In referring to social customs of the Pagans on and just off the Bauchi Plateau it is desirable to survey the subject comprehensively in order to avoid repetition and overmuch detail. First, fashions. Little can be said on that topic. Men in the outer districts, who for some time have been more-or-less in contact with the Hausa people, rejoice in a loin-cloth, and, in a few instances, a short, loose shirt which once was white, whilst the women wear a large bunch of leaves in front and another at the back. Towards and in the inner areas of the Pagan country transition of male attire is abrupt to nothingness.

As one travels through the country one sees that the ladies of the various tribes exercise more gradation. Change is not so sudden. The two fronds of leaves give place to one, which is worn either fore or aft, according to individual fancy. Further on, a bunch of grass stalks, six inches long, secured by a string round the body, hanging behind and looking like a table crumb-brush, constitutes the sole extraneous adornment to the female form divine.

Then, presently, even so much is not used. In some of these last areas, during the first few months of married life the matron dons a thin plait of skin or grass round the waist, as a kind of wedding-ring, probably to warn all and sundry gallants that henceforth they may not pay their court to her. In one large village I saw some unmarried girls each with a walking-out costume consisting of a small bell, made by the native blacksmith, tied by a string round the loins and suspended in front tinkling.

The absence of any corporate government, civil or military, among the Pagans makes getting into touch with the people a slow and tedious process. They never, like the Fulani and Hausa tribes, had police, prisons and other adjuncts for ruling. Questions that affected the community were decided by public opinion. If there were persons who were a danger or a nuisance, the villagers assembled and settled what was to be done to the delinquents. They might deny an indictment and be tried “by ordeal”; or, waiving that test, the verdict would be death or being despatched to the Hausa country and sold for slaves. Pagan villages and hamlets which paid annual tribute of slaves to the Fulani Emirites disposed of their own desirables in that way, filling up the quota by raiding other villages.

There are Pagan “Kings” and Chiefs, but their authority in many instances is slight and always confined to a limited area. The Burrum tribe—one of the largest—comprises 26 large villages, called towns, each with a separate and independent Chief. The regulations for succession to a chiefship are not uniform in all tribes. At Burrum towns the eldest brother of a deceased Chief takes his place; in the absence of eligible brothers, the son of the defunct occupies the post. With the Jarawas, the Headmen of a town elect a Chief from the family of the last one. It is usually the eldest brother. The Rukuba Chiefs, whose authority is stronger than in most Pagan tribes, nominate their successors, which is either a son or a brother, according to preference.

Marriage is of extreme simplicity in most quarters. The Teria folks, although so isolated in their lives that no other village speaks their language, are not alone in the manner of mating up. With them merely a nominal dowry passes for a wife. But no woman of theirs has more than two children, and as infantile mortality runs its course the town is rapidly becoming depopulated.

The word dowry is used, though among all the tribes of Nigeria where the usage prevails it is payment by the husband to the girl’s father or guardian.

The Jarawas have no regular dowry system. “Free love” is carried to the most extreme line and no claim by a man to a woman is allowed. When, however, a swain from another tribe comes wooing his affinity in this one he has to pay a dowry of a horse and five goats and then, in the event of infidelity of his wife, he is held to have a claim against his father-in-law.

The Rukubas do not understand chastity on the part of unmarried girls. This tribe also has no regular practice of dowry, which is quite formal: perhaps either some beans, a hoe, two goats, pots, or 10 calabashes. If a wife leaves her husband he seeks out a discontented couple and pairs off with the lady.

The Burrum population honour a rigid dowry scheme, which consists of payment of a horse and five goats. Marriage is not recognised until the dowry has been paid. If a couple elect to go in double domestic harness without that preliminary, all children born to them can be claimed by the woman’s father. Should a wife desert her husband for another, he must pay the original consort the counterpart of the dowry. Failure to do so, or husband number 1 declining to accept the solatium, children born to the couple are forfeit to the grass-widower. Their value is apparent. The girls would be a source of potential wealth to whoever gave them in marriage, whilst the boys could be set to work on the farm from an early age.

With the Angass tribe courting is a perpetual leap-year, for the girl selects the husband and tells her mother whom she has chosen. Of course, Barkis must be willing, as the dowry is from 20 to 30 sheep. Provided the prospective bridegroom is agreeable, he liquidates the dowry by instalments, leaving about seven sheep to be paid when the girl is to go to him. That is decided by her mother, upon which the balance is handed over. There is no special wedding ceremony. The marriage tie is a loose one. If the girl does not find her husband congenial she is free to leave him, but her parents or the next husband refund the dowry. Until she marries again she is at liberty to distribute her qualities as a wife to whom she likes and to as many as she pleases.

In this tribe no marriages are permitted among blood relatives or even with those connected by family.

On the demise of a father who has grown-up sons, in most tribes his possessions pass to them. A widow becomes the property of the eldest of any sons the deceased husband may have had by another wife. At times this works out that the widows are divided up among the sons. It may be assumed that the practice is a hardship on the head of the household which takes in the widow. By no means. The man who wishes to marry her has to pay dowry to her guardian, and, in the meantime, or if she is on his hands altogether, a woman is always welcomed to help in the field or to relieve another from cooking for that purpose. As a matter of fact, unless quite aged, widows go off splendidly. They are usually a thorough success. As was explained to me on a previous journey by a Chief in another country who offered a rather ancient matrimonial gift from his own ample store, it is not always the youngest who are the most tractable or industrious.

On the death of a widow having a young family her property, i.e., the children, go to her husband’s brother.

Burial usuages are marked by great diversity, according to tribal tradition. The Teria tribe, in this as in many observances, is distinct. Mourning is notified by a rope round the loins. The dead are sewn in grass mats. Cooked beans and mai—fat—are buried with him. Ten days later gia—native beer—is poured in the grave. Members of the same family are buried in one grave. When an interment takes place the remains of the preceding occupants are taken out, the latest tenant put in and the disinterred corpses—or what is left of them—placed last. This must be quite an exhilarating and healthful exercise. The top man cannot improve by the repeated handling.

The Jarawa bury anywhere in the bush, a few inches deep, the face of the dead covered with a cloth. There is no regular cemetery.

A Burrum man of position is sewn in the skin of his horse and buried behind his house. Individuals of lesser rank are enclosed in goats’ skins and put under ground at a place in the bush kept for that use. The flesh of the animals whose integument has formed the shroud, whether horse or goats, are eaten at the feast which immediately follows the funeral. If a man expresses a wish that his other horses be killed at his death, that is done and the hides buried with him.

The Narubunu tribe consists of four towns, or villages: Buji, Gurrum, Gussum and Jengre. At the last two there is a ceremonious washing of the corpse by the subordinate members of the household of the Madaiki. (It is a Hausa word meaning the second man of the town.) Burial takes place in a large hole in front of the entrance to the Chief’s house, resembling a catacomb, which must make it quite a cheerful residence. The corpse is laid on a mat and carefully covered.

But a number of the tribes, more than are assumed, eat their dead who die from natural causes. Possibly you shudder at the thought of a corpse which came to that stage by disease being consumed for food. I admit it does not seem nice, according to our tastes and ideas, but if I am ever to be the dainty served up at a meal I greatly prefer the cannibal company having the feast through my having shuffled off this mortal coil more or less of my own volition, so to speak—by fever or other illness—rather than the diners should hasten the consummation by means of spear or poisoned arrow. If they enjoy the tit-bit, I am sure I shall not mind. The trouble, in the event of any of my friends wishing to make a pilgrimage to the sepulchre, would be locating it.

None of these cannibal gentry ever hunted or specifically killed human beings for food; certainly not in recent times.

The causes which operated to make mortal remains find their way to the cook-pot were that of the vital spark having been quenched in fight; the frame which held it put to death for an offence against the community; or that it gave up life in the ordinary way.

With tribal and inter-tribal wars forbidden and exaction of the death penalty in the hands of the supreme authority, menus in which human flesh figures are now necessarily fewer.

In this eating of the dead there is a certain etiquette. You will appreciate that the pleasure of the palate must be tinged with some sadness, or at least regret, in the knowledge that—assuming you to be a cannibal—your meal is made from the man who lived across the way or further up the path and with whom you had been on visiting terms; whilst obviously there must be some sentiment against consuming one’s near relations.

Count is taken of these human traits, and a village which indulges in cannibal luxury will exchange bodies with another village. It occurred to me that mortality would not invariably be equal between the contracting villages and I asked whether a debit and credit account was kept. The question was put jokingly, as I expected the thing would be allowed to work itself level, but I found a rough-and-ready record was kept of the village exports. An epidemic, such as smallpox, may yield quite a harvest of material to the larder—whatever the disease makes no difference to those who sit down to the feast; they are not at all fanciful or capricious—and so pile up the debt beyond chance of quittance within a reasonable period. Therefore a settlement is made at regular periods and the balance defrayed by cows or goats.

The number of bodies is not alone computed. You need not be an epicure in the business to understand that a fully-developed individual who becomes non est is, in a table sense, worth several ancient, withered carcases. All this is calculated in the settlement.

There is also a kind of payment in advance, to facilitate the process of exchange. If a village sends a corpse or two, the receiving parties hand over any persons who are very old or extremely ill. That saves the visitors, who have perhaps come 5 or 10 miles, a double journey. It is considerate and courteous. Whether the tramp to their new abode improves the health of the departing ones is another question.

Some tribes are gallant enough not to eat women.