AMONG THE SUMBU SAVAGES
We carried out our intention, as narrated at the end of the last
chapter, and stayed at Sumbu several days, making short excursions into
the surrounding country, and a dash north-east as far as the French
frontier. We have now traversed Togoland from end to end, and I can
flatter myself that I am at all events the first white woman to go
farther than Sokode, and only one or two, at most, have ever been so
far as that.
The people about here are a very wild and mixed lot. Besides the native
Tschokossi, who are indigenous to the soil, so to speak, there are many
others--Gourma people from the northern plains, Fulani from the central
Sudan, Ashantis from the neighbouring British dominions, and Dahomeyans
from across the French international boundary, with a sprinkling
of individuals belonging to other tribes and peoples from various
districts and states, who, for reasons best known to themselves, have
sought sanctuary, as it were, in this remote and seldom-visited region,
within comparatively easy reach of three different frontiers.
On the afternoon after our arrival the men went out shooting, and I
noticed directly that our boys kept close round my tent, and that
their usually merry countenances wore an exceedingly staid, not to
say sombre, aspect. As this was so entirely unlike their conduct under
normal circumstances, I asked them the reason for it. They answered
that they were afraid to venture outside the camp. "People here," they
said, "very bad people; they very much kill."
This was not very reassuring, and when Messa, the cook, came presently
to tell me that he was unable to get any fowls, the interpreter having
reported that the people in the village refused to sell, I felt rather
uneasy. From where I was, I could see the natives sitting about outside
their huts, each one with his bow and quiver of poisoned arrows beside
him.
However, I reflected that I had to get dinner somehow against the
return of the hunters, so calling the cook I ordered him to come with
me to the village. At first he refused, saying that he was frightened.
But I told him that if a woman could go there, surely a man could, and
eventually he consented, very reluctantly, to accompany me. When we
approached the place, the children all ran away screaming. This did not
trouble me greatly. I had become used to it. What I did not like was
that the women, in obedience to gestures from their men-folk, also went
away--where I could not see. This I interpreted as a pretty bad sign,
for it is well known that the African natives invariably send away
their women and children when mischief is brewing. The men sat still,
and scowled at us in silence, making no move, and speaking no word.
At this moment I must confess to feeling very frightened. I remembered
the gruesome incident of the white man and the poisoned arrows. The
affair had happened quite close to where I then was. It was likely,
indeed probable, that some of these very men who sat there scowling
at me, had been concerned in that cowardly and treacherous attack.
However, I reflected that having adventured myself amongst them I had
got to brazen it out. It would never do now to show the white feather,
for if we retreated we must of necessity turn our backs upon them--we
could not very well retire facing them and walking backwards all the
way to the camp--and a flight of arrows let fly on the impulse of the
moment would mean the end of the pair of us.
So, stalking along till I came close up to them, I said, addressing one
of the biggest of the groups of squatting negroes, that I wished to buy
a fowl. Nobody took the slightest notice. I waited a matter of thirty
seconds or so, then fixing one of the least truculent-looking of the
savages with my eyes, I addressed my request to him personally. I told
him that I wanted a chicken, that I was willing to pay anything within
reason for a chicken, but that a chicken I must have. Thereupon the man
rose, caught a fowl, and handed it to me, still without speaking.
I had not brought with me any salt--the usual currency of the
country--so I gave him a whole sixpence in cash. It was probably the
first coined money that he, or any of those sitting near him, had ever
seen. Everybody pressed round to examine it, and everybody started
to express his opinion concerning it. The jabbering was terrific,
and hearing the din the women came running up, and even the children
ventured near, their wide-open eyes fixed in staring astonishment at
the stranger white woman who had dropped from the skies, as it were,
into their village, in order to bargain for chickens with tiny bits
of metal. Eventually, after being passed from hand to hand all round
the circle, the sixpence was returned to me by the man to whom I had
originally tendered it, and who now, opening his mouth for the first
time, condescended to explain that the price of his chicken was half
a cupful of salt--_i.e._ about three-halfpence. I told him that the
sixpence I had given him was worth two whole cupfuls of salt, and ought
therefore by rights to purchase four chickens, taking the birds at his
own valuation, but that as he had been the only one to oblige me by
selling me what I wanted, he could keep the sixpence and I would keep
the bird.
He shook his head. Obviously he did not believe me. Most likely he
thought I was trying to obtain his valuable chicken in exchange for
a worthless fragment of metal, which, assuming him to be fool enough
to accept it, his wife would promptly annex as a neck ornament, and
which, even at that, would not be much of an ornament. Luckily at this
juncture a much-travelled native from a neighbouring village--he had
once been as far as Mangu--put in an appearance, and on being appealed
to, and after an examination of the sixpence, was able to confirm
to his fellows my statement as to the seemingly fabulous value of
the coin. At once the spell was broken. Obviously a person who, like
myself, was willing to buy chickens at four times the ordinary market
rates, was an individual whose acquaintance was worth cultivating.
From being almost openly hostile, the villagers went to the other
extreme, and became embarrassingly friendly. Everybody crowded round,
the women especially evincing the liveliest curiosity. They felt my
clothes, my arms, my neck, my hair; especially my hair, bombarding me
with questions concerning it meanwhile. Was it all my own? Did all
white women's hair grow straight like mine? What made it so shiny? Did
I put palm oil on it? These, and other even more delicate questions
concerning the inner mysteries of my toilet, were flung at me by all
and sundry. To distract their attention from the subject, I picked up
and fondled a little urchin of three, or thereabouts. At once every
woman in the place ran to fetch her own offspring, and held them up
for my approval and admiration. A happy thought struck me. I had in
my pocket several lumps of sugar, which I carried about with me to
give to the horses. Taking them out, I distributed them amongst the
nearest children. They took them, but had evidently no idea what to do
with them. One little girl, placing her lump in a calabash, started to
bore a hole in it with a thin piece of pointed iron, like a skewer,
obviously with the intention of hanging it round her neck as a charm,
and seemed greatly disappointed and annoyed when it broke into several
pieces. Meanwhile, I had bitten a lump I had reserved for myself in
halves, and putting one part in my mouth, handed the other half to
a little boy standing near me, who, greatly daring, licked it. His
delight was promptly manifested in his face. I doubt whether Charles
Lamb's mythical Chinaman showed a more intense appreciation of the
flavour of roast pig, when tasting it for the first time, than did this
little Tschokossi savage on first sampling sugar. After indulging in
several more licks, he handed it to his mother, who started licking it
in her turn; and who, like her child, showed her manifest appreciation
of the delicacy after the first lick. Other women were not slow to
follow her example. Soon the place was full of women and children
licking lumps of sugar, the novel delicacies being passed from hand to
hand, and from mouth to mouth, the recipients meanwhile "ul-ul-ulling"
in gleeful anticipation and excitement. After this little episode,
whenever I showed my face in Sumbu, I was sure to be followed by crowds
of children, begging for some of my "white honey rock," as they not
inaptly christened it.
The ice once broken, I became very friendly with the Sumbu people, so
much so that I asked the chief to show me over his village. He readily
agreed. It was a most extraordinary place, unlike any I had ever seen
or heard of, and merits a detailed description. The village itself is
egg-shaped, the huts round, and placed closely together, not more than
two yards apart, all round the rim of the oval, the roofs overlapping
in such a manner that the edges of the opposite down-sloping eaves
practically meet at a height of about three feet from the ground. The
huts are completely joined together all the way round by two walls, an
outer wall and an inner wall, the same height as the huts, the outer
wall protected by thorn bushes. The entrance hole--one cannot call it
a door--to each hut is two feet from the ground, is round in shape,
and of a diameter just sufficiently large to allow a full-grown native
to squeeze through feet foremost. The only entrance to the village
is through a fair-sized doorway in a big hut at one extremity of the
oval. This big hut is a sort of communal one, and is used, as regards
one side of it, for the women to grind the corn on stones placed
upon a hard clay platform the height of a table; and as regards the
other side, as a sort of club-room for the men to sit in during the
rainy season in the daytime, and as a stable for the sheep and goats
at night. At the opposite end of this big hut is a second fair-sized
doorway giving access to a courtyard. From the level of the first two
huts (see plan) to right and left of the big communal hut a straight
wall is carried right across from wall to wall, dividing the inner
egg-shaped inclosure into two unequal portions, the larger portion
being on the far side of the wall. This intersecting wall has a doorway
in the centre through which admission is secured to the other further
portion of the inclosure, and from this far inclosure only can access
be had to the huts.
[Illustration: SKETCH OF A FORTIFIED TSCHOKOSSI VILLAGE
These curious villages are only to be found nowadays in the
extreme north of Togo, and are rare even there. They are relics
of the days when inter-tribal warfare was endemic. The village
itself is in effect a cunningly devised native fortress, and
each house is a fort.
]
[Illustration: PLAN OF THE VILLAGE SHOWN OPPOSITE
Ladder for climbing over the walls 4 ft. long.
A.B.C. Stones for grinding corn.
D. Platform table high where women stand to grind corn.
E. Walls height of huts 5 ft.
F. Small holes for fowls.
G. Entrance holes to hut 2 ft. off the ground
and just large enough for a man to squeeze through.
H. Little walls inside entrance holes to huts.
]
And not even then directly. When I arrived in this inner space, after
being politely conducted by the chief through the communal hut, and
across the courtyard, I naturally thought to see some signs of human
habitation, and looked round for the doors of the dwelling-places.
To my great surprise, however, there was nothing to be seen but the
bare inner wall; and the chief, his eyes twinkling at my obvious
bewilderment, presently reared against this a forked stick, and
motioned me to climb up it, using it in fact as a ladder. I did so,
though not without some slight misgiving, and stepping over, and down
the other side, I found myself in a sort of well-like space between
the inner and outer walls and two of the huts. From here only could
access be had to the actual dwelling-places of the Tschokossi, through
the small round holes mentioned above, and which were placed close up
under the low overhanging eaves. Even, however, after squeezing one's
body through this hole, one has not yet reached the actual interior of
one of the houses. One is faced by yet another blank wall, round which
one has to negotiate a careful passage in pitch darkness. This inner
wall is intended to prevent anybody from creeping in under cover of
darkness, and shooting off poisoned arrows amongst the sleepers inside,
a pleasant practice to which both the Tschokossi and the Gourma are
said to be only too frequently addicted. The whole series of elaborate
precautions dates from the days when inter-tribal warfare, instead of
being sporadic, was endemic. Every one of these villages is in fact a
fortress, and every house is a fort. To storm such a place would be
exceedingly difficult, at least for savages armed only with bows and
arrows; to surprise it would be impossible, especially in view of the
fact that the two blank spaces contained between the outer and inner
walls and the big communal entrance hut and the two nearest to it on
either side, are utilised to keep chickens in, and these creatures
would at once give notice, by their unwonted commotion, of the
presence of an intruder. The natives dwelling near Mangu, as well, of
course, as those living to the south of it, have now entirely given up
building these fortress villages, the necessity for them having ceased
to exist. Nor is it likely that even the Tschokossi of the extreme
north of Togo will build any more, when those they are now dwelling in
are abandoned, or fall into ruin. I learned later that these Tschokossi
people are supposed to have learnt the art of building these curious
villages from the Gourma people, with whom they are intermixed.
I forgot to say that after I had bought the chicken, and had handed it
to Messa, at the same time telling him that I was about to go inside
the village at the chief's invitation, he tried earnestly to dissuade
me from doing anything of the sort. "Oh, but I am going," I replied,
"and you will come with me." Whereupon he threw up his hands with an
expressive gesture, and declared that he was afraid. "I will go and
call Alfred," he suddenly ejaculated, after a few moments' cogitation,
"him big man, him no frightened," and off he went at a great pace,
before I could stop him. Alfred, I may explain, was our chief
interpreter, and stood six feet three inches in his bare feet.
Well, I waited for him to put in an appearance until I grew tired; then
I went alone into the village, to the great delight of the old chief,
who seemed vastly to appreciate my reposing such implicit confidence in
him, and started off explaining everything to me with great volubility.
Of course I could not understand a word of what he said, so on second
thoughts I decided to go outside again and wait until Alfred turned up.
This he did soon afterwards, walking very slowly and reluctantly, and
evincing the greatest indisposition to come with me into the village.
At length I got angry with him. "Surely," I said, "if a little slip of
a girl like me is not afraid, a long slab of misery like you ought not
to be"; and I wound up by threatening to report him to Schomburgk. Only
then did he agree very unwillingly to accompany me, at the same time
protesting so solemnly and earnestly against the "terrible risks" we
were running, that once the thought did flash through my mind that my
insistence on the enterprise might possibly turn out to be yet another
example of the danger of fools rushing in where angels fear to tread.
"But then," I reflected, "I am no fool, and Messa is most certainly
not an angel"; and I thereupon took my courage in both hands, and in
we went, with what result I have already stated. I was greatly pleased
and excited at my discovery of this extraordinary village, as also
was Schomburgk when I told him about it. It was, he agreed, one more
fact added to our anthropological knowledge of darkest Africa; and of
a kind, moreover, regarding which nothing has ever before appeared in
print.
[Illustration:
_By permission of_ _Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S._
BASKET-MAKING
This is an important native industry. The baskets are made from
the stalks of the palm leaf, and the finished article sells for a
sum--reckoned in salt or cowries--approximating to about one farthing.]
After this little episode we never had any difficulty during our stay
there in getting plenty of chickens from the people at the ordinary
market rates, which shows, to me at all events, that by firmness, mixed
with kindness, one can do a lot with natives, even very wild ones. Our
camp is on a high plateau, very picturesque, and commanding a quite
extensive view over the high rolling veldt. Provisions are plentiful,
with the exception of eggs, which are scarce just now. The Fulani,
however, still continue to bring us milk, and butter for cooking.
As their village lies at a much lower elevation than our camp, I am
able to see them coming a long way off, and their first advent upon
the scene is the signal to begin to get breakfast ready. We use the
milk for our porridge and our coffee, but it is always very dirty.
Tolstoy was right when he wrote that cleanliness is the hallmark of
the classes the world over. The lower down, the dirtier! Most of these
people, for instance, are simply filthy, possessing not even the most
rudimentary notions of cleanliness. They defecate promiscuously in
the neighbourhood of their villages, and they throw out their garbage
anywhere. One result is a plague of flies, which settle everywhere, and
must be ideal breeders and carriers of disease under the circumstances.
At first I was really afraid to use the milk they brought. But by
straining it through a clean cloth, and then boiling it, I have managed
so far to ward off any ill effects. I have to pay these people in salt
for all the milk, butter, and eggs they bring; they absolutely refuse
to accept coined money. The rate of exchange has been fixed at one
cupful of salt for each big calabash of milk, and the same for a pat
of butter. They bring so much milk at one time, that there is quite a
lot left over, and the happy thought struck me to make cheese of it.
I put it in a big basin, allowed the cream to rise, skimmed it off,
put it in a serviette, and hung it up in the branches of a tree. The
result was an excellent cream cheese, which, after I added some salt
and carraway seeds to it to give it a flavour, proved to be quite nice
and palatable. I tried it first on Schomburgk, who liked it immensely.
"Who made it?" he asked. "I did," I answered, quite proud, as what
woman would not be, of my achievement. "Good!" he cried. "Give me
another helping." Presently Hodgson came along. "Have some cheese?"
I said. Hodgson eyed the dainty doubtfully, thinking it to be of
native manufacture, and he had a rooted aversion and prejudice--not
altogether unreasonable under the circumstances--against any article of
native-made food. "Who made it?" he demanded, using Schomburgk's exact
words. I was just about to answer him as I had answered Schomburgk,
when the latter kicked me violently under the table. I understood, and
my lips framed the ready lie. "Oh, the cook, I suppose," I answered
carelessly. "Then I don't want any," he replied decisively. Whereat
Schomburgk kicked me again under the table, but appreciatively this
time; and we finished the rest of the cheese together. Then we both
started laughing, and Hodgson grew quite angry, because he didn't know
what the joke was. He knows now, however; or he will, at all events,
when he comes to read this book.
I had other domestic troubles at Sumbu, in addition to culinary ones.
Washing-day was a great trial. Our "washerwoman" was a boy, if you
please, and said "boy" was a man, which sounds rather paradoxical, but
you will find it is quite right, dear reader, and good sense, if you
stop to think for a minute. Well, this boy, or man, or "washerwoman,"
whichever you please, had one fixed idea as regards the cleansing of
clothes, and that idea was the one underlying, according to the old
English proverb, the correct treatment of "a woman, a dog, and a walnut
tree," as regards all three of which we are assured that "the more
you beat 'em the better they be." Only I am convinced that neither
woman, nor dog, nor walnut tree could possibly have stood, for any
but the briefest period, the terrible beatings that our boy subjected
our clothes to. He was a small, undersized man, but very strong and
energetic, and with fists like ginger-beer bottles, and he used to
pound and tear my delicate lingerie into shreds with his iron-shod
paws, as a preliminary to hammering it to pulp on a big chunk of rough
stone. Eventually Schomburgk raised his wages, on condition that he
didn't work so hard; the first time on record, I suppose, that an
employer has so acted. The result was disastrous. From that moment he
ceased to take any interest whatever in his washing operations. He just
trailed the soiled things in the river for a few minutes, and took them
out again. When I, in despair at getting them cleansed, but hopeful of
getting them at least smoothed out, suggested damping them down, and
ironing them, he compromised matters with his conscience by ironing
them wet. "What is the good," he exclaimed when I expostulated with
him, "of first drying things, and then wetting them again, in order
to dry them yet again with hot irons?" Such logic, regarded merely as
logic, was unanswerable, and I was wise enough to at least refrain
from attempting the obviously impossible.
There were a lot of old people in Sumbu. As a rule one sees few
such in Africa. One old chap I especially remember. He used to sit
in front of his hut all day, a mere living skeleton, only skin and
bones. He looked exactly like a shrivelled-up monkey, or a mummy
out of the British Museum. One day, taking pity on him, I gave a
woman a lump of sugar to give to him. After he had eaten it, to my
unbounded amazement he scrambled to his feet and executed a sort of
impromptu war-dance. Later on he told our interpreter that he was now
willing to die, having eaten of the white woman's honey rock. The
phrase sounds new, but it isn't. It is merely one more variant of the
"fate-cannot-harm-me-I-have-dined-to-day" wheeze.
The chief of Sumbu, the same who conducted me over his village, is the
ugliest man I ever set eyes on, even in Africa, which is saying a good
deal. He was so surpassingly ugly, so perfectly and preposterously
hideous, that we took a cinema picture of him. We did not, however,
think it necessary to explain to him our real reason for wishing to
photograph him. On the contrary, we told him that it was because,
besides being the northernmost chief in Togo we had visited, he was
also the handsomest, and Europe would be inconsolable if it were to
be deprived of possessing a pictorial record of an individual at once
so distinguished and so beautiful. Hodgson, our operator, hung back
for a while. He said he was afraid the chief's face might break the
camera. It didn't. But I am inclined to think that it was a near
thing. In justice to the chief, I feel I ought to add that not quite
all his ugliness was natural to him, so to speak. It was due in part
to his having been pitted by smallpox. He was badly pitted, too. His
face would have made a very good cribbage-board, but regarded as a face
it was a failure. Even, however, if he had never been pitted, I am
inclined to think he would have been sufficiently ugly to have carried
off the wooden spoon at even the least exacting of beauty shows. He
reminded me of the ugly man immortalised by Mark Twain, who, after
having the smallpox ever so bad, was just as handsome as he was before.
In addition to being very ugly, the chief was also very dirty. So were
all his people. In fact the Sumbu Tschokossi are about the filthiest
lot of savages I have come across up till now. It was only twenty
minutes to the river, yet even the younger men's bodies were always
grey with ashes, sand, and dirt, and covered with vermin. The women
were much more clean to look upon, probably because it was their custom
to bathe each day when they went to the river in the morning for water.
The younger girls wear brightly polished brass armlets round their
wrists and forearms, and the contrasts of these ornaments with their
ebony skins, and the green leaves they wear before and behind, is
exceedingly effective. Some of the very young unmarried ones are not
unbeautiful, but they soon lose their good looks, owing to the hard
work they have to do. They are at it from morning till night, carrying
water, cooking, hoeing in the yam fields, bringing in fuel from the
forest, while the men laze about in the sun, and breed flies. One
thing, however; this incessant labour renders them very strong, and
strength is a valued asset in a Tschokossi woman. A weak one stands a
poor chance in the matrimonial market. "Amongst us, men choose their
wives for strength, not for beauty," remarked one burly savage to me.
I have heard somewhat similar sentiments expressed amongst our working
classes in Europe. And after all, what is the philosophy of these
savages regarding marriage but a primitive form of eugenics?
As for the men, they strongly resent the imputation of laziness. "We
are fighters," remarked the old chief when I gently tackled him on
the subject, "not workers. It is for the women to work, whilst we
protect them against outside interference." "But," I said, "there is no
fighting to be done now; the land is at peace." "Who knows?" was his
somewhat cryptic reply.
If, however, these far northern tribes, the Tschokossi, the Gourma,
and others, resent being called lazy, they regard as flattering the
charges of treachery and cowardice that are brought against them. They
look upon the shooting of a foe from behind with a poisoned arrow,
not only as legitimate warfare, but as the very best and highest form
of warfare. It is their business to stalk an enemy, to see and not be
seen, to pounce upon him unawares; a proceeding which, after all, is
recommended by all writers on strategy, and practised by all beasts of
prey. It is a fact, too, that a certain kind of cowardice requires a
certain kind of courage. The prowling savage who climbs the walls of a
Tschokossi village at dead of night in order to take pot-shots at the
sleeping inhabitants with his poisoned arrows, is not exactly a coward,
however reprehensible his conduct may appear judged from a civilised
standpoint. For having accomplished his object, he has to make good his
retreat, with an even chance that by that time the whole village is in
an uproar, and I can conceive of no less desirable place wherein to be
trapped by a score or so of vengeful enemies, than the well-like space
between the huts and the inclosing walls.
I had many talks with the old chief regarding these and other matters,
and once he made some sort of an odd remark which caused me to laugh
heartily. "Oh then," he said, looking mildly astonished, "you _can_
laugh." "Of course I can laugh," I answered. "Why not?" "Well," he
replied, "I have never seen a white woman before, but I have always
been told that they are unable to laugh."
Although the chief, and in a lesser degree his people, were fairly
friendly with me, they continued up to the end to show themselves
suspicious and distrustful of our boys, and this distrust showed itself
in many curious, not to say inconvenient ways. For example, it was
our custom while on trek to allow our personal staff, numbering about
fifteen, three-halfpence a day extra subsistence money. With this
they used, on arriving at a village, to club together, and engage a
woman to buy their provisions and to cook for them; in fact, to board
them during their stay there. But in Sumbu no woman could be got to
undertake the job, nor would they even sell them provisions until
they had exchanged their coined money for salt, the usual currency of
the country. With this they were at length able to buy provisions,
millet-meal, yams, &c. Then, however, a new difficulty presented
itself. They had no one to cook for them, nor had they any cooking
utensils of their own. So they came to me, and asked me to lend them
one of our pots. Naturally, I declined; I am not over squeamish, but
to eat after natives! Faugh! On the other hand, I could not stand by
and see the poor fellows go hungry. So off I went to the village,
and begged the chief to let me have the loan of a pot. After a lot
of palaver he consented, and Schomburgk, at my request, allowed his
gun-bearer to be struck off duty in the afternoons in order to cook
for them. This arrangement worked fairly well, for natives eat only
once a day, of an evening. Then they consume an enormous meal. One
can actually see their stomach "swell wisibly," like the Fat Boy in
_Pickwick_.
No sooner had this difficulty been settled, however, than another one
arose. Owing to the boycott of the villagers, the boys could not even
get the use of a hut to sleep in at night, and had to camp out in the
open. They complained to me, and I told Schomburgk about it, but found
him unsympathetic. "If the Sumbu people won't lend them a hut, they
won't, and there's an end of it. I have no right to force them to.
Besides, it is good to sleep out in Africa. I've slept out hundreds of
nights when hunting elephants, and it never did me any harm, nor will
it them. Tell them I said so." I did as I was told, and the boys had
to sleep out for the rest of the time we remained in the neighbourhood.
But they didn't like it one bit.
In fact, towards the end of our stay here, some of them began to get
somewhat surly and discontented, not like their usual selves. One
reason for this probably was that, on quitting Mangu, their women had
all been left behind there. This had been done at their own wish,
as they said they were afraid to take them up-country to where we
were going. Nevertheless, they no doubt felt the separation keenly,
for natives temporarily divorced from their womenkind are like ships
without their rudders. They had all taken it for granted, by the way,
that I too was to be left behind in Mangu, and seemed greatly surprised
and anxious when they heard that I was going to accompany the caravan.
Indeed, just as we were about to start, all our personal boys came to
me in a body, and implored me not to go, saying that the Tschokossi of
the north were dangerous, and that they feared for the safety of their
"little white mother." I was greatly touched by their solicitude, but
of course I was unable to accede to their request, even had I a mind
to, which I had not. Later on I overheard Asmani, Schomburgk's personal
servant, while discussing the journey with another boy, exclaim: "Well,
I shall be glad when our little white mother is safe again on board the
steamer."
Another source of dissatisfaction, was that there was a shortage of
caravan food. For one thing, our European flour began to give out, and
we ourselves were obliged to eat bread made half of millet-meal and
half of flour. I didn't like it a bit. But for the Fulani, in fact,
we should have been, if not exactly on short rations, at all events
on restricted ones. These used to bring us, when they came with our
daily allowance of milk, huge calabashes of buttermilk, which the boys
used to purchase, and mix with their millet-meal, thereby obtaining a
welcome addition to their diet.
Meanwhile their clothing, what they had of it, was going from bad to
worse. Messa had to cut off the legs of his trousers above the knees,
in order to patch the portion covering that part of his anatomy on
which boys are birched at school. Alfred, the interpreter, was in an
even worse fix, because he had no trouser-legs left to utilise after
this fashion. He complained to me, saying that his appearance was not
decent. I was bound to agree with him as to this, but pointed out to
him that I could do nothing in the matter just then, as we had no
spare clothing with the caravan. When we got back to Mangu, I told
him, Schomburgk was going to rig out all our personal staff with new
clothes; in the meantime I suggested to him that he should wear a
"lavelap," which is a West African term for a whole piece of cloth
wrapped round the body. "Oh dear no, little mother," he replied, in
deeply shocked tones. "An interpreter cannot wear a 'lavelap,' he must
at least have a pair of trousers."
Next day I noticed that Messa, who was always a bit of a dandy, had
covered his bare legs, from the ankles to above the knees, with strips
of white cloth dipped in washing-blue, and arranged like putties. I
rallied him on his "improved" appearance, but he only smiled feebly
and somewhat sadly, so I asked him what was the matter. Thereupon he
confided to me that he was worried about his wife, who was lying ill at
Mangu. This was the same young lady whom, it will be remembered, he had
gone back to Kamina to fetch while we were on the road up from there to
Sokode, and her illness, or at all events the undue prolongation of it,
was largely his own fault.
She was always bright and bonny until we got to Paratau. Then, when
we resumed our march, she seemed to have changed altogether. She was
always tired, and appeared as if trying to elude our observation.
Messa, too, got sad and sulky, so one day, after we had camped, I went
over to their quarters to try and find out what was the matter. I found
the girl sitting disconsolate outside their hut, crying, and nursing
a frightfully swollen and ulcerated leg. I went and told Schomburgk,
who examined it, and at once diagnosed it as a very bad and greatly
neglected case of filaria, otherwise guinea-worm. These dangerous
parasites burrow under the human skin, generally in the feet or legs,
and the female lays eggs, giving rise to abscesses, and also causing
grave functional disturbances. They are removed by very slowly twining
them round a stick, and the natives assert, and apparently with some
measure of truth, that if the worm is broken in the process, the death
of the person affected will ensue. Messa had known all along, it
appeared, what his wife was suffering from, but fearing to have her
sent back, had tried to conceal it from us. Schomburgk gave the poor
girl some mercurial ointment, and afterwards several of the parasites
were removed in the manner described above, many of the natives being
exceedingly skilful in this matter. Now, it appeared, he was anxious,
fearing a relapse. As a matter of fact, on our return to Mangu, we
found the patient practically convalescent.