Through unknown Nigeria

The journey between Juga and Naraguta, 35 miles, is mapped into three stages of a day each. I wished to push through in two days. Headman Hanza was for the easier form of covering the ground, but on the intimation being conveyed to him that the quicker programme must be carried out and that the night would be passed at Toro he at once acquiesced, with “To, Zaki,” and we moved off.

Passing through the native village of Juga, where the carriers had put up for the last few days, it was clear that, true to their reputation, they had improved the occasion by ingratiating themselves into the good graces of the ladies, and many were the partings verbally exchanged as we marched away. Pre-eminent in receiving these attentions was my first doki boy—a gambling thriftless rascal—for the reason, I suppose, that the cavalry spirit always has a charm for the other sex.

Seven-and-a-half miles out, at the market-place of Kadaura, the carriers halted for their first meal. I also had arranged the plan of having breakfast en route instead of disposing of that necessity before starting, as is my usual practice. Perhaps there is some pleasure in an open-air table, but it does not facilitate one hurrying. Nearly half-an-hour elapsed before Oje and his assistant presented the porridge. They were not to blame. The ground was wet from the overnight rain, and still more so the twigs collected for a fire. Oje was equal to the drawback, which he overcame by pouring kerosene over the wood, a method not to be encouraged in a part of the country where a tank of the oil which can be purchased in England for 2s. 8d. costs 18s. 6d. and in some places is not to be obtained at any price. Living in a land where there is scarcity of certain essentials, habits of economy become imperative.

The country traversed resembles that previously described, with the exception that the path draws further from the mountains.

Toro was reached at midday. The Government rest-house is on the slope of a low hill, and on riding up to the building I found it occupied by an official engaged in telegraph construction. He was good enough to offer to share with me the one-roomed dwelling, but as I wished to have a few hours’ work I thought better to pitch my tent elsewhere.

There was a rest-house 3 or 4 miles further on. To have gone there would not have materially saved time on the journey. I therefore elected to have a house at the bottom of the hill, a house belonging to the village Headman which was kept, so he informed me with many bows, for distinguished visitors. It was of straw throughout, and as I looked at the flimsy structure I bethought the mud walls of recent residences as quite mansions. There was a kind of entrance-hall, also of straw, which gave an extra apartment. The floor was ordinary earth. It had not been hardened in any way.

As the boxes were about to be taken in up rode Mr F. L. Bensusan, of Juga Mine, who had overtaken me on the road and from whom I had parted a few minutes earlier when he was to turn off to Tilde Fulani. Seeing me returning down the hill he cantered forward to ascertain what was amiss. He remarked that the house was all right in the absence of two visitations: one was a strong wind, which would throw it down, and the other rain, which would come through the roof on the bed.

I replied I intended to slumber in the hope neither would come and I trusted that that night would be different from all other nights of late. He, however, insisted on lending me his waterproof ground-sheet, which he rigged up as a second roof, sloping one side so that the rain would run off to the side of the bed instead of weighing down the sheet, water and all, on to the occupant.

We had tea and biscuits and then he instructed his steward boy to tell his carriers to go on to Tilde Fulani and he would follow. The steward boy took the instruction and returned with the message that “The carriers say they no fit.[4] They fit stay at Toro and go Tilde Fulani to-morrow.”

“No fit!” exclaimed Mr Bensusan; “you go and bring me the carrier who say he no fit.”

There is usually a ringleader and spokesman in these little mutinies.

The answer which came back turned pressure from an individual. “The carriers say,” reported the steward boy, “no one say he no fit. They all say they no fit!”

“Oh, do they,” observed Mr Bensusan; and he put on his helmet to go and make his recalcitrant servants toe the line. I followed to support his action.

“Who say he no fit to go for Tilde Fulani?” demanded Mr Bensusan, as he faced the half-dozen men. No words; only scowls.

“You take up your load, and you, and you, and you,” was the order given along the line. The men did, and they had not gone 500 yards when they were laughing among themselves as though nothing had happened. The essay had failed, as did the one on me in the village of Lafee Sala. Doubtless the men reflected, at least they had tried.

These men were not professional carriers, men who had taken to the calling from choice. They were labourers on the mine called upon for the special service. As a rule the labourer does not accept kindly the work of a carrier, and the carrier can seldom be prevailed upon to keep to any other occupation.

Soon after daybreak next morning Hanza’s whistle and Amadu’s musical pipe roused the carriers, who had been sleeping in the scattered huts, near my own, on the small tableland of grass on which the village stood.

For the last time in this stage of trekking they headed their loads and we were off towards Naraguta.

There are no fresh features of the country, which, however, is rather more open and flat. The tall hills on the left are of irregular height, and towards Naraguta they bend inwards to the path to a point where the way, after a short climb, is through a gorge. That leads to another broad expanse of country, also edged by a series of unconnected hills which in their turn bend inwards. Swerving round the end of them one rides on to the sub plateau which contains Naraguta.

A wide panorama is unfolded, circled by hills clearly and sharply defined against the sky background, and beyond these hills, showing between them, are others, fainter by the blue haze covering them as though it were gauze, giving the effect of what artists term “distance.”

Across this panorama of verdure there are, perhaps three or four miles away, clusters of little brown circular objects, which look as though they were mushrooms on the plain. A telescope or field-glasses would disclose them as mud huts, the settlement of natives drawn to Naraguta for employment of one kind or another, whilst further evidence of human occupation is a squarely-cornered bungalow, nearly as small as the huts but distinct.

This sub plateau, slightly sloping to the middle, where runs the Deleme River, and fringed by hills which rise gradually, is covered with green. So are the hills. They give a dozen or more tints as the grass is fresh or dry and as the sun shines directly or as its rays are modified in varying degrees by passing clouds that render patches of shade and contrasting brightness.

The atmosphere is clear and affords full vision all round the plateau, and a picture so long round that the clouds in some parts are quite different to those in others. It can be seen, as we survey the scene, that whilst in one district against the hills there is a clear sky, adjoining that area rain is evidently falling. A ride of about three miles with all this enchanting scenery and we are near the centre of the plateau.

It was within half-an-hour of completing our journey that the weather, which had behaved splendidly, altered. The rainstorm which had been witnessed from afar was coming towards us and in a few minutes the poor carriers were cold and dripping. They had to stand through the downpour whilst I went forward to find the correct one of several paths, and when I came back to lead them to the bungalow placed at my disposal by Mr Frank D. Bourke, Manager of Naraguta Tin Mine, none felt more miserable at their condition than I.

Probably the dullness of spirits we all felt was due not so much to the rain as to the knowledge that we had reached the place where we were to part company, as my stay at Naraguta would be long enough not to justify retaining 20 carriers. All through the marches we had been on such excellent terms with each other that severance of association was welcomed by neither side. However, it had to be.

The rain had ceased and the men stood in line in front of the bungalow. I thanked them for the way they had worked and handed to each a tangible token of recognition. They gave the equivalent to a cheer several times as they went across the compound towards Jos village, Hanza staying to the last and repeatedly turning to wave a farewell.