Mongo Beti's work falls within the context of [the] reaction against the imposition of western culture on African society. Taken as a whole it probably gives the most thoroughgoing exposure of the stupidity of the imperialist attempt to devalue traditional education and religion and replace them by an inadequate western educational system and a hypocritical Christian religion. One of the most elegant and sophisticated of African writers, Mongo Beti's urbanity of tone should not lull the reader into a feeling that he is complacent about the issues he raises. His intelligence and wide-ranging wit correlate with a determination to face the uglier realities and expose them.

Beti's first novel The Poor Christ of Bomba was so effective in its exposure of French imperialist attitudes that it provoked a storm on its publication in 1956. This largely underrated novel deserves more attention, if only because of the adroit manipulation of the rather naive narrator through whose eyes we see the events of the story. The focus is on the Rev. Father Drumont and his unavailing attempts to impose a rather austere and authoritarian version of Roman Catholicism on a proud people. The Father emerges as a harsh, obstinate, unfeeling, and conceited authoritarian in spite of, or perhaps partly because of, the unconcealed admiration he elicits from the naive narrator. (pp. 126-27)

The impulses of this cruel, dehumanized Father are essentially antilife. We also see his inhumanity, which is no different from that of the civil authorities, in extorting forced labour from the people in order to build his church. Particularly disgraceful is his exploitation of the Sixa girls whom he compulsorily houses within the mission, ostensibly to prepare them for the duties of a Christian wife, but in reality to provide cheap manual labour. Such cold inhumanity, such religious bankruptcy and dishonesty, are astonishing. So too is the Father's inflexibility on matters of church rules. It is an inflexibility which will not allow a penniless old woman to take the sacrament because her church dues have not been paid, even though everyone, including the uncritical narrator, is moved by the old woman's tale of woe and faith and expects the Father to relent. In spite of his zeal, however, the Father's brand of religion exposes him as being basically un-Christian. It consists in reminding his parishioners of their sins, even on those occasions when he finds an exemplary young man or woman. The concepts of love and mercy are completely absent from the Father's creed. In his view, being a good Christian consists in paying one's church dues and if one's relatives happen to be polygamous, then all connections with them should be severed. Prompted by the belief that only the miserable can have faith in God, the Father virtually encourages poverty and prays for the people's unhappiness. His religion is a life-denying force which fails to come to terms with indigenous law and custom. He fails to see that it is both unnecessary and undesirable to attempt to smother beneath the superficial trappings of Roman Catholicism the age-old culture of the people from which they derive their vitality and their sense of identity, and his most high-handed actions are concerned with his attempts to suppress some aspect or other of traditional life. (p. 128)

Mongo Beti's intention is to expose, not just the Father, but the Roman Catholic Church as a whole, emphasizing its lack of appeal for the people. He underlines the fact that, in spite of the Father's zeal, Christianity is a minority religion here, deeply distrusted by the majority of the people, even by those who espouse it. (p. 130)

Christianity turns out in Tala to be an extremely expensive and commercialized religion demanding much from its adherents and imposing several unreasonable tasks and obligations. It is also a religion that imposes its will by means of terror…. Christianity here is an extremely naive religion that depends on a simple-minded and uncritical acceptance of its doctrines, thus suggesting its underestimation of the native intelligence of the African peoples. The identification of Christianity with a white civilization is another obstacle to its acceptance in these parts. Since the white priests are always in association with the white administrators, the people quite rightly regard the church as the ally of an oppressive imperialist administration, and the fact that Jesus Christ is always represented as white further intensifies the feeling that Christianity is a white man's religion which is completely unsuited to African conditions. The people are far from being deluded about the church's real nature. They are perfectly aware of its double standards; they know that the Father who rages against polygamy and immorality among Africans fraternizes with whites who live in concubinage with loose women and sees nothing wrong in supposed white Christians associating with 'pagan' women, although he preaches that after baptism the Africans should stop visiting their 'pagan' relations. Finally, they are aware that the church is a disruptive force that threatens to break up their once-stable way of life.

The central action of the novel is the Father's tour through the Tala country accompanied by [his cook] Zacharia and the narrator, Dennis. Like Beti's second novel, Mission to Kala, The Poor Christ of Bomba takes the form of a picaresque tale whose significance lies, not so much in the events, as in the moral development of the participants. The journey is necessitated by one of the Father's most misguided policies. He discovers to his chagrin that, far from arousing in the people a stronger desire for the Christian faith …, spiritual deprivation has caused them to forget Christianity and return to their traditional ways…. [The] people of Tala have found a new independence and prosperity deriving largely from their success as cocoa farmers, and this prosperity is reflected in an obviously high standard of living. Against the Father's restrictive life-denying morality the happy people of Tala posit their vigorous affirmation of life. The naive narrator's condemnation of them as living careless lives alerts us to Beti's real viewpoint at this stage. Since they live away from the towns and main roads, the Talans are not only rural people but also traditionalists who have not allowed their lives to be influenced by the values of western imperialism; and although the narrator dismisses them as backward, it is obvious that they are very alert and in their own way progressive. (pp. 131-32)

Throughout the journey it is the same tale of dilapidated churches, polygamous husbands, unmarried mothers and non-payment of church dues. The message for the Father is clear; after nearly twenty years, Christianity has not really taken hold among these people. And it is significant that during the tour the once-feared Father attracts not only hostility but blatant disrespect.

Zacharia, whose irresponsibility should not blind us to his remarkable sanity and realism, plays a crucial role in the story. He is used by Mongo Beti as a kind of permanent check to the narrator's naivety and the Father's illusions about his mission. The author needs Zacharia on this journey to act as a useful corrective and to be the spokesman for the radical African point of view, and he is able to play this role effectively, not just because he is intelligent, but also because he is a perceptive man of the world who knows his people and is proud of them. He knows that these smart people have realized the importance of money in modern life and are going to chase it no less eagerly than the priests themselves…. Because of his peculiar association with the Father, Zacharia can tell the former truths which no one else can, and, what is more he is about the only person to whom the Father listens. On one occasion he bluntly tells the Father that the African did not first hear of God from the white man; if he agreed to embrace the religion of the latter it was because he hoped that such an association would give him the secret of the white man's power and knowledge. Zacharia can see right through the Father and the other whites; he knows their secrets, their illusions and their real desires and he is sensitive enough to be aware of the effect the Father is producing on the people. If the Father changes somewhat during the course of the journey, it is largely owing to Zacharia's influence.

The change that takes place in the Father is one of the most interesting features of the novel. The first signs of it appear shortly after that conversation with Zacharia and the catechist in which the former had tried to enlighten the Father about the real reasons why some of the people have turned to Christianity. In the ensuing conversation with the self-satisfied M. Vidal, the Father begins to express doubts for the first time about the purpose of his mission: and he mentions the point that Zacharia has made—that the people did not first hear about religion from the white man. The Father seems to be gradually groping his way towards a realization of the validity of traditional life and culture. When the bigoted Vidal asserts that the civilization they are trying to impart to the Bantu race involves much more than materialism and technological advancement, that it involves the Christian religion in fact, the Father suggests, following Zacharia, that any religion 'even if it hadn't inspired a policy of conquest, can be none the less real for its adherents'. This is a liberalism which we have never been led to expect from the Father. Vidal's callousness in proposing to build his road by forced labour also shocks the Father into a realization of his responsibility. Where he once expressed the wish that the people would be unhappy in order that they might return to him, he now sees it as his duty to protect them against the cruelty and depredations of Vidal. The Father cannot yet make a great point about this, however; for one thing, as Vidal sarcastically reminds him, there is the uncomfortable realization that he himself had once used forced labour in the construction of his religious buildings. Nevertheless, his conscience has been stirred and he has moved a very long way from both Vidal and the uncritical narrator who in his naivety rejoices at the people's forthcoming calamity. (pp. 133-34)

Finally there is the realization in conversation with Vidal that he has been a failure and ought to return to Europe. This conversation is central to the novel's themes. It shows the Father's genuine concern now about the imposition of western culture on Bomba: 'These good people worshipped God without our help. What matter if they worshipped after their own fashion—by eating one another, or by dancing in the moonlight, or by wearing bark charms around their necks? Why do we insist on imposing our customs upon them?'… At the end of the conversation the Father arrives at a clear perception of what has been going on in Africa: the connivance between the missionaries and the administrators to keep the people in a perpetual state of subjection. The Father then launches on a touching analysis of the motives which had prompted him to come to Africa as a missionary: revolted by Europe's arrogance and technological preoccupation he had decided to extend the kingdom of Christ to people considered disinherited and simple. Arriving in Africa he felt flattered by the deference paid to him and failed to acknowledge the real worth of the people until jolted to reality by the Talans' spirit of independence and the failure of his stratagem. The real measure of the change that has come over the Father is indicated in his acceptance of the stupidity of his opposition to polygamy and his readiness now to be flexible about the question of unmarried mothers. (p. 135)

[Although] the Father had come to a clear realization during the tour of the futility of colonization and the attempt to impose alien customs on the people, he had retained his initial view of Africans as technologically, intellectually and morally backward. And it is what he now sees as the African's incorrigible immorality that administers the final blow and forces him to leave Bomba in a harsher frame of mind than seemed conceivable.

Zacharia's wife's revelation, after a dreadful fight with Catherine, that the latter is from the Sixa, prompts investigations which suggest to the reader, if not to the Father, that it is the latter's policies which are responsible for the descent of Catherine and the other Sixa girls into depravity. By putting a young man like Raphael in charge of a female institution like the Sixa with a lot of other young men around, the Father was merely presenting them with a ready-made brothel. The Sixa turns out to be a den of corruption, largely through the Father's negligence, as Marguerite, one of the girls, tells him. The most startling revelation of all is that the Father's policy has created the perfect conditions for a venereal disease epidemic which now rages through the Sixa.

But the Father now irresponsibly blinds himself to the fact that he is largely the cause of the catastrophic turn of events at Bomba, unleashing his venom instead, not on the men, but on the girls who are the unfortunate victims of his own negligence and the men's incontinence. In a very real sense he has destroyed the lives of almost all these girls, not simply because they are infected with venereal disease, but because their fiancés, fed up with waiting and disgusted by the corrupt activities at the Sixa, have abandoned them. But this completely fails to register on the mind of the racialist Father who now sees the activities at the Sixa as the expression of the unbridled libido of the black race. 'They are all eaten up with lust; Ah, what a race!'… We now see some nasty aspects of the Father's character that the relationship with Zacharia may only faintly have suggested. He now turns out to be a voyeur deriving a perverted pleasure from the girls' sordid revelations, vicariously enjoying the delights of sex at second hand. Under the pretence of conducting the investigations he calls up all the girls, one after the other, and forces them to give all the details of their sexual activities with the men, the more modest ones being encouraged with the aid of the cane. The Father also clearly becomes a sadist, for when each girl arrives for her confession she is first given several strokes of the cane on the Father's orders. This contempt for the dignity of the African race is repulsive in a man who is simultaneously demonstrating that he harbours the basest instincts himself. (pp. 139-40)

The Doctor's report on the syphilis epidemic [in the Sixa] is a thorough condemnation of the Father's administration. It speaks of bad sanitation, bad housing, bad cooking arrangements, bad maintenance, low morale and exploitation. One would have expected that this would at last alert the Father to a full realization of his responsibility and moral obligation to the girls, but although he finally admits that he is 'the guilty party in the whole affair', it is an intellectual admission which is not deeply felt and is certainly not followed by repentant action. The height of his irresponsibility and impenitence are revealed when, instead of taking steps to cure the girls, as the Doctor has advised, he decides to pack them off to their homes, presumably to spread venereal disease throughout the country, asserting that they have brought dishonour to his mission. The Father shows at the end that he is even harsher than the opening pages have suggested. (p. 141)

The thorough exploration of this novel's themes might lead one to overlook its artistry or to suppose that it is merely a string of episodes. It is, in fact, a very well constructed novel with a compact, unified plot. The fact that it is the same tale of woe that the Father meets at every station might seem repetitive, but it is necessary in order to demonstrate the Church's universal failure in the Bomba area. Most important, the reader is held spellbound by the gradual revelation of the various aspects of the Father's slow growth into awareness. It is quite obvious that in spite of the wealth of detail Mongo Beti had probably planned almost every aspect of this novel even before he started to write it. Particularly worthy of commendation is the brilliant exposure of the narrator's naivety and the consistency and effectiveness with which the author penetrates the depths of an adolescent mind in convincing language. This gives us splendid passages of introspection resulting in a very full picture, not only of the boy, but of the Father himself. Even more minor characters like Zacharia, Catherine and Vidal are realistically and convincingly presented.

No doubt there will be readers, particularly French ones, who will call the accuracy of Beti's presentation of the French colonial situation into question. It is quite possible that Beti has exaggerated, but exaggeration is a perfectly legitimate literary weapon. In order to assess the literary quality of the book, we must look within it, to the effectiveness of the methods used by the author, not outside to its historical truth. There is little doubt that, literarily speaking, Beti has produced a most effective denunciation of an unsuitable political and cultural system.

Mongo Beti's next novel, Mission to Kala, continues his denunciation of the French colonial exercise, turning the focus this time on the colonial educational system. His thesis, apparently, is that the formal classical education to which young francophones were exposed was ultimately valueless, since it alienated them from their roots in traditional society, taught them to consider the values of that society inferior to French ones and gave them little preparation for the life they were to lead. Beti's manipulation of his persona in this novel is a much more complex exercise…. Jean-Marie is often ironically treated in order to reveal his conceit, delusion and stupidity; at other times he himself looks back with disgust at his past follies, and on other occasions he is used straightforwardly as a mouthpiece to deliver Mongo Beti's satire against the French system. The exercise calls for a very deft manipulation of tone and language and suggests, not that Beti does not know what to do with his narrator, but that he is aware that he has a slightly more mature persona than [the narrator of the earlier novel] to deal with this time.

Apart from the more complex manipulation of the persona the other major stylistic development in Mission to Kala lies in its richer comedy. One is immediately struck by the narrator's scintillating wit and flippant, ironic and sarcastic tone, even, at times, at his own expense. The comedy also resides in the great number of hilarious scenes, some of them bordering on farce and slapstick…. The novel's picaresque nature is announced right at the start by the Fielding-like authorial chapter headings. As with most picaresques it takes the form of a quest during which the hero grows morally and spiritually and returns home a changed man. (pp. 141-43)

[The novel starts] with a boy returning home from school mortally terrified of his father's reaction to his failure in his examinations; it ends with the same boy returning home once more after an adventure of which the father will almost certainly disapprove, but which has taught him invaluable lessons about life, particularly about traditional life. The boy has lost his fear as a result of his experiences and returns to challenge the father…. Then follows the most vitriolic denunciation of his father's influence and a scathing exposure of the latter's capitalist tricks. The father emerges as a thoroughly unscrupulous character who has no hesitation in exploiting relations and enemies alike where his financial interests are concerned. (p. 153)

Jean-Marie returns to Kala a rebel, not so much against an educational system, as against his father's tyranny. Indeed, he goes back to school and passes his exams, but the revolt against his father is complete. Leaving his home he becomes something of a delinquent and a wanderer. This is true to form, as a number of psychologists and social workers will testify. A home like Jean-Marie's is bound to produce juvenile delinquents in the end, and it is not surprising that this is what eventually happens to both Medza boys. But Jean-Marie would probably have gone on living in fear if his eyes had not been opened by other vistas of experience during the Kala adventure.

What then should we make of Mission to Kala? Is it that the work started as a denunciation of the French educational system and then changed direction to become an exposure of a tyrannical father? The two concerns are, in fact, interrelated. In order to demonstrate the father's tyranny the educational system must be denounced, first in order to show the rigours to which this father subjects the poor boy in his bid to make him successful, and secondly, and perhaps more important, because this rather westernized father uncritically accepts a defective and alien educational system for his child. The denunciation of an unsuitable system of education is therefore quite in place. If it is taken to extremes it is not because Mongo Beti is against education per se, but because the father's tyranny has bred in the young boy a temporary pathological hatred for all educational systems.

Mongo Beti's third novel, King Lazarus, is a sad disappointment after the brilliance of the first two. Thematically, however, it is similar to the earlier novels since it is also concerned with the exposure of the pretentiousness of an alien cultural and imperialist system which shows little respect for the traditional life and dignity of the people. The attack this time is on the follies of both the Roman Catholic Church and the civil administration. King Lazarus differs in narrative technique from the other novels in being written in the third-person omniscient form. The change is for the worse. Gone is the brilliant manipulation of the naive narrator in The Poor Christ of Bomba; gone too is the brilliant wit and the captivating tone of voice of Jean-Marie Medza in Mission to Kala. Instead we have the rather garrulous omniscient narrator.

The novel is about the turbulent consequences of the conversion of the Chief of the Essazam to Christianity. The chief's new way of life clashes strongly with traditional beliefs and practices and disrupts the life of the community. Le Guen, the faceless assistant to Father Drumont in The Poor Christ of Bomba, is the representative of Roman Catholicism here. While lacking Father Drumont's intellect and capacity for rigorous self-analysis, he is more obstinate and insensitive than the latter, and is ultimately more disruptive of traditional ways. His simple, naive teaching illustrates the intellectual bankruptcy of the church and its contempt for the intelligence of the people it seeks to win to its fold…. Le Guen completely fails to consider the effects of his advice and decisions on the lives of the people. When he advises the chief to put away all his wives but one, he is apparently unmoved by the fact that such a step cuts right across a tradition which the chief as traditional ruler is supposed to safeguard. Nor is he particularly concerned about the human aspects of the problem—about the fact, for instance, that some of the wives have been married to the chief for years and know no other home, that they are forced to leave without their children who are now deprived of parental love and care, since they are unceremoniously bundled on to 'respectable housewives' around the village with instructions to feed and bring them up. The fact is that Le Guen's ruse to enforce monogamy on the chief completely disrupts the kingdom, setting husband against wife, wife against wife, clan against clan, uncle against nephew, and plunging the tribe into civil war. The misery that his policy precipitates is very touchingly evoked, but he remains insensitive to all this. His zeal might have been partly excused if the conversion to Christianity had made the chief a better man. On the contrary, it seems to liberate the most repulsive impulses in him.

Inevitably, Le Guen comes into confrontation with the civil administration who do not welcome the prospect of an interclan warfare. This conflict between the religious and political arm recalls that between Father Drumont and M. Vidal in The Poor Christ of Bomba, but in this case it is the man of God who is obstinate while the administrator seems to be the embodiment of sound sense. He reminds the Father that the whole clan is against him and pleads with him to abandon his crazy policy of converting the chief…. [And yet] Beti is far from endorsing the patronizing administrator. If he counsels moderation it is not because of any regard for traditional culture. He merely counsels political expediency to ensure the continuation of the French presence in Africa. Beti's irony throughout this scene is a doubled-edged weapon which simultaneously exposes the insensitivity and obstinacy of Le Guen as well as the chauvinism of Lequeux. Towards the end Lequeux is forced to bare his teeth and reveal in the crudest and most violent kind of language that his entire career has been shaped by his almost pathological hatred of communists…. In the end the administrator has the last word in contriving Le Guen's transfer to another post. And the chief, though retaining the [baptismal] name 'Lazarus', soon rediscovers the joys of polygamy and strict obedience to tribal ethics.

Inevitably the French administration is denounced in the most scathing terms. The officials demonstrate a certain measure of efficiency, but it is in the interest of perpetuating a corrupt and unjust system. (pp. 153-56)

It must not be supposed, however, that Beti idealizes traditional society in this novel. This is a significant departure from his usual practice of showing tremendous responsiveness to the dignity and beauty of traditional life. King Lazarus presents a very unflattering picture of indigenous African society. The historical background with which the novel starts shows that owing to the impact of world forces on the Essazam they have become increasingly decadent. In this they are quite different from the magnificent people of Kala. They have been racked in internal feuds and vendettas; VD, alcoholism and other 'scourges' of modern civilization have made progressive inroads into their society. The chief is callous and pleasure loving; the young men and women are tireless fornicators; the elders are seen as 'pathetic orang-outangs who have reduced public debate to futility'; the diviners and priests are filthy, greedy old men more concerned with their own importance than with the efficient discharge of their duties; the warriors are even stupid in their fighting. Beti spares no pains to make the tribe as a whole look as ridiculous as possible. (p. 157)

Beti's forte in King Lazarus is his power of description and ability to bring a scene to life which has by no means deserted him. The account of the onset of the chief's fever is brilliant and the later deathbed scenes are very effectively done. Brilliant too are the series of scenes which, with a maximum of economy, portray the relations between Mama and her children. So are the various battle scenes. Although the rich comedy of The Poor Christ of Bomba and Mission to Kala is absent here, Beti has still been able to contrive some very funny scenes…. Quite often, however, the comedy is of a grotesque sort. Indeed, it is evident that Beti demonstrates a predilection in this work for the grotesque; this comes out in both his comic scenes and his descriptions, and is generally in line with his cynical mood. Be that as it may, the description of people's personal appearance shows superb artistry. (p. 158)

Characterization in King Lazarus is by no means as compelling as in the earlier two novels. The main reason for this seems to be that none of the characters' thoughts and actions are presented in such detail that he or she becomes memorable. There are hardly any passages of introspection. Both Le Guen and the chief, the two major characters, have a habit of disappearing from the scene for considerable periods, and in the case of the latter Beti fails to show the process whereby he changes once more from Christianity and monogamy to traditional ways and polygamy. The author's garrulousness is also partly responsible, for instead of allowing us to see and hear the characters wrestling with their dilemmas, he always stands between us and them.

This, then, is a novel marred by a number of flaws. Its prevailing cynicism suggests the bitterness of a man who is probably fed up with most things. It remains to be seen whether it really marks the decline of Mongo Beti. (pp. 158-59)

Eustace Palmer, "Mongo Beti," in his The Growth of the African Novel (© Eustace Palmer 1979), Heinemann, 1979, pp. 124-59.