After a year spent in Nigeria, I am sure you will agree with me, on looking back, that the time spent ‘on tour’ was the happiest and most enjoyable of all. The life in the open air, the constant change and variety of scenery, the daily march that makes one so hungry at meal-times and so sleepy long before recognized bed-time, the incessant items of interest, among people, animals, birds, butterflies and plants—all combine to make one think it an ideal existence, and one where it is almost impossible to be cross, bored, or grumbly, in the clear sunlight, and amongst some of the loveliest surroundings imaginable. But this charming state of things is not to be reached all at once. To begin with, you must start with a firm determination to make the best of everything and anything: your unselfishness must be untiring and your cheerfulness infectious; your husband is certain to have a little leaven of difficult and possibly tiresome work mixed with his share of the picnic, so at these times, at least, the give and take of daily life may well be enhanced by lavish giving on your part. Here, no one can help you but yourself; but I can do something else for you, and that is, to supply you with a few hints, gathered from our own experience, which will make the camp arrangements run smoothly, and ensure your comfort in the remotest ‘bush.’ For it is not a sound argument to say, ‘If we get so hungry, we shan’t be particular what we eat’—it is just when one is famished that one wants a good, simple, well-cooked meal, not tough meat and eggs of doubtful freshness. Do not be discouraged at the start; it seems a colossal undertaking to calculate full provisions for some weeks, but it is really a simple matter after a little practice. At the end of this chapter you will find a list of stores necessary for the use of two people going to camp, and out of reach of European stores, for a month. The quantities are of necessity rather approximate, depending, as they must in some cases, on individual taste. Wherever you go, the villages can usually supply sheep, fowls, eggs, maize and yams, sweet potatoes and fruit and guinea-corn, and in many places there is excellent bush-fowl and guinea-fowl shooting to be had, thus adding the best of all dishes, game, to the larder.
Stores are carried in ‘chop-boxes,’ i.e. deal boxes, with hinged lids, hasps and padlocks, and with handles. For size, 18 in. × 10 in. × 8 in. is about right, for they must be considered as loads, and it is no use having them larger, as you will only have to leave them half empty, on account of the weight, and things will tumble about and bottles get broken. Even the size I have just mentioned cannot be packed full, but when one wants to carry fruit, or any light addition, the space comes in handy. We have found it useful, when bringing stores out from England (a proceeding much to be recommended to the economical housekeeper), to have a few of the cases made as described above, so as to have them ready for touring after their contents have been removed. Three should be enough, and one may usefully be devoted to rice alone, unless you are satisfied with and sure of being able to obtain the native sort: a 50 lb. bag of rice just fits in, and is invaluable, as fresh vegetables are almost impossible to come by. We have a fitted chop-box, made to our own design, containing a tray, and divers divisions, to accommodate china and glass. Below, there is one space which holds the plates and dishes, another that just fits two sparklet bottles, and a third which usually carries the day’s supply of bread or biscuits. The tray contains the teapot, four cups and saucers, milk-jug and sugar-basin (all china), and four tumblers, all in their own partitions; the cruet-stand has also a little corner to itself, where nothing ever upsets, and we are saved the eternal worry of unscrewing patent receptacles to get at the salt, etc. This leaves an empty space in the middle of the tray, where the small tins of tea, sugar, milk, tea-cloth, etc., live, the idea being that breakfast, luncheon, or tea, can be prepared at once, without touching the other chop-boxes, if so desired. Knives, forks and spoons all have their own separate spaces, a better arrangement than the usual leather straps in the lid. The divisions are lined with felt, so that china tea-things and glass tumblers (all of thickish material, of course), which, to my mind, are so infinitely preferable to ironware as to make ‘all the difference,’ can be carried in safety for many months, even allowing for unlikely accidents, such as a carrier slipping on a stone while fording a river, etc.
On coming out here, we had ordered a costly luncheon basket from England but, before it arrived we had done our first tour of some weeks’ duration with the chop-box I have just described, and instantly decided that we could not be bothered with the dainty, but much less serviceable little arrangement of wicker, etc., so we rifled it of its least complicated fittings, and wrote it down under the heading of ‘Experientia docet’ in the household accounts.
One of our Camps. (p. 275)
The Mail-Cart, Bida. (p. 280)
I will make no apology for having discussed this subject at such length, for I know, from personal experience, what an immense difference to one’s comfort a really practical chop-box makes; it is, therefore, worth describing in detail, as such an article cannot be bought ready-made. It is only necessary to add that the dimensions should be about 32 in. × 14 in. × 14 in., and the weight should not exceed 50 to 55 lb.
Don’t forget to take the indispensable mincing-machine; if necessary at headquarters, it is doubly so in the bush, where you frequently have to eat meat an hour or so after it has been killed. A Berkefeld filter is the best, easily carried, simple and quick to work, beside being simplicity itself to clean and fix up: there is another, on the foot-pump principle, which saves labour, or at least exertion, but its extra weight is a great drawback.
We will suppose, you are able to provide yourselves with two 80 lb. Regulation Officer’s tents; Government supplies one, and you would do well to bring a second as a private possession: one tent is quite too small for two people, and it is a pity to lose so much comfort for a detail so easily carried out. Have them pitched one behind the other, the front one to serve for meals and daily occupation, the back one as sleeping quarters. You can always get a small, roofless attachment, with matting walls, erected in a few minutes, at the back of the sleeping tent, to act as a bathroom. At times, when we felt fairly secure from possible rain, we pitched the outer fly of the front tent in front again; it is quite a simple matter, with the aid of a few extra poles, supplied from the village, and extends one’s quarters delightfully, for a stay of any length, if the camp is in a shady spot—otherwise, of course, it makes the tents warm.
For camp furniture, none is better than the ‘X’ patent. The beds are most comfortable, and are by no means the Japanese puzzle that some camp beds are: there are excellent little tables, that can be put together in a couple of minutes, and a canvas basin and bath of the same pattern. With reference to the bath, I may say, that we have found it more convenient to carry with us a regular tin, travelling bath, with cover and strap, containing a wicker lining; it is so immensely useful for holding all kinds of odd things: an enamelled washing-basin, fitted with a canvas or leather cover and a strap, is also a great comfort, as, inside it, the whole of your washing paraphernalia travels, and it is such a joy to find everything you want under your hand, when your bath is temptingly ready—the towels having been thrown over the bathroom wall to sun themselves till you are ready for them.
Two really comfortable chairs of the ordinary, canvas, deck-chair pattern are most desirable, in addition to the regulation, little sit-up armchair affairs; a lounge is what one wants after a long, hot march. We have found it very useful to bring out, ‘on our own,’ an extra, small ‘X’ table, and a second armchair; the table being precious to a degree as a dressing-table.
When the chop boxes are neatly ranged round the sides of your tent, and the furniture, above mentioned, opened out, you will not care to fill up any more space with unnecessary articles. But never allow yourself to be uncomfortable for the want of things you are certain to miss every day: it will spoil half your pleasure, and it is well worth the cost of an extra carrier, if necessary, for the purpose. I fancy that every one, after one tour in the bush, will find that experience teaches that a few things taken, were useless, and some left behind were sorely wanted, and a little judicious sorting and arrangement will ensure the second trip being far more comfortable, without in the least increasing the bulk of your personnel.
Personal clothing can be carried in tin uniform cases, and it should be reduced as far as is compatible with the foregoing axiom. I have found that a touring wardrobe, consisting of a habit skirt, boots, etc., two coats, one short holland skirt, a plain tea-gown, two changes of underclothing, a few muslin stocks, one pair of thick boots, and, instead of slippers, long, loose, Hausa boots, can be easily packed into a fair-sized uniform case. I always take, too, a folding Panama hat, for wearing in camp (one marches, of course, in a solar topee); a very small dressing-case, which is a great comfort, as it keeps all one’s toilet necessaries together; a writing-case, tiny work-box, and sketching materials, all packed in the one box.
The servants do the washing, in a rough and ready fashion, so that many changes are absolutely unnecessary, especially as the items are not “got up” at all, and can be washed and dried in an hour or two.
It is useful to have one extra tin case, not dedicated to any special purpose: it acts as a sort of overflow box, and, indeed, one usually finds it overflowing. One or two favourite books, sketching, or photography, butterfly catching, and a small but “lasting” piece of needlework, will amply fill up your leisure hours in camp. I remember a friend of mine in India worked a quantity of very beautiful point lace during a shooting trip in Kashmir; she used to sit on a box and stitch, while the camp was being pitched and struck. Personally, I find, as a rule, that after the inevitable preliminary arrangements and luncheon, a change and a rest, a couple of sketches, and a stroll through the village, tea-time and twilight come long before I am ready for them.
The camp kitchen requires a little special arrangement, and both mistress and cook will have to employ their utmost ingenuity to prevent all the culinary operations from being conducted on the bare ground. The cook will not grumble, he rather enjoys squatting on his heels, balancing pots and pans on a pile of blazing wood, and surrounding himself with a charmed circle of feathers, egg-shells and onions. But as long as he sees that all his implements are thoroughly cleansed and scrubbed—and one need not go far to find sand in Africa—there need be no real uncleanliness, however primitive the conditions; indeed, I always find my camp kitchen far more accessible than the one at headquarters, where a dash has to be made across a scorching compound at each visit. Many a simple cooking lesson have we jointly given, in the open air, under some shady tree, seated on boxes, wrestling with a wood fire in a light breeze. A wide smooth board, scrubbed spotless every day, makes quite a useful kitchen table, placed across two provision boxes; one side being kept, scrupulously, for bread-making, etc., the other used for operations involving meat, onions, etc. Another detail that requires the mistress’ assistance is a camp meat-safe—a few yards of mosquito netting or muslin, and the frame of an old umbrella, will solve the difficulty at once. The muslin must have a drawstring at the top and bottom, and the birds or joints hung on to the ribs of the open umbrella, which swings gracefully from the nearest tree.
For light, you cannot improve on the “Lord’s” lantern, issued by Government: it gives a splendid light, and travels in its own case, which also contains a canister, holding kerosene; this latter, however only carries enough oil for about a fortnight, so it is necessary to take a tin of kerosene as well. It is not wise to economize much over oil, for a light should be kept burning all night where you sleep. We usually carry also an excellent little lantern, fitted for candle or lamp, and are therefore never condemned to that ‘dim, religious light’ which is so conducive to most irreligious exclamations, when the master falls over a gun-case in the dark, or wants to read a paper.
During our last leave we had made, to our own design, a small arrangement, which, from personal experience, we can recommend most strongly. It is a light wooden box, measuring about 18 in. × 14 in. × 7 in.; with a hinged lid, lock and key. Inside it is lined with padded baize, and divided into compartments, containing, respectively, a pair of candle lamps, four glass globes, two punkah tops, and a box of candles. This box travels everywhere in perfect safety, and is an endless comfort: amongst other advantages, it saves the inconvenience of placing a heavy “Lord’s” lantern on a small camp dinner-table, which always seems to attract instantly every flying pest for a radius of fifty miles at least. Moreover, during more than six months of almost incessant travelling, only one globe has been broken.
The actual marching will, of necessity, and from choice too, be done in the early morning, but if possible, when making the first start, let it be in the afternoon, a short march of only an hour or two (this is nearly always possible from any large centre), getting to your camp well by daylight. This is essential; the carriers will not be accustomed to their loads, they will all squabble and fight for the lightest ones, and, even did you purpose a morning start, an early one would be an impossibility. Then, on arrival in camp, no one knows where to put anything, and there is certain to be much to arrange and alter, for the West African servitor will, for the whole of your trip, place each chair and box exactly where he planted them that first evening, so be warned and, on that momentous occasion, insist upon having everything placed exactly where you hope to find it every day for the next few weeks—so much comfort depends on this. If you are accompanied by a military or police escort, the tents will be pitched without any difficulty; but otherwise, I fear that a little trouble and patience must be expended in teaching the carriers this most important accomplishment.
But do not lose heart, and feel miserable and disappointed, if things are rather in a muddle, the servants slow and unmethodical, the carriers disposed to dump down their loads anywhere, and disappear into the village. Take the word of a fairly old camping hand, things will be better to-morrow, and better still the day after. Meantime, a kettle can be boiled in a few minutes, and, though you are probably fatigued, yourself, after much packing, and perhaps a longer ride than you have taken for some time, a cup of tea will make a wonderful difference. The mistress, who, after half an hour’s rest for every one, gets up cheerfully from her comfortable chair, saying brightly, ‘Now then, Suli, or Mohammadu, I am going to help you,’ can reduce chaos to order and comfort in no time, and will find her servants willing to assist; for, as I have said before in this chapter, cheerfulness is infectious, and nowhere more so than amongst Africans. I have often seen a crowd of sullen, angry faces suddenly break into happy, childish laughter, moved by one well-timed joke.
Speaking from my own experience, I can only say that I consider the carriers to be a much maligned set of folks; they are very easy to deal with, and after the first march, there is never a dispute—except, of course, over ‘chop’—the carrier fraternity would wrangle in Paradise over the possession of half a yam. I have known most of them by name; on one long tour they used to come and say ‘Good-morning’ with broadest smiles, and, even after long and trying marches, they would go out into the bush, entirely on their own initiative, and collect bunches of flowers for ‘Missis’ to decorate her tent and dinner-table with. Their affectionate impulses went so far as to induce them to rifle birds’ nests and bring me the fledglings, until I had to be severe about it. A little sympathetic attention to their various ailments and wounds, makes them consider one as a valuable ally and friend.
Once shaken down into the routine of marching, you will elect to get up at dawn, your toilet will take about twenty minutes, and a simple breakfast, consisting of coffee and eggs, or grilled chicken, should then be ready. During breakfast, the carriers will pounce upon, and whisk away, the whole contents of the camp, and in less than an hour from the time you woke the long line will have streamed away into the distance, the head-man having instructions where to pitch the next camp, and to have a good supply of water and fire-wood ready. Your better half will probably have a little work to do, in the shape of a final interview with the Chief of the place, so the carriers can always get a good half-hour’s start.
You will then begin your march, walking in the fresh, cool, morning air, through the loveliest, greenest, dew-soaked country possible to find, along the tiny footpaths, which constitute the ‘high roads’ in Nigeria. I believe some people never walk a yard on the march, but I always thoroughly enjoy it; it breaks the monotony of many hours in the saddle, and, I think, must be good for one, as riding at a snail’s pace is not, after all, very violent exercise.
If a march is extremely long, it is quite easy to keep the cook and a few carriers, with table, chairs, etc., behind the others, have a cold luncheon prepared the day before, and select a shady spot near water, about half-way, for luncheon and a rest—as a rule, you will find that the carriers have already selected it with some discrimination. The ordinary day’s march occupies five or six hours, and averages from fifteen to eighteen miles. This sounds very little, but it is as much as your carriers and ponies (and yourself) are able for, without distress, and, unless time is a serious consideration, I do not advocate marching again in the afternoon. A Political Officer will usually have ample work at each halting-place to occupy the hours of daylight. I have done seven and eight hours in the saddle many a time, but it is tiring, hard work for every one, and makes the whole thing a weariness, instead of a pleasure.
You will, I think, find, when you ride in, that tents have been pitched, everything unpacked and made ready for you, the servants will have rested, the cook will be hard at work, preparing luncheon, and the staff will assure you, with smiling faces, that the march has been ‘not far too much at all.’ If one anticipates several weeks of hard marching, it is a good thing to hire small ponies for the cook and head steward, as it ensures their arriving first, and arriving fresh.
The evening stroll at sunset is always full of interest for me. There is the village to inspect, cloth-making and cotton-spinning to admire, and, perhaps, many little trifles of Hausa leather work, etc., to buy. In places where a white woman has never been seen before, she may cause a panic among the simple souls. In one remote little Pagan village, I remember, the men came, as usual, headed by their Chief, to the ‘palaver,’ and, at sight of me, they fell prostrate, covered their heads with their flowing garments, lay on the ground and moaned in fear, refusing to be comforted till I retreated from the scene. I have since discovered that an occasional albino negress (truly, a fearsome sight) is held by them in great reverence, and practically worshipped!
In another village the people fled at the sight of me, the only person holding his ground being a man, nursing a sick baby, who had high fever, from teething pain. We prescribed, and supplied, for the poor mite, a remedy so old-fashioned, that I almost blush to record it—a nicely smoothed and rounded chicken bone! And, when the incessant wail of pain died away, and the baby chewed contentedly at its ‘comforter,’ the frightened women and children crept back and smiled, and told each other, doubtless, that we were physicians of a very high order!
One can always, I find, gain the confidence of the women-kind, by taking notice of the ‘pikkins,’ or by a little care and solicitude for a wound or sore. Merely the applying of a clean bandage, personally, establishes your position in the village as the ‘Godsent,’ and, which matters more, as the friend of the ladies—for I have a strong conviction that (in spite of the laments indulged in by good people at home, over the sad position of the down-trodden woman of Africa) the ladies rule the villages and set the public tone: I have seen most lively rows and free fights started by one lady’s uncontrolled tongue, or quarrelsome temper.
You will, of course, like to see that your ponies are properly housed, well-fed, and comfortable for the night. It is as well to take blankets for them, in case they have to sleep in the open, or stand in the rain. When possible, it is a great comfort to have an extra pony, to march along with you—one of them may go sick or lame, on a rough road, and have to be put out of work. Ponies usually fatten and thrive well on the march, possibly because guinea-corn, etc., is so much more plentiful in the bush than at headquarters; but it is decidedly anxious work, taking horses one values into thick, forest country, where guinea-corn is not obtainable and grass rank and scarce. Great care should be exercised over the ponies’ drinking water, and they should by no means be allowed to drink at any pool or stream they may cross. I firmly believe that bad water is one of the causes of much of the horse sickness so prevalent here, and unless I can see clearly up and down stream for some distance, and satisfy myself that the water is not full of decaying vegetation, nor stagnating under overhanging branches, my pony has to wait for his drink until a healthier state of things can be found.
Where roads are rough and stony, extra care is, of course, needed in searching the ponies’ feet for stones—it may not occur to the doki-boys.
In some parts of the country tents are seldom necessary, as there are rest-houses at all the halting-places on the main roads, and very delightful they are to spend a day or two in, when they are watertight and in good repair—simply shelters, with a very deep, low, thatched roof coming to within four feet of the ground, no walls (grass ones can be added by the villagers in half an hour, if desired), cosy, yet airy from their great height, very roomy, and usually watertight; though, to ensure this, when there is rain about, it is a good thing to pitch the outer fly of a tent over your bed, thus securing a dry, comfortable night, even in a tornado. In a few places, where the rest-house is placed in a forest clearing, outside the village, it seems rather confiding to sleep so insecurely, but I have been told that a lamp and mosquito curtains will daunt any but the hungriest lion.
I have only one or two more suggestions to offer before closing this chapter: the first and most important may not sound attractive, but it is absolutely necessary—to put all the clothing you intend wearing the next day under your pillow at night. Indeed, it is the only way to ensure its being dry, the damp penetrates everywhere, and at 5 a.m. one does not feel disposed to walk about, lightly clothed, unlocking boxes, and extracting one’s garments.
Another small point, which is useful to know and act upon, is, that a very small quantity of powdered alum will clear dirty, brackish water very quickly; all the solid matter sinks to the bottom, and the clear water can be poured off, thus saving the unpleasant necessity for a muddy-looking, uninviting bath: a few crystals of permanganate of potash are rather nice in a bath, too, when the water is unpleasant to smell and look at.
On long marches it is worth while trying to cultivate a taste for Kola nuts: they are marvellously refreshing and stimulating, and the clean, bitter flavour is rather delightful once one is accustomed to it. I have, often and often, staved off the pangs of hunger, thirst and fatigue, with a Kola nut, the sharpness tempered by a piece of chocolate munched along with it.
For the benefit of your servants and carriers, a few simple remedies, easily obtained from the medical officers, should be taken into the bush; they are tabulated below, with a list of stores. This last, it must be remembered, is confined severely to necessaries; it can be supplemented by all kinds of luxuries, such as tinned sardines, cheese, butter, potted meat, etc., always bearing in mind that the total transport allowed by Government, at present to each official on the march, is an average of twelve to fourteen loads of fifty-six pounds each.