Through unknown Nigeria

At Bukuru is the post of an Assistant Resident, typical of several. Formerly no Hausa would dare to penetrate so far into the Pagan country or within a week’s march of this part. Now there is a Hausa market established within sight of the highway, for the convenience of caravans passing through.

About half-a-mile away is the Residency, a ramshackle mud dwelling not nearly as good as a farmer’s stable in England. Living in such places, out of sight and out of mind of the public at home, badly housed, these Residents are paid immeasurably less than the value of the service they render the nation. A few feet from the entrance, at the top of a thin flagstaff planted in the ground, a Union Jack flutters. It is the symbol of a power—accepted by faith rather than by sight—strong enough to enforce peace and to hold the scales evenly in disputes brought to its representative.

Two miles from the Residency is the nearest Pagan town, that of Bukuru. It is not situated, as some are, in the mountains or on a high hill. It spreads, roughly, six miles by two, on ground slightly above the level of the surrounding country. But the approach is impossible to traverse without a guide. Nearly a mile before the first batch of houses is reached you enter a narrow avenue of cactus. Not the form of plant seen in English public parks but strong trees clustered from the ground to the crown with thick, hard leaves each edged with a dozen or more prongs sharp enough to tear a man’s clothes and his flesh to ribbons. These cactus trees are planted so closely that, the branches interweaving, you cannot see between them. The top ones cross and intertwine, forming a tunnel 15 feet high.

It was a scheme of defence in the days when a swarm of Hausa horsemen might swoop on a Pagan town and overwhelm it. The cactus avenue is planned on the principle of a maze. It winds, twists, turns, has branching courses leading to blind alleys where the sides are too close to allow a horse to be turned: a perfect ambush. Other narrow ways take you back to places you have passed in coming inwards, the design having been to bring the front sections of a hostile column of mounted men, hurrying on, face-to-face with the middle or the rear sections of the force, who would also be impetuously pushing forward, anxious to be clear of the trap in as short a time as possible.

The confusion produced is easily imagined. From the side walls of cactus through which the Hausas could not break, even with the weight of their horses, the Pagans sent showers of poisoned arrows, galloping on ponies from point to point as the situation required.

Nearer to the town the cactus sides compress to almost touch your elbows as you sit in the saddle; and, making it still more difficult for hostile horsemen who had managed to get so far to either go on quickly or to retreat, the pathway slopes into trench-form, sufficiently deep to reach to a horse’s knees and with so little width that the animal cannot stand with the forelegs side-by-side and therefore must keep moving. An enemy forced to fight in such quarters would be helpless.

No wonder those Pagans of the Plateau maintained their towns inviolate against the raiding Moslem tribes.

Having passed through the cactus maze we are entering the town. The first house differs from the others further on, not only in size, but in use. It is about 15 feet in diameter and is the only place of business in the town. It belongs to the blacksmith. The spade-hoe, spear points, broad swords and knives, the jointed bar which is placed on the nose and under the chin of a horse, a small bell that hangs from the pony’s neck, these are the manufactures. All are of iron. The metal is obtained by smelting ironstone, but customers must bring their own charcoal, so scarce is fuel. Payment is by accha, the native grain.

Everything else each Pagan produces for himself, though there are exchanges, such as a man who has aptitude for making musical instruments swopping one to a neighbour good at, say, shaping pipes.

Musical appurtenances range from a harp, 20 inches by 8 inches, made entirely of reeds, and drums, to wind instruments of a score variety: flutes, piccoloes and an article resembling an orange which is hollowed, hardened and three holes bored on top thus: . The bottom one is whistled through, fingers placed on the smaller holes regulating the sound.

Every village has its band and no orchestra is without a drum. Tunes are beyond the comprehension of white men, but undoubtedly the Pagan learns on some distinct principle. Usually the music is of a low, sing-song tune. A common practice is for the performers to form a circle and walk behind one another whilst playing, which increases the monotony of the music.

I have, however, heard spirited, enlivening airs, as at Fedderi, where the Chief, or King, of the Jarawa tribe performed a skirt dance in honour of my visit. Gathered round was “a large and appreciative audience” of his own folks. The old Chief’s everyday dress does not err in the direction of excess, but, to constitute himself a royal male Pavlova, he donned a Hausa robe, which was kept at his hut exclusively for the purpose. The musical accompaniment was “by special request” rendered by the Court band, who wore their State uniform. What that was can be seen from the photograph facing this page. The dance proved really entertaining, and, like the music, developed on settled lines; it was not a mere inconsequent throwing about of the limbs.

I gave each of the instrumentalists a threepenny bit and the King a shilling. His Majesty was so overjoyed at this munificence that I believe I could have made a treaty of alliance, with any clauses I liked, straightway. I mean a treaty in the domain of diplomacy, not of matrimony. That has been offered to me times out of number in West Africa.

A few hundred feet beyond the blacksmith’s establishment we are abreast of the first cluster of houses. The scattered Pagan settlements are called towns for want of a better title. They could as well be spoken of as big villages. Bukuru is one of the largest.

A single family, perhaps two, will have its own plot of about a quarter-of-an-acre. This is enclosed by a fence of cactus, not nearly so formidable as the outer defences of the town; merely to prevent marauding sheep, goats and dogs of neighbours from enjoying themselves on the cultivated part of the compound.

The ring-fence used to be stronger in days when the lust of combat induced disputes between a couple of men to result in an assault on the domicile of one of them, though, if blood did not boil too rapidly, the disputants usually agreed to fight out their differences at a suitable spot away from the dwellings, so that the friends of each party could have a hand in the fun.

A Pagan homestead comprises a cluster of huts. Whereas the Hausa house may consist of one room screened by hanging mats into two or more compartments—though, among the well-to-do in cities such as Kano and Zaria the buildings have interior walls making distinct rooms—the Pagan has a separate hut for each part of his daily life. They are small, circular, very neat, about six or eight feet in diameter, of mud with a roof of the same material lightly covered with thatch. One or more will be the grain store, where the gathered crops are kept and drawn upon for food whilst others are growing. The supply is reached from the top, by tilting the roof, which makes thieving less easy than if there were a door. The solid wall also prevents insects getting through. To safeguard the contents against ants the grain huts are built on big stones and are placed high enough for the fowls to take shelter from storms and to go to roost at night.

Various members of a family have different huts for sleeping; the younger children in one, grownups in another, and possibly an aged parent of wife or husband in a third. His spouses will be accommodated either singly or in couples and the requisite number of huts built.

In the centre of the cluster of huts meals are prepared and the evening one eaten round a fire. At many parts of the Pagan country wood is scarce. Fuel consists of dried cattle-dung and sapless cactus. A leaf or grass without moisture takes the place of the English kitchenmaid’s paper for lighting the fire. Flame is obtained by striking flint on a bit of iron or focussing the sun’s rays by means of a piece of glass, probably part of a broken bottle dropped by some Hausa miles away and picked up in the fields. Where a Hausa village, which always means a market as well, is near, matches are being introduced.

As the keen, evening air strikes chilly, the family huddle round the fire, and, shortly after eating, retirement to rest takes place. A 86° or higher temperature when the sun is up falls in the dark hours to 44° or less.

No lights are used in the houses. Lamps are unknown. How, then, is warmth gained during the cold night? People who wear no clothes by day are not likely to don pyjamas or fancy bedgowns. Civilisation has not touched them to the use of a blanket, like the Hausas.

When sleeping huts are built a broad shelf of mud is made to the wall. This is the couch of repose. Under it a fire is lit, and, every crevice of the doorway being closely covered, temperature soon rises. There is no ventilation whatever, so the smoke disposes of any mosquitoes and other insects, though I should say that the carbonic thickness of the atmosphere would alone effect the purpose. The marvel is for any soul to emerge alive. Asphyxiation seems certain. Yet I gathered from the Pagans that they enjoy the hours in comfort and tranquillity.

In the plot of ground in front of the huts small vegetables are grown: a kind of kitchen-garden and kept scrupulously clean. I have looked over dozens of plots without finding a single weed in any.

The farm land is not in the towns. It may be four to eight miles away. A man, riding a pony, goes to his farm in the morning when the sun has made its warmth felt and remains at work until about 4 o’clock in the afternoon. The pony is not tethered. A hobble-rope is put on two legs and the animal allowed to wander. A bell attached to the neck indicates its whereabouts to the owner, who occasionally has to penetrate through grass higher than himself to bring back the steed. The heavier work of the field, such as hoeing, is done by the farmer and his sons, whilst the ladies of the household assist at sowing and reaping and alone do the weeding. That arrangement applies both in the farm land and the compound adjoining the dwelling. But the feminine units are expected to walk to their tasks. The wife on domestic duty goes out with the food for her husband and for those of his other wives and sons and daughters who are with him on the farm.

The main crop is accha. There are also an inferior kind of guinea-corn known as magaragara, which grows about 4 feet high, douro, gwaza, doiya, tamba, risga and tobacco, which is smoked in long pipes by both men and women. In some parts the ladies do not smoke; they chew tobacco. Bees are kept in hives of mud, and though there are few flowers, honey is obtained plentifully.

A pony is not possessed by every farmer, and at first it is a strange sight that of a farmer walking to or from his ground with a string of four or five wives, the party in single file and absolutely no clothing on any of them.

The Hausa is a skilled agriculturist, who has nothing to learn in that respect from any white race. He, however, is distanced considerably by the Pagan, who tends his land cleaner. The soil is much poorer than that of the Hausa country and needs greater skill and effort for cultivation. At present the Pagan raises only sufficient for his own requirements, which besides the matter of food remain small. When he and his womenkind yearn for the gee-gaws of what is termed civilisation, and he wants money to purchase them, then he will make more use of the nearest Hausa market to transform his corn or other produce into cash. So far, the principal luxuries which attract most Pagans are matches and cigarettes. In some places the people are developing a taste for meat, for which, of course, money must be earned. Though sheep, goats and, in instances, cattle are bred, seldom are any killed for food. They represent a man’s wealth and in the owner’s view it would be rank heresy against political economy to consume them.

There is a large open space—three or four acres—in Bukuru town. Nobody farms the ground, nor is it used for individual purpose. There the people foregather for public celebrations, which take place at least twice a year. Events that prompt these assemblies are gleaning of the farm crops and other agricultural periods in the calendar. Then it is that the fashions of Bukuru can be seen in all their glory.

Clothing does not enter into the pageantry. Paint is the agent employed to enhance nature’s charms. Earth and tree-bark are ground into a red paste and with it the fair young dames cover between the ankle to below the knee, where a narrow white colouring marks the limit of the decoration. Only this; nothing more.

Men dab the red paint on chest and nose and also use it on their ponies. More attention is bestowed on the animals than the owners give themselves. The hindquarters are painted red on which, at equal distances, white circles the size of a five-shilling piece are superimposed. The breast of the horse may likewise be embellished with red pigment, and on its face brass ornaments or a band of the same metal across the forehead are fixed for festive parades.

No stirrup or saddle is used, though on show days a piece of goatskin is put on the horse’s back as a decoration, not for utility or comfort. Nor is a bit utilised. A light iron, jointed, across the nose and another under the jaw are connected by a ring on the left-hand side of the head. To that ring a single grass rope is joined, passing under the animal’s neck and held in the hand of the rider. By that means a horse is pulled up and partly guided. Its movements left and right are regulated by the rider’s feet in the inner side of the forelegs.

The equestrian will perhaps have a plait of straw encircling his head or possibly wear a hat of the same material. Besides half-a-dozen spears in his hand, he will likely carry a long knife or sword in a brass sheath hanging from his waist. A grass bag in the left side, suspended from the right shoulder, provides a receptacle for trophies of the chase or any other article, such as a pipe.

At the public assemblies at the open spaces everybody who has a horse brings it. The men ride in line and in file, throwing themselves into various attitudes to amuse the crowd.

Short races take place across the 1,000 yards or so of ground. There is no settled plan for the contest. One of a group challenges another, and at once off they dash, most likely accompanied by a third or fourth who heard the summons. On pulling up the chances are there will be pushing, either as a joke or in the course of a dispute as to which has won. Then spears are flourished and a thrust is almost a certainty, though seldom is there more damage than a slight flesh wound. The day winds up with a general carouse, in which the local-made beer has a leading rôle.

Bukuru men are excellent horsemasters. The appearance and condition of the animals are better than those belonging to Hausas elsewhere and are equal to any except the very best kept by Englishmen. Horses belonging to others which were lame or would not thrive have been taken by the Bukuru people, who returned the animals in first-class health and fettle. They will not disclose the details of their methods. One includes hot water drunk by the horse and another is that of salt and other ingredients made into a ball which the animal is forced to swallow.

The Pagan hunt is a mild performance. It takes place in the dry season. The high grass is burnt and the flames beaten out when sufficient space has been cleared. Some distance from the clearance the grass is again fired, whilst the huntsmen, waiting on their ponies for the rats and lizards which dart out, spear the vermin. A few small, bush deer are obtained in the same way. A free fight is not an uncommon wind-up to the hunt.

The folks of Bukuru are people of few words, signs being largely used instead of speaking, though, estimating from the number of wives acquired in some quarters, I should say that the language of love must be an extremely easy dialect.

To express “No” in the sense of there being none, the right forefinger is brought past, touching, the lips, at which the slightest semblance to a whistling sound is made.

“I do not know,” such as the answer to where a person is for whom the questioned individual has regard, is replied to by raising the shoulders.

“I do not know and I do not care” is conveyed by the open hands and the forearm at right-angle to the upper limb.

Answer respecting the age of anyone not the person questioned is made by the fist held vertically at a distance from the ground, indicating the height of the individual, from which illustration the age has to be gauged. The people have no sense of calculation beyond four or five years.

A gift or anything given in payment is usually received without word or sign. Should it be sufficiently liberal to impel stronger feeling the equivalent of “Thank you” will probably be uttered. Should the recipient be stimulated to add emphasis he will say “Mr feng”—the first word pronounced Mer—translated, “I rejoice,” and with the elbows of bent arms strike the ribs repeatedly.

The figures in the photographs which exemplify the sign language were placed at my disposal by the kindness of Mr E. Evans, one of the two men of the Sudan United Mission station in Bukuru. The natives were in his service, which accounts for wearing so much clothing and also, possibly, for their rather fleshy appearance. The Pagan working in the fields is lean, wiry, active, yet strong and healthy.

What is to be said of this mission station planted in the heart of the country of wild tribes? Medical attendance is given, and it was pathetic to see the look of appeal by women, children and men who came for wounds and ulcerous parts to be washed. Several young natives had been trained to the use of the antiseptic syringe and dressing and they carried out that part of the treatment after a case had been looked at by one of the white men. In this humanitarian course the mission is doing angel’s work, though I cannot refrain from wondering if it was necessary to go so far afield for needful patients. As to the religious aspect, I cannot understand why this out-of-the-way part of the world was sought to spiritualise the heathen whilst so many of that description abound in Great Britain.