ATAKPAME TO SOKODE
I forgot to say that shortly after leaving Kamina, at a village called
Anâ, we were overtaken by another caravan convoying a European, a
certain Dr. Berger, who was travelling up-country as far as Sokode,
with a view to vaccinating the natives there.
The meeting came about in this wise. On arriving at Anâ, we discovered
that the rest-house there was already occupied by a Mr. Lange, an
engineer, who was building a bridge across the Anâ river.
He was away at work when we got there, and Schomburgk sent his
(Lange's) boy to tell him of our arrival. Presently Lange turned up,
looking rather perplexed, and not a little worried. The statement made
to him by his boy, it appeared, had been couched in the following
terms: "Master, two white men have arrived, and one of them looks like
a woman."
Lange had guessed from this the identity of our party, for he had known
Schomburgk during his previous trip, and had heard of his re-arrival in
the colony, and of my presence there with him. His worried appearance,
we found out, was due to the fact that he had practically run out of
provisions just then, and so was unable to show us the hospitality
he would have desired; and he was greatly relieved when we asked
him to be our guest during our stay at Anâ. I may add that this was
Schomburgk's invariable practice, and I have often heard him inveigh
against the thoughtlessness sometimes shown by a certain type of
globe-trotting European travellers in Africa in planting themselves
upon other Europeans, sometimes for days together, and eating up food
which is perhaps badly needed, and may be very difficult to replace.
Of course hospitality under such circumstances is never refused. It is
the unwritten law of the bush that white man shares with white man. But
all the same there are times when it works hardly on the individual who
does the sharing.
Well, luncheon was served and eaten, and we were enjoying our coffee
and cigarettes, when a new lot of carriers hove in sight.
"Hullo!" remarked Lange to Schomburgk, "this looks like a white man's
caravan"; and the two fell to discussing the foolishness of the
individual, whoever he might be, in travelling thus during the heat of
the day.
Presently the owner of the caravan, the Dr. Berger mentioned above,
turned up, looking very hot and tired. Of course we made him
welcome--it is wonderful how bush life makes one relish the advent of a
white stranger--and we spent a very pleasant time together during the
rest of the day.
He was the most even-tempered man as regards his dealings with the
natives that I have ever come across. Nothing that they did or said
seemed to disturb him in the least.
Curiously enough, although he was a Government official, he was
travelling unprovided with an interpreter; and he himself, of course,
understood no word of any of the native dialects.
When he wanted anything he simply asked his boy for it, addressing him
at considerable length and with much circumlocution in German. Now this
boy, whose name by the way was Joa, had been specially engaged by the
worthy doctor because he had represented himself to be a fluent German
scholar.
As a matter of fact, beyond a few phrases that he had learned to repeat
parrot-like, he knew nothing whatever of the language, and the result
of their joint efforts to make themselves understood was laughable
in the extreme, and was not rendered the less amusing owing to the
fact that the doctor would not allow our interpreter to intervene to
straighten out the verbal tangle. He wanted, he said, to train his boy
to understand German sufficiently well to minister to his wants.
As a result we nearly laughed ourselves into fits over scenes like the
following, repeated at intervals, and with variations, all through the
day.
"Joa," the doctor would say, "my friends would like a whisky and soda,
and I myself could do with a drop. A small modicum of alcohol, Joa,
after the day's march, certainly does no harm to a white man, and may
conceivably do him good. Therefore, Joa, you may bring us a syphon of
soda, please, together with a bottle of whisky"; and the doctor would
imitate in dumb show the process of drawing a cork out of a bottle.
"Yah!" Joa would say, his face all one broad grin; and off he would go
to his master's tent, to return presently with--a telescope.
"Now, Joa," the doctor would remark genially, "a telescope is a very
good thing in its way, but one cannot drink telescopes, Joa. What we
now want, Joa, is a whisky and soda, especially the soda." And he would
start to imitate the pressing down of the lever of a soda-water syphon.
A new light would then break on Joa's face. "Ah! Yah!" he would cry,
and trot off again, to reappear a minute or so later carrying with due
care and circumspection his master's double-barrelled rifle, loaded,
and at full-cock.
And so the pantomime would proceed, master and man both in the best
of tempers, until at last, perhaps at the fourth or fifth attempt,
perchance at the tenth or twelfth, the native would hit upon the right
article, either by accident, or by the slower process of elimination.
Whereupon the doctor would smile gravely yet pleasantly at us, as if in
mild reproof of our unseemly mirth, and remark: "There you are; with
time and patience one can achieve anything, even in Africa and with
African natives."
On the morning after this little episode we rose at three o'clock in
order to cover the next stage, as far as a place called Njamassila,
before the worst heat of the day began. This, I may say, was our usual
practice henceforward; as it is, indeed, that of all old seasoned
travellers in this part of the world.
The distance from Anâ to Njamassila is roughly about twenty miles, and
the road in places is not particularly smooth. It was too, of course,
quite dark when we started, so that altogether I was not particularly
sorry when Schomburgk decreed that I was to do the first part of the
journey in my hammock.
In this way I was carried about two-thirds of the stage. Then, when it
got light, I climbed out, mounted my bicycle, and rode the remainder
of the distance. It was rough going, and very cold at first, but I
persevered, rather reproaching myself for my earlier laziness. When,
however, I discovered on arriving at Njamassila that our doctor
friend had elected to be carried the whole of the way, I went to the
other extreme, shook hands with myself, metaphorically speaking, and
plumed myself mightily on my "wonderful" exhibition of hardihood and
endurance. "I intend to cycle the whole of the next stage," I told
Schomburgk.
Alas, my pride in this respect, and on this occasion, was of the kind
that goes before a fall. Whether or no it was due to my unwonted
exertions of the previous day--I had done a lot of running about on
foot besides the cycling--I cannot say, but the fact remains that when
we struck camp at 2.30 next morning I felt so weak and dizzy, as well
as stiff and sore, that I could hardly stand.
Under the circumstances there was nothing to do but to seek refuge
in my hammock once more, where, snuggled beneath many rugs and wraps
designed to keep out the cold night air, and lulled by the rhythmic
swaying of the conveyance, I promptly fell sound asleep.
It seemed to me that I had hardly closed my eyes more than a very few
minutes, when I was awakened by hearing Schomburgk angrily inquiring of
the hammock boys why they were standing idle, and whereabouts was I.
"Master," they replied, "she is inside asleep, and we feared you would
be angry did we wake her."
All this I heard dimly as in a dream between sleeping and waking.
Lazily I lay back, too comfortable even to raise myself on my elbow and
peer out; but I was beginning to wonder what was the reason for the
long delay, and how soon we were going to resume our journey, when the
sound of Schomburgk's voice, once more raised in protest, roused me
into instant and complete wakefulness.
It was me he addressed this time, and his words were as follows:
"Come, little lady; are you not going to get up?"
"But why should I get up?" I replied. "What time is it? Where are we?"
"It's eight o'clock," he answered, "and we are at Agbandi."
"What!" I screamed; and, pulling the curtains aside, I bounced out on
to the ground.
What I saw made me rub my eyes with amazement. Before me was a
new rest-house, and a village that I had never seen before, and
preparations for breakfast were, I could see, well under way. Only then
did I realise that I had slept right through the entire twenty-mile
stage from Njamassila to Agbandi.
[Illustration: REPRODUCED FROM CINEMATOGRAPH FILMS
1. A Konkombwa Giant
2. Paying Carriers in Salt
3. The Old King of Paratau dancing before the Camera
4. A live alarum clock. A cock which accompanied the expedition, and
roused them every morning
5. Boy Scouts]
In the afternoon, after the worst heat of the day was over, we strolled
down to the village. There was very little to see, however, and we were
on the point of returning to our camp, when there suddenly confronted
us from out of one of the huts the tallest and biggest man I have ever
seen, either in Africa or out of it. He stood over eight feet high,
and was very broad and immensely powerful, the muscles bulging out
under his skin like bosses of beaten bronze.
We would have liked to have filmed him, but unfortunately we did not
have our camera with us. Later on, however, we unearthed another giant,
of scarcely inferior size, and him we did succeed in photographing,
Schomburgk meanwhile standing beside him to show the contrast in size
and height, and lifting and displaying at intervals the big man's
various personal paraphernalia--his bow and arrows, his spear, and the
curious iron rattle which all the Togo natives carry, and concerning
which I shall have more to say presently.
Our next stage was from Agbandi to Blita, and at this latter place we
were met by a fresh lot of carriers, men of the Kabure tribe, who had
been sent down from Sokode to meet us. Our other carriers were sent
back to Atakpame.
The Kabures inhabit the Trans-Kara country, and are, as a rule, fine
strong men, but the lot we got were rather poor by comparison with the
Atakpame people. However, they carried our belongings to Sokode all
right, which was all we wanted of them.
They were absolutely the wildest-looking lot of natives I had yet
come in contact with. There were ninety of them altogether, and they
were all quite nude--not even a loin-cloth amongst the lot of them.
Their dialect, too, was quite different from anything I had heard up
till now. It sounded to my ears more uncouth and uncivilised, a mere
succession of grunts and gurgles.
Here, too, I realised for the first time that my personal appearance
might possibly inspire fear, or even disgust and aversion, for when
I went into the market-place in the afternoon to have a look round
as usual, the children fled screaming with terror, and even their
mothers looked askance at me. I did not mind the latter so much, for
I had already discovered that the women dwelling in these remote bush
villages were not always very pleasant companions to have in too
close proximity to one. They are apt to be--well, smelly. But I felt
really hurt at the attitude of their offspring, for I am very fond of
children, and they of me, as a rule, and in Kamina we had been great
chums together. But then in Kamina there were always white people
about, whereas I was the first white woman, at all events, that these
nude little ebony imps had ever set eyes on. Consequently, I suppose,
they regarded me as a sort of pale-faced bogey, to be avoided promptly,
and at all hazards.
I slept again in my hammock during our march from Blita to our next
halting-place at Djabotaure. This sounds a bit lazy, I must admit; but
then it has got to be borne in mind that this moist, hot West African
climate is exceedingly enervating, especially to a European woman, and
to an unacclimatised European woman at that. Spend an hour or so in
the Palm House at Kew Gardens, and you will get a faint idea of what
it is like. The least exertion during the daytime causes one to break
out into a profuse perspiration. Worse still, it seems to sap all one's
energy and vitality, so that one feels like a wet rag from morning
till night. To fight against it is well-nigh impossible. I used to go
to bed tired, and wake up more tired. After a while, however, these
symptoms entirely wore off, and I became quite strong and well, despite
the heat and the constant travelling. Truly the human machine is
marvellously adaptable.
It was at Djabotaure that I had quite a little adventure. I was taking
my usual afternoon stroll through the village, the men being out in
the bush shooting for the pot, when suddenly, from just outside, and
in the opposite direction from where I had entered it, there arose a
most terrific noise of tom-tomming, mingled with much shouting, the
clattering of rattles, and the trampling of horses.
I stood stock still in the middle of the village, not quite knowing
what else to do, and in a few minutes a group of five horsemen, looking
very fierce and wild, galloped up and halted before me, and these were
followed by others, who took up positions to right and left. Meanwhile,
our interpreter, who had put in an appearance for once just when he
was really wanted, had mutually introduced us, so to speak, and the
foremost horseman dismounted and greeted me with stately courtesy. I
was, he remarked, the first white woman he had ever seen; and having
seen me, he trusted that he would live to see many more. Not a bad
compliment for a nearly naked savage to pay one off-hand in the heart
of the African bush!
The newcomers were, the interpreter explained, a chief and his retinue
from a neighbouring village, and they had ridden into Djabotaure in
order to take part in the festivities that precede the great Mohammedan
fast of Ramadan.
This, as most people are aware, corresponds roughly to our Lent. It is
supposed to commemorate the first "revelation" received by Mohammed,
and during the entire four weeks that the fast lasts a strict Moslem
may not eat or drink, smoke or bathe, smell any perfume, or even
swallow his own spittle, till after sunset.
All this, however, is pure theory, so far as regards the Togo native
Mohammedans. They certainly celebrate the festivities which usher in
the fast with a tremendous enthusiasm--they kept us awake all night
with their singing and dancing--and they are equally enthusiastic over
the bairam festival which marks its close. But as regards the actual
fast itself, I could not see that it made any difference to them
whatever. They ate, drank, and smoked just as they always do; the real
truth, of course, being that these people are Mohammedans in name only.
The day following this affair we marched as far as Andasi, our next
halting-place, I still travelling in my hammock. I had not yet become
acclimatised, and was very weak and languid. For some reason, too, my
relays of hammock boys on this occasion proved themselves altogether
incompetent, a most unusual thing. They swung me from side to side,
tipped me this way and that, and only grinned idiotically when I
complained. It was like being out in a small boat in a gale, and I
really felt quite "sea-sick" during the last few miles.
The next morning we started at 3 A.M., in full moonlight, to cover
the last twenty miles to Sokode, which is one of the largest and
most important Government stations in this part of Togo. Wonderfully
beautiful are the moonlight nights in Africa, whether, as was the
case now, one is on a comparatively open road, or following one of the
native tracks that disclose, with each fresh twist and turn, some new
vista of silvery enchantment. The grey, mysterious bush takes on, under
such circumstances, a hitherto undreamt-of beauty. The many clumps of
tropical vegetation in the frequent open glades one encounters, stand
out clear-cut and still, looking like white metal trees fragilely
carved out of frosted aluminium.
At eight o'clock in the morning we reached a spot about four miles
from Sokode, where our horses were waiting for us in charge of a young
European, Mr. Kay H. Nebel. Up to this point I had travelled, after
quitting the rail-head, entirely by bicycle and hammock; now it was to
be principally horseback riding.
Mr. Nebel had been attached to Major Schomburgk's former expedition
in the capacity of staff artist, and had been left behind at Sokode
in charge of spare stores and equipment when Schomburgk had quitted
that place on June 1, 1913. I knew him fairly well, having met him in
Hamburg, where my home is.
It seemed passing strange to renew the acquaintance out here in the
African wilds. The sleek, well-groomed young fellow I remembered had
developed into a typical bushman. His face, neck, and arms were burnt
and blackened by the sun to a very deep mahogany colour. He wore a huge
cowboy hat, beneath which his long hair fell almost to his shoulders,
_à la_ Buffalo Bill. His flannel shirt was open at the throat. He
looked wonderfully picturesque, and also marvellously disreputable,
a sort of cross between a typical grand-opera brigand and a Western
American desperado, as depicted on the cinema films in New York and
London.
After mutual greetings and explanations we pitched a tent, made a
hurried toilet, and changed our clothes, in order to arrive somewhat
clean in Sokode, where we found awaiting us a welcome luncheon, the
outcome of kindly forethought and hospitality on the part of Mr.
Kuepers, the Government schoolmaster at the station.
At Sokode we remained resting during the heat of the day. After which
we struck off at right angles into the bush to a village called
Paratau, distant about four miles from Sokode.
Here it was our intention to make a rather prolonged stay, in order to
film a number of dramatic, and some ethnological scenes.