CHRISTMAS AT SANSANE-MANGU
Mangu, the northernmost Government station in Togo, is in charge of a
District Commissioner, Captain von Hirschfeld, who is assisted in his
duties, which are arduous and important, by two other white men, one
of whom is a non-commissioned officer, the other a civilian. Between
them, these three representatives of a dominant race, carry on from
year's end to year's end administrative and executive duties over a
tract of country as big as half a dozen English counties, and larger by
far than many of the smaller semi-independent German States. It is a
country, too, difficult of access at all times, and in the rainy season
impossible altogether to traverse in many parts. It is, moreover,
inhabited by a people diverse and strange, speaking different dialects,
possessing different tribal customs, manners, and beliefs; and in some
instances--and in all instances at times--truculent, intractable, and
treacherous.
That this vast, far-flung region, in parts even now largely uncharted
and unknown, should have been brought, within comparatively recent
times, under a settled and stable government, and tribal and
internecine warfare practically abolished, speaks volumes, I venture
to think, for the character and abilities of the men who have
accomplished the task. Earliest among these pioneers was Dr. Gruner,
who took the German flag right up to the Niger bend, but who had to
withdraw owing to the shortsightedness of the German Parliament. The
British Government, by the way, made no such mistakes, I notice. I have
read in our history books how, some twenty years ago, Lord Rosebery's
Government was on the eve of adopting a similar policy of scuttle in
regard to Uganda. But the Rosebery Government went down in response to
a popular outcry, and as a result your Union Jack waves over all that
portion of East Africa. Our Parliament was subject to no such popular
pressure--at all events at that time, and in regard to this matter. But
here I had better stop. I am trenching upon high imperial, not to say
international, politics, and such things are not for a girl like me.
Let me get back to the Mangu of the present day, which we are now, if
you please, dear reader--I like that old-fashioned phrase--approaching
on horseback from the lowlands about the Oti River. A big broad road
leads up to the station from the Oti, and the station buildings can be
seen a long way off, gleaming white in the sunshine, and giving one,
even at a distance, the impression of extreme neatness and cleanliness.
As our caravan, with its long string of porters, winds slowly upwards,
I observe through my field-glasses that flags are flying from every
point of vantage, and I guess, even before Schomburgk tells me so, that
the decorations are in honour of the advent of myself, the first white
woman in Mangu. Presently, Captain von Hirschfeld, accompanied by a
mounted bodyguard, canters out to meet us, and I, intent on making as
imposing an entry as possible, ride forward to greet him. But alas, for
the plans of mice and men, to say nothing of women! A patch of soft
sand--a quicksand, no doubt, in the rainy season--lay directly in my
path. When my horse reached it, he first sank in it over his fetlocks,
then floundered, then fell, pitching me over his head. And in this
unceremonious, not to say undignified, fashion, the first white woman
made her first entry into the far northern station of Mangu. Captain
von Hirschfeld and myself often laughed over the incident later on, but
to me at the time it was no laughing matter. Not that I was hurt in
the least. The sand, fortunately, was soft, and the floundering kind
of stumble my horse made resulted, so far as I was concerned, in a
subsidence rather than a fall. But I was deeply mortified. I had looked
forward to making quite an impression, and the only kind of impression
I accomplished was the one made by my face in the sand when I fell.
The full name of the station--I fancy I have mentioned this before
somewhere--is Sansane-Mangu, meaning "the place where warriors meet."
Once upon a time it was the gathering-place of the natives when their
young men met together to set out on one of those wild forays so dear
to savages the world over. The exact place of meeting was a big baobab
tree, still standing, and about this tree the new station of Mangu
has been built, with a view to breaking the fetish spell which in the
estimation of the natives stills hangs round it. The old station
at Mangu, founded by a Lieutenant Tiery, was in a different spot,
overlooking the Oti River. It was a small station, but very strongly
fortified; a fort, in fact. Of this station, only the walls remain.
The interior of the site is used as a European cemetery. Three white
men lie there. Two died, the third was killed in warfare with the
Tschokossi, a tribe inhabiting the country to the north and west. The
unhealthiness of the site, more than anything else, caused the old
station to be abandoned. The new station was founded by a Captain
Mellin, who died a few years back. A little while ago the Tschokossi
rose in rebellion, and tried to capture this station, and they very
nearly succeeded. There was some sharp fighting, one white man and a
good many native soldiers being killed. As an act of expiation, after
the rebellion had been crushed, they were forced to build, near their
principal village, an immense stone pyramid, with a cross on top.
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
TAMBERMA FORT
This building, of native construction, stands in Mangu, the
northernmost Government station in Togo. It was erected by a tribe of
natives so called, and is now used as a mosque by the Mohammedans in
Mangu. The portrait is that of the authoress.]
Captain von Hirschfeld, who, throughout this and our subsequent stay at
Mangu, was hospitality personified, had got everything ready for us. A
nice house was placed at our disposal, all swept and garnished, very
large, airy, and roomy, with a fine broad verandah. Close by our house
was an extraordinary-looking building of native construction called
Tamberma Fort. This was built many years ago by a tribe of natives of
that name, who live in the extreme north-eastern corner of Togoland.
These Tamberma were, and still are, a very wild, warlike, and truculent
people. The German Government, I ought to explain, exact what is
called a head tax of six shillings a year from each native. It is the
equivalent of the British "hut tax," and, like that impost, it has
been the cause of endless trouble and bother with the negroes, who in
Togoland are called upon, under its provisions, to either pay the tax
in cash, or work twelve days on the Government roads, buildings, etc.
Now six shillings sounds a very small sum to a civilised white man, but
to a semi-wild negro, who never sees any coined money whatever from
year's end to year's end, it is, of course, an altogether impossible
impost. He has therefore to work it out, and in the case of a distant
tribe this means a long journey forward and backward to their homes,
with their wives and their little ones, all of which not infrequently
involves considerable hardship and privation, for, of course, the
negro has to provide food for himself and his family on the journey,
though not while he is working out his tax. No wonder he resents the
hated impost, and tries to evade it whenever possible; for the native
is constitutionally incapable of looking ahead, and cannot be made
to see that the work he is called upon to do is for his own benefit
as much as, and even in a sense more so, than for that of his white
masters. He sees, of course, that the roads he builds, he is able
presently to travel over with an assurance unknown in the old days;
that the _songus_ he erects shelter him and his family when he is on
the move; and that the net result of all this easy intercommunication
is a general cheapening of commodities, and the opening of new markets
for those he produces. But all this weighs in the balance very little
against his innate conservatism and rooted aversion to settled labour.
Well, these Tamberma people came down once to Mangu from their mountain
fortresses in the far north-east; then, having finished their allotted
task, they packed up their belongings and returned to their homes. And
they never quitted them again--at least to come to Mangu. For shortly
after they got back to their own country, a new boundary line was drawn
between the German and the French possessions in this part of Africa,
and the Tamberma country was intersected by this line. The result has
been considerable confusion, some of the tribe owning allegiance to one
government, and some to the other. Things, however, are now likely to
straighten themselves out before long, the Tamberma having, by mutual
agreement between the two governments, been given a year in which to
decide under which they will come, and this year expires shortly.
Meanwhile Tamberma Fort, erected by them as a memento of their visit,
still stands in Mangu, a conspicuously picturesque object. It is, I may
add, at present used as a mosque by the Mohammedans at the station, who
have agreed to keep it in order in return for the privilege.
All round Mangu are big plantations of different kinds of valuable
timber, a sort of experimental arboricultural farm. All this work
has been done at the initiative and under the personal supervision
of the officials there, and they have also carried out many other
improvements. The place is, in fact, a little island of civilisation
set in a wilderness of savagery, the new station house there,
Schomburgk considers, being the finest and handsomest building of its
kind in the whole interior of Africa. The country round the station,
and especially to the north, is typical of the Sudan, the soil mostly
a hard dry ironstone formation. It is on the whole of somewhat arid
appearance, but grass grows freely in many parts, and along the banks
of the streams, and for a considerable distance on either side one gets
a belt of riverine vegetation--trees, osiers, and the like.
Mangu during the harmattan season, which lasts from October to the
end of January, is an altogether delightful place of residence; no
mosquitoes, pleasantly windy, cool at night, and not too hot by day,
because of the harmattan, the sun's rays being unable to penetrate the
dry yellow mist. During the rest of the year, however, and especially
from May to August, Mangu has been not inaptly described as "Hades
with the lid off." Not only is the heat terrific in the day-time--one
cannot, I was assured, walk across the square without dripping with
perspiration--but it is hardly any cooler at night, while to keep
things lively there is an almost continual succession of thunderstorms
of appalling intensity, the rain descending with tropical violence at
an angle of forty-five degrees or thereabouts, and beating right into
the houses, so that at times the people prefer to go out into it at
once and have done with it, rather than try to take shelter inside,
when it is practically unobtainable. These storms do not last long
enough to cool the air, but the lightning seems to take a special fancy
to strike the station or the village, one theory advanced to account
for this being that there exists beneath the place a subterranean
stream of water, which attracts the electric fluid. How feasible this
may be, I do not know; but it is a fact that Mangu is very unfortunate
in this respect. During the last rainy season, for instance, two
natives were killed in the village by lightning, and one here in the
station. The lightning also struck Captain von Hirschfeld's house, and
went through his writing-table, destroying a lot of papers, he himself
only escaping death by a miracle.
We spent Christmas at Mangu, and had a real good time. We ate our
Christmas dinner in Captain von Hirschfeld's house, a fine, handsome
stone building. It was only finished last October, and when inside, and
especially of a night, one can hardly realise that one is in the heart
of Africa. We had part of a young pig for our Christmas dinner, and I
was present at the killing of him. I must confess that the sight rather
sickened me, though later on I became quite an expert butcher. Curious
how one sheds the veneer of civilisation in the wilds. After quitting
Mangu for the north, we were destined to be absolutely cut off from the
outer world for a while, and we relied almost altogether on our guns
and rifles for fresh meat for the pot. Then it was the men who hunted
and killed the game, and I who prepared and cooked it. In like manner,
I take it, did the women of the Stone Age.
At Mangu, however, we were, of course, still in touch with
civilisation, and our Christmas dinner, besides being something of a
curiosity in its way, was exceedingly nice. I append the menu:
Caviare sans Ice.
Asparagus Soup.
Oti Fish.
Ragoût à la Mangu en escallop.
Saddle of Pork à la Konkombwa.
Peaches à la tin.
Frothed White of Eggs, Cream, Sauce Vanilla.
Cheese sticks.
Coffee. Liqueurs.
_Wines._
Madeira. Claret. Champagne.
On the dinner-table was a miniature Christmas tree, which had been sent
all the way from Germany by Captain von Hirschfeld's mother, and after
we had finished eating we gathered round it and toasted absent friends
in champagne. I had not looked forward at all to this particular
Christmas. In fact, I had rather dreaded it, fearing that it would
bring with it more of regret than of pleasure, but as a matter of fact
I thoroughly enjoyed it. For one thing, I found it hard to realise,
owing to the climate and surroundings, that it was really Christmas;
for another, everybody was so kind and hospitable that one could
not help feeling merry and jolly. On New Year's Eve we had another
little party, and on the stroke of midnight we set fire to about three
thousand feet of old celluloid films. The inflammable stuff blazed up
fiercely of course, directly a match was applied to it, and made a
splendid bonfire.
I have alluded already to the big plantations round about Mangu. Most
of these are thriving, but as regards some of them, considerable damage
has been done by a species of beetle with huge saw-like forceps. It
was pitiful to ride along the plantation roads, and see hundreds
and hundreds of fine trees all dead or dying, killed by these insect
pests. Every effort has been made, Captain von Hirschfeld told me, to
extirpate them, but in vain. In the plantations are many small antelope
and immense flocks of guinea-fowl and francolin, the latter a bird
resembling a partridge. The best sport of all, however, was afforded
by a bird called out there a koran. It is a most comical-looking
creature, not unlike a miniature ostrich, but, unlike the ostrich,
it is a good flier. Schomburgk was quite an expert in shooting them;
right and left--bang! bang! They were excellent for the pot, yielding
two distinct kinds of meat, white and brown, arranged in layers like
a cream and chocolate sponge-cake. They were so plump and fat that I
used to cook them in their own grease, and we all agreed that they were
better done that way, being delicious eaten hot, and even better cold.
There were also quail in great numbers all round the station, which
I used to roast, and serve on toast in the approved fashion. We also
had antelope, as many as we cared to shoot. Their meat, which had a
pleasant gamey flavour, made a nice change. The only drawback was that
we had to eat it too fresh, as of course everything goes bad if kept
overnight in this climate.
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
CANOEING ON THE OTI RIVER
This photograph was taken near Mangu. The portraits are those of
Miss Gehrts, Major Schomburgk, and Captain von Hirschfeld, District
Commissioner. The canoe is a heavy dug-out one, of exceedingly
primitive construction.]
The Oti River furnished us with fish in abundance. We rode down to it
nearly every day, and once we went for a cruise in it on a big dugout
native canoe. We started at seven in the morning, and got back at
eleven. We were not able to go far, as the water was nearly at its
lowest, but still it was very pleasant, and the scenery was very
beautiful. Towards the end, however, the sun's rays, reflected back by
the almost stagnant water, made things very oppressive. What it must
be like in the summer I can only faintly imagine. From a sand-bank
where he had stalked it, Hodgson shot a very fine paauw--a kind of
bustard--with his rifle at about sixty yards, the bullet passing clean
through its neck. It was, of course, a fluky shot, but Hodgson was
awfully proud of it, nevertheless.
Early in the morning of December 30th, word was brought to us that the
natives were gathering for a grand combined fishing expedition, and,
of course, we rode out to see the fun, taking our camera and operator
with us. They caught any number of fish, but in a way that I fear would
hardly appeal to any genuine disciple of Isaac Walton. Still it was
very interesting, and we secured some good pictures. The natives had
previously built a number of dams parallel to each other across the
river in a shallow and still reach, and they now proceeded to bale out
the water from each inclosure until there was only liquid ooze left,
in which the fishes hid, and whence they were presently scooped up by
hundreds of natives armed with calabashes. Afterwards the master of the
ceremonies distributed the catch to the perspiring fishermen. They were
mostly of the barbel species, and of very moderate size; but there was
one big fellow, which we purchased, and afterwards ate for dinner. He
was very nice, unlike many of the Togo river fish, which are about as
tasty as blotting-paper flavoured with mud.
We took no dramatic films at Mangu, but plenty of ethnological ones.
Cinemaing had now become more difficult than ever, for the intense dry
heat kept continually cracking the wood of the cameras, until both
Hodgson and Schomburgk were well nigh in despair. Every evening almost
they were kept busy repairing the damage done during the day-time,
filling the cracks with sealing-wax, which they afterwards smoothed
down with hot knives, and covered with sticky tape. We had only brought
two cinema cameras with us--in addition to three ordinary ones--and the
woodwork of one of these had got so badly warped by the heat on the
road up as to interfere with the working of the mechanism, rendering
it utterly useless. Consequently we were relying on the one machine;
and if anything happened to put it out of action, the whole expedition
would come automatically to an end, since no other cinema camera could
be bought nearer than Europe. I never saw so much care lavished over an
inanimate object, as was bestowed on that machine. Talk about a mother
with a new-born babe! Why, that bit of brass and woodwork was watched
over by Hodgson as though it had been the apple of his eye. He scarcely
ever allowed it out of his keeping, whether on the march or in camp,
and a boy was detailed to do nothing else all day long but rub it over
with palm-oil.
Amongst other interesting films we took at Mangu was one showing
portions of the new stone station in process of construction, with,
as a contrast, the old wattle-and-daub buildings still standing in
close proximity. The scene here during the hours when work was in
full progress was most animated, and our cameras did full justice to
it. In one picture an endless row of carriers is seen bringing up the
hewn stones from the quarry. In the next native workmen are burning
lime in a native kiln. Another picture shows forty stalwart negroes
carrying between them an immense baulk of timber, hewn in the mountain
forest country many miles away; they had been carrying it after this
fashion for eight whole days at the time our photograph was taken. The
skilled masonry work is being done by long-term prisoners, many of
them in chains, and in charge of armed soldiers. The head mason, I was
informed, was a murderer.
After taking this film we rode down to the quarry near the Oti which
furnishes the stone. Here were hundreds of natives working out their
tax. The quarry, which is a very large one, and seems capable of
indefinite extensions, was only discovered quite recently by Captain
von Hirschfeld. On the way to it we passed a large "songu," or native
resting-place, equivalent to the rest-houses of the whites. Here we saw
specimens of races and tribes from all parts of Western Africa, and
even parts of Northern Africa, collected together--Hausas from Nigeria;
Fulani, with their comparatively pale complexions, and clear-cut
European looking features; squat, coal-black, pagan tribesmen from the
Kabre Mountains, and the central forest region; Fulbe, from the far
interior of the central Sudan; stately Arab traders from Timbuctu, and
beyond, clad in flowing snow-white robes; naked Gourma people, fierce
and wild looking; and many stalwart Konkombwa, upright and graceful
as ever, but _minus_ their helmets and head-dresses; while in and out
among the motley throng, naked little children swarmed everywhere, and
perfectly nude women and girls, bearing on their heads calabashes of
water, or pots of food, trod gravely and sedately to and fro, their
brass anklets glittering in the sun, and making music as they moved. It
was as picturesque a scene as any I had ever beheld in my lifetime, and
certainly more so than any I had yet come across in Togo.
[Illustration: NATIVE PIG IRON FROM A FURNACE AT BANJELI]
[Illustration: CHIEF'S COMPOUND IN A TSCHOKOSSI VILLAGE AT MANGU
These compounds are where the wives are housed, and they also contain
the chief's "palace," his stables--if he is well enough off to possess
horses--and other "offices."]
On January the 2nd, in the morning, a soldier came to say that a hyena
had been caught in a trap overnight, and we at once saddled up our
horses and rode out to have a look at it. The soldier led us to the
place where the trap had been, but both it and the hyena had vanished.
Investigation showed that the powerful brute had torn up the anchor
which held the iron gin-trap in position, and had walked off with the
whole contrivance. However, we knew that it was impossible for him to
rid himself of the trap altogether, so we followed up his trail to a
patch of jungle grass a considerable distance away, where he had hidden
himself, and a soldier went in and pulled him out, trap and all. The
poor beast howled horribly, and no wonder, for its mouth was all torn
and bloody, where it had tried to bite away the iron of the trap. It
was no goodly sight, and I was glad to turn away my head while
Schomburgk put an end to its misery with a bullet from his mauser. In
the afternoon came huge flocks of vultures to feast upon the carcase,
and again we put our camera into requisition, getting some fine
pictures. They are loathsome-looking creatures, these carrion-eating
birds, but of course they are invaluable to the squalid African
villages, where they act as general scavengers, and are rarely, if
ever, interfered with.
Mangu is plagued with bats--millions on millions of them. I would not
have credited it if I had not seen it with my own eyes. If I write
that there came at dawn out of a single small hut, twelve to fifteen
thousand of the creatures, darkening the air for quite a distance
around, I should hardly expect to be believed. But it is so. One of the
interpreters told me that on one occasion a deserted hut where there
was a rookery--or should it be a "battery"?--of them, was sealed up,
and sulphur burned inside. And when they unsealed it in the morning,
they counted above eighteen thousand carcases of bats.
We got plenty of milk at Mangu, making a welcome change of diet, also
native butter. This latter is good for cooking, but one cannot eat it
on one's bread, owing to its rancid taste, even when freshly made.
As regards the milk also, one has to be very careful to see that the
calabashes are clean. I always saw to this myself, for native servants,
as I have already stated elsewhere, have no idea of the importance of
hygiene.
One evening, shortly before we quitted Mangu for our "farthest north,"
Captain von Hirschfeld told us about a number of most interesting
records concerning the days of Dr. Gruner and the earlier pioneers,
which are preserved here. Schomburgk was greatly interested in them,
and urged the Captain to have them published, which he said he would
probably do shortly.