SEPARATION OF THE TRAVELLERS.—THE BORDER DISTRICTS OF THE INDEPENDENT
PAGAN CONFEDERATION.—TASÁWA.
_Friday, Jan. 10._—The important day had arrived when we were to separate
not only from each other, but also from the old chief Annur, upon whom
our fortunes had been dependent for so long a period. Having concealed
his real intentions till the very last moment, he at length, with seeming
reluctance, pretended that he was going first to Zínder. He confided me,
therefore, to the care of his brother Elaiji, a most amiable old man,
only a year younger than himself, but of a very different character, who
was to take the lead of the salt caravan to Kanó, and he promised me that
I should arrive there in safety.
I had been so fortunate as to secure for myself, as far as that place,
the services of Gajére, who was settled in Tágelel, where he was regarded
as Ánnur’s chief slave, or overseer (“babá-n-báwa”). This man I hired,
together with a mare of his, for myself, and a very fine pack-ox for that
part of my luggage which my faithful camel, the Bu-Séfi, was unable to
carry. Ánnur, I must say, behaved excellently towards me in this matter;
for, having called me and Gajére into his presence, he presented his
trusty servant, before all the people, with a red bernús on my account,
enjoining him in the strictest terms to see me safe to Kanó.
And so I separated from our worthy old friend with deep and sincere
regret. He was a most interesting specimen of an able politician and a
peaceful ruler, in the midst of wild, lawless hordes; and I must do him
the justice of declaring that he behaved, on the whole, exceedingly well
towards us. I cannot avoid expressing the sorrow I afterwards felt on
account of the step which Mr. Richardson thought himself justified in
taking as soon as he had passed from the hands of Ánnur into those of the
authorities of Bórnu, viz., to urge the sheikh of that country to claim
restitution from the former, not only for the value of the things taken
from us by the bordering tribes of the desert, but even of part of the
sum which we had paid to Ánnur himself. Such conduct, it appeared to me,
was not only impolitic, but unfair. It was impolitic, because the claim
could be of no avail, and would only serve to alienate from us a man whom
we had succeeded in making our friend; and it was unfair, for, although
the sum which we had given to the chief was rather large in proportion
to our limited means, we were not compelled to pay it, but were simply
given to understand that, if we wanted the chief himself to accompany
us, we must contribute so much. I became fully aware of the unfavourable
effect which Mr. Richardson’s proceedings in this respect produced, on
the occasion of a visit which I paid the old chief in the beginning of
the year 1853, when passing through Zínder on my way to Timbúktu. He then
mentioned the circumstance with much feeling, and asked me if, judging
from his whole behaviour towards us, he had deserved to be treated as a
robber.
But to return to Tágelel, when I shook hands with the “sófo” he was
sitting, like a patriarch of old, in the midst of his slaves and free
men, male and female, and was dividing amongst them presents, such as
shawls and turkedies, but principally painted arm-rings of clay, imported
from Egypt, and of which the women of these districts are passionately
fond. Mr. Richardson being ready to start, I took a hearty farewell of
him, fixing our next place of meeting in Kúkawa, about the 1st of April.
He was tolerably well at the time, although he had shown evident symptoms
of being greatly affected by the change from the fine fresh air of the
mountainous district of Aír to the sultry climate of the fertile lands
of Negroland; and he was quite incapable of bearing the heat of the sun,
for which reason he always carried an umbrella, instead of accustoming
himself to it by degrees. There was some sinister foreboding in the
circumstance that I did not feel sufficient confidence to intrust to
his care a parcel for Europe. I had sealed it expressly that he might
take it with him to Kúkawa, and send it off from that place with his own
despatches immediately after his arrival; but at the moment of parting
I preferred taking it myself to Kanó. All my best friends amongst the
Kél-owí were also going to Zínder, in order, as they said, to accompany
their master, although only a small part of the salt caravan followed
that route. Overweg and I remained together for two or three days longer.
I felt happy in the extreme when I found myself once more on horseback,
however deficient in beauty my little mare might be; for few energetic
Europeans, I think, will relish travelling for any length of time on
camel’s back, as they are far too dependent on the caprice of the animal.
We set out at half-past seven o’clock, and soon passed on our right a
village, and then a second one, which I think was Dákari, where a noble
lady of handsome figure, and well mounted upon a bullock, joined the
caravan. She was seated in a most comfortable large chair, which was
fastened on the bullock’s back. We afterwards passed on our right the
town of Olalówa, situated on a low range of hills. In the lower plain,
into which we next descended, I observed the first regular ant-hill.
Small groups of corn-stacks, or rumbús, further on, dotted a depression
or hollow, which was encompassed on both sides with gently sloping hills.
Here I had to leave the path of the caravan with my new companion Gajére,
who was riding the bullock, in order to water our two beasts, a duty
which now demanded our chief attention every day.
[Illustration]
At length we reached the watering-place of Gílmirám, consisting of a
group of not less than twenty wells, but all nearly dry. The district
of Damerghú must sometimes suffer greatly from drought. The horses and
cattle of the village were just coming to be watered; what time and pains
it must take to satisfy a whole herd, when we were scarcely able to
water our two animals! Passing along through thick underwood, where the
“kálgo,” with its large dry leaves of olive hue, and its long red pods
similar to those of the kharúb-tree, but much larger, predominated almost
exclusively, and leaving the village Maihánkuba on our right, we at last
overtook the caravan; for the Ásbenáwa pack-oxen are capable of carrying
heavy loads at a very expeditious pace, and in this respect leave far
behind them the pack-oxen of the fertile regions of Negroland. We now
kept along through the woody region, where the tree “góshi,” with an
edible fruit, was most frequent. We encamped in a thickly wooded hollow,
when my sociable companion Gajére, as well by the care he took for our
evening fire (which he arranged in the most scientific way) as by the
information he gave me with regard to the routes leading from Zínder to
Kanó, contributed greatly to the comfort and cheerfulness of our bivouac.
I first learned from him that there are four different routes from Zínder
to Kanó, one route, the westernmost, passing by Dáura; the second,
passing by Kazáure; the third, by Garú-n-Gedúnia; the fourth, by Gúmmel
(or, as he pronounced it, Gúmiel), gari-n-serki-n-Da-n-Tanóma, this being
the easternmost and longest route. Gajére himself was only acquainted
with the third route, the stations of which are as follows.
Starting from Zínder, you sleep the first night in Gógo, the second in
Mokókia, the third in Zólunzólun, the fourth in Magária, the fifth in
Túnfushí, the sixth in Garú-n-Gedúnia, from whence it is three days’
journey to Kanó.
_Saturday, Jan. 11._—My people, Gajére, and myself started considerably
in advance of the caravan, in order to water the animals at our leisure,
and fill the water-skins. It was a beautiful morning, and our march a
most pleasant one; a tall sort of grass, called “gámba,” covered the
whole ground. Thus we went on cheerfully, passing by a well at present
dry, situated in a small hollow, and surrounded with fine trees which
were enlivened by numbers of Guinea-fowl and wild pigeons. Beyond this
spot the country became more open, and about five miles from the well we
reached the pond, or “tébki-n-rúwa Kúdura,” close on the right of our
path. It was already partly dried up, and the water had quite a milky
colour, from the nature of the ground, which consists of a whitish clay;
but during the rainy season, and for some time afterwards, when all
the trees which surround it in its dry state stand in the midst of the
water, it is of considerable size. There are a great many kálgo-trees
here. We also met a small troop of men very characteristic of the country
we had entered, being wanton in behaviour and light in dress, having
nothing on but short shirts, the colour of which had once been dark
blue, and diminutive straw hats, while all their luggage consisted of a
small leathern bag with pounded “géro” or millet, some gourd bottles to
contain the fura, besides two or three drinking-vessels. One of them,
an exceedingly tall fellow, rode a horse scarcely able to carry him,
though the cavalier was almost as lean as his Rosinante. Soon afterwards
the pond became enlivened by the arrival of a caravan of pack-oxen,
everything indicating that we had reached a region where intercourse was
easy and continuous.
We remained here nearly two hours, till the “aïri” came up, when we
joined it, and soon discovered the reason of their being so long; for in
the thick underwood the long strings of camels could not proceed fast,
and the stoppages were frequent. We then met another small caravan. At
a quarter past four in the afternoon we encamped in a locality called
Amsúsu, in the midst of the forest. We were busy pitching the tent, when
a body of about sixteen horsemen came up, all dressed in the Tuarek
fashion, but plainly indicating their intermixture with the Háusa people
by their less muscular frame and by the variety of their dress; and in
fact they all belonged to that curious mulatto tribe called Búzu (_pl._
Búzawe). They were going on a “yáki,” but whether against the Awelímmiden
or the Féllani I could not learn at the time; the latter, however, proved
to be the case.
The earth hereabouts was filled with a peculiar kind of small worms,
which greatly annoyed any person lying on the bare ground, so that I was
very fortunate in having my “gadó” with me. A bedstead of some kind is
a most necessary piece of furniture for an African traveller, as I have
already remarked on a previous occasion; but it should be of a lighter
description than my heavy boards, which, notwithstanding their thickness,
were soon split, and at length smashed to pieces, in the thick forests
through which we often had to pass. Our bivouac in the evening round our
fire was exceedingly agreeable, the staid and grave demeanour of my burly
and energetic companion imposing even upon the frivolous Mohammed, who at
this time behaved much better than usual. Gajére informed me that the
direct western road from here to Tasáwa passed by the village Gárari, the
pond Úrafa, the well Jíga, and by Birni-n-Tázin, while we were to follow
an eastern road. Not far from our encampment, eastward, was a swamp named
Tágelel.
_Sunday, Jan. 12._—Several camels were missing in the morning, as was
indeed very natural in a country like this, thickly covered with trees
and underwood. Soon, however, a tremendously shrill cry, passing from
troop to troop, and producing altogether a most startling effect,
announced that the animals had been found; and a most interesting and
lively scene ensued, each party, scattered as the caravan was through
the forest, beginning to load their camels on any narrow open space at
hand. The sky was thickly overcast, and the sun did not break forth till
after we had gone some three or four miles. We passed a beautiful tsámia,
or tamarind-tree, which was, I think, the first full-grown tree of this
species we had seen, those in Tágelel being mere dwarfs. Having descended
a little, we passed at eleven o’clock a small hamlet or farming village
called Kauye-n-Sálakh, and I afterwards observed the first tulip-tree,
splendidly covered with the beautiful flower, just open in all the
natural finery of its colours, while not a single leaf adorned the tree.
I think this was the first tree of the kind we had passed on our road,
although Overweg (whose attention I drew to it) asserted that he had seen
specimens of it the day before; nevertheless I doubt their having escaped
my observation, as I took the greatest interest in noting down accurately
where every new species of plant first appeared. At four o’clock in the
afternoon we saw the first cotton-fields, which alternated with the
corn-fields most agreeably. The former are certainly the greatest and
most permanent ornament of any landscape in these regions, the plant
being in leaf at almost every season of the year, and partly even in a
state of fructification; but a field of full-grown cotton-plants, in
good order, is very rarely met with in these countries, as they are left
generally in a wild state, overgrown with all sorts of rank grass. A
little beyond these fields we pitched our tent.
_Monday, Jan. 13._—We started at rather a late hour, our road being
crossed by a number of small paths which led to watering-places; and we
were soon surrounded by a great many women from a neighbouring village
called Baíbay, offering for sale, to the people of the caravan, “godjía,”
or ground-nuts, and “dákkwa,” a sort of dry paste made of pounded
Guinea-corn (_Pennisetum_), with dates and an enormous quantity of
pepper. This is the meaning of dákkwa in these districts; it is however,
elsewhere used as a general term signifying only paste, and is often
employed to denote a very palatable sort of sweetmeat made of pounded
rice, butter, and honey. We then passed on our left the fields of the
village, those near the road being well and carefully fenced, and lying
around the well, where half the inhabitants of the place were assembled
to draw water, which required no small pains, the depth of the well
exceeding twenty fathoms. Attempting to water the horse, I found that the
water was excessively warm; unfortunately, I had not got my thermometer
with me, but resolved to be more careful in future. On passing the
village, we were struck by the neatness with which it was fenced on
this side; and I afterwards learned by experience what a beautiful and
comfortable dwelling may be arranged with no other material than reeds
and corn-stalks. The population of these villages consists of a mixture
of Mohammedans and Pagans, but I think the majority of the inhabitants
are Mohammedans.
After a short interval of woody country, we passed a village of the name
of Chirák, with another busy scene round the well. In many districts in
Central Africa the labour of drawing water, for a portion of the year,
is so heavy that it occupies the greater part of the inhabitants half
the day; but fortunately, at this season, with the exception of weaving
a little cotton, they have no other employment, while during the season
when agricultural labours are going on water is to be found everywhere,
and the wells are not used at all. Búzawe are scattered everywhere
hereabouts, and infuse into the population a good deal of Berber blood.
Very pure Háusa is spoken.
It was near Chirák that Overweg, who had determined to go directly to
Tasáwa, in order to commence his intended excursion to Góber and Marádi,
separated from me. This was indeed quite a gallant commencement of his
undertaking, as he had none of Ánnur’s people with him, and besides
Ibrahím and the useful snake-like Amánkay (who had recovered from his
guineaworm), his only companion was a Tébu who had long been settled in
Asben, and whom he had engaged for the length of his intended trip. At
that time he had still the firm intention to go to Kúkawa by way of Kanó,
and begged me to leave his things there. He was in excellent health, and
full of an enthusiastic desire to devote himself to the study of the new
world which opened before us; and we parted with a hearty wish for each
other’s success in our different quarters before we were to meet again
in the capital of Bórnu; for we did not then know that we should have an
interview in Tasáwa.
I now went on alone, but felt not at all depressed by solitude, as I had
been accustomed from my youth to wander about by myself among strange
people. I felt disposed, indeed, to enter into a closer connection with
my black friend Gajére, who was very communicative, but oftentimes rather
rude, and unable to refrain from occasionally mocking the stranger who
wanted to know everything, and would not acknowledge Mohammed in all
his prophetic glory. He called my attention to several new kinds of
trees while we were passing the two villages Bagángaré and Tangónda.
There was the “baushi,” the “karámmia,” and the “gónda,” the last being
identical with the _Carica Papaya_, and rather rare in the northern parts
of Negroland, but very common in the country between Kátsena and Núpe,
and scattered in single specimens over all the country from Kanó and
Gújeba southwards to the river Bénuwé; but at that time I was ignorant
that it bore a splendid fruit, with which I first became acquainted in
Kátsena. The whole country, indeed, had a most interesting and cheerful
appearance, villages and corn-fields succeeding each other with only
short intervals of thick, underwood, which contributed to give richer
variety to the whole landscape, while the ground was undulating, and
might sometimes even be called hilly. We met a numerous herd of fine
cattle belonging to Gozenákko, returning to their pasture-grounds
after having been watered, the bulls all with the beautiful hump,
and of fine strong limbs, but of moderate size and with small horns.
Scarcely had this moving picture passed before our eyes, when another
interesting and characteristic procession succeeded—a long troop of
men, all carrying on their heads large baskets filled with the fruit
of the góreba (_Cucifera_, or _Hyphæne Thebaïca_), commonly called the
gingerbread-tree, which, in many of the northern districts of Negroland,
furnishes a most important article of food, and certainly seasons many
dishes very pleasantly, as I shall have occasion to mention in the course
of my narrative. Further on, the fields were enlivened with cattle
grazing in the stubble, while a new species of tree, the “kírria,”
attracted my attention.
Thus we reached Gozenákko; and while my servants Mohammed and the Gatróni
went with the camel to the camping ground, I followed my sturdy overseer
to the village in order to water the horse; for though I might have sent
one of my men afterwards, I preferred taking this opportunity of seeing
the interior of the village. It is of considerable size, and consists
of a town and its suburbs, the former being surrounded with a “kéffi,”
or close stockade of thick stems of trees, while the suburbs are ranged
around without any enclosure or defence. All the houses consist of
conical huts, made entirely of stalks and reeds, and great numbers of
little granaries were scattered among them. As it was about half-past two
in the afternoon, the people were sunk in slumber or repose, and the well
was left to our disposal; afterwards, however, we were obliged to pay for
the water. We then joined the caravan, which had encamped at no great
distance eastward of the village, in the stubble-fields. These, enlivened
as they were by a number of tall fan-palms, besides a variety of other
trees, formed a very cheerful open ground for our little trading-party,
which, preparing for a longer stay of two or three days, had chosen its
ground in a more systematic way, each person arranging his “tákrufa,” or
the straw sacks containing the salt, so as to form a barrier open only
on one side, in the shape of an elongated horseshoe, in the recess of
which they might stow away their slender stock of less bulky property,
and sleep themselves, while, in order to protect the salt from behind, a
light stockade of the stalks of Guinea-corn was constructed on that side;
for having now exchanged the regions of highway robbers and marauders for
those of thieves, we had nothing more to fear from open attacks, but a
great deal from furtive attempts by night.
Scarcely had our people made themselves comfortable, when their appetite
was excited by a various assortment of the delicacies of the country,
clamorously offered for sale by crowds of women from the village. The
whole evening a discordant chime was rung upon the words “nóno” (sour
milk), “may” (butter), “dodówa” (the vegetable paste above mentioned),
“kúka” (the young leaves of the _Adansonia_, which are used for making
an infusion with which meat or the “túwo” is eaten), and “yáru da
dária.” The last of these names, indeed, is one which characterizes and
illustrates the cheerful disposition of the Háusa people; for the literal
meaning of it is “the laughing boy,” or “the boy to laugh,” while it
signifies the sweet ground-nut, which if roasted is indeed one of the
greatest delicacies of the country. Reasoning from subsequent experience,
I thought it remarkable that no “túwo” (the common paste or hasty pudding
made of millet, called “fufu” on the western coast), which forms the
ordinary food of the natives, was offered for sale; but it must be borne
in mind that the people of Asben care very little about a warm supper,
and like nothing better than the fura or ghussub-water, and the corn in
its crude state, only a little pounded. To this circumstance the Arabs
generally attribute the enormous and disgusting quantity of lice with
which the Kél-owí, even the very first men of the country, are covered.
I was greatly disappointed in not being able to procure a fowl for my
supper. The breeding of fowls seems to be carried on to a very small
extent in this village, although they are in such immense numbers in
Damerghú that a few years ago travellers could buy “a fowl for a needle.”
_Tuesday, Jan. 14._—Seeing that we should make some stay here, I had
decided, upon visiting the town of Tasáwa, which was only a few miles
distant to the west, but deferred my visit till the morrow, in order to
see the town in the more interesting phase of the “káswa-n-Láraba,” or
the Wednesday market. However, our encampment, where I quietly spent
the day, was itself changed into a lively and bustling market, and even
during the heat of the day the discordant cries of the sellers did not
cease.
My intelligent and jovial companion meanwhile gave me some valuable
information with regard to the revenue of the wealthy governor of Tasáwa,
who in certain respects is an independent prince, though he may be
called a powerful vassal of the king or chief of Marádi. Every head of a
family in his territory pays him three thousand kurdí, as “kurdí-n-kay”
(head-money or poll-tax); besides, there is an ample list of penalties
(“kurdí-n-laefi”), some of them very heavy: thus, for example, the
fine for having flogged another man, or most probably for having given
him a sound cudgelling, is as much as ten thousand kurdí; for illicit
paternity, one hundred thousand kurdí—an enormous sum considering the
economic condition of the population, and which, I think, plainly proves
how rarely such a thing happens in this region; but of course where
every man may lawfully take as many wives as he is able to feed there is
little excuse for illicit intercourse. In case of wilful murder the whole
property of the murderer is forfeited, and is of right seized by the
governor.
Each village has its own mayor, who decides petty matters, and is
responsible for the tax payable within his jurisdiction. The king, or
paramount chief, has the power of life and death, and there is no appeal
from his sentence to the ruler of Marádi. However, he cannot venture
to carry into effect any measure of consequence without asking the
opinion of his privy council, or at least that of the ghaladíma or prime
minister, some account of whose office I shall have an opportunity of
giving in the course of my narrative. The little territory of Tasáwa
might constitute a very happy state if the inhabitants were left in
quiet; but they are continually harassed by predatory expeditions, and
even last evening, while we were encamped here, the Féllani drove away a
small herd of ten calves from the neighbouring village of Kálbo.
About noon the “salt” of the serkí-n-Kél-owí arrived with the people
of Olalówa, as well as that of Sálah Lúsu’s head man, who before had
always been in advance of us. In the evening I might have fancied
myself a prince, for I had a splendid supper, consisting of a fowl or
two, while a solitary maimólo cheered me with a performance on his
simple three-stringed instrument, which, however monotonous, was still
expressive of much feeling, and accompanied with a song in my praise.
_Wednesday, Jan. 15._—At the very dawn of day, to my great astonishment,
I was called out of the tent by Mohammed, who told me that Fárraji,
Lúsu’s man, our companion from Ghát, had suddenly arrived from Zínder
with three or four Bórnu horsemen, and had express orders with regard
to me. However, when I went out to salute him, he said nothing of his
errand, but simply told me that he wanted first to speak to Elaíji, the
chief of the caravan. I therefore went to the latter myself to know what
was the matter, and learnt from the old man that though he was not able
to make out all the terms of the letters of which Fárraji was the bearer,
one of which was written by the sheríf, and the other by Lúsu, he yet
understood that the horsemen had come with no other purpose but to take
me and Overweg to Zínder, without consulting our wishes, and that the
sheríf as well as Lúsu had instructed him to send us off in company with
these fellows, but that they had also a letter for Ánnur, who ought to
be consulted. As for himself, the old man (well aware of the real state
of affairs, and that the averment of a letter having arrived from the
consul at Tripoli, to the effect that till further measures were taken
with regard to our recent losses we ought to stay in Bórnu, was a mere
sham and fabrication) declared that he would not force us to do anything
against our inclination, but that we ought to decide ourselves what was
best to be done.
Having, therefore, a double reason for going to Tasáwa, I set out as
early as possible, accompanied by my faithless, wanton Tunisian shushán,
and by my faithful, sedate Tageláli overseer. The path leading through
the suburbs of Gozenákko was well fenced, in order to prevent any
violation of property; whereas on the western side of the village there
was scarcely any cultivated ground, and we soon entered upon a wilderness
where the “dúmmia” and the “karása” were the principal plants, when,
after a march of a little more than three miles, the wild thicket again
gave way to cultivated fields, and the town of Tasáwa appeared in the
distance, or rather (as is generally the case in these countries, where
the dwellings are so low, and where almost all the trees round the towns
are cut down, for strategical as well as economical reasons) the fine
shady trees in the interior of the town were seen, which make it a very
cheerful place. After two miles more, we reached the suburbs, and,
crossing them, kept along the outer ditch which runs round the stockade
of the town, in order to reach Al Wáli’s house, under whose special
protection I knew that Mr. Overweg had placed himself.
My friend’s quarters, into which we were shown, were very comfortable,
although rather narrow. They consisted of a courtyard, fenced with mats
made of reeds, and containing a large shed, or “runfá,” likewise built of
mats and stalks, and a tolerably spacious hut, the walls built of clay
(“bángo”), but with a thatched roof (“shíbki”). The inner part of it was
guarded by a cross wall from the prying of indiscreet eyes.
Overweg was not a little surprised on hearing the recent news, and we
sent for el Wákhshi, our Ghadámsi friend from Tin-téggana, in order to
consult him, as one who had long resided in these countries, and who, we
had reason to hope, would be uninfluenced by personal considerations. He
firmly pronounced his opinion that we ought not to go, and afterwards,
when Fárráji called Mánzo and Al Wáli to his aid, entered into a violent
dispute with these men, who advised us to go; but he went too far in
supposing that the letter had been written with a malicious intention.
For my part, I could well imagine that the step was authorized by the
Sheikh of Bórnu, or at least by his vizier, who might have heard long
ago of our intention to go to Kanó, as it had been even Mr. Richardson’s
intention to go there, which indeed he ought to have done in conformity
with his written obligations to Mohammed eʾ Sfáksi; they might therefore
have instructed the sheríf to do what he might think fit to prevent us
from carrying out our purpose. However, it seemed not improbable that
Lúsu had something to do with the affair. But it was absolutely necessary
for Mr. Overweg and myself, or for one of us at least, to go to Kanó,
as we had several debts to pay, and were obliged to sell the little
merchandise we had with us, in order to settle our affairs.
We were still considering the question, when we were informed that
our old protector the chief Ánnur had just arrived from Zínder; and I
immediately determined to go to see him in his own domain at Náchira,
situated at a little more than a mile north-east from Tasáwa. In passing
through the town I crossed the market-place, which at that time, during
the hot hours of the day, was very well frequented, and presented a busy
scene of the highest interest to a traveller emerging from the desert,
and to which the faint sparks of life still to be observed in Ágades
cannot be compared. A considerable number of cattle were offered for
sale, as well as six camels, and the whole market was surrounded by
continuous rows of runfás or sheds; but provisions and ready-dressed
food formed the staple commodity, and scarcely anything of value was
to be seen. On leaving the town I entered an open country covered
with stubble-fields, and soon reached that group of Náchira where the
chief had fixed his quarters. In front of the yard was a most splendid
tamarind-tree, such as I had not yet seen. Leaving my horse in its shade,
I entered the yard, accompanied by Gajére, and looked about for some
time for the great man, when at length we discovered him under a small
shed, or runfá, of a conical form, so low that we had passed it without
noticing the people collected in its shade. There he lay, surrounded
by his attendants, as was his custom in general when reposing in the
daytime, with no clothing but his trousers, while his shirt, rolled up,
formed a pillow to rest his left arm upon. He did not seem to be in the
best humour—at least he did not say a single cheerful word to me; and
though it was the very hottest time of the day, he did not offer me as
much as a draught of water. I had expected to be treated to a bowl of
well-soaked “fura” seasoned with cheese. But what astonished me more than
his miserly conduct (which was rather familiar to me) was that I learned
from his own mouth that he had not been to Zínder at all, whither we had
been assured he had accompanied Mr. Richardson, but that he had spent
all the time in Tágelel, from which place he had now come direct. I was
therefore the more certain that Lúsu had some part in the intrigues.
Ánnur, who had not yet received the letter addressed to him from Zínder,
knew nothing about it, and merely expressed his surprise that such a
letter had been written, without adding another word.
Seeing the old chief in a very cheerless humour, I soon left him, and
took a ramble with Gajére over the place. The estate is very extensive,
and consists of a great many clusters of huts scattered over the
fields, while isolated dúm-palms give to the whole a peculiar feature.
The people, all followers and mostly domestic slaves of Ánnur, seemed
to live in tolerable ease and comfort, as far as I was able to see,
my companion introducing me into several huts. Indeed, every candid
person, however opposed to slavery he may be, must acknowledge that the
Tuarek in general, and particularly the Kél-owí, treat their slaves
not only humanely, but even with the utmost indulgence and affability,
and scarcely let them feel their bondage at all. Of course there are
exceptions, as the cruelty of yoking slaves to a plough, and driving them
on with a whip (which I had witnessed in Aúderas), is scarcely surpassed
in any of the Christian slave-states; but these exceptions are extremely
rare.
When I returned from my ramble, Mr. Overweg had also arrived, and the
old chief had received the letter; and though neither he nor any of his
people could read it, he was fully aware of its contents, and disapproved
of it entirely, saying that we should act freely, and according to the
best of our knowledge. I then returned with my countryman into the town,
and remained some time with him. In front of his dwelling was encamped
the natron caravan of Al Wáli, which in a few days was to leave for
Núpe, or (as the Háusa people say) Nýffi. We shall have to notice very
frequently this important commerce, which is carried on between the
shores of the Tsád and Nýffi.
I left the town at about five o’clock, and feeling rather hungry on
reaching the encampment in Gozenákko, to the great amusement of our
neighbours, parodying the usual salute of “Iná labári” (What is the
news?) I asked my people immediately the news of our cooking-pot, “Iná
labári-n-tokónia” (What news of the pot?) I was greatly pleased with
my day’s excursion, for Tasáwa was the first large place of Negroland
proper which I had seen, and it made the most cheerful impression upon
me, as manifesting everywhere the unmistakable marks of the comfortable,
pleasant sort of life led by the natives: the courtyard fenced with a
“dérne” of tall reeds, excluding to a certain degree the eyes of the
passer-by, without securing to the interior absolute secrecy; then near
the entrance the cool shady place of the “runfá,” for ordinary business
and for the reception of strangers, and the “gída,” partly consisting
entirely of reed (“dáki-n-kára”) of the best wickerwork, partly built of
clay in its lower parts (“bóngo”), while the roof consists of reeds only
(“shíbki”), but of whatever material it may consist, it is warm and well
adapted for domestic privacy, the whole dwelling shaded with spreading
trees, and enlivened with groups of children, goats, fowls, pigeons, and,
where a little wealth had been accumulated, a horse or a pack-ox.
With this character of the dwellings, that of the inhabitants themselves
is in entire harmony, its most constant element being a cheerful
temperament, bent upon enjoying life, rather given to women, dance,
and song, but without any disgusting excess. Everybody here finds his
greatest happiness in a comely lass, and as soon as he makes a little
profit he adds a young wife to his elder companion in life, yet a man
has rarely more than two wives at a time. Drinking fermented liquor
cannot be strictly reckoned a sin in a place where a great many of the
inhabitants are Pagans; but a drunken person, nevertheless, is scarcely
ever seen; those who are not Mohammedans only indulge in their “gíya,”
made of sorghum, just enough to make them merry and enjoy life with more
light-heartedness. There was at that time a renegade Jew in the place,
called Músa, who made spirits of dates and tamarinds for his own use.
Their dress is very simple, consisting, for the man, of a wide shirt and
trousers, mostly of a dark colour, while the head is generally covered
with a light cap of cotton cloth, which is negligently worn, in all
sorts of fashions. Others wear a rather closely fitting cap of green
cloth, called báki-n-záki. Only the wealthier amongst them can afford
the “zénne,” or shawl, thrown over the shoulder like the plaid of the
Highlanders. On their feet the richer class wear very neat sandals, such
as we shall describe among the manufactures of Kanó.
As for the women, their dress consists almost entirely of a large cotton
cloth, also of dark colour—the “túrkedi,” fastened under or above the
breast—the only ornament of the latter in general consisting of some
strings of glass beads worn round the neck. The women are tolerably
handsome, and have pleasant features; but they are worn out by excessive
domestic labour, and their growth never attains full and vigorous
proportions. They do not bestow so much care upon their hair as the
Féllani or some of the Bagírmi people.
There are in the town a good many “Búzawe,” or Tuarek half-castes, who
distinguish themselves in their dress principally by the “ráwani,” or
tesílgemíst (the lithám), of white or black colour, which they wind
round their head in the same way as the Kél-owí; but their mode of
managing the tuft of hair left on the top of the head is not always the
same, some wearing their curled hair all over the crown of the head,
while others leave only a long tuft, which was the old fashion of the
Zenágha. The Pagan inhabitants of this district wear, in general, only
a leathern apron (“wuélki”); but, with the exception of young children,
none are seen here quite naked. The town was so busy, and seemed so
well inhabited, that on the spot I estimated its population at fifteen
thousand; but this estimate is probably too high.
_Thursday, Jan. 16._—We still remained near Gozenákko, and I was busy
studying Temáshight, after which I once more went over the letter of
the Sheríf el Fási, Háj Beshír’s agent in Zínder; and having become
fully aware of the dictatorial manner in which he had requested Elaíji
to forward me and Mr. Overweg to him (just as a piece of merchandise),
without asking our consent, I sat down to write him a suitable answer,
assuring him that, as I was desirous of paying my respects to the son
of Mohammed el Kánemi and his enlightened vizier, I would set out for
their residence as soon as I had settled my affairs in Kanó, and that I
was sure of attaining my ends without his intervention, as I had not the
least desire to visit him.
This letter, as subsequent events proved, grew into importance, for the
sheríf, being perplexed by its tone, sent it straight on to Kúkawa,
where it served to introduce me at once to the sheikh and his vizier.
But the difficulty was to send it off with the warlike messengers who
had brought the sheríf’s letters, as they would not go without us, and
swore that their orders, from the sheríf as well as from Serk’ Ibrám,
were so peremptory that they should be utterly disgraced if they returned
empty-handed. At length, after a violent dispute with Fárráji and these
warlike-looking horsemen, the old chief, who took my part very fairly,
finished the matter by plainly stating that if we ourselves, of our own
free will, wanted to go, we might do so, but if we did not wish to go,
instead of forcing us, he would defend us against anybody who should
dare to offer us violence. Nevertheless the messengers would not depart,
and it seemed impossible to get rid of them till I made each of them a
present of two mithkáls, when they mounted their horses with a very bad
grace, and went off with my letter. The energetic and straightforward
but penurious old chief left us in the afternoon, and rode to Kálgo, a
village at no great distance.
_Friday, Jan. 17._—Still another day of halt, in order, as I was told,
to allow Háj ʿAbdúwa’s salt caravan to come up and join us. Being tired
of the camp, I once more went into the town to spend my day usefully
and pleasantly; leaving all my people behind, I was accompanied by some
of my fellow-travellers of the caravan. Arriving at Overweg’s quarters,
what was my surprise to find Fárráji not yet gone, but endeavouring to
persuade my companion, with all the arts of his barbarous eloquence,
that though I should not go, he at least might, in which case he would
be amply rewarded with the many fine things which had been prepared in
Zínder for our reception. The poor fellow was greatly cast down when
he saw me, and soon made off in very bad humour, while I went with
Overweg to el Wákhshi, who was just occupied in that most tedious of
all commercial transactions in these countries, namely, the counting of
shells; for in all these inland countries of Central Africa the cowries,
or kurdí (_Cypræa moneta_), are not, as is customary in some regions
near the coast, fastened together in strings of one hundred each, but
are separate, and must be counted one by one. Even those “tákrufa” (or
sacks made of rushes), containing twenty thousand kurdí each, as the
governors of the towns are in the habit of packing them up, no private
individual will receive without counting them out. The general custom
in so doing is to count them by fives, in which operation some are very
expert, and then, according to the amount of the sum, to form heaps of
two hundred (or ten háwiyas[13]) or a thousand each. Having at length
succeeded, with the help of some five or six other people, in the really
heroic work of counting five hundred thousand shells, our friend went
with us to the sick Sultan Mazáwaji; I say Sultan, as it is well for a
traveller to employ these sounding titles of petty chiefs, which have
become naturalized in the country from very ancient times, although it is
very likely that foreign governments would be unwilling to acknowledge
them. The poor fellow, who was living in a hut built half of mud, half
of reeds, was suffering under a dreadful attack of dysentery, and
looked like a spectre; fortunately my friend succeeded in bringing on
perspiration with some hot tea and a good dose of peppermint, in the
absence of stronger medicines. We then went to the house of Amánkay,
that useful fellow so often mentioned in the Journal of the late Mr.
Richardson, and by myself. He was a “búzu” of this place, and had many
relatives here, all living near him. His house was built in the general
style, but the interior of the courtyard was screened from profane eyes.
Fortunately I had taken with me some small things, such as mirrors,
English darning-needles, and some knives, so that I was able to give a
small present to each of his kinsmen and relatives, while he treated us
with a calabash of fura.
In the afternoon we strolled a long time about the market, which, not
being so crowded as the day before yesterday, was on that account far
more favourable for observation. Here I first saw and tasted the bread
made of the fruit of the magária-tree, and called “túwo-n-magária,” which
I have mentioned before, and was not a little astonished to see whole
calabashes filled with roasted locusts (“fará”), which occasionally
form a considerable part of the food of the natives, particularly if
their grain has been destroyed by this plague, as they can then enjoy
not only the agreeable flavour of the dish, but also take a pleasant
revenge on the ravagers of their fields. Every open space in the midst
of the market-place was occupied by a fireplace (“maidéffa”) on a raised
platform, on which diminutive morsels of meat, attached to a small stick,
were roasting, or rather stewing, in such a way that the fat, trickling
down from the richer pieces attached to the top of the stick, basted the
lower ones. These dainty bits were sold for a single shell, or “urí,”[14]
each. I was much pleased at recognizing the red cloth which had been
stolen from my bales in the valley of Afís, and which was exposed here
for sale. But the most interesting thing in the town was the “máriná”
(the dyeing-place), near the wall, consisting of a raised platform of
clay with fourteen holes or pits, in which the mixture of indigo is
prepared, and the cloths remain for a certain length of time, from one
to seven days, according to the colour which they are to attain. It is
principally this dyeing, I think, which gives to many parts of Negroland
a certain tincture of civilization, a civilization which it would be
highly interesting to trace, if it were possible, through all the stages
of its development.
While rambling about, Overweg and I for a while were greatly annoyed
by a tall fellow, very respectably and most picturesquely dressed, who
professed himself to be a messenger from the governor of Kátsena, sent to
offer us his compliments and to invite us to go to him. Though the thing
was not altogether impossible, it looked rather improbable; and having
thanked him profusely for his civility, we at length succeeded in getting
rid of him. In the evening I returned to our camping ground with Ídder,
the Emgédesi man mentioned in a preceding part of my narrative, and was
very glad to receive reliable information that we were to start the
following day.