This chapter is, of necessity, addressed chiefly to those who are permanently settled at headquarters, either Lokoja or Zungeru, as the Political Officer and his wife will, naturally, have to abandon all hopes of conveying household furniture, etc., to a far distant objective, owing to the great difficulty and expense of transport; the chapter on Camp Life will be found more useful by them.

The house itself is a wooden bungalow, or, at the out-stations, a native-built clay house; in either case it consists of four walls, a ceiling and a floor—and a wide shady verandah. In the distant out-stations, of course, there is no furniture at all, to speak of, except the camp outfit belonging to each official, which he carries with him, and which includes a camp bed, wash-stand, bath, one small table, one chair and a Lord’s lantern. But we are ‘getting on’ in Nigeria, and it is now found possible to do a little more for every one in the way of plain furniture at headquarters, so that I do not think any one need walk into an utterly empty bungalow nowadays. However, it is obvious that anything in the way of ‘home comforts’ must be brought out independently from England, as there is not even the opportunity, which occurs constantly in India, of buying second-hand furniture from neighbours on the move.

Fortunately, very little is needed: I should advise investing in a few wicker chairs and light tables either at Madeira, or at home; they are no trouble to bring and are very cheap. It is worth noting that the faster line of steamers do not always call at Madeira now, so that, unless one is certain of calling at the Canaries, it is wisest to bring wicker furniture direct from England.

A few yards of a pretty, light chintz or cretonne can be converted into chair cushions, stuffed with native cotton, and will furnish a room amazingly. It is well, too, to bring out some lengths of cheap muslin, coloured or white, as fancy dictates, for curtains, etc. A coarse kind of muslin can be bought locally, and, when faintly dyed with indigo, it becomes quite a pretty pale blue, very cool-looking, and can be constantly renewed when faded. A barrel, containing a small outfit of crockery and glass, makes one quite independent of the local stores, which, at most, may be able to replace breakages—after a fashion! A supply of enamel paint will enable you to give quite an ‘air’ to the rough shelves which can be made locally, beside lengthening their lives considerably. For the floor, nothing is nicer or cheaper than an Indian dhurri or cotton carpet, but, as the bungalows are all fitted with linoleum, no more is really needed than a few of the artistically coloured grass mats, made chiefly at Bida, and found almost everywhere; they cost about three shillings each, rising to six shillings, according to the distance from Bida, and are quite delightful. No one could fail to be pleased with the brightly coloured native cloths, or to find them useful for covering rough ugly tables and unsightly deck-chairs, and for making portierés, etc. You will also find Bida brass-work of a highly decorative sort, charming, quaintly-shaped little burnt earthenware jugs from Ilorin, carved wooden stools, boasting of from ten to twenty legs—cut from one solid block of wood—from Ibi, queer carvings from away down south of Kabba, the brilliantly tinted Hausa leather work, fashioned into cushion covers, bags, purses, and an endless variety of articles, and carved and ‘poker-worked’ calabashes, etc., all of which will help to cover the walls and give the room a home-like, or, at least, an occupied look.

At Kano, we lived in a great vault-like apartment in the Residency (formerly the Emir’s summer palace), and though, at first, it presented an appearance of utter gloom and desolation, an extraordinary improvement was effected in a couple of hours by an improvised sideboard, boxes piled up to serve as tables, and covered with gaily-coloured cloths, the pinky-red walls decorated with sketches and prints, a few gorgeously hued Japanese paper wall hangings scattered about, and the clay floor covered with grass mats.

The walls of a wooden bungalow are usually of boarding, either painted white or a horrible ‘duck’s egg’ blue, or else varnished a rather dark and monotonous brown, so the whole room will need colour as much as possible. A few pictures are an immense help in decorating, and, nowadays, such beautiful and artistic framed prints can be bought so cheap, it would be well worth while to bring out half a dozen. Of course, if you sketch yourself the problem of wall decoration is solved; polished brown boards make a perfect background for water-colour sketches, unframed, but placed in gilt mounts, so that all you need is a packet of tacks and a hammer. If you cannot do your own sketching, make a point, before leaving England, of pillaging those among your friends who do; no one, I think, could resist a pathetic appeal for a pretty sketch to carry away into far Africa! And, indeed, it is a joy sometimes, when the temperature is unpleasantly high, little worries abounding, and Africa asserting itself unduly, to be able to glance occasionally at a sketch of some English woodland, or a corner of a picturesque village.

Whilst we were in India, we had, among our treasures, a most beautifully executed water-colour sketch of one or two deodars, standing out from a cool, wet, grey mist on some hill-side in Kashmir, and we used to consider this picture as a most valuable tonic during a Punjaub ‘hot weather.’ While on this subject, let me add, from personal experience, that sketch-books and blocks will be ruined during the rainy season, unless carefully wrapped in waterproof paper, and the best kind of paints for standing the climate are the ‘slow-drying’ kind, in tubes, sold by Windsor & Newton.

If lamps are brought out, they should be plain metal ones, with punkah tops; extra wicks must not be forgotten, and at least a dozen spare chimneys are quite necessary, on account of breakages—the simple plan of boiling the chimneys before using them should never be neglected, as they do not break nearly so easily. A folding wire frame with three or four simple paper shades is a more simple arrangement than a globe, and far more serviceable. The servants will be found absolutely omnivorous over kerosene oil; they spill it, they light the kitchen fire with it, and I have heard a despairing bachelor housekeeper declare that they drink it, so rapidly does it disappear! Kerosene is, of course, very dear, and more so up country than in Lokoja; I have often found it a distinct economy to insist on the pantries and kitchen burning native oil in native lamps when far away from headquarters; these little lamps give quite a bright light and do not smoke—they are also most useful for night-lights.

It will be found better and far cheaper in the end to bring out all house and table linen from home, even dusters and chamois leathers, though the coarsest sort of native cloth makes excellent kitchen cloths and stable rubbers. Plate powder is still, I think, practically an unknown luxury in Northern Nigeria, and silver is usually cleaned with bath-brick! A process which may well be substituted is to wash the silver well in hot water, containing a little Scrubb’s Ammonia, and then polish it with a chamois leather; nothing keeps it in such good order, and the average ‘boy,’ though untiring in putting on the plate powder, feels no inducement to take it off. But, alas! the friendly ‘Scrubb’s’ is not always available, so that, as far as possible, articles of real silver should be confined to toilet things and tea-spoons. A plated tea-spoon is a horror, but I once had the pleasure of seeing four of my silver ones light-heartedly thrown into the Niger, along with a basin of soapy water!

A set of carpenter’s tools, and a collection of hooks, screws, nails and tacks will be found perfectly invaluable; armed with these, and, I hope, the help of the foregoing hints, the little bare room can be transformed into a bright pretty sitting-room where every one will enjoy coming, and will feel it more ‘like home.’ Sometimes space does not admit of a separate dining-room, but this need not necessarily spoil the appearance of the sitting-room. The dinner-table, when not in use, can wear a gaily coloured native cloth, a few books, photographs, etc., and a well-polished, neatly arranged sideboard is no eyesore. This latter, by the way, must have its legs placed in saucers or tins fitted with water, with a little kerosene added, to save the sugar, jam, cake, etc., from the incursions of millions of hungry ants.

Let the filter stand on a box or table on the breeziest side of the verandah; almost every one has a special plan, or a pet filter, so that no rule can be laid down to suit everybody. I think that, perhaps, the evolving of cool drinks is more a matter of personal endeavour and experience than almost any other department of housekeeping: it is an attainment so very necessary that it is attempted by every one, more or less, and the best advice I can give is to seize upon the host who provides you with really cold soda or sparklets, and find out how he arrives at them! In Lokoja and Zungeru there is a supply of water condensed from the river; this we have poured at once into a Berkefeld drip filter, merely with a view to getting rid of the ‘condensed’ taste, though this can also be accomplished as well by pouring the water from a good height several times from one vessel to another. Ordinary water can be boiled, then pumped rapidly through the large foot-pump Berkefeld filter into the drip filter; this first filtering saving much wear and tear to the candles of the latter. The water is then drawn off into bottles and placed in native earthenware coolers, which, being porous, keep it delightfully cool. These coolers are extremely cheap; they can and must be frequently renewed to ensure perfect cleanliness, and can be employed most usefully for cooling butter and cream as well as soda-water.

In one’s bedroom, little furniture is needed; in fact, I think the less one has the better. This is distinctly fortunate, as there is none forthcoming! In Nigeria, we have not yet arrived at the stage of walnut wardrobes and pier-glasses, and a new-comer may be appalled at the lack of accommodation for stowing clothes. I have found that clothing is much better not shut up in boxes, unless they are damp-proof tin ones, and even these must be carried out into the sunshine, and the contents sunned nearly every day in the rainy season. It is almost incredible how quickly clothes will acquire a mouldy smell, and appearance of mildew, unless they are constantly looked at and aired. Any native carpenter will be able to make rows of stout wooden pegs for hanging clothes, and it is far better to have them so, as, when disturbed daily, and hung out in the sun for an hour or so, they will not harbour mosquitoes to any great extent. Where one is dealing with a clay wall, it answers well to stretch a length of native cloth tightly along the wall, immediately below the nails or pegs, to protect light coloured clothes from the reddish dust, always rubbing off. All boxes should be placed on blocks of wood or bricks, on account of white ants, and all boots and shoes on shelves, never on the floor; foot-gear must be kept in constant wear, and also be inspected carefully and polished daily. Insects of all kinds abound; there is one whose special aim in life is to build little mud palaces in any quiet spot, boots, shoes, folds of gowns, keyholes—even in the bowl of a pipe, unused for a day or two. No corner of any room can be left undisturbed even for a few days, and it is advisable to have each room completely cleared once a week, and the floors washed with a weak solution of creolin. It has a pleasant tarry smell, and acts as an excellent deterrent to mosquitoes and sandflies.

While on the subject of mosquitoes, I should like to mention (what I imagine to be a small discovery of our own five years ago) that it is an excellent plan to sew a strip of calico or nankeen, about eighteen inches deep, all round the mosquito net, just above where it tucks in under the mattress. This greatly protects one’s hands and feet, should they touch the net during the night, otherwise they will be devoured. Moreover, the strip is not wide enough to keep away any air or make one feel ‘stuffy.’ An air-cushion is a most useful possession, being so easy to stow away in a bedding valise; ours, we found, were greatly coveted by the boys, who regarded them with some awe, and designated them as ‘breeze pillows’!

The whole subject of small comforts and house decoration is a most fascinating one, but it is so much a matter of personal taste and activity that it does not seem to me to be necessary to add more to these very general hints than to express the conviction that no English housewife in West Africa—if she is ‘worth her salt’—will spare herself in the endeavour to, at least, turn ‘quarters’ into ‘home,’ even if only for a few months.