Through unknown Nigeria

Kano market is famed throughout Africa. To it pilgrims of commerce come east, north and a hundred and more directions between these points of the compass. It is said to be the largest market in the world, but a man who has also been to Timbuktu tells me that it is four times the size of Kano and has four times as many people frequenting it. Kano, however, need not bury its diminished head. If there be another Richmond in the field Kano shall not feel ashamed.

Various calculations have been made of the number of persons who congregate there on the busiest days of the week; 7,000, 8,000 have been figures given. I put it higher and estimate the crowds at 10,000 to 12,000 and one who probably knows Kano in this respect better than any other individual agrees with my rough-and-ready census.

What African cosmopolitan crowds they are! Not merely Fulanis, Hausas and Nupés, but Turegs—who gave the French so much trouble—Ansim men, Arabs from every part of North Africa on the Mediterranean—Tripoli, Morocco and Tunis—Arabs of every degree of colour, coal black to skins as white and clear as that of an English girl.

Fine-looking men most of them, and finely clothed: turbans of cambric and turbans of gold-like embroidered cloth. Vests—resembling an army officer’s mess jacket—also of embroidered cloth, the edges set with valuable lace of rare make and exquisite quality. Beneath the full robe of white, blue or other colour, trousers on which fancy work of many designs have been wrought. Each of these garments costs a matter of sovereigns. I have handled vests for which the owners paid £7 each.

See these gaily-bedecked Arab magnates mounted. The native saddle with curved-up back displays the skill of yet another craftsman; saddle cloth of brilliant and varied hues—scarlet to yellow—girth straps picked out with designs woven in silver. Bridle and head-collar hidden behind tassels and hanging cords bearing more tints than the rainbow when the sun shines brilliantly after a summer shower. The running, horse-attendant completes the picture of men of affluence who omit nothing the absence of which would detract from their rank and dignity.

No Zaki salute—on the knees and with head to the ground—comes from these men. Meeting you when they are mounted, they may—one in a 100—raise the right hand from the elbow—tantamount to taking off the hat in Continental Europe—or, passing you on foot, they may, in the same proportion, render a slight token of military salute. As a rule they give no sign beyond a side scrutiny, as one does at an unusual visitor from another country They convey to you that they know too much of the world to look upon you—you and each of you—as a great leader, a chief, a Zaki.

They are not as the Moslem who has never been out of Hausaland and who knows you only by the prowess and governing ability of your countrymen there. These cosmopolitan Arabs appraise differently. They tell you, by looks, that chance has given you the upper hand. So be it. They care not. Let them go on with their trading and they are utterly cold as to who rules. There is no common, fellow-feeling between these men and those among whom they move. No feeling of patriotism unites them. There is a link, however, stronger, more potent, one that would draw as a magnet millions of Moslems in Africa and beyond. It is their religion. Let us beware.

You may not like these Arab merchants from the north and from the east. You may regard them as prepared to trade in anything for gain. You may believe them to have been the moving spirit of the former slave-hunting days. But they are picturesque, and if you are not satiated with sightseeing you must turn and look at them.

These Arabs, who are principally from Morocco, from Algeria and from Tripoli, bring European goods—wools, cloths, beads, scents—and take back chiefly skins and ostrich feathers. They formerly came, and some still do, by camel caravan from the north, traversing the sandy wastes of the Sahara. The journey occupies 6 months in the wet season and 4 months in the dry.

It was inevitable that the extension of the railway from Lagos would draw the life out of the desert route. This process of travel is dying of inanition. It might still have lasted years, for trading was to be done en route and people naturally conservative in habit do not readily change their methods. But the Morocco trouble and the Tripoli war have given the desert route the happy despatch. It is already practically dead. Healthy commerce and warfare cannot exist together, and the desert route has been abandoned by the majority of the Arab traders.

They are coming and going by the sea service from Europe to Lagos or Forcados and thence either by train all the way from the former port or from the latter one by boat up the Niger to Baro and then by rail to Kano. These plans have been accompanied by other advantages, for the continental goods previously brought by the Arabs from the Mediterranean ports have to a considerable extent been replaced by British manufactures. Moreover, several of the Arab merchants are establishing branches in Manchester and Liverpool. If they can obtain in England the articles wanted the men will not incur the expense of going to the Continent to buy.

The Arabs from North and from Central Africa form a very small proportion of the crowds in Kano market. How are these crowds to be described? Not at all, unless at tabulated length. Buyers and sellers come in from districts 100 miles away and intermediately. There are markets and markets, near and far, large and small, and Kano is the hub, the receiving and the distributing centre of them all. Sokoto, Katsina, and their surrounding districts send horses and cattle. Villages near weave cloth, plait straw into mats, basins and a dozen other forms, and place the article in Kano market. Kano itself and a wide radius around supply hides and skins, and Kano tans and dyes them. It is the combined Lancashire and London of West Central Africa; manufactures and the centre of exchange. But there are no large factories. Tanning, dyeing, weaving, the basket industry, leather work, all and much else are done by individual families or by men employing half-a-dozen employees.

Do not conclude that Kano market is only for big transactions. You can buy anything there, from flocks and herds to native-grown cotton, ginned or unginned, or less than a handful of ground-nuts—known in English fruit shops as monkey-nuts—for a few cowries, of which 280 are the local rate of exchange for a penny.

Arts and crafts flourish in Kano market. Yes, arts and crafts essentially. Note the skill of the fancy leather worker: satchels of many kinds; long, flat purses wherein a double compartment slips perpendicularly into another—a favourite form of keeping money or documents—slippers and covered sandals of brightly-dyed leather carrying devices in still brighter contrast; cushion covers looking as though a dozen chess-boards had been interwoven; large and small bags; whips and many other articles fancily formed of leather, and strips of it decorate spurs and anything where art or ornament can be used with effect. Nothing is more noticeable than the riding boots reaching above the knees and bearing in front brilliant figuring fit for a Claude Duval.

There is the wood carver, handling a small, crude blade and fashioning on calabashes, large and small, curves and lines and flowers, symmetrically shaped and arranged, and selling the whole thing, according to the size of the vessel, for 1d., 2d., 3d., or 4d.

In the blacksmith’s shop only implements of utility are being produced, principally the hoe, which, used by hand, takes the place of our plough in forming a furrow for planting. It consists of a short handle—about 18 to 24 inches—and a small shovel blade set at right angle at the end.

Although not made in the market, there you may see knives and swords of diverse quality, always encased in a leather sheath. The knives, which are of the dagger type, are mostly worn for show. A common way of carrying is at the elbow, the lower part of wearer’s arm passing through a broad ring of leather. Swords nowadays are not regarded as to be drawn for offensive or defensive purposes. But every gentleman of quality wears one. And in Hausaland a gentleman of quality may be a man of poverty with his robe in rags. For ordinary walks abroad the sword will be held by a length of lamp wick or several strips of discoloured linen passing over the shoulder. On State occasions—for processions of the Emir—the sling will be wool, plaited to thick tubular form, the ends finished by large tassels. Green, yellow, red are the colours of slings, some combining the three.

These swords are remarkable evidence of the ability of the metal workers. The blades are occasionally made from high quality steel previously used in a similar capacity, but most have been iron which bound packing-cases, and to this iron is added odd bits of other iron—nails or whatever of the kind comes to hand—the whole welded by hand hammering.

It is astonishing to take some of these swords and, placing the point in the ground, bend them to a half-circle, so finely tempered has the metal been brought by the simple process. The handles are dulled and set with pieces of brass cut from used cartridge-cases and fitted artistically. The leather scabbards are also daintily picked out with small corners of the same metal alternating with polished tin. The swords range in price from 1s. 6d. to 35s.

A number of used cartridge cases will be hammer-beaten by hand into one sheet which is made into a fairly deep dish to hold food or the takings at a stall.

The locksmith’s stall has ordinary shaped padlocks of iron, copied from European patterns and commonplace in make and finish. At this stall I bought a couple of native-made padlocks—all that were in stock—very rough in shape but, I think, quite unique in form. Each was an oblong box, and at an end a screw, having a ring top, was wound. When the screw was inserted and turned to the left it went along the threads, closed the bolt and came out: it was the key. When the screw was again inserted and turned righthandwards it released the bolt and returned.

Native-grown cotton can be seen being drawn into thread by hand, and although, as just stated, most of the straw work—flat, dish-shape and baskets with covers, like a lady’s house receptacle for needles, cotton, thimbles, etc.—is done in the outlying villages, men and women are also practising the industry in the market.

Guinea corn is another feature of the market, though little is to be seen. Sales of large quantities mostly take place with the article stored. Outlying markets, however, send supplies to Kano, where at present more than 10 times the quantity available would be bought as food for labourers on the tin fields.

The Government at Zungeru has recognised the situation, and a few days ago I met by chance my old friend, Mr J. E. Selander, lately Engineer-in-Charge of Construction of the Jebba-Zungeru section of the railway, who since August, when the line was handed over as completed, has been detailed to make a survey for motor roads in various parts of Kano Province.

Most valuable of all would be one from Katsina, about 120 miles north-west of Kano. Katsina is a great centre for horses, cattle and grain produce. Motor roads would be practicable for 9 months in the year, and impossible only during the heavy rains. The country is flat, with no necessity for bridging. Cost of labour should be low, about 1d. a day per man, and when the road was finished motor lorries could be run in conjunction with the train service from Kano. Transportation from railhead to many of the tin fields could be made easy for mechanical means.

Just off the centre of the market is an Alkali’s Court, placed there specially to adjudicate on quarrels arising on the spot. Persons get to loggerheads over some deal. There is no long-drawn wrangle and subsequent exchange of solicitors’ letters followed by briefing of counsel. The parties and their overlooking witnesses, with the evidence fresh and red-hot, simply step across to the Alkali’s Court and he judges and settles the dispute out of hand. It is justice whilst you wait.

We turn to the cattle section of the market. There are camels, bullocks, sheep, donkeys and goats. Horses stand in an adjoining street. Few camels are bought and sold. Ansim, near Lake Chad, seems to be the country for that business; £7 each is the average price at Kano. A bullock fat for the butcher is worth £4, whilst his brother to be used for transport, in nearly every case with panniers, will realise from 35s. to 45s. The price of sheep has a longer scale, comparatively, than any other animal. The value is from 3s. 6d. to 18s. each. Goats are sold from 3s. to 4s. 6d. each.

A donkey figures at an average of 30s., which is double the price of a few years ago, due to the demand for transport to and from the tin fields.

A horse, or rather pony, useful for riding is worth £5. An animal of corresponding kind in England would change owners for from £15 to £25. A polo pony should be obtained in Kano for something between £8 and £12. The English figure is £40 to £60. Kano is not a horse-breeding district. Sokoto and Katsina are the principal districts whence they come. Kano is the chief market for that stock.

The horses are generally small, I should say, from 13½ hands to 15 hands. One of 17 hands towers over nearly all it will pass in the course of a month. The animals have not the stamina of the British horse and are slower. They are entire. An experiment was made to have 17 geldings in the mounted infantry, but the animals proved dull and spiritless and were discarded as useless.

Horses are unshod and mercifully their tails are not cut short, for flies around Kano are a perpetual torment to man and beast. The rest-house (!) in which I was sentenced to live, but to which I did not go, would have been a torture in that respect. It stood in a field near where herds of cattle passed accompanied by swarms of winged insects. An ideal place, truly, to put anybody who was writing hours daily. Knowing what I now do of Kano ways, it is just what might have been looked for from one quarter.

The bit used by natives is similar to that seen in North Africa and other Arab towns. The pace of the horse is checked by the rein bearing on the bit, as a person would press a lever, the action causing the bit to press on the palate, and as the iron bar has two prongs which rise as the rein is tightened, the result is extremely painful. At times blood will trickle from the animals’ mouths, the palate having been pierced by the prongs on the bit bar. It is right to say that this bleeding will occasionally be caused by champing and not by misuse.

Horses ridden by natives are, as a rule, never thoroughly groomed. They are given a rub down about once a week. I have heard that once a year represents a nearer estimate on the period when the operation is performed.

Of course, horses belonging to Englishmen have the pattern bit in use at home, and the doki boy—as the groom is styled, doki being horse in Hausa language—is soon initiated into the use of curry-comb and brush. The weekly cost of having a horse is small: 3s. for guinea corn and 3s. 6d. the doki boy’s wages.

The pain from the native bit is nothing to the unutterable suffering endured by camels and donkeys engaged in bringing loads to Kano City and taking them thence to places around. It is too terrible for words to express adequately one’s sense of shame and anger that such a state of things should exist. I am given to understand that the folks at the Residency are so frightfully busy, but I do wish the Resident would find a few minutes to make representations to the Emir. I am certain an immediate improvement could be brought about and probably a permanently better condition effected in the course of a few months.

Camels have large patches of flesh raw and open and on these places the wooden saddle holding heavy packages will rest. At times the blood can be seen running from under it, as fresh skin is rubbed off. When the load remains on the beast for a long journey the heat of the body will dry the liquid part and a sore forms which becomes glued to the load. When this is taken off strips of flesh are torn away and into these exposed parts stinging and other flies cluster in swarms. As the animals have the packs removed from their backs the cries and groans go to one’s heart. It is awful.

One of the worst sights I saw was that of a camel with flesh exposed and festering for about 6 inches long and 2 inches wide between the eyes and the nostrils, and the whole of this skin-bare flesh was practically covered with flies, which the beast was unable to shake off, as it was tied to a string of other camels. A pennyworth of shea butter mixed with minesam would have kept the insects away effectively. I do most earnestly plead to the British Resident at Kano to have such distressing occurrences remedied.

A man from Lagos up at Kano was with me when a file of camels were approaching their destination. He rubbed his hands gleefully. “This is quite Eastern,” he exclaimed, as the animals swung along towards us.

Presently they were halted and made to go down and then was commenced the unloading. The beasts wailed piteously.

The visitor asked me, “Why do they make this painful, crying noise?”

I said nothing, clenching my teeth.

As the loads were removed and the bleeding flesh exposed my friend said, “Good God! This is terrible. Now I am sorry I came.” He turned away. The sight was more than he could bear.

The poor, patient little donkeys also suffer shockingly. No notice is taken by most natives of sore backs and flanks when placing loads pannier fashion, so heavy that a donkey may have difficulty to walk, and when standing puts its legs wider apart to prevent the topheaviness overbalancing.

Oh! how I wish the King and Queen, with their solicitude for all sufferers, human and animal, would go to Kano. If they saw one thousandth part of what I witnessed I am certain a new era would open for the silent victims of the brute creation in this part of the world.

A more pleasant topic is that of the people of Kano.