front of their eyes. The trader expertly fashioned another eccentric object, like two transparent bowls placed on one another’s ends, and when the chief turned it around, the fine, glittering sand in the bowls seeped down like a stream. He handed down vases, cups and flourished glittering materials in the sun, until he withdrew a tiny box, and with a single swipe, a wooden stick lighted with fire. The villagers simply stood there, stunned, as they looked up to this monumental figure that seemed to command the elements.

The trader left on the very day he arrived, and his crates were filled with tusks and earthenware. When the gigantic boat finally disappeared from their views, the villagers reflected on the incredulous things the trader did, and wondered if he was a mortal at all.

Time gradually passed since the departure of the trader and his entourage of white men, and the village had completely changed – their mud huts were reinforced with armour of wood, inspired by the trader’s magnificent boat. The bought goods were an everlasting legacy of the trader, which replaced their shabby ornaments and were prayed on in the hope of brining more good fortunes. The chief himself was the curator to the largest collection of treasures, glass and mirrors reflected light from the windows to every corner of the hut, war-masks were replaced with bronze and silver vases, and his shabby weapons thrown away, restocked by an emporium of lethal weaponry. Largely thanks to the weapons, the tribe’s main activity was no longer fishing, but a campaign of expansion that engulfed near-by tribes, so now the villagers had their own servants and slaves to do their work for them, life had never been better for the villagers, and they all thanked the mysterious white men for their prosperity.

They longed for another visit by the trader, but it was not for another lengthy year did they see him again. When the trader once again stepped onto the groomed sand, the chief personally welcomed the trader, bringing with him baskets of elephant tusks they harvested exactly for the trader, and repeatedly thanked the trader for their prosperity. The chief noticed the trader was better off as well, particularly since his boat looked far larger than he remembered, and the trader, as well as his men, wore even finer clothes – the golden stitching on the trader’s cape extended to all part of his garments. The chief purposely led the trader and his men to his hut, which was reconstructed four times its original size and situated at the centre of their territories.

“I am your humble servant, what can I do for you? Shall I order more tusks to be collected?”
The trader smiled, as benevolent as ever, but he shook his head.
“Thank you chief, though the tusks granted us much wealth, we came for a new item of trade.”
“What is it? I’ll provide all you will need!”
The trader laid back on the animal skin couch, and clicked his fingers. From outside the tent half a dozen men bought in two heavy crates. When they prised open the lid, the chief saw strange objects that looked like a combination of wood and metal, with tiny levers around it. The trader stood up, the light from his back overshadowing the chief. He took one of these contraptions, pulled levers that made clicking noises, and held it aloft.
“I am glad you enjoyed much prosperity, and it is clear you have gained much territory in my absence. I came to trade these for the slaves you have captured, and these will enable you to efficiently capture more slaves. What do you say chief? Through this your village will rise to become the most powerful empire of Africa, didn’t I vow to our prosperous future when we first met?”