THROUGH THE KONKOMBWA COUNTRY
I found that the change in temperature at Mangu was very marked indeed
since we had left it not so very many days ago. The harmattan was
lifting, and the nights, as well as the days, had begun to get very
oppressive, so that I had no longer any difficulty in believing the
stories that had been told me concerning the tropical intensity of the
heat in the rainy season.
This harmattan, by the way, is a bit of a meteorological mystery.
In the reference books it is generally described as a hot dry wind,
blowing from the interior deserts of Africa, and laden with reddish
dust. This may be true as regards its inception, but to describe the
harmattan one encounters in Togoland as a "wind," is to convey an
altogether wrong impression. It more nearly resembles a dry fog, and is
yellowish rather than red, rendering the light effects most unsuitable
for photography of any kind, and especially so for cinematographic
photography. Its advent is, however, welcomed by the residents of the
colony, for it tempers the heat of the sun's rays in a most effective,
not to say extraordinary, manner. Directly it lifts, the temperature
goes up with a bound, and the heat, which, while it lasts, is at least
tolerable, becomes well-nigh insupportable.
My second stay in Mangu was not particularly eventful. The men went
out every day taking ethnological pictures. This was in the morning,
of course, before the worst of the heat began. I put in the time
riding round with Captain von Hirschfeld, watching the progress of the
building of the new station, and inspecting the soldiers on parade.
There are a great many soldiers in Mangu just now, as all the reserves
have been called up for training. It is wonderful to see the progress
these reservists make, not to mention the raw recruits, in the course
of their training. This is limited to ten days, but into that brief
period of time there is crammed almost an infinity of hard work. Their
ordinary hours of drill are ten a day. No white soldier could, or
would, stand it. But the black man seems absolutely to enjoy it.
We took the opportunity of the reserves being called up to film the
lives of these native soldiers, photographing them not only while
they were at drill and at work, but also while they were at play, and
resting in the bosom--or rather bosoms--of their families. Family life,
by the way, plays a big part in the existence of the black troops of
the Togo hinterland. There is no "marrying off the strength" for the
Togo "Tommy." Practically they are all married, and "with leave," and
most of them are very much married. An English Tommy, when he has saved
up money, and feels like enjoying himself, goes on furlough, and buys
beer. The Togo Tommy stops at home, and buys a wife. He has to ask
permission first, of course, but this is practically always granted,
provided he has enough funds standing to his credit. The cost of a wife
in Mangu is about sixteen shillings; in other places it is dearer,
in some few cheaper. It all depends on the number of unmarried girls
there are available; in other words, on the law of supply and demand.
Even in Mangu, however, the price varies. A young and attractive girl
of thirteen or fourteen may possibly be worth a sovereign. Girls marry
young in West Africa. On the other hand, a strong and experienced
woman who is a good cook and housewife, has also a good market value.
Practically every soldier in Togoland buys as many wives as he can
afford. The German Government--very wisely, I think--does not attempt
to interfere with native domestic customs, of which polygamy is one
of the oldest and most deeply-rooted. The women do not object in the
least. In fact, they rather like it, for many hands make light work,
and the more wives a man has to minister to his wants, the less arduous
are the duties any single one of them is called upon to perform.
Besides, in the days when inter-tribal fighting was the normal state
of affairs in Togoland, the women naturally greatly outnumbered the
men; for although in no single one of these perpetual little wars was
the death roll on either side considerable, the sum total of fatal
casualties soon mounted up, and the adult males were, therefore, always
in a minority as compared with the adult females. Consequently, if
monogamy were the rule, many Togo girls would have been, in the old
days, condemned to a life of celibacy, and a celibate female amongst
savages is unthinkable.
But I find I am wandering off the track. Soon I shall find myself
writing a Togoland "Golden Bough." Let us return to our sheep--in other
words, our films. Most of those taken at Mangu, as I have already
stated, were ethnological ones, and many of them created the liveliest
interest when they were shown later on in London at special meetings
of the various learned societies, such as, for instance, the Royal
Anthropological Institute and the Royal Geographical Society. But we
also utilised this, our second stay in Mangu, to photograph some of the
kind best described as semi-dramatic.
One of these was of very special interest to everybody there, natives
as well as whites, because it was an attempt to reproduce for the
cinema what will presently become Togo history. The incident chosen was
the attack on the old station at Mangu by the Tschokossi, mentioned
in a previous chapter, and amongst the hundreds of supers, soldiers
as well as natives, who took part in the film production, were many
men who had been in the actual fighting. We followed the true course
of events as nearly as possible in our mimic representation, the
authorities kindly placing at our disposal for the purpose practically
the entire Mangu garrison. In the film, as finally completed and
screened, two patrols are seen going out, one in the direction of
Tamberma Fort. The latter is attacked, overwhelmed, and cut to pieces,
only one badly wounded man escaping. The other patrol, going farther
afield, scouts up to a big native town, and finds the savages there
dancing their tribal war dances, yelling death to the Europeans, and
generally working themselves into a frenzy. The patrol returns to the
fort to report, and on the way picks up the wounded survivor from
the other party, who tells them of the fate that has overtaken his
comrades. The officer in charge of the fort sends a letter to the
commanding officer at headquarters asking for assistance, but before
the relief arrives the natives swarm up and attack the fort. The
garrison is hard pressed, and the officer in charge, uncertain as to
whether his first letter has got through to headquarters, calls for
a volunteer to take a second letter. A native soldier steps forward,
and quits the beleaguered fort disguised as a Hausa. By taking careful
cover he gets through the lines of the besiegers without being noticed,
delivers his letter to the officer commanding, whom he meets on the
road, and all ends happily, the final scene showing the assault,
followed by the arrival of the relieving force and the dispersal of the
assailants. Curiously enough, we had considerable difficulty in getting
the natives to act as supers in this film. They remembered the real
fighting, and having a wholesome fear of the soldiers, born of actual
experience, they were extremely loath to come to close quarters with
them.
On January 27th the Kaiser's birthday was celebrated in Mangu, sports
and games being organised for the natives, who took the keenest
interest in them. A water race for women caused great excitement.
They had to run a certain distance, carrying calabashes of water, the
prizes going to those who succeeded in spilling least. A blind-fold
pot-smashing competition was also the cause of a lot of fun. In
the afternoon Captain von Hirschfeld distributed the prizes to the
winners, and I also gave away some pieces of silk, cloth, and beads as
supplementary ones.
One morning an exceedingly smart-looking Hausa, from the heart of the
true Sudan, came into the station with a wild ostrich for sale. It
was a very fine bird, the biggest in fact, Schomburgk said, that he
had ever seen, and he promptly bought it. The bird had been tightly
tied up for some considerable while, and as a result it was all sore
and chafed about the legs. Schomburgk therefore set him loose. And
the bird showed its gratitude by immediately bolting. The result was
that we had to organise a party to recapture him. It was by no means
bad fun, however, and besides we were able to film an ostrich hunt on
the veldt. Everybody nearly enjoyed it first rate, including, I verily
believe, the ostrich. The one exception was our camera man, who soon
ran himself out of breath, and was as limp as a wet rag by the time we
had finished. Before this little episode he had been very keen on game
pictures, but it was noticeable that afterwards he studiously avoided
referring to them. However, he made a lovely film of this one, and we
were highly pleased, naturally.
We were due to leave Mangu for good on February 1st, and the last
few days were spent in packing up, sorting out our stores for the
downward journey, and disposing of such as we no longer required. A
lot of tinned stuff we gave away, and one of the horses that was ill
Schomburgk presented to the white non-commissioned officer at the
station. Our one hundred loads that we had started with had dwindled by
now to about forty.
Suddenly Schomburgk announced a most terrible and alarming discovery.
He had run out of cigarettes. A package supposed to contain a reserve
supply was found on being opened to be filled with packets of tea,
sugar, and other groceries. He flew to the telephone and sent an urgent
message to Sokode for a fresh supply, to be despatched by special
runner. Meanwhile he growled and grumbled like a bear with a sore
head. Nor did matters improve greatly when the cigarettes at length
arrived. The Sokode people had run out of the best Egyptians--his usual
smoke--which retail out there at sixpence a dozen, so they had sent him
a very inferior sort, known locally as "battle-axe brand," and costing
about sevenpence for fifty. They have been christened "battle-axes,"
Schomburgk explained, in between two long strings of swear words,
because two of them will knock you on the head and kill you. On the
same principle the Western American cowboy dubs the vile spirit sold
in the frontier cattle towns "forty-rod whisky." You walk forty rods
after drinking a glass of it, then you drop down dead. I cannot, of
course, speak as to the whisky; but the cigarettes fully deserved their
evil name. Navvy shag was simply "not in it" with them. When Schomburgk
started to smoke one, everybody ran away. I am told they are exported
to Togo from England for native consumption. All I can say is, I pity
the natives.
At last the day of parting came. I can hardly find words to express
how sorry I felt to leave Mangu and our dear little home. Captain von
Hirschfeld, who had shown us such splendid hospitality all through
our stay there, rode three miles with us on the return journey. We
are not travelling back along the same route we came up by, but are
setting a course some distance to the westward of it, so as to break
new ground. Our first camp had been fixed at a place called Unyogo,
and as the distance was comparatively short, Schomburgk and I did not
quit Mangu until three o'clock in the afternoon, having previously
sent our carriers on ahead to pitch the tents, and get everything
ready. Our boy we took with us on horseback to carry our water-bottles,
but he didn't keep up with us, and somehow he managed to tumble off
his horse. Naturally, the riderless animal promptly bolted back for
its comfortable stable at Mangu, with the boy hot a-foot after it.
As a result we had no water to drink during the stage, which was a
very hot one, with no shade whatever and clouds of dust. I suffered
considerably from thirst. So did Schomburgk, who, however, was able to
console himself by smoking "battle-axes" and swearing at intervals,
both palliatives denied to me. It was a glad moment for both of us when
at length we caught sight of our green tents under the trees outside
Unyogo.
Hodgson was already there, having gone on ahead on his bicycle. He was
greatly excited, and would hardly give us time to get a drink of water,
or a cup of tea, before plunging into a narrative of what he somewhat
grandiloquently termed his "adventure." It appeared that he had been
pedalling silently along on his bicycle, when a covey of grouse flew
up almost from under his front wheel, and cannoned into one another in
their fright and excitement with so great violence that six of them
fell to the ground. Dismounting, he picked up five of the birds quite
dead; the sixth was only stunned, and, recovering itself, fluttered
off into the bush. The incident was certainly a remarkable one, almost
incredible indeed, for grouse are notoriously hard birds to hit. But
there they were, all five of them, mute witnesses to the truth of his
story. None of them bore any shot, or other wound, to account for their
deaths; and besides, Hodgson had no gun with him. We cooked them for
supper, and very delicious they were. Afterwards, we sat outside our
camp in the moonlight talking and laughing, and in high spirits at the
thought of going home--all but Schomburgk, who declared that the trip
was far too short a one. "Some day," he remarked, "we will come out
here again, film some more pictures, and return home the other way."
"Other way?" I inquire dubiously. "Yes," he replied airily, "round by
Timbuctu, and north across the Sahara. It will be grand fun, and we
shall get some unique pictures." "Yes-s!" I reply feebly. And no more
is said. But I think a lot.
That night a woman palaver started right outside my tent. I
was awakened at dead of night by the cries of a female in
distress--shouting, howling, and sobbing. Jumping up, and throwing on
a wrap, I hurried outside, imagining that murder was being done at
the very least. The noise was being made by the wife of one of our
soldiers, who declared, on being questioned, that her husband had tried
to kill her. Schomburgk, whom the noise had also awakened, and who now
put in an appearance, promptly sent for the man, and cross-examined
first him and then his wife. The true facts of the case were thus
elicited. It turned out that the woman, having had a wordy quarrel
with her husband--no blows were struck--had announced her intention
of forthwith going back to Mangu. Her husband had, quite properly,
prevented her from carrying out her intention. Whereupon she had rushed
out of their hut, and over to our camp, where she had started howling
and yelling, hoping thereby to get her husband punished. Had Schomburgk
been an inexperienced African traveller, unused to the little wiles of
native women, she might possibly have succeeded in her design. But
he was too old a bird to be caught that way. Instead of punishing the
husband, who was obviously not to blame in the matter, he told him to
take his wife back to their hut, and if she didn't behave herself, he
had his (Schomburgk's) full permission to give her a hiding. I never
saw a woman so completely taken aback as this one was when she heard
the judgment delivered. Her jaw dropped, her look of hard defiance gave
place to one of abject fear, and without a word she followed her lord
and master to their joint domicile, where, for the rest of that night
at all events, peace reigned once more.
[Illustration:
_Photo by_ _Miss M. Gehrts_
A FINE HEAD OF HAIR
A half-caste woman having her hair dressed. Girls of this class
frequently possess most luxuriant tresses, of which they are
inordinately proud.]
[Illustration:
_Photo by_ _Miss M. Gehrts_
NATIVE HAIRDRESSING
Most tribes pay great attention to dressing the hair. The better-class
native girls usually have theirs dressed twice a week, and the
operation is a tedious and lengthy one, frequently lasting for two
hours, or even longer.]
Next morning at 3 A.M. we were off again, and rode the next stage, a
short one, to Djereponi. Here there is a rest-house, one of the old
square Sudan stations. It is quite an imposing-looking place, and
beautifully clean. Two square huts for sleeping in form one side of a
hollow square, the other three sides being formed by the huts intended
to accommodate the native dependents of European travellers. In the
middle is a mess hut for the rainy season. During the dry season in
Togoland, of course, as elsewhere in Africa, one eats invariably
out-of-doors, usually under a verandah, if there is one, if not, under
the awning of one's tent, or beneath a tree. Here there was a very
fine broad verandah, and the roof came down very low, giving plenty
of shelter and shade, very pleasant. All the buildings, and even the
hard beaten clay floors, were coated with fresh native whitewash. This
gave the place a beautifully cool and clean appearance, but I found
the glare, when the sun beat down upon it, somewhat trying to the
eyes. While we were resting here a soldier brought in five chameleons,
which he sold to us for three-halfpence each. It was very interesting
to watch them change their colour from grey to green, and back again
to grey. They have large staring eyes, which they roll about in the
most comical manner imaginable; and their slender tongues, when they
protrude them to their full extent, are nearly as long as their bodies.
The next stage was to Nambiri, where also there is a very nice
rest-house. The road was good, and we cantered or galloped nearly the
whole distance. As a result we arrived at our destination a long way in
advance of the carriers, who, after the sun rose, were unable to make
very rapid progress. There being nothing to eat, I rolled myself in my
horse rug, pillowed my head on my saddle, and fell fast asleep; when I
awoke, some two hours later, there were still no signs of the carriers,
and we were all three very hungry. Schomburgk sent the cook, who had
come along with us on a bicycle, to forage round for eggs, and on his
returning with a handkerchief full he boiled six of them hard and ate
them without any bread or salt. Hodgson and I preferred to wait, saving
up our appetites against what we knew was coming. Three hours after
our first arrival in camp the first of the carriers came straggling
in, looking very hot and exhausted. As luck would have it this advance
guard was carrying the chop boxes, and we pounced upon them forthwith.
We did not even wait for a wash, or for our chairs and tables, which
happened to be behind, but squatted down just as we were on the mud
floor, and enjoyed our tinned stuff better than a meal at the Savoy.
First we devoured three whole tins of sardines, then we ate an entire
_pâté de foie gras_, followed by a miscellaneous assortment of cheese,
crackers, and candied fruit. Schomburgk rather looked with disfavour on
these extravagant delicacies, having been used to more frugal bush diet
on his previous trips. But I considered that now we were homeward bound
we could afford to use up our reserve of luxuries.
And, speaking of luxuries, it was here that our personal boys had the
feed of their lives. It came about in this way. At different places
along the road I had bought a number of chickens, mainly on the
strength of the assertions of the sellers regarding their unrivalled
powers as layers, and these we carried with us in a big native coop,
releasing them at the end of each stage in order that they might give
free play to their supposed egg-laying proclivities. I write "supposed"
advisedly, for with the exception of one little bird, who did her duty
regularly by laying one egg at practically every place we stayed at,
hardly one single egg did the others produce between the lot of them.
Until we got to Nambiri! Then they laid no fewer than five. This was
all right--if they hadn't chosen to lay them in my bed. Moreover, I did
not discover the whereabouts of the eggs until I went to lay down at
night, and then only through making an improvised omelette of them.
Being new laid, fortunately, there was naturally no smell, but the mess
was awful. I would not have believed that five small eggs--and African
hens' eggs are exceedingly small--could have made one's bed in such
a state, to say nothing of one's night attire. Next morning I gave
away all my chickens--bar the regular-laying one--to our boys, who ate
them that night for supper. I also told Schomburgk about my mishap,
expecting him to condole with me. Instead he laughed himself nearly
into a fit; and when he had somewhat recovered, he started telling me
about a fox-terrier bitch he once owned, and who had deposited six
"new-laid puppies" in his bed. "And when I started to get in between
the sheets," he began; but I stopped my ears and ran away, refusing to
hear any more. Men are so unsympathetic.
We are now in the heart of the Konkombwa country, and Schomburgk
decided to stay over here for a couple of days in order to film
these most interesting savages. Everywhere around us the country is
most densely populated, little villages peeping through the trees
wherever one turns one's gaze, and we expected that we should have no
difficulty, therefore, in inducing sufficient numbers of natives to
attend. But in the beginning there was a hitch. Schomburgk had sent
round word for them to come up to the camp in the afternoon for a
dance, and they duly turned up, but undecorated. This, of course, was
not at all what we wanted, and Schomburgk asked them why they had left
off their head-dresses and other ornaments. They replied that it was
because they were afraid that the white men would take them from them;
but on receiving his personal assurance that nothing would be taken
from them by force, but only on fair payment, and even then not unless
they were perfectly willing to sell, they agreed to come the next day
dressed in their best.