I CHANGE MY IDENTITY.
When I had pushed my way through the undergrowth to the path, I did
not at once turn back towards the road, for I reflected that by this
time the hue and cry was no doubt raised, and Annan might quite
possibly explore this very path in search of me. That he would let me
go, without making an effort to detain me, I did not imagine for an
instant, for he had heard the chink of the gold in my purse and had
probably surmised that it represented more than the value of all the
monkey skins he was likely to secure. So instead of returning to the
road I walked off briskly in the opposite direction, and had not gone
very far when I made a curious and very pleasing discovery; for there
came through the forest, faintly but quite distinctly, the sound of
voices.
I stopped and listened intently, and soon made out that what I heard
was not the deep discordant jabber of our carriers, but the sharp,
high-pitched tone characteristic of the Hausa and Fulah races. My
Hausa friends were at no great distance to the right of the path, and
seemed to be coming nearer.
The African forest roads have a peculiarity, which they share with
certain rivers like the Amazon and the Mississippi--they are never
stationary but are continually altering their position from side to
side. When a large tree falls and obstructs the road, isolated
travellers, like our party, will climb over it; but a large and
heavily-laden caravan will find it easier to cut a fresh path round
the obstruction, and this new path will thenceforth be used by all
persons passing along. Meanwhile, the fallen tree slowly decays, but
long before it has disappeared a young growth of forest has sprung up
around it. Thus the new path becomes permanent and a curve of fifty or
sixty yards in span becomes added to the road. By a continual
repetition of this process the road becomes, in the course of time, a
succession of serpentine curves, which meander far away from the
original direction, their extreme sinuosity being disguised somewhat
by the density of the forest growth, until some hunter from an
adjacent village restores the road to its original direction by
cutting a straight path across the loop, thus saving a circuit of
perhaps several miles.
Now, this path upon which I had lighted was one of these short cuts,
while the road along which the Hausas and Annan were travelling, was
the original winding track; and I perceived that if I made haste I
might come out upon the road ahead of both parties.
I therefore hurried forward as well as I could, encumbered with the
various articles that I had not yet had time to make into a bundle,
and in about a quarter of an hour reached the place where the path
rejoined the road. Here I stood and listened for a while, but could at
first hear nothing but the ordinary sounds of the forest: the
chattering of monkeys, the trumpeting of a hornbill, and the squawking
of parrots.
At length a high falsetto laugh came faintly through the woods, and
feeling secure now that the Hausas were behind me, I walked slowly on.
By this time the sun was getting low, and it was necessary for me to
be careful that I did not overshoot the mark and get ahead of the
Hausas’ camping place for the night; and I was just thinking of
sitting down and waiting for them to overtake me, when a turn of the
road brought me out into a small grassy opening, through the middle of
which ran a brawling muddy stream. This, I thought, would make an
ideal camping place, and here the Hausas would probably halt, so I
determined to await their arrival, and set about making my
preparations. First, with the aid of my large handkerchief and the
thin stem of a creeper, I made my more bulky possessions into a small
parcel, to which I lashed the masa bag and the remainder of the bunch
of plantains that I had brought from the deserted village; then I put
off my slippers and paddled in the muddy stream for a time, for I
feared that the whiteness and tenderness of my feet would attract
immediate attention unless I could get them well stained by the red
clay. Finally I laid down my shawl on the ground and standing on it
with my back to the setting sun, began to pray aloud in the Moslem
fashion.
I was quite disconcerted and bashful when my loudly intoned “Allah!”
first broke the stillness of the forest, and I had some difficulty in
giving the true falsetto turn at the end of the sentence, but a few
minutes’ practice improved my style and gave me confidence; and by the
time the voices of the Hausas began to sound plainly through the
woods, I was chanting away as though to the manner born. At length,
advancing footsteps were audible close at hand. I prostrated myself on
the ground--cautiously, for fear I should knock off my turban--and as,
with the tail of my eye, I saw the leader of the caravan come round
the bend in the road, I rose and sent forth a howl that would have
done credit to the Prophet himself.
The Hausas were evidently greatly surprised at my appearance, and
looked round with a puzzled air for any signs of companions; they did
not speak to me, however, but after a whispered consultation, sat down
at a little distance and waited for me to finish my devotions. When at
length I stepped off my shawl and put on my slippers, the old man came
forward and saluted me, and the others gathered round to listen.
“Are thy companions far away, child of my mother?” the old man
inquired.
“They are far away by now, my father,” I replied. “They were Wongára
who journeyed to Kong, and they turned off by the road to the left
this afternoon to avoid passing by Kumasi and Bekwe.”
“I saw no road to the left,” said the old man dubiously.
“He meaneth the little hunter’s path that we passed this afternoon,”
put in a sturdy fellow with a broad, jet-black face.
“It is as thy friend sayeth,” said I. “They went by the little
hunter’s path.”
“And whither dost thou go, friend?” asked the old man.
“I go to Sálaga by way of Kantámpo,” I replied.
“Thou art not heavily burdened,” remarked the old man significantly.
“The camel steppeth lightly that carrieth the merchant’s gold,” I
answered.
“It is true,” he rejoined. “And how do they call thee?”
“The Hausas call me Yúsufu Dan Égadesh, but some call me Yúsufu
Fuláni, for my mother was a woman of Futa.”
“I am called Musa Ba-Kachína,” said the old Hausa. “I go with my
friends to our country through Kantámpo and Gonja. If it please thee
to walk with us rather than to go alone through this wilderness, our
fire shall warm thee, and our roofs shelter thee, and thou shalt be as
our brother for the sake of the one God whom we all serve and who
guides us through the land of the heathen.”
“I will walk with thee, thankfully, my father,” said I, “and thou
shalt command me as thy servant while I continue with thee.”
My position as a member of the caravan being thus settled, the company
bestowed on me sundry smiles of friendly recognition and set to work
preparing for the night. To me was allotted the task of collecting
wood for the fire and staves for the huts, in which I was assisted by
the giant, whose name I found to be Abduláhi Dan-Daúra, more
familiarly known as Dan-jiwa (child of the elephant); an amiable and
joyous soul, as simple as a child, and as strong as a bull. I have
myself generally passed for a powerful man, but beside this
brown-skinned Titan I was like a young girl. The fashion in which he
twisted off great branches and snapped them across his knee was
perfectly amazing, and when I had been hacking ineffectually for five
minutes at some hard-wood sapling, he would come along laughing and,
with a flick of his great knife, snip it off as though it were a
radish.
We had soon collected a large heap of faggots and long straight poles,
and these Abduláhi proceeded to tie up with cords of tie-tie into
bundles proportionate to our respective sizes. I endeavoured to lift
his bundle on to his head, but could not move it, on which he laughed
in his soft girlish voice and hoisting it up lightly, tucked the
entire collection of poles under his arm and strolled off, leaving me
to follow shamefacedly with a small parcel of faggots.
When we returned to the clearing we found everyone busy and all
talking at once. A large heap of grass and leaves was ready for
covering the huts and making beds, and a little fire had been kindled
with a flint and steel.
“We are waiting for thee, Yúsufu,” said my black-skinned
friend--Mahama Dam-Bornu by name. “But I see thou art an idle fellow
to let the poor little Dan-jiwa carry all the wood.” There was a
general laugh at this, and I presently discovered that the
good-humoured Abduláhi was one of the two standing jokes of the
caravan, the other being a small man named Osumánu Ba-Kánu, but
familiarly known as Dam-biri (child of the monkey), a sobriquet due
partly to his remarkable agility and partly to his incorrigibly
mischievous disposition.
Musa himself attended to the building up of the fire while the
remainder of the company busied themselves in setting up the huts. And
here my nautical training was of great service, for although at the
outset I had no idea how such shelters were erected, yet my skill and
neatness in putting on the lashings of tie-tie earned me quite a
reputation as a builder, and the jocose Dam-biri christened me
Yasankengwa (cat’s fingers) on the spot.
The building proceeded with marvellous rapidity so that the daylight
had barely gone before our little village in the wilderness was
complete, and we sat down on the mats that Musa had placed round the
fire, to roast our plantains and make our evening meal.
It was a strange experience, and one that, though often repeated,
never lost its strangeness; to sit by the fire through the long
evening, with the clamour of the forest all around, and listen to the
familiar talk of my companions, and live the life of another world. It
was as though by some enchantment the scene of my existence had been
suddenly shifted to some remote period of antiquity, when the
civilisation of the West was yet unborn.
At first the men were somewhat silent, for they were tired and hungry,
and a meal of plantains involves a considerable amount of energetic
eating; but as the last of the food disappeared and the diners
cleansed their fingers with grass or leaves, each man settled himself
upon his mat and prepared to make a night of it by talking as only an
African can talk. And singularly sprightly and full of interest the
conversation was, for these Hausa merchants are great travellers and,
of course, make their long journeys either on foot or horseback; and a
man who has walked and ridden a few thousand miles through the heart
of Africa, will have gathered experiences that make his talk well
worth listening to.
Presently someone suggested that Dam-biri should regale the company
with a story, and accordingly, that humorist, being by no means
afflicted with shyness, at once plunged into a rambling tale, far more
remarkable for wit than delicacy, which related to the misfortunes of
an elderly mallam who had two young wives; and with such spirit and
drollery did the impish Dam-biri relate his story, standing up on his
mat to impersonate the different characters, that the forest rang with
our shouts of laughter until the pottos in the trees howled with
alarm.
But even an African cannot talk for ever, and as the night wore on,
one after another rose, yawned and went off to the huts; and at last,
to my relief--for I was quite spent with the fatigues and excitements
of the day--Musa stood up, touched me on the shoulder and retired into
one of the huts. I followed him and found the enormous body of
Dan-jiwa occupying half the floor, and I had hardly spread my shawl
and stretched myself out on it when I fell asleep.
We were just rolling up our mats after morning prayers on the
following day when an unmelodious jabber from the woods announced the
approach of travellers, and shortly afterwards my late companions
appeared round the bend of the road headed by David Annan.
The latter paused to exchange greetings, which were cool enough on the
part of the Hausas, and I noticed my big friend scanning the row of
carriers with a frown of curiosity.
“Where is the Anazára (Nazarene) who was with thee yesterday?” he
asked, looking Annan full in the face.
“The way was too rough for him,” replied the latter with some
confusion, “so he turned back towards the sea.”
“Alone?” inquired Dan-jiwa.
“He went alone. It is not far to Pra-su,” said Annan.
“I see that he has left with thee the box that he carried,” remarked
Musa suspiciously.
“And thou hast burst open the lock,” added Dam-Bornu; for my trunk,
which the wounded carrier had resumed, was now closed with a band of
tie-tie.
“He burst it himself. He had lost the key, and so broke open the box
that he might take his goods with him.” Then noting the undisguised
incredulity on the faces of his hearers Annan added excitedly, “I
swear it by my busum, by the great Busum-Pra. Look in my face and see
if I speak not the truth,” and he stared insolently at Abduláhi.
“We like better to look at thy back, friend,” replied Musa drily, and
turned away to tie up his mat, while the discomfitted Annan resumed
his journey.
We travelled on that day, with few halts, until sunset, and passed
through three villages, all of which were deserted, and one partially
burned; but at each of them we managed to collect a few plantains from
the grove outside the clearing, as well as some papaws, the
sickly-sweet flavour of which seemed to be much appreciated by my
comrades. We also passed two groups of decapitated corpses, the heads
of which had been carried off to decorate the war drums of the
victors, and as we camped at night not far from one of these
melancholy relics, we were greatly disturbed by the hyænas, whose
mournful howls, mingled with imbecile laughter, made it seem as though
the forest was tenanted by devils.
Early on the following morning we turned off the main road and took a
by-path that led north of Kókofu through Juábin, some distance to
the east of Kumasi; for Musa considered it highly unsafe to venture
into the vicinity of either Bekwe or Kumasi in the present state of
the country. We thus gradually drew away from the active centres of
warfare, and on the third day passed through a village on the borders
of Juábin, where we were greeted by the welcome sight of a woman
pounding fufu in a wooden mortar. We were not yet free, however, from
war’s alarms, for, later in the day, a body of some twenty or thirty
warriors filed swiftly and silently past us, and not long after, a
tremendous fusillade in the bush, accompanied by a Babel of shouts and
yells, told us that they had met their foe.
About noon next day the road entered one of the large kola plantations
which make this country so important to the Hausa trader; and a
wonderful sight it presented, since, owing to the war, the harvest had
been left ungathered, and the ground was literally covered with the
great pods and the magenta-coloured “nuts” or beans.
“Here is wealth going to waste!” exclaimed Dam-Bornu regretfully. “I
could pick up and carry away enough to buy me a strong slave in
Sálaga or even an ass to carry my goods for me.”
“There is no reason why we should not take a few nuts to chew as we
go,” said Dam-biri, “if we may not gather them as merchandise,” and he
commenced picking up the ripe nuts and dropping them into his pocket.
Now the pocket of a _riga_ occupies half the front of the garment and
will hold upwards of a bushel, and Dambiri continued to drop the nuts
into his riga until the huge receptacle was nearly full, a proceeding
that did not escape the notice of Musa.
“How wilt thou pay for all that _guru_, Dam-biri?” he asked. “I
thought thou hadst spent all thy money buying merchandise at Cape
Coast.”
“I take but a few to chew by the way,” protested Dam-biri.
“A few!” exclaimed the old man. “Thou hast nearly a slave’s load,” and
he caught the loose gown and unceremoniously tipped the whole cargo
out on to the ground.
At the further end of the plantation we entered a large straggling
village, in the main street of which a number of men were filling
sacks of plaited grass with kola nuts, having first lined the sacks
with fresh leaves. Their master, a swaggering over-dressed Wongára,
whose cheeks bulged with kola, stood hard by haggling with the head
man of the village and spitting out the orange-red juice as he talked.
It seemed that _guru_ was cheap just now, and my companions loudly
lamented their want of capital; for they had spent all that they
possessed at Cape Coast, on cutlery, silk, and other portable wares,
and had barely enough _kurdi_ (cowries) left to carry them home.
“Come now, Yúsufu,” said Musa to me, “thou art a big fellow and hast
no load to carry. Wilt thou not buy some _guru_ to sell at Kantámpo?
It shall pay thee well.”
“That will I gladly,” I replied, although I wished the _guru_ at
Jericho, “but thou and our brethren, will not you buy, too? You have
but small loads.”
“We have no money,” he replied.
“But I have,” I rejoined, “and if you will buy what you can carry, I
will lend you the money wherewith to pay, if the chief will accept the
gold coin of the Christians.”
“Thou art a good friend, Yúsufu,” said Musa. “I will speak with our
brethren and the man of the village.”
He did so, and my comrades accepted the loan thankfully, but the
headman made some difficulty about the sovereign that I tendered
through Musa, having never seen one before. However, the kola was
lying on the ground and the coin looked like gold, so he fetched from
his house a little pair of scales, and placing the sovereign in one
pan, laid in the other a bronze weight, formed of a tiny elephant upon
a pedestal, and a few scarlet jequirity seeds: by which process one
pound sterling was found to be equal to twenty-one thousand _kurdi_.
We spent that night in the village, sleeping in some stuffy malodorous
houses lent us by the chief, and when we departed in the morning each
of my companions carried on top of his bundle of merchandise a half
load of kola, while I staggered under a full sack weighing upwards of
sixty pounds, in addition to a smaller sack of cowrie shells--the
“change” that had been due to me after the kola was paid for.