Through unknown Nigeria

Half-a-dozen men who had come from the opposite direction, and who were some distance to the right, shouted in a warning tone as we passed, “Rau” (“Water”). The reason we soon understood. A few minutes later we were at the edge of a steep bank below which a swift, swirling river was being impelled from rapids quite near. The sound of the torrent as it fell on the rocks made one feel utterly insignificant, a mere twig if within such force and power.

It was clear that the water was not to be crossed lightly, and the first thing was to ascertain whether the depth was above a man’s shoulders. Under the direction of Hanza several of the carriers threw aside their loin-cloths and waded in. Almost at once they were off their feet, swimming, splashing, laughing, shouting with joy at the cool bath. The bends of the bank enabled them to get back without distress. Evidently, however, the river was impassable, for some of the carriers could not swim, and even if all could the question of taking over heavy loads had to be solved.

Hanza considered the best course would be to send the horses across and to instruct one of the doki boys to ride to a village a few miles distant and bring a man who had a boat. The “boat” I subsequently found out was a large calabash ball with a stake through it, the upper part grasped by a passenger who sat on the calabash. This floated whilst the voyager was carried along by the stream; if he were able, paddling with feet until he was across, and if he had not confidence to do that then carried by the current until a turn of the bank on the other side intercepted him. Such a “boat” was lying near. When discovered, the question of conveying boxes over remained a difficulty.

The horses were unsaddled; taken to a point where it was calculated the current would not bear them past the part on the opposite bank where they could get out of the water, and swum across. We saw one of the doki boys mount and ride away. There was nothing for it but to sit down and wait.

We had arrived at 10.20, and after an hour’s delay and no sign of the doki boy, Hanza told me that one of the carriers thought he knew where the bed of the river rose somewhat, and had volunteered, if I would consent, to try and carry the loads across one by one. Glancing at the strongly-running stream, I said I would first prefer to see the man go over unencumbered. Hanza answered that the test was whether the man could keep on his feet bearing a load against the pressure of water. I appreciated the argument and looked along the line of packages for something easy. In order to cover the ground as quickly as possible I travel lightly. It seemed rather hard to decide what, if a sacrifice had to be made, should go. The photographic equipment was the lightest, but that was the most precious, more precious than the food. Scanning the boxes, I selected a case containing a tin of kerosene as being the article the loss of which would cause least inconvenience. Hoisting it on his head, Amadu—for he was the volunteer—went down the bank and entered the water.

Gingerly he stepped out, for the current went hard and the ridge along which he walked was not too broad. Fortunately it curved leftwards, so he was able to give ground to some degree to the pressure of water on his right. But as he went deeper his efforts, it was distinctly visible, were more severe, and by the time he was in the middle of the stream—at its widest point—I had become very anxious. The river was up to his shoulders and beating across him ominously.

He went on, with the eyes of all his fellows following him intently. My gaze fixed intently on the now slowly-moving figure, which seemed to be struggling to maintain its upright position. I saw he was treading into deeper water. It was washing round his ears, and in a moment more had reached to the top of them. Still he pushed forward, and as the level of his eyes was reached and he painfully struggled on, his arms stiffened in the endeavour to raise the heavy load pressing on his head, and to bring his face above water to breathe. I could stand the sight no longer, and, breaking the spell of silence, shouted “Adja kasa! Adja kasa!” (“Throw it down! Throw it down!”)

Amadu either could not hear or would not heed. He stopped, and not once but thrice or more he tried to bring his face above the water. No, it could not be done there. Would he wear out his remaining strength and drop? A score of pairs of arms must have involuntarily twitched in the desire to help the brave carrier whose endurance was at breaking-point. His feet felt their way by inches, and whilst I stood, both sick and fascinated, more of his head seemed to show, and, sure enough, he was on the upward slope, and in a few moments again stood still, now his mouth and nostrils above water, and drew several long breaths.

Lifting the load two or three times in playful manner, as a signal to his comrades that he was all right, he strode on into the shallower flow and putting the box down on the bank scrambled up. I gave a volley of hand-clapping as vigorous and hearty as I ever rendered to actor or singer, and the carriers also broke out into loud “Ah’s” in token of admiration. Without waiting for a question from Hanza, I told him that I would not think of consenting to any further experiment of the sort. The risk was far too much for the man, without a thought of the safety of the things he was willing to carry over.

Amadu swam back, and all stretched themselves at ease to await the boat. Ground-nuts bought at a small village earlier in the morning were roasted and eaten by the happy, light-hearted carriers. A fire was easily made by gathering leaves. Notwithstanding the downpour of the night, the sun had dried them to tinder.

So powerful were the sun’s rays that my chest, exposed for the coolness, was as though a strong mustard plaster had been administered. When the blistering and peeling process ensued I had some bad five minutes. My arms, the skin now quite dark and hardened by three months’ daily exposure on horseback to wind and sun, also blistered. The camera, of polished teak and with brass binding, specially made for the tropics, gave a tendency to stiffness of the joints due to warping, but the excellence of the wood and workmanship stood the test without impairing the apparatus for usefulness. A closed tin of butter, protected in a thick wooden box, melted and percolated through. I afterwards learnt that the temperature had been 139 degrees. So fresh is the atmosphere on the Bauchi Plateau that although I had given up my horse to another at half-past eight, and had, therefore, tramped with the carriers for two hours, I was not in the least fatigued, in spite of the heat.

At 1.15 the doki boy was seen coming back. He was accompanied by three villagers who called that there was an easy ford a little higher up. Pointing, they made towards it, and Hanza and a couple of men went to verify the information. Pushing our way through grass higher than the tallest among us, we came to a clearance a few hundred yards above the falls where the stream had narrowed considerably, and here the villagers demonstrated by wading to the middle breast-high and holding up their arms. The carriers were brought round, and by 1.45 we were over, I going pick-a-back. And very cool and comforting the muddy water felt as it made its way between the leather riding leggings and through the laced boots.

It then transpired there were two further streams near by to be got over. The next was a little deeper than the place just crossed, but presented no serious bar.

The third, however, though not so deep as the first, was quite as broad, about 300 feet, and proved to be only just fordable. Some of the carriers would not venture with loads, which were, therefore, taken over by a few making double journeys, and I sailed across “flying-angel” fashion, the sturdy Amadu being the craft. Instead of the water going deeper by degrees, almost at once the furthest point down was touched and lasted half-way. Balanced aloft, it was not too pleasant feeling the moving foundation gently and tentatively feeling his foothold, suddenly immersed to the chin, and to be conscious of a fairly hard current washing over your knees. However, nothing worse than a ducking was possible, and that was avoided.

When all the traps had been gathered it was 2.30, and Hanza enquired whether I would stay for the night at a village near by or go on to Badiko, which was three hours’ march. Personally, I would have preferred pushing on, but the men had been out 7½ hours in great heat, had not stopped at any place where they could get a meal, and had three high stream crossings, so after a little consideration I elected to stay at the village overnight.

There were notes of gratification at the announcement, and at once we struck inwards, passing, left and right, a plantation set with yams; then between guinea-corn 10 feet high, the stems bending and providing a shaded avenue; ground-nuts just in leaf, set at right-angles to the path and growing on ridges, the furrows as neatly weeded as any kitchen garden in England.

As we went across the open fields Hanza called to some people in the distance “Kow abinshi” (“Bring food”), and the cry was gladly repeated by the carriers—“Kow abinshi, Kow abinshi.” The hearers proceeded to carry out the request and to obtain the articles necessary for a little business, which to the Hausa women is second nature.

The tiny village into which we stepped was surrounded by guinea-corn taller than I had seen anywhere. The stems were 12 feet from the ground, completely hiding the mud houses. A roomy, circular one, not arranged by the Government—for the place is off the main bush track—but one belonging to the Headman of the village, a Fulani, was placed at my disposal. He brought fowls, a pumpkin, and had yams dug up. The inclusive charge for the house as well was 4s. He explained that no guinea-corn could be spared for the horses, so the doki boys were sent to cut grass.

Next morning came the villagers who had shown the river crossing. They were given 6d. each. As I came out of the house the second doki boy appeared. He wanted a “dash” for having swum his horse across the river the previous day. I asked him for what he thought I paid him wages; he shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Then I said that any “dash” I might give him would be at the end, not the beginning of his services, when I knew how he had done his work. Again a broad smile. Finally, I told the gentleman that the next time he asked for a “dash” I would discharge him instantly. A bow, and a “To, Zaki”—(“Very good, sir”)—was the acknowledgment. The “To”—pronounced “Taw”—was repeated by the circle of carriers who had come, doubtless at his invitation, to see the result of the doki boy’s experiment with the new master. It had failed.

To get to Juga that day was not within the range of trekking at this season, so Badiko, where I had calculated to be more than 40 hours earlier, was selected for the day’s halt. The village Headman led the way from the village—the name of which I gathered phonetically as Lafee Sala—through a maze of growing guinea-corn to open country. At the edge of the plantation, land formerly cultivated had reverted to a wild state.

Traversing a few miles of bush country, we pass hills of rock, showing, with uneven tops, one line behind another. Occasionally 15 feet boulders are at the side of the path, rolled down from the mountains, cut and severed by perpetual rain wearing away this hardest of granite until it breaks and tumbles below. Mountains hundreds of feet high have huge slabs resting on the solid hill. Intense heat has expanded, and sharp cold the same day has contracted, the rock, splitting it into slabs and dome-shaped crags. All around, on the rocky hill and over the earthy soil, there are the grass, trees, and the low bush of Northern Nigeria, with patches here and there of guinea-corn, sweet potatoes, ground-nuts and yams. The entire acreage is cultivatable.

Small Hausa villages are passed. At one, native-grown cotton is being drawn into thread by the naked fingers. Badiko is reached at 9.45 a.m. and a stop made until the following morning. Water and wood are brought by a little maiden and her small brother, both bearing the necessaries on their heads in the orthodox fashion.

The first hour or so at a rest-house are occupied by attending to the domestic details, when one has to superintend them oneself. The cook receives his instructions for the day and perhaps is sent to market for articles not provided by the village Headman. The horse must be looked after. It is a sound precaution to always have him fed within sight; otherwise the doki boy will take the “chop” for his own larder and the pony be in the plight of the “poor little dog” in the nursery rhyme of Mother Hubbard. The amount of guinea-corn I give out is 2 lbs. before starting in the early morning, 2 lbs. on arrival at the day’s destination, and 4 lbs. about 5.30 p.m. after watering, with plenty of dry cut grass. Two lbs. can be gauged as two double handsful. A full day with the pen will find you quite ready for bed at 7 o’clock.

I fixed 5 as the hour for starting next morning. Four o’clock is my favourite time to commence trekking, 3.30 is still better; but, for either, a clearly-seen roadway or a full moon is required, and as at this period the nights are quite dark and we are mostly on bush paths, it is desirable not to set out until at least the approach of daybreak. The early start enables 18 miles, which is as much as carriers will cover, except in emergency, to be done by 9 or 10 o’clock; allows marching in the coolest hours, and gives a full day for work.

It is remarkable how a reliable Headman, without watch, moon, or sun, will wake up and rouse his men at any hour. But if I can avoid doing so I never rely entirely upon anybody. My watch had been rather erratic and was not quite sure at the end of a day whether to be 20 minutes fast or 20 minutes slow. It refrained from registering the happy mean. In order to run no risk of being late next morning, the night at Badiko I put it on an hour, there being, of course, no clock to check by. I had not met a European since leaving Rahama. As might have been expected, it was eventually discovered that before the alteration the watch had been 20 minutes ahead of meridian time, so instead of rising at 4 o’clock as intended, I turned out at 2.30 a.m. and within an hour had finished breakfast. When the fact became clear that I had anticipated the time of assembly, I sat down to an hour-and-a-half of writing by a hurricane lamp. At 4.45, not waiting for Hanza’s whistle, I sounded my own. He, however, was ready; repeated the sound; and we sallied out just as a thin streak of dawn appeared across the eastward sky.

As the sun rose we wound round great hills of rock, circular, oblong, pointed, and flat topped, the liquid deposit of past ages now gneissose and hegmatite. Here and there the face had been washed by recent floods to a brightness which in the distance looked like a mirror of running water.

At 7.45 a halt was made in the market-place of Magama village for the carriers to have breakfast. Ground-nuts, maize, and milk made up the meal, Hanza having a rather superior course of milk mixed with powdered millet and taken from a calabash by a wooden spoon. When they had finished eating every man washed his mouth and teeth at a stream, and one good-looking young Hausa completed his toilet by placing antimony on his eyelids. Another had utilised a few spare minutes by bringing needle and cotton and mending a garment: scarcely an indication of “the lazy black.”

At 8.30 Hanza’s whistle caused the loads to be hoisted and five minutes later the chilling wind gave sign of rain, which presently came in torrents. Mr F. G. Graham, in charge of Lucky Chance Polchi Mine, hearing I was in the neighbouring village and noting signs of the coming downpour, had ridden out and left an invitation with the head of the little column for me to shelter at his house, near by. At the path leading to the haven of hospitality Mr Graham’s servant waited to direct me. But what the carriers, my own servants, and the doki boys had to endure without any protection was quite good enough for me, in oilskin and mounted, so, with a message of thanks to Mr Graham, I went on with the men, who were being drenched.

I am sure I would not have been happier in the dry house eating a welcome second breakfast, for the heavier the rain beat on them the merrier the carriers became, shouting and singing. In spite of the discomfort they would not be downhearted. At each gust of wind, enough to shiver them, they shouted the louder. Amadu’s musical pipe was brought into vigorous use, and when from sheer lack of breath it slackened for his lungs to be replenished, the men broke into a chorus, the notable part of which seemed to me to be a series of hurrahs. It made one’s heart glad to be with a party determined not to be cast down by trying circumstances. Somehow, although it is known not to generally last long, tropical rain in the day-time is usually distinctly depressing. I suppose the feeling is induced by the sudden fall in temperature. Little more than half-an-hour and the rain had ceased; the sun shone, and soon we were all dry again.

Meantime, there was evidence we had entered the tin country, not merely where it was being prospected, but where it was in being. A board announced “Nigeria Tin Corporation,” and as we went along men, singly and in twos and threes, were met carrying shovels. Further certainty we were nearing the goal was a piece of wood on low posts notifying “Juga, 5½ miles.” That was probably fixed before distances were understood and when a few miles understated made no difference to anybody.

Passing the board we entered the nearest resemblance to African forest hitherto touched. Trees were more thickly clustered and bordered closer to the path, which led to the long narrow valley of South Juga, the Juga Hills towering to the left. From a rise in the ground, we saw below a village and small market. Hanza halted his command, took from his head the pail he had used inverted to keep off the rain, and replaced his turban and a long robe. Telling the men to maintain even distance between each other, and, seeing that I was close behind him, he gave the word to go forward and we did, with quite an appearance of dignity. It was pleasant to see this esprit-de-corps and pride in a leader, and responded to by men who might be supposed to belong to the casual labourer class. As though we were a regiment of regulars, we went through the village, and in less than half-a-mile more swung round the path into the compound of houses which are the administrative headquarters of the Juga properties. In the middle and at the sides were flower beds of zinnias, red, pink, yellow, and white, and another bed of large sunflowers. The fair face of an English girl would have made one fancy oneself at home again.