Through unknown Nigeria

Going down the railway from Kano the traveller opens his eyes widely at Zaria Station. At Kano there is no platform and no station. Time had not been sufficient to build either. Passengers climb into the train from the rails. For 90 miles southwards—to Zaria—the same conditions exist, with this difference, that there are not so many people to see the engine and carriages and their human freight as at the terminus. At Kano a small corrugated iron shed for the telegraph instruments, a mud house for the office, and a board indicating the place are all that mark the spot. You thoroughly realise you are in a country only recently opened.

But, arriving at Zaria, instead of a single track there are seven wide gauge—3 feet 6 inches—four narrow gauge—2 feet 6 inches—tracks and commodious engine sheds, a large building being put up to warehouse the increasing quantities of tin which the Government expects from the tin fields.

White railway officials hurry hither and thither with an air of bustle, hustle and business, and, most striking of all at first sight, a station with an upper story for the administration staff. As you look nearer you notice that the roof is merely of iron and that the ornamented woodwork appears somewhat crude in its first coating of green paint. But, coming from where there are none of these adjuncts, the general appearance of Zaria Station is imposing, and, although tiny by comparison, the thought occurs of Euston, Paddington or Waterloo. Men coming upwards from the Coast may not be impressed by these things, for they have recently been where larger dimensions rule.

Bound for Bauchi, at Zaria Station the traveller takes the first turning to the right, literally so, as he walks from one side to the other of the island platform for the continuation of his journey. But the continued progress is not quite so promptly accomplished as may be imagined from this description.

The boat train from Lagos, which should leave on the previous Friday evening, is due at Zaria 11 a.m. on Tuesdays. The traveller must wait till next morning, as it is not possible to transfer luggage, etc., from the boat train to the one going to the foot of the Bauchi Plateau in time to reach that destination the same day, and, as the Bauchi line is fresh and unballasted, the service cannot safely be carried on during darkness. The night is therefore spent in a rest-house, for which a charge of 2s. is made. Next morning at 7 a.m., the train starts from Zaria Station for Rahama, turning eastwards and forming an angle to the main line.

I will not work myself into a state of uncontrollable excitement and frenzy over the Bauchi Light Railway having been laid down a narrower gauge than the line of which it is a branch, nor will I belch forth fire and fury, in the shape of epithets of stupidity and ignorance, against whoever decided on the gauge. I will content myself with saying that it would have been better to have had the uniform gauge and thus avoid the delay and expense of breaking bulk on transfer. The line was laid down at a time of emergency and was largely an experiment, for then the exact direction of the main tin deposits had not been determined. The prime object was to have rail transport for the tin as quickly as possible and for as long a distance as the £200,000 given by the Home Government would cover.

There is no need to weep and wail and tear one’s hair about the thing, for it is merely temporary. Embankment and bridges have been built to take the wider gauge and the rolling stock is easily convertible to use on that measurement.

You in England, as many do here, may laugh at this little line, which needs a day to traverse 88¼ miles, sometimes not doing it in that period. You may call it ironically, as people do here, the Bauchi Express or the Bauchi Flyer, but I must admit I was never so thrilled at any mechanical means of traction, never so impressed by any trial trip of a gigantic ocean liner, never so moved by participating in the initial run of a train at home embodying some new feature intended to make the public admire, I was never so thrilled by any one of such many departures in which I have taken part as I was when the train started round the iron curve from Zaria for Rahama.

One must indeed possess a dulled imagination not to have one’s feelings stirred by contemplation of this line running through quite new country where it seems but yesterday a white man had scarcely trod. Who can go over this line and omit to think of John Eaglesome and his staff for having given them in the course of a few months means of transportation on a course where everybody is feverishly eager to get to his destination at the earliest possible moment, for nowhere more than in mineral prospecting is time, every minute of it, money.

You may rate me too ecstatic. But trek 90 miles along unmade paths in the extreme hot season or in the excessively wet season. Then say what you would give for a railway lift from starting-point to finish.

The first 14½ miles of rails are second-hand. They are taken from the old tramway which ran from Barijuko, on the Kaduna River, to Zungeru previous to the advent of the Lagos Railway. The remaining 5½ miles of rails of the tramway are being used for the trollies which take the refuse from Zungeru every morning. The old tramway station is re-erected as the central market shed in Zungeru native village. That is the way they administer in Northern Nigeria. Nothing is wasted. Lugard had left when that was done, but his spirit and methods remained. Complaints are heard in England of extravagance and wastefulness by public departments. I wonder whether the appointment of Sir Frederick Lugard to control the spending departments in London would effect a remedy.

Passengers on the Bauchi Light Railway have a plain van with a sliding door the height of the coach. A van serves for two men, who must bring chairs and, in case of the train being detained overnight en route, beds, and also make their own arrangements for cooking. The demand for accommodation frequently exceeds the supply; and that men be not delayed, the traffic staff provides a similar van but one usually used for goods. Such a van will not have the cooling, protecting matchboard under the iron roof, and persons using a van of that kind should therefore remember that a helmet, or at least some headcovering, is a wise provision against sun troubles.

Vans have a small compartment at each end for native servants, but there are no stoves. Should, however, there be a delay during the journey, passengers’ cooks get out and kindle a fire on or near the track. That is the chance for a hot meal. There are seven stations: Awai, Soba, Duchi-n-Wai (for the Berrida and neighbouring tin mines), Karre, Kudara (for the Wassaku Concessions), Worroko and Rahama.

The first 10 miles passed are open, flat country, having slight bush, with sections here and there under cultivation for guinea corn. Near Awai, 17 miles from Zaria, can be seen the remains of a walled town. The wall, now quite thin, has been worn away by the weather to a few feet in height, broken and irregular at top, and within it thick trees of many years’ growth and wild grass demonstrate that where thousands of souls lived and where their children might be dwelling to-day has been destroyed utterly, the dead fruit of fierce tribal warfare. A few straw, circular huts belong to recent comers who are tilling bits of the desolate city.

At 10 o’clock, whilst at Soba Station, word came that the heavy rain of the night had caused a washout of the line some miles ahead. Questions were asked whether we should have to tramp the remaining distance to Rahama. “Oh, no; it would only mean a stay of about four hours.”

Now, you folks at home, delayed at a tiny village station would probably exhaust the interest of the place in a few minutes and relieve the tedium of waiting by gloomy maledictions or settle down to fitful and impatient reading. Not so out here. We are all philosophers at such trifles. We know that a day’s set programme may at any moment be completely upset by the elements. One of the passengers, Mr D. Bannerman, of the Northern Nigeria (Bauchi) Tin Mines, complacently unlocked his gun case, shouldered a rifle and, accompanied by a little party, sallied forth in the bush to look for sport and perchance bring something fresh back for the dinner pot, arranging with the engine-driver that a long loud whistle should notify that telegraphic word had come that that washout was near being remedied. Mr Bannerman was back well before a start was made, at 2.45.

Thirty-five miles from Zaria the Duchi-n-Wai hills loom in front, only the tips of them, above the dark green of trees, now much closer, which on both sides have closed in the view to a mile or so. They soon give way left and right to fields less freely timbered, with an occasional acre bearing guinea corn.

It had been clear when we left Soba that the journey could not be completed that day, so on reaching Duchi-n-Wai, at 4.15, a stop was made for the night. Cooks cut wood for fires from trees near and commenced preparations for dinner.

With two camp-beds up and mosquito curtains there is not much room for other furniture in a van. Folding chairs and tables are therefore brought and put on the rails, and along the side of the train they are ranged, each with its hurricane lamp amidst plates and dishes.

The native servants make their fires the other side of the train, sit round them and join together in song, sleeping on the ground, in the open, which they prefer to inside the carriages.

Six o’clock next morning another start was made. At Bibin, between the 60 and 61 miles’ boards, high, rocky hills are within a few hundred yards of the line. As the engine stops for water and you glance backwards, it looks as though the train had entered a very narrow opening. In front is a similar view. Going out of this gorge there is again grassy plains studded with trees.

We had left Kudara Station, 66 miles from Zaria, and were thinking of an easy, plain spin for the rest of the journey, when occurred a sudden severe jolting, the more pronounced as the sleepers are of metal and not covered by gravel: we were derailed. There was just a semblance of panic among some of the passengers and one rather excitedly jumped from the train. We had been going round a curve and doing it slowly, at 6 miles an hour, so there was not much danger of being upset. The train was quickly stopped. The driver gave the double whistle which is a distress signal and tells all who know railway language that there is a mishap.

It happened that near by was the hut of Mr Robert Brown, Bridging Foreman, who had gone in to read a letter from his wife, in England, which the train had dropped a few minutes earlier. Running out and seeing what had occurred he had a trolly put on the line and sent word to the temporary workshed at Kudara Station for hydraulic jacks and other implements. The double whistle had also brought hurrying to the spot Richard Brown, driver of a ballast train a quarter-of-a-mile away. Never have I seen men work with more energy than these two and the driver of the train, J. Swainson, did on that tropically hot morning. Swainson had ordinary jacks on the engine, and a start was made with them. Of the seven coaches, three had been derailed, each 26 feet long and weighing about 8 tons.

Everyone who has duties keeping him in this country speaks some Hausa. It is especially necessary for persons who are in constant direction of natives. A large gang at work on construction—for the line is not nearly finished, and is only open unofficially for the convenience and assistance of transport to and from the tin fields—had been summoned and Robert Brown disclosed his linguistic acquirement as his men ran to and fro at his orders.

But there are some words for which the Hausa tongue has no equivalent, and these words have become incorporated in their pristine freshness into local vocabularies. Thus, it sounded amusing to hear, “Kow jack; Muzza muzza.” (“Bring the jack, quickly, quickly.”) Sharply also were called the orders to “Kow crowbar,” “Kow slewing bar” and “Kow” half-a-dozen other things given their English names.

By the exertions of the two Browns and Swainson (who had all along been obliging in every way he could to the passengers) the three derailed coaches were lifted back on the rails, and in an hour-and-a-half from the time of the accident the train was again running. As it moved off we gave a hearty cheer for the Browns and for Swainson.

No further incidents marked the trip.

At 88 miles the train glides round a headland, and a little in front there are several straw huts and a crowd of figures—there have been scarcely any at the intermediate stations—diminutive in the distance but distinct, white-robed, indicating that that is Rahama; and in a few minutes the train pulls up in a shallow cutting which is the present railhead.

You climb up from the track by steps cut into the clayey earth, and shortly after rain it is all a chance whether you maintain your balance whilst making the ascent. Having got to the higher ground you are at the jumping-off point for trekking.