+-----------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| _--By the Same Author--_ |
| |
| WILD LIFE IN CANADA |
| |
| With numerous Photographs by the Author. |
| Second Impression. |
| |
| THREE YEARS OF WAR IN EAST AFRICA |
| |
| With a Foreword by Lord Cranworth. |
| Illustrated by Photographs and Drawings from the |
| Author. Second Impression. |
| |
| _A selection of Press Opinions of the above |
| will be found at the end of this book_ |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration: OUT OF THE WORLD]
EXPLORATION OF AÏR
OUT OF THE WORLD
NORTH OF NIGERIA
BY ANGUS BUCHANAN, M.C.
AUTHOR OF “THREE YEARS OF WAR IN EAST
AFRICA,” AND
“WILD LIFE OF CANADA”
WITH NUMEROUS PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR
AND A MAP
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1921
All Rights Reserved
TO
MY FATHER
A THOROUGH SPORTSMAN OF
THE FINE OLD SCHOOL
PREFACE
A narrative of an odd undertaking to a foreign land. Odd, in the
first place, insomuch that for the greater part of a year a man’s
tongue was mute to the language of his race, for the land where he
travelled was native: first to the Hausa people; later to Hausa,
Beri-Beri, Fulani and Tuareg; and later still to Tuareg alone;
while over all there was a mere handful of French Europeans, who
were the military administrators of law and order.
The country was that known as the Territoire Militaire du Niger of
the Western Sudan, wherein, remote and in the midst of desolate
seas of sand, lies the wild brooding mountain country of Aïr or
Asben—which was the traveller’s goal.
It might be said that the traveller was a rude man, for he was
untutored in the deep studies of the scholar of many languages,
as in a measure might be expected and understood of one whose
occupation called him from day to day to don rough clothing and
shoulder a rifle and march outside the frontiers of civilisation.
Clumsy, therefore, were his beginnings in speech with the people
of the land; clumsy also his studies and understanding of all
things new and strange which unfolded before his eyes in that
amazing succession of novelty that taxes a balanced capacity of
observation when one stands spell-bound at the entrance of an
unexpected wonderland. Nevertheless, day by day, confusion became
less; small words came of many tongues; piece by piece threads
of understanding became woven into something durable and of the
character of trustworthiness.
So that to-day I—for, alas, I must use that personal pronoun
which is hateful to me, and admit that I am the traveller, so that
I may shoulder the full responsibility as to the faithfulness of
this narrative—have taken courage to tell my story with all its
shortcomings, but at the same time with an earnestness that may
in the end reveal, perhaps, the greater part of the picture of a
strange land as it appeared to me.
And I would tell you that it is a wholly pleasant task to sit
at home—_Home_, with all its repose and sweetness, neither
sun-exhausted nor limb-weary, and with a full repast at hand—and
look backward on the trail through the Sahara, and hear in
imagination the fierce wind that brings a blinding sandstorm on
its billows, and only have to write about it all.
But, though thus it is to-day, to-morrow or the day after I may be
gone once again to the uttermost corners of the world—for such
is my calling.
Some of my countrymen might envy me my to-morrow, some might pity
me; but to all I would say neither one thing nor another. Such
adventurings have their rare hours of pleasure and excitement
and their long weary periods of trial and endurance. He is wise
who knows the hazard of life stripped of all its romance and does
not expect to find either great compensation or great gladness in
strange lone lands—in the same way as they are seldom to be found
in any man’s labours of the commonplace day.
It is deep satisfaction to me to know that, so far as the collections
brought back are concerned, my labours have not been in vain, for it
is one of my greatest desires, and the desire, I am sure, of many
loyal-hearted men, to see Great Britain ever striving to continue
to hold the honourable and prominent place in the development of
the Natural History of the World which she has held in the Past. A
year or two ago there were numerous and able rivals in the field,
and Germany and America appeared to be on the verge of leading
the world in all scientific research. Though a set-back to the
former has occurred through the unfortunate circumstance of war,
rivalry of nations will undoubtedly continue in the labyrinths
of research, and, I trust, will be welcomed from any quarter as a
healthy element that will ever give incentive to the students and
scientific workers of this country to hold their own, and offer
inducement to public-spirited people to encourage and support their
commendable efforts.
The humble work, which in the following pages I venture upon, is
not in any way a treatise on Natural History, but is a narrative
descriptive of strange scenes and peoples in Out-of-the-World places
in which Aïr has prominent position. And Aïr, in the centre of
the Sahara, is unknown, or virtually unknown to English-speaking
people. The German explorer Dr. Barth, in his travels in Central
Africa, 70 years ago (1850-1), on behalf of the British Government,
passed through Aïr, and in his _Travels in Central Africa_ gave
some brief discursive description of the country, which is, so
far as I am aware, the only account of Aïr that we have in modern
English literature.
But to return to my first remark, there are other reasons than
that given in the first place for terming this an odd undertaking,
and they are that the journey, which totalled some 1,400 miles of
camel-travel, led to a land that was almost virgin to exploration
of any kind, and of which nothing was known; while by force of
circumstances it was decided for me that I must go on my long journey
alone if I wished to undertake it; and therefore, perforce, I set
out without the two or three good comrades that can help so greatly
to lighten burdens, real or imaginary, on long uncertain trails.
The primary object of the Expedition, which was undertaken in
the interests of the Right Honourable Lord Rothschild, was to
link up the chain of Zoological Geography across that portion of
Central Africa which lies between Algeria in Northern Africa and
Nigeria in West Africa. Previous research had advanced from the
south as far afield as Kano in Nigeria, and from the north to the
Ahaggar Mountains in the Sudan southwest of Fezzan. There remained
a great intermediate space unexplored by naturalists, wherein are
the French possessions known as the Territoire Militaire du Niger
and the unsettled mountainous region of Aïr or Asben; and it was
through those said countries that the expedition proposed to journey.
With regard to the term Aïr or Asben which is applied to the
great range of mountains which lie north of the region of Damergou,
I think it is a pity that there should exist the seeming doubt of
correct designation which the double title implies, and for my own
part I propose, through my narrative, to refer only to the country
as Aïr, which is the correct name in the language of the Tuaregs
who inhabit the region, whereas Asben is a Hausa name, and would
appear to have no particular claim to recognition since it is not
Hausa country in the present era, whatever it may have been in
the distant past, when tribal and religious wars were continually
forcing territories to change hands.
The altitude readings, which I note during the narrative, since
many of them have not been previously recorded, were taken with an
aneroid barometer set to sea level before starting on the expedition.
Although the expedition was to a French colony, I feel that it was
foreign only so far as concerned the difference of language, for
the few officers I encountered, who so ably helped me on my way,
if help I needed, were big-hearted men of the Lone Places among
whom one could not feel a stranger. To all I owe thanks for such
success as I gained, and gladly give it should any old comrade of
the open road read this humble work.
I am indebted, also, to the administrative officials in charge of
the Kano district who kindly rendered me many services ere I set
out to cross the boundary.
Collecting in the field is one side of Natural History research,
but there is, as you are aware, another side—the painstaking study
of the specimens after they are unpacked on the museum benches
at home. And I am much indebted to Lord Rothschild, Dr. Hartert,
and the British Museum for having most kindly furnished me with
the full results of the skilled studies of research to which the
collections have been subjected since my return, for in so doing
they have placed most valuable records at my disposal, so that I
may draw from that large fund of knowledge when desired and enhance
the value of this work.
ANGUS BUCHANAN.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Introduction (by Lord Rothschild) xxi
CHAPTER
I Engaging Boys—Lagos 1
II Kano, Northern Nigeria 13
III Hausa—Currency—Camels—Travelling 33
IV A Day’s Work Collecting 60
V Zinder 73
VI The Shores of Bushland and Desert 82
VII Ostrich Hunting 95
VIII Leaving the Bushland Behind—Aïr Entered 121
IX Agades 134
X Aïr: North to Baguezan Mountains and
Hunting Barbary Sheep 148
XI In Baguezan Mountains 164
XII The Northern Regions of Aïr: Part I 177
XIII The Northern Regions of Aïr: Part II 197
XIV East of Baguezan: Aouderas and Tarrouaji 215
XV The Tuaregs of Aïr 232
XVI Heading for Home 241
APPENDIX: NEW SPECIES DISCOVERED 247
INDEX 255
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
OUT OF THE WORLD _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
THE AUTHOR 12
VIEW OF KANO CITY 12
A STREET-LANE IN KANO 28
AN ENTRANCE IN THE MUD WALLS OF KANO 28
A HAUSA NATIVE RIDING AN OX, KANO 42
CATTLE OF HAUSALAND 42
NATIVES DRAWING WATER AT BABAN TUBKI WELLS, ZINDER 76
AMONG THE ROCKS OF ZINDER 76
BERI-BERI BUSHMEN, DAMERGOU 92
TANOUT VILLAGE 92
YOUNG OSTRICHES 104
DORCAS GAZELLE 104
A LONELY TUAREG CAMP IN THE BUSH 124
SUNDOWN IN THE DESERT 124
VIEW OF AGADES 142
THRONE-ROOM OF THE SULTAN OF AGADES 142
MY CARAVAN ON THE ARRAJUBJUB RIVER 150
TYPICAL AÏR LANDSCAPE 150
TYPICAL BOULDER COMPOSITION OF MANY AÏR MOUNTAINS
AND HILLS 168
MINEROU, CHIEF OF BAGUEZAN, AND SAIDI, MY GOUMIER 168
WILD MEN, NORTHERN AÏR 190
APPROACHING IFEROUAN 190
IN AGUELLAL MOUNTAINS AT 3,100 FEET 202
WE FIND A PRECIOUS POOL OF WATER S.E. OF AGUELLAL, AÏR 202
TEOUAR, A TYPICAL DESERTED VILLAGE OF AÏR 218
TUAREG BOYS OF BAGUEZAN MOUNTAINS 234
“ATAGOOM,” A TUAREG NATIVE OF AÏR IN TYPICAL DRESS 234
AGADES FORT, BUILT WITH CLAY-MUD 242
CAUGHT IN FLOOD RAINS BELOW TEGGUIDI 242
MAP OF AUTHOR’S ROUTE _At End_
INTRODUCTION
Ever since Dr. Hartert[1] came to Tring, twenty-nine years ago,
I have been keenly interested in the isolated mountains of Asben
or Aïr in the middle of the Sahara, and the country surrounding
them. This was chiefly owing to Dr. Hartert’s account of his
interview with some Tuareg traders who had come down into Nigeria to
sell salt. This interest was intensified by our own explorations in
Algeria and “Les Territoires du Sud,” and Geyr von Schweppenburg
and Spatz’s journeys in the Ahaggar Mountains, all of which
yielded many zoological treasures. Therefore, Dr. Hartert and I
felt much satisfaction when, after his strenuous labours in the war
in East Africa, Captain Angus Buchanan fell in with our views and
undertook to explore Asben and the country between it and Kano,
in North Nigeria, the terminus of the new railway. The eleven
months occupied in the undertaking have proved most fruitful, for,
besides the interesting ethnological and other facts recorded in
the subsequent pages of this book, the zoological results have been
most valuable. These latter results have been published in _Novitates
Zoologicæ_, the journal of the Tring Museum, in a series of articles
by Messrs. O. Thomas and M. A. C. Hinton,[2] Dr. Hartert and myself.
The number of new species and sub-species is very large, especially
among the Mammals; Mr. Thomas indeed says that he has never known
a collection of Mammals, from a limited area such as this, with
so large a proportion of novelties. Among the new Mammals, the
most interesting are undoubtedly the “Gundi” (_Massoutiera_),
the Rock-Dassy (_Procavia_), and the “Mouflon” (_Ammotragus_),
because of the immense stretches of desert which separate them from
allied species and sub-species.
Among the Birds, one of the most interesting is the beautiful
goatsucker (_Caprimulgus eximius simplicior_), for, although a
slightly different subspecies, it illustrates once more the fact
that many species inhabit a belt south of the Sahara from N.E.
Africa across the African Continent to West Africa, while most
of the forms north and south of that belt do not show such a wide
range from east to west.
Among the Lepidoptera, the most interesting species are all true
“desert” forms, with a wide range reaching through Arabia into
India, although several new species and sub-species of butterflies
and moths of great interest are also in the collection.
From a zoo-geographical point of view the collection is most
valuable, for we now know zoologically a complete section of the
“Great Saharan Desert,” with the exception of the small portion
between the Ahaggar Mountains and Asben, and although the region
of the Sahara south of the former is undoubtedly tropical, and not
palæarctic, in its fauna, it is very remarkable what a large number
of palæarctic species and genera are still to be found there.
Unlike most of the collecting-grounds of the Old World, which can
still yield new and undescribed forms, Asben and its neighbourhood
were absolutely virgin soil zoologically, and Captain Buchanan’s
specimens are the first to reach the hands of scientific workers.
Considering the long journey by camel and the fact that Captain
Buchanan was working absolutely single-handed, the collecting
of over 1,100 Birds and Mammals and over 2,000 Lepidoptera, in a
region notorious for its paucity, both of species and individuals,
is a remarkable achievement, and proves him to be a most efficient
explorer and naturalist.
ROTHSCHILD.
TRING MUSEUM,
_March 22nd_, 1921.
OUT OF THE WORLD
CHAPTER I
ENGAGING BOYS—LAGOS
It was at Seccondee on the Gold Coast that “John” came
aboard. Do not mistake me!—he was not a first-class passenger
nor an acquaintance. Far from it; he was one of a motley crowd of
jabbering natives which, with an extraordinary conglomeration of
hand-carried household belongings, were put aboard from surf boats
and herded on to the open after-deck—already stacked with sacks of
Kola nuts from Sierra Leone—like so many head of frightened sheep.
No! John was certainly not of a race or rank to claim intimate
acquaintance. In the first place he was as black as the ace of
spades, which in itself for ever barred him from any claim to
equality or kinship—a hard plain fact which any old colonial on
“The Coast” or anywhere in Africa would endorse, while with grave
misgivings regretting the extraordinary policy and laws that grow,
from what sane source is past understanding, more and more lenient
in their evident stiffness of opinion to release native inhabitants
of our colonies from the slightest restraint of a dominant European
rulership; policy that is reacting— surely not with short-sighted
blindness?—to bring about the downfall of the fine old decorum
of the white man’s prestige which natives naturally observed
in every respect in the past. And it would be well to remember,
those singular innovations which are being brought in on the tide
of European civilisation are being entrusted to natives who are
endowed by nature with characteristics of a different race type to
ours and which are irrevocably unchangeable at the line of their
limitations. European education and European laws along certain
well-chosen, sure-set lines can cultivate those characteristics of
the native to a certain standard—_but not one step further_. It is
the logic of Nature: up to a point, with many creatures and plants
and even matter, artificial cultivation is possible and beneficial;
but over-experiment with the material, over-nurture and Nature steps
in and calls a decisive halt in this tampering with her creations,
and death or decline is thenceforth observed.
It is difficult for anyone to foresee the Future— that word
of wonderful depth which is the most awesome in the English
language—into which men may cast the biggest venturings of
experiment in the world; and generations watch them rise and flourish
if they be right, or flounder and go under if they be wrong. And
surely it shall never be— this would-be blending of two entirely
opposite races to a semblance of equality, though it is for the
present this ugly threat which is often before the “Coaster”
and the men on the bush stations to-day.
But to return to John, for John has importance in the narrative,
which African politics have not, the ship had hauled anchor and
cleared Seccondee for Lagos, and I stood solitary by the taffrail
of the upper deck looking idly on the low line of typical African
shore that lay indistinctly in the north. The deck, for the moment,
was free of passengers, for it was in the quiet afternoon hours,
when almost everyone on board retired to indulge in a pleasant book
or a snooze, as is the after-lunch habit in hot enervating climates
like Africa.
But, suddenly, I was not alone, and a native, who had no doubt
watched his chance to break the bounds of the lower-deck, stood
beside me waiting permission to speak.
“What do you want?” I asked, somewhat curiously. “You have
no right to be on this deck.”
“I want I make work for you, sir,” replied the native. “My
massa, he live for back, him go England. I plenty glad work for
you, sir.”
“But,” I warned, “suppose I want a boy? I am a hunter. I am
not going to live in a town or station in Nigeria where the duties
of cook-boy or house-boy are ordinary. I am going to travel far in a
strange land north of Kano; work will be hard and plenty; good boys
will catch good pay; bad boys will go home quick and catch nothing.
You are a coast boy, and I do not think you are fit for bush in
far country.”
But the boy was not so easily discouraged, either he wanted
employment urgently or was ignorant of the full purport of my
“white man talk,” for he answered in his pigeon English, with
a broad grin of hopefulness: “Dat be all same same, sir! I no fit
savvy dat bush now, dat’s true, by-n-bye I plenty fit to look him.
I want work for you—I good boy, sir!”
To which what could one do but smile? But, nevertheless, I now
looked the boy over more attentively.
His thick-set bulldog head was excessively ugly and unprepossessing
in all its features. Any face is dull which has no attraction
in the eyes or in the mouth, and those of this negro native had
none, for the soiled whites of his eyes rolled alarmingly, and
the large mouth had lips rolled into one that would have served
three ordinary men adequately. Moreover, he was an Awori native of
the Coast, and had profuse tribe marks on his face: three small
deep-stamped marks over the cheek-bones, and a line of fourteen
marks of the same stamp between the eye-corners and ears, while
on the centre of the forehead he had a sort of square and compass
scroll more lightly branded than the rest. He was clad, not in the
picturesque nakedness of the aboriginal, but, after the fashion of
the majority of “boys” on the Coast, in the cast-off clothing of
some late master—even to a tweed cap, which sat with ridiculous
incongruity on his black woolly head. Altogether he was a regular
dandy in “rig-out.” But he was no exception in that respect,
for the comical and audacious dress of house-boys of his kind, who
are inordinately full of personal swagger, has ever been a source
of much amusement to colonials and strangers alike.
It did not take long to size the native up and note those brief
somewhat unfavourable characteristics. But at the same time I
had appraised the thick-set, sturdy build of the boy, so that the
conclusions I finally arrived at were: “An ugly devil—not over
intelligent, no doubt—but strong and healthy, and should stand
up through plenty of hard work—and he looks honest.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“John, sir!” he replied. “John Egbuna,” he added, by way
of giving his full name; for it was no less a person than he who
had come aboard at Seccondee.
“All right,” I said, moving towards the deck
smoking-room. “Come to me when we dock at Lagos and you can work
for me.”
Thus John made his appearance. By keen watchfulness he had risked
the abuse of ship’s officers and stolen a chance interview, and
taking him on in this way was a chance shot, but time proved it to
be a lucky one, for John went right through the whole expedition,
ever faithful as a dog to his master, while his companions, one by
one, fell out.
The ship docked at Lagos after she had come in over the bar on
an early morning tide, and steamed slowly inshore and up the
wide river-like tidal lagoon of muddy water disfigured with
surface-floating green slime-like vegetation and white froth,
which escaped, no doubt, from some swamp bank further inland. It
was a lagoon which was nevertheless picturesque and novel, with a
light morning haze upon waters from which protruded the poles and
loosely hanging nets of many fish traps, past which, or about which,
up and down the lagoon, plied long lithe dug-outs, and odd-shaped
craft of many kinds, single-sailed, or pole-driven, or paddled, and
paintless and dark as their negro occupants, except where the gay
colour of a cotton garb caught the eye on a boatman more extravagant
than his brethren, who were generally rag-clad or naked to the waist.
At Lagos, when I had landed, I made the disconcerting discovery that
there was no hotel—a circumstance strange in a port of importance
and modern in nearly every other way. I had natives to engage in
Lagos for my forthcoming travels, and other business, and therefore
it was necessary to stay a few days in the place. Lagos, being a
crowded town, was not the sort of place one could pitch a tent in,
or that would have been quickly done; but I finally overcame the
difficulty by interviewing the purser on the ship, who kindly allowed
me to retain my berth on board while the ship unloaded her cargo.
And in that little cabin, in the course of events, some strange
interviews were entered on. I had an old-country friend on shore,
and with true Coast courtesy he sent his head-boy out into the
native town to carry the news that there was a white man on the
ship who wanted natives to go north with him, but that, “he want
to look boy fit to skin fine fine.”
Native news travels fast even in modern Lagos, and soon boys
of various races and types began to come aboard armed with their
pass-books and letters testifying character—in some cases letters
which were truly from past masters, in others, false and flattering
documents borrowed for the occasion were tendered, such is the
unscrupulous craftiness of some castes.
The outcome of two days of interviewing natives was not very
encouraging, since no boy was discovered who could skin birds or
animals with practical skill. However, at the end of the second
day I had selected three boys and dismissed the rest, despite their
clamourings to be heard further and reluctance to leave the ship.
One of the natives held over for further examination was an
extraordinary individual, with all smooth face features absolutely
obliterated by the mass of seared vertical lines of tribe marks
which ornamented his entire face. He was of middle age, lean, and
hard-looking, and obviously the hunter and tracker that he claimed to
be. What this individual proposed, when an engagement was broached,
was that he be allowed to go to his tribe in the first place to
take the news of his departure to his people, and then return and
catch up with my caravan wherever I might be. Inquiry revealed that
his home was distant a whole month’s travel by canoe along the
coast. It would take him two months to go and return, and after
that he would have to find my camp “somewhere” north of Kano.
Yet he appeared to think nothing of such distance and to take to
travelling as a duck to water, and declared with conviction that
he would meet “master” anywhere, if he would but employ him. I
had met this type of tireless hunter among natives before, and they
are invariably very good if you can secure them. But, all things
considered, taking the man on in faith of fulfilment of merely verbal
promises, and advancing him some money to provide for his wives in
his absence, savoured too much of bad business; and as he would not
pack up and come along as he stood, he was finally allowed to go,
with the understanding that if he hurried to his tribe and caught
up with the expedition north of Kano, he would then be taken on at
good wages, and his “back-time” made good.[3]
The other two boys were Hausa natives, the tribe that I had been
strongly advised by men of experience to get my boys from if
possible. They were both young—20 to 23—and had been selected
from the crowd as being in appearance the most intelligent, for
as it was of the utmost importance to secure some help in dressing
specimens in the field, it was my intention to teach them to skin
if in early practice they should show any aptitude for the work.
Hence one of them was sent ashore to the market in Lagos with
instructions to buy a pair of tame pigeons, which would suffice
for my purpose in lieu of a specimen dropped to the gun.
Thereafter, down in the hot narrow cabin, while the ship lay at
anchor, I gave an object lesson on bird skinning—a necessary but
not very edifying proceeding. To begin with, there was a ridiculous
familiar pillow-cushion aspect about those dead _tame_ pigeons
which robbed one at once of any æsthetic enthusiasm, no matter
how solemnly I was prepared to set about the delicate operation
of skinning; and a glance from the work-table to my pupils, great
loutish curly-headed negroes, with no appreciable sign of dawning
understanding as my handiwork proceeded, made me much more inclined
to laugh than to be serious.
When the lesson for the day was over, I sent the boys home with money
to buy each a pigeon, which they were to try to skin in their homes
in the way I had shown, and bring their handiwork on the morrow.
In due course they came aboard again with their “specimens”:
one poor skin in rags and with half the plumage gone, the other not
so heavily handled, and showing some signs of painstaking work. On
that day the lesson in my cabin was repeated, and then independently
at home, and the result was that, on the eve of starting north to
Kano, one boy—Sakari by name—was engaged, since he had shown
some intelligence and skill over his skinning lessons, and the other
dismissed as useless, as he had developed no aptitude for the work.
It may not be out of place to say here, while on the subject,
that in spite of reports one hears at times of natives who have
become expert at preparing specimens—doubtless exceptions—I
would advise no collector to rely on local skill to any great
extent, for I have always found them most difficult to educate,
and skilful and careful only up to a certain point. For my own
part I have never employed a native on such work who, when the
skin was separated from the carcass, I could allow to apply the
coating of preservative and reset the specimen in the natural,
faultless repose which is essential to a finished skin required
for scientific purposes. For straightforward skinning, however,
good natives are procurable, and with practice can save much of
the collector’s time by doing the preliminary work.
Meantime, while hunting preparations were progressing, I had
spent some time on shore each day in the native quarters of Lagos.
The port at which a traveller disembarks in a land which is foreign
always holds the lively interest of novelty, if nothing more, and
Lagos had much that was novel. Notwithstanding the fact that the
outward aspect from the lagoon is almost entirely European, Lagos is,
broadly speaking, a great native city; and it is on that account that
it is so attractive to the curious stranger. The European section,
which runs chiefly in a line along the long shores of the lagoon,
is as a rampart between the sea and the great area of native town
which lies hidden behind the solidity and imposing stature of the
commercial and domestic buildings of the white man. And it is behind
those colonial buildings that one must pass to gain entrance to the
true city of primitive native hutments which bears the aspect of
the historic antiquity and primitive character of the people who
inhabit it. So turning from the main street which runs along the
water-front, and walking up one of the side-streets, one finds
oneself immediately among curious scenes and curious people in
narrow streets which are lined with irregular closely packed native
huts on either side—huts of every imaginable shape, and built,
for the most part, with a most nondescript collection of materials
which owners appear to have gathered together with little or no cost
to their pockets. The walls of the huts are of mud, but the roofs,
if they are not thatched, and the little dog-kennels of bazaars
which are in front of almost every dwelling, are made up with old
crate-boards, planks, corrugated iron, pieces of tin, old sacks,
canvas— anything; paintless, untidy squalor for the most part,
and the sun-basking places of countless lizards that come out from
behind the shady cracks.
Were the huts and the streets deserted of human life, Lagos would
indeed be a dismal place, and little short of one huge rubbish
heap; but it is entirely otherwise, for the scene is crowded—
even overcrowded—with life and colour, and hence attractive and
sometimes very beautiful, and down the hot dusty streets, which in
many instances are very narrow, and in and out of side lanes, one
may pass for hours and never be clear of the brilliant cotton-clad
throng; every individual of which, whether Yuroba, Egba, Hausa,
Arab or Kroo, seems intent on selling or buying something in a
veritable hive of trading and industry.
It is an uncommon sight, and a wonderfully picturesque one, to view
those busy streets of native Lagos—their fullness of motion and
rich, almost Oriental colouring of native dress, worn as a rule with
all the grace of perfect physique; bazaars bright with wares exposed
for sale; children toddling by the doors; and goats and chickens,
at risk of their lives, tripping and feeding among the throng. Time
without number, as I passed curiously through those streets, my eye
was arrested by little gleams of perfect colouring in a perfect
natural native setting—lovely pictures without one single act
of preparation or posture—and I confess I sighed and moved on,
regretting I was not an artist with genius to catch such scenes,
and hold them in all their beauty and simplicity, so that I might
show them also to my fellow-men, less fortunate in their freedom
to travel.
Wherefrom it may be gathered that I much enjoyed my brief sojourn
in Lagos, where I would fain have stayed longer, had not my duties
called me to hurry on to Kano.
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR.]
[Illustration: VIEW OF KANO CITY.]