Latest / The History of Belgium: A Small Country with a Giant Colonial Legacy — Fexingo History / The 1888 Banalya Massacre: Stanley's Darkest Day in the Congo
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've talked a lot about the rubber terror, about the Force Publique, about the big structural horrors of the Congo Free State. But I want to back up just a little — to 1888, before Leopold's regime really got its machinery going, to something that I think is almost like a warning flare. Luna: A warning flare how? Lucas: Because it shows how quickly a supposedly 'humanitarian' or 'scientific' expedition could turn into something monstrous. I'm talking about the Banalya massacre — or as it's sometimes called, the Stanley Falls massacre. It happened during Henry Morton Stanley's last big expedition in Africa, the Emin Pasha Relief Expedition. Luna: Emin Pasha — that's the German doctor who was stranded in Equatoria, right? Lucas: Exactly. Emin Pasha — his real name was Eduard Schnitzer — was the governor of Equatoria, a province in the southern Sudan that had been cut off by the Mahdist uprising. The British and Leopold II both wanted to 'rescue' him, partly for humanitarian reasons, partly because he controlled a strategically important territory. So Stanley was hired to lead an expedition up the Congo River, then overland to Lake Albert. Lucas: It was a massive undertaking — over 700 people, mostly Zanzibari porters and soldiers, plus some Sudanese and Somali fighters, and a handful of European officers. The plan was to go up the Congo to its confluence with the Aruwimi River, then march east. But almost nothing went right. Luna: What went wrong first? Lucas: Well, they arrived at the Congo's mouth in early 1887, and immediately faced logistical nightmares. The steamers they had were too small, the porters were exhausted, and the local chiefs along the river were suspicious — with good reason. Stanley had to negotiate passage, sometimes by force. By the time they reached Yambuya, a village at the Aruwimi confluence, it was June 1887. Stanley decided to split the expedition. Lucas: He would take a flying column — about 400 men — and push ahead to Lake Albert, leaving a rear column at Yambuya under Major Edmund Barttelot, a British officer. The rear column was supposed to wait for supplies and then follow. But Stanley underestimated how long the wait would be — he was gone for over a year, and the rear column basically fell apart. Luna: I've heard of Barttelot — wasn't he the one who went mad? Lucas: Mad is one way to put it. Barttelot was a disciplinarian, but he had no experience with African logistics or diplomacy. The porters, many of whom were Zanzibari or Manyema, were stuck in Yambuya with dwindling food and no news from Stanley. Disease was rampant. Barttelot started using brutal punishments — floggings, executions — to maintain order. He also got into a conflict with Tippu Tip, the powerful Zanzibari slave and ivory trader who had been hired to supply porters. Lucas: Tippu Tip sent a subordinate named Khamis bin Abdullah to help, but Barttelot mistrusted him. In June 1888, Barttelot tried to force Khamis's men to work, and there was a scuffle. Barttelot was shot and killed — accounts differ on whether it was an accident or deliberate. His death triggered a panic. Luna: So the rear column was leaderless. Lucas: Yes, and the man who took over was James Sligo Jameson, a wealthy Irish artist and big-game hunter who had financed part of the expedition. Jameson was not a military man. He tried to keep things together, but the camp was falling apart. Then, in July 1888, the rear column marched east to join Stanley. They reached Banalya, a village on the Aruwimi, where they encountered a large group of Manyema — local people who were trading and settling in the area. Lucas: The Manyema were armed and wary. Jameson's second-in-command, a man named William Stairs, decided to attack them preemptively, claiming they were hostile. The result was a slaughter. Using rifles and a Maxim gun, the expedition's forces killed hundreds of Manyema — men, women, children. Jameson later wrote in his diary that it was 'a terrible affair' but that 'it was necessary to teach them a lesson.' Luna: A Maxim gun against villagers — that's the same dynamic we saw later with the Force Publique. Lucas: Exactly the same. But what makes Banalya especially infamous is what happened next. Jameson, apparently out of a mix of scientific curiosity and sheer depravity, purchased a young Manyema girl from local traders — for the equivalent of a few yards of cloth — and handed her over to cannibals who were with the expedition, to be killed and eaten. He even sketched the scene. Luna: Wait — he watched? And drew it? Lucas: He sketched it. The sketch later became evidence. When news of this reached Europe — thanks in part to letters from other expedition members — there was a huge scandal. The British press called it 'the Banalya atrocities.' Jameson died of fever shortly after, so he never faced trial. But the incident haunted the expedition's reputation. Lucas: Stanley himself, when he finally reunited with the rear column, downplayed the massacre. In his official account, he blamed the Manyema for being aggressive and praised his men for their discipline. He also shielded Jameson's family from the worst of the scandal. But the truth leaked out through letters and diaries. Luna: And this was all supposedly in the name of exploration — finding Emin Pasha, 'opening up' Africa. Lucas: Exactly. And Emin Pasha himself? He was rescued, but he didn't want to leave. He ended up staying in East Africa and was later killed by Arab-Swahili slavers. So the whole expedition was, in many ways, a failure. The real legacy of Banalya is that it foreshadowed the routine violence of the Congo Free State. The Maxim gun, the racial contempt, the idea that African lives were disposable — all of that was on full display in 1888, years before Leopold's rubber quotas. Luna: It's like the rehearsal for the main show. Lucas: That's a grim but accurate way to put it. And the thing is, Banalya is not as well-known as the later atrocities. There's no major monument, no museum exhibit. It's almost been forgotten, except by historians. But it matters because it shows that the violence wasn't just a byproduct of the rubber system — it was baked into the mentality from the start. Lucas: And that's part of why shows like this exist — to keep these stories alive. A couple of dollars a month is genuinely what keeps these conversations going. If you've gotten something out of them, you can find us at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It makes a real difference, honestly. Luna: Yeah, it really does. And it's how we stay ad-free, too. Lucas: Right. So back to Banalya — one of the most disturbing aspects is how normalised it all seemed to the participants. Jameson's sketch, his diary entries — he didn't write like he was doing something monstrous. He wrote like a naturalist recording a specimen. That dehumanisation is the through line from 1888 to the rubber terror and beyond. Luna: And yet, some people in Europe were horrified. The scandal shows that not everyone was on board. Lucas: Yes, and that's important too. The expedition's own members turned against each other. Herbert Ward, another officer, was so disgusted that he resigned and later became a critic of colonial abuses. Stairs, who ordered the attack, was haunted by it. So there were cracks in the colonial consensus, even then. But they were drowned out by the bigger narrative of 'civilising mission' and 'heroic exploration.' Lucas: The Banalya massacre is a reminder that history doesn't always move in a straight line from atrocity to awareness. Sometimes the awareness is there, but it's suppressed. And sometimes it takes a century for the full story to come out. Luna: So where does that leave us now — as people looking back? Lucas: I think it leaves us with a responsibility to remember. Not just the big, obvious horrors, but the ones that got swept under the rug. Banalya wasn't a one-off. It was a pattern. And recognising that pattern is the first step to understanding how colonialism actually worked — on the ground, in the mud, with Maxim guns and sketches and casual cruelty. That's the history we're trying to uncover, one small story at a time.