I hope will find their way into every one’s baggage, for they will,
according to my small experience, reward the amateur gardener best; also
a few of the flowering shrubs and creepers which ought to have a place in
the garden, and which would, I feel sure, flourish in Nigeria.
FLOWER SEEDS
Convolvulus, of all kinds.
Zinnias.
Sunflowers.
Portulacca.
Marigolds.
Balsams.
Phlox.
Vinca.
Petunias.
Cannas.
Dahlias.
Sweet-scented Tobacco.
Cinerarias.
Aquilegia.
Heliotrope.
Asters.
Coleus.
Pelargoniums.
Carnations.
Nasturtiums.
Sweet Sultans.
Gaillardias.
Salpiglossis.
Geraniums.
It will be observed that many familiar garden flowers are omitted from
this list; this is not an oversight, simply—they will not thrive. I am,
moreover, drawing on my own limited experience only, and that not merely
of successes, but also of failures and disappointments.
BULBS, ETC.
Tuberoses.
Achimenes.
Eucharis, and various hot-house lilies.
Freesia.
Agapanthus.
Monbretia.
Ixia.
Amaryllis.
FLOWERING SHRUBS, CLIMBERS, ETC.
Poinsettias.
Hibiscus.
Stephanotis.
Tacsonia, and other Passion flowers.
Lapageria.
Roses
Princess Alice of Monaco.
Comtesse Riza du Parc.
Ma Surprise.
Comtesse d’Auerstadt.
VEGETABLES
French Beans.
Scarlet Runners.
Broad Beans.
Cucumbers.
Melons.
Sea Kale.
Spinach.
Egg Plant.
Tomatoes.
Cress.
Lettuces.
Radishes.
Marrows.
Carrots.
Parsley.
Spring Onions.
CHAPTER V
The Stable
My feminine readers may feel inclined to ‘skip’ this chapter with the
remark: ‘Well, the stables are not in my department’; but I think the
wife of an official in Nigeria will usually find that her husband has
more work of his own to do than he can well squeeze into each day,
and, however slight her previous knowledge on the subject may be, the
certainty that, unless she bestirs herself and gives personal attention
and supervision, the ponies will be neglected, ill-fed and uncleanly,
will, I feel sure, be sufficient stimulus to any true Englishwoman.
For she naturally loves horses, and cannot but be fond of her wiry
little thirteen-hand ponies in Nigeria; because they are, as a rule,
sweet-tempered, willing, honest little souls, whose mistress will, in
almost every case, have reason to remember how gallantly they carried her
on such and such a march, and how cleverly they climbed and negotiated
the nasty places, and forded uncertain-looking rivers. This alone will
give them a strong claim on her loving care, and she will admit, after
a time at all events, that it is worth while to learn all she can on
the subject, and to spend half an hour every morning at the stables,
inspecting each pony and his house, and another half-hour after the
evening ride to see them dried, rubbed down and fed. For ourselves, I
hardly think we could sleep in peace unless we had paid our usual visit
to the stables to satisfy ourselves that all was well there, the ponies
comfortable and well supplied with grass.
The morning visit may well be spent in what would appear to the new-comer
to be childish reiteration of most elementary instruction to the man who
makes a profession of looking after your horse. For instance, it is quite
necessary to demand to be shown the inside of your ponies’ feet every
day: your horse-boy—until trained—takes no personal interest in them,
and assuredly will not clean them out on his own initiative, so, without
your daily examination, a tiresome attack of thrush may lay your pony up
for weeks or months, or a painful little stone, picked up perhaps in the
last canter home, may remain there all night to his great discomfort.
At present the ponies are not shod in this country, and though we may
advance to metalled roads I hope for the sake of their owners and
themselves they will never require it, for I can see heavy additional
trials in store for them both, when the shoeing art is imperfectly
learned and slovenly applied.
Each horse has his own attendant, but the grass-cutter of India is
not kept, as the grass is so near and in such quantities that it can
usually be cut from one’s own compound, or at least from a few yards
off. Here the watchful eye is necessary; the ‘_doki_ (horse) boy’ (who,
as a rule, is a combination of utter incapacity, laziness and complete
ignorance) likes immensely to be left at home when you go for a ride. He
will then cut a bundle of the coarsest and wettest marsh grass he can
find—naturally—as ten minutes’ work will produce a bigger bundle than
half an hour’s cutting of the fine, short grass which is so infinitely
better. He will then squat down on the ground and engage in a process
that is absolutely blood-curdling to the unaccustomed onlooker; the grass
is taken in small bundles, grasped by his left hand, while his right foot
is firmly planted on the ends of the stalks; he then chops up the grass,
a most murderous-looking weapon falling rapidly, and without, apparently,
any special aim, within half an inch of his foot at each blow. I used
to feel quite sick with apprehension, and even now I always expect to
see five brown toes fly up into the air! The doki-boy forthwith conveys
this mass of wet stuff into the pony’s stable for his consumption during
the night, thus forming a sound basis for colic in the morning. _Don’t
let him do it._ Even if dhoob grass is not to be had, make him cut the
grass before midday, and have it well spread out in the sun, so that the
pony gets it thoroughly dried. Remember, he does not want real _food_
at night, only something comforting to munch, that will employ his mind
harmlessly and happily, and divert his attention from trying to break
loose and go off to fight any other pony he can find near at hand.
The main horse food out here is guinea-corn simply shredded off the
large stalk, the little stems being left, to ensure the pony eating
slowly, and thus digesting his meal. It is not easy to lay down a rule
for quantity, as ponies vary, and the size of stalks of guinea-corn also
varies; the best thing for the pony’s owner to do is to ask the advice
of the neighbour who appears to have the best-kept ponies, or, if there
are no neighbours, let him or her ask the ponies themselves by watching
them feed. It soon becomes easy to determine whether they are getting
enough; that is the main point, for I believe that a pony can scarcely
be over-fed in this country. Try them with twelve large stalks of
guinea-corn for each feed, i.e. about half a bundle per day to each pony.
The guinea-corn is sold in bundles, varying a little in size and price,
according to whether the district is a corn country or not; as a rule a
fair-sized bundle costs, roughly, a shilling.
On tour, in places where guinea-corn was not to be had, and the ponies
doing hard work, we have given them crushed Indian corn (maize); they
liked it and throve on it. _Dusa_ (bran) should invariably be mixed with
the feeds, be they of maize or guinea-corn, three large handfuls to each
feed; the ponies are fond of it, nothing is better for them, and it can
always be obtained easily. The majority, too, will drink far more readily
and copiously if a handful of dusa is stirred into the water.
Country potash (_konwa_) is a daily article of diet with the Nigerian
pony. He has it, a piece about the size of a walnut, thoroughly dissolved
in his water, and he thinks so much of it that often he will not drink
without it. N.B.—Keep the konwa yourself and give it out every day, for
it is also an article of diet for the doki-boy!
I expect the ponies would much enjoy lucerne if the garden could be made
to produce it, but I am sorrowfully compelled to admit that after growing
a crop of carrots with infinite care, and triumphantly bearing them off
to the stables as a wonderful treat, the ungrateful ponies spit them out
contemptuously and would have none of them!
The stables themselves must be rather a shock to an English mind:
they are just circular huts—one for each pony—either with mud walls
and a conical thatched roof, or else with walls of grass matting. Mud
walls have the advantage of windows, which give a breeze, but bring
possibilities of flies and wasps at the same time. Doors are usually
wanting; the pony is picketed by one of his feet to a wooden post about
two feet high, round which he can circle by means of a ring upon it. The
post is driven into the ground in the middle of his stable. The ponies
are quite accustomed to this method; they have their heads free, and
they can lie down or walk around as they feel inclined. We always prefer
the plan of fixing three bars firmly in the doorway, dispensing with the
picketing arrangement, and thus giving the ponies the luxury of a loose
box. The stable floor is of ordinary hardened mud, and should be freshly
sanded every day. Bedding is not required.
A few words as to the doki-boy. He is lazy, and utterly ignorant of his
job, usually downright frightened of his pony, and at every whisk of
the latter’s tail, will make agonized appeals to his better feelings,
uttering apprehensive clucks the while. Still, even the raw material,
if he is docile and willing, is quite teachable, and he is, I think,
invariably kind to his pony. His sins are mostly those of omission.
You will have to begin from the very beginning in your education of him,
and see all his work, for your own sake and the pony’s. For instance,
I remember one evening, when a pony came in much heated after polo,
we stood by while our horse-boy, quite our best and most intelligent,
proceeded to rub him down as usual, after which, to our horror, he shook
out a clean rubber and began to fan the sweating pony with it! This, on a
distinctly chilly evening after sunset!
[Illustration: MR LAFONE’S ‘WHITE MOUSE.’ (p. 261)]
[Illustration: RIDING ASTRIDE—A LOCALLY MADE SKIRT! (p. 265)]
Hand-rubbing is quite unknown, and will be most unwillingly adopted, but
it is worth any amount of tiresome teaching and repetition of the same
order; there is absolutely nothing that will so quickly improve the looks
and condition of ponies. We have them tethered close to the verandah each
morning and afternoon, and superintend the hand-rubbing ourselves, no
pony’s toilet being considered complete till his doki-boy is himself in
a healthy perspiration. The ponies, too, enjoy the process, especially
if they are rewarded for steadiness and patience by many pieces of juicy
sugar-cane, which, by the way, is most useful for fattening up a thin
pony, as well as being a handy little delicacy to carry on one’s visits
to the stables. It should be peeled and cut in small pieces three inches
long.
The new doki-boy, too, has no idea how to put on a saddle and bridle,
and for many days I fear you will have to take them off, as every strap
will be united to the wrong buckle, and put them on yourself before him,
which usually ends in broken nails, dirty hands, much heat and a lost
temper. But never trust the doki-boy’s powers until you are quite sure
of them, as it is really dangerous to life and limb; you can hardly
imagine how many subtle ways he can invent of putting on a bridle the
wrong way. He also prefers to drag it off without undoing the curb-chain
or throat-lash, a most reprehensible piece of laziness that has to
answer for many a docile pony showing temper and refusing to be bridled
without an unpleasant struggle. It is an excellent thing to cultivate
an unforgettable habit of loosening girths, curb-chain and throat-lash
oneself on dismounting.
One word more of warning: water must _not_ be given after food. It
seems an absurdly superfluous caution, but I can assure you it has been
done, is done to-day, and will be done as long as the pony’s welfare
is not cared for personally by his owner. It is, as every one knows,
most dangerous, on account of colic and indigestion, and may frequently
account for the ingenuous statement of the doki-boy that ‘Allah has given
the doki a pain in his stomach!’ Water should be given quite half an hour
before the corn, the latter being well spread out on the ground to ensure
slow feeding and thorough digestion.
Saddlery must, of course, be brought out from England, and should be
selected with the greatest care; all metal work must be non-rusting, and
head-stalls and girths chosen to fit ponies from thirteen to fourteen
hands. I have found it a very satisfactory plan to adopt the Richards’
numdah (I believe the patent is called the ‘Wykeham’); the saddle itself
has no stuffing and fits on to the numdah, which, being specially soft,
adapts itself to the shape of the pony, and thus avoids the only too
frequent cause of a sore back or wither. It is about three inches in
thickness and, having absorbed all the perspiration, can be easily dried
in the sun, the under surface being well beaten and brushed to prevent
it from getting hard or caked. I have ridden over two thousand miles on
one of these numdahs, and I will venture to say that it is practically
impossible to give a pony a sore back. It can be imagined what a blessing
that is on the march, when it is so difficult to lay him up for a few
days even; besides, all the bother of continually re-stuffing a saddle
is done away with. Any saddle can be fitted with a ‘Wykeham’ numdah by
Messrs. Richards, at Winchester, for a guinea.
When choosing a saddle, take care to select one (with a cut-back tree, of
course) that is not longer than necessary; the Nigerian ponies are much
shorter in the barrel than English horses, and are apt to get their backs
rubbed with a long saddle.
As the result of my own experience, I _most_ strongly advise every
woman who intends to do much riding out here, especially in the way of
marching, to abandon her side-saddle altogether, and adopt the ‘astride’
position. In the first place, it is far more comfortable and less tiring
on a long march; secondly, it does away with the necessity of bringing
out special saddlery for oneself, it makes one quite independent of
being ‘put up,’ and also enables one to march in the most comfortable of
clothes, a short divided skirt or bloomers, putties and shooting boots;
thirdly, and most important of all, it is the greatest blessing to the
pony. No matter how straight you sit, sooner or later the strain of a
side-saddle begins to tell on a pony, from the mere fact that the weight
of the rider’s two legs is on one side of him! I noticed this especially
at Katāgum when riding horses which had never carried a side-saddle
before, and so sensitive were they to the innovation that it was almost
impossible to keep them in the road at all—they bored so badly to the
near side.
Bring out also picketing gear; it is much more durable than country
rope, and does not rub the hair off the ponies’ feet. It consists of a
stout iron ring, with a short chain, attached to a wide padded leather
bracelet, buckling round the pony’s fetlock. You will have to teach
the horse-boys how to clean saddlery; I think there is nothing better
than beeswax and soft soap, but saddle soap can usually be bought. The
mai-doki’s incorrigible laziness comes out here; unless frequently
watched and stood over, he confines himself to giving the seat of one’s
saddle a polish like a mirror, and never touches one of the out-of-sight
straps and parts, which need far the most care and softening. Bits must
be well dried and wiped directly they are taken out of the pony’s mouth,
and the whole of the saddlery should be kept _in the house_. A saddle
stand is easily made by any native carpenter, and is by no means an
eyesore in the verandah, if the saddles are well polished and the bridles
shining.
Only on one occasion on the march I lost sight of my saddle, which was
carried off to the doki-boys’ quarters, and to what use it was put I
cannot fathom; I only know that, the next morning, it appeared with the
seat deeply scratched and scored, and looking five years older! The
African servant is utterly devoid of respect for valuable belongings; he
possesses nothing himself that is worth taking care of, and he listens
with polite but bored submission while you very forcibly point out his
crimes of destruction, but he is obviously indifferent, really, to the
damage done, and thinks it all rather a silly fuss. ‘Is not a saddle
still a saddle even if it is hideously scratched and ill-treated?’ When
removing a saddle from a pony, he delights to dump it down on the ground,
_anywhere_, in sand, dust or mud, the side flaps crushed underneath
anyhow, although there may be half a dozen people standing by, ready to
carry it off to its proper place.
I fear these pages may seem full of dismal discouragement and gloomy
warnings, so, before leaving the subject, I will repeat once more that
the doki-boy is a criminal only from ignorance, that he is teachable, and
that, possibly, he appears a greater sinner because his evil deeds, as a
rule, are—or should be—committed before his master’s eyes, which is, in
itself, some little comfort!
The rainy season, from June till November, is the most unhealthy time
for ponies, especially in the Niger valley. They are very subject to
colic and to the peculiar form of horse-sickness which is attracting
so much attention from the medical and veterinary officers. It shows
itself in fever, weakness of the loins, swollen glands, and wasting away,
accompanied by a voracious appetite, and, so far, has not been definitely
diagnosed, though every effort is being made to understand its nature by
examining specimens of blood, etc. Arsenic has been suggested as a cure,
but at present it seems to me that, once the doctor or veterinary surgeon
has discovered the peculiar bacillus in the blood, there is little or
no hope of the pony’s complete recovery, and the best thing for the
unfortunate owner to do is to sell him for what he will fetch, or give
him away to a native. The native can frequently patch up a sick pony
till he is quite fit enough for the light work they give him, though he
would be quite useless for polo or hard marching. I have seen only too
many good little ponies die, and, once they sicken, I always feel that
the dosing and nursing is rather hopeless work, and the sure bullet the
kinder way; though, if it is determined to make a fight for the pony’s
life, the only way is to employ a native horse-doctor—he _may_ know more
about it than we do, and he certainly cannot well know less!
There are very few other ills that the West African stable is heir to,
if ordinary care and supervision are given. It is worth mentioning that
the mai-doki will ascribe everything that he cannot account for as the
result of cold, from a mosquito bite up to a serious sprain, and ‘Sainye
ya kamma shi!’ (‘he has caught cold’) will become a familiar sounding
phrase, and will have to be politely but firmly discouraged.
CHAPTER VI
Camp Life
After a year spent in Nigeria, I am sure you will agree with me, on
looking back, that the time spent ‘on tour’ was the happiest and
most enjoyable of all. The life in the open air, the constant change
and variety of scenery, the daily march that makes one so hungry at
meal-times and so sleepy long before recognized bed-time, the incessant
items of interest, among people, animals, birds, butterflies and
plants—all combine to make one think it an ideal existence, and one where
it is almost impossible to be cross, bored, or grumbly, in the clear
sunlight, and amongst some of the loveliest surroundings imaginable.
But this charming state of things is not to be reached all at once. To
begin with, you must start with a firm determination to make the best
of everything and anything: your unselfishness must be untiring and
your cheerfulness infectious; your husband is certain to have a little
leaven of difficult and possibly tiresome work mixed with his share of
the picnic, so at these times, at least, the give and take of daily life
may well be enhanced by lavish giving on your part. Here, no one can
help you but yourself; but I can do something else for you, and that is,
to supply you with a few hints, gathered from our own experience, which
will make the camp arrangements run smoothly, and ensure your comfort in
the remotest ‘bush.’ For it is not a sound argument to say, ‘If we get
so hungry, we shan’t be particular what we eat’—it is just when one is
famished that one wants a good, simple, well-cooked meal, not tough meat
and eggs of doubtful freshness. Do not be discouraged at the start; it
seems a colossal undertaking to calculate full provisions for some weeks,
but it is really a simple matter after a little practice. At the end of
this chapter you will find a list of stores necessary for the use of two
people going to camp, and out of reach of European stores, for a month.
The quantities are of necessity rather approximate, depending, as they
must in some cases, on individual taste. Wherever you go, the villages
can usually supply sheep, fowls, eggs, maize and yams, sweet potatoes and
fruit and guinea-corn, and in many places there is excellent bush-fowl
and guinea-fowl shooting to be had, thus adding the best of all dishes,
game, to the larder.
Stores are carried in ‘chop-boxes,’ i.e. deal boxes, with hinged lids,
hasps and padlocks, and with handles. For size, 18 in. × 10 in. × 8 in.
is about right, for they must be considered as loads, and it is no use
having them larger, as you will only have to leave them half empty, on
account of the weight, and things will tumble about and bottles get
broken. Even the size I have just mentioned cannot be packed full, but
when one wants to carry fruit, or any light addition, the space comes in
handy. We have found it useful, when bringing stores out from England (a
proceeding much to be recommended to the economical housekeeper), to have
a few of the cases made as described above, so as to have them ready for
touring after their contents have been removed. Three should be enough,
and one may usefully be devoted to rice alone, unless you are satisfied
with and sure of being able to obtain the native sort: a 50 lb. bag of
rice just fits in, and is invaluable, as fresh vegetables are almost
impossible to come by. We have a fitted chop-box, made to our own design,
containing a tray, and divers divisions, to accommodate china and glass.
Below, there is one space which holds the plates and dishes, another
that just fits two sparklet bottles, and a third which usually carries
the day’s supply of bread or biscuits. The tray contains the teapot,
four cups and saucers, milk-jug and sugar-basin (all china), and four
tumblers, all in their own partitions; the cruet-stand has also a little
corner to itself, where nothing ever upsets, and we are saved the eternal
worry of unscrewing patent receptacles to get at the salt, etc. This
leaves an empty space in the middle of the tray, where the small tins of
tea, sugar, milk, tea-cloth, etc., live, the idea being that breakfast,
luncheon, or tea, can be prepared at once, without touching the other
chop-boxes, if so desired. Knives, forks and spoons all have their own
separate spaces, a better arrangement than the usual leather straps in
the lid. The divisions are lined with felt, so that china tea-things and
glass tumblers (all of thickish material, of course), which, to my mind,
are so infinitely preferable to ironware as to make ‘all the difference,’
can be carried in safety for many months, even allowing for unlikely
accidents, such as a carrier slipping on a stone while fording a river,
etc.
On coming out here, we had ordered a costly luncheon basket from England
but, before it arrived we had done our first tour of some weeks’ duration
with the chop-box I have just described, and instantly decided that we
could not be bothered with the dainty, but much less serviceable little
arrangement of wicker, etc., so we rifled it of its least complicated
fittings, and wrote it down under the heading of ‘Experientia docet’ in
the household accounts.
[Illustration: ONE OF OUR CAMPS. (p. 275)]
[Illustration: THE MAIL-CART, BIDA. (p. 280)]
I will make no apology for having discussed this subject at such length,
for I know, from personal experience, what an immense difference to
one’s comfort a really practical chop-box makes; it is, therefore, worth
describing in detail, as such an article cannot be bought ready-made. It
is only necessary to add that the dimensions should be about 32 in. × 14
in. × 14 in., and the weight should not exceed 50 to 55 lb.
Don’t forget to take the indispensable mincing-machine; if necessary at
headquarters, it is doubly so in the bush, where you frequently have
to eat meat an hour or so after it has been killed. A Berkefeld filter
is the best, easily carried, simple and quick to work, beside being
simplicity itself to clean and fix up: there is another, on the foot-pump
principle, which saves labour, or at least exertion, but its extra weight
is a great drawback.
We will suppose, you are able to provide yourselves with two 80 lb.
Regulation Officer’s tents; Government supplies one, and you would do
well to bring a second as a private possession: one tent is quite too
small for two people, and it is a pity to lose so much comfort for a
detail so easily carried out. Have them pitched one behind the other,
the front one to serve for meals and daily occupation, the back one as
sleeping quarters. You can always get a small, roofless attachment, with
matting walls, erected in a few minutes, at the back of the sleeping
tent, to act as a bathroom. At times, when we felt fairly secure from
possible rain, we pitched the outer fly of the front tent in front again;
it is quite a simple matter, with the aid of a few extra poles, supplied
from the village, and extends one’s quarters delightfully, for a stay of
any length, if the camp is in a shady spot—otherwise, of course, it makes
the tents warm.
For camp furniture, none is better than the ‘X’ patent. The beds are most
comfortable, and are by no means the Japanese puzzle that some camp beds
are: there are excellent little tables, that can be put together in a
couple of minutes, and a canvas basin and bath of the same pattern. With
reference to the bath, I may say, that we have found it more convenient
to carry with us a regular tin, travelling bath, with cover and strap,
containing a wicker lining; it is so immensely useful for holding all
kinds of odd things: an enamelled washing-basin, fitted with a canvas
or leather cover and a strap, is also a great comfort, as, inside it,
the whole of your washing paraphernalia travels, and it is such a joy to
find everything you want under your hand, when your bath is temptingly
ready—the towels having been thrown over the bathroom wall to sun
themselves till you are ready for them.
Two really comfortable chairs of the ordinary, canvas, deck-chair pattern
are most desirable, in addition to the regulation, little sit-up armchair
affairs; a _lounge_ is what one wants after a long, hot march. We have
found it very useful to bring out, ‘on our own,’ an extra, small ‘X’
table, and a second armchair; the table being precious to a degree as a
dressing-table.
When the chop boxes are neatly ranged round the sides of your tent, and
the furniture, above mentioned, opened out, you will not care to fill up
any more space with unnecessary articles. But never allow yourself to be
uncomfortable for the want of things you are certain to miss every day:
it will spoil half your pleasure, and it is well worth the cost of an
extra carrier, if necessary, for the purpose. I fancy that every one,
after one tour in the bush, will find that experience teaches that a few
things taken, were useless, and some left behind were sorely wanted, and
a little judicious sorting and arrangement will ensure the second trip
being far more comfortable, without in the least increasing the bulk of
your _personnel_.
Personal clothing can be carried in tin uniform cases, and it should
be reduced as far as is compatible with the foregoing axiom. I have
found that a touring wardrobe, consisting of a habit skirt, boots,
etc., two coats, one short holland skirt, a plain tea-gown, two changes
of underclothing, a few muslin stocks, one pair of thick boots, and,
instead of slippers, long, loose, Hausa boots, can be easily packed into
a fair-sized uniform case. I always take, too, a folding Panama hat,
for wearing in camp (one marches, of course, in a solar topee); a very
small dressing-case, which is a great comfort, as it keeps all one’s
toilet necessaries together; a writing-case, tiny work-box, and sketching
materials, all packed in the one box.
The servants do the washing, in a rough and ready fashion, so that many
changes are absolutely unnecessary, especially as the items are not “got
up” at all, and can be washed and dried in an hour or two.
It is useful to have one extra tin case, not dedicated to any special
purpose: it acts as a sort of overflow box, and, indeed, one usually
finds it overflowing. One or two favourite books, sketching, or
photography, butterfly catching, and a small but “lasting” piece of
needlework, will amply fill up your leisure hours in camp. I remember a
friend of mine in India worked a quantity of very beautiful point lace
during a shooting trip in Kashmir; she used to sit on a box and stitch,
while the camp was being pitched and struck. Personally, I find, as a
rule, that after the inevitable preliminary arrangements and luncheon,
a change and a rest, a couple of sketches, and a stroll through the
village, tea-time and twilight come long before I am ready for them.
The camp kitchen requires a little special arrangement, and both mistress
and cook will have to employ their utmost ingenuity to prevent all the
culinary operations from being conducted on the bare ground. The cook
will not grumble, he rather enjoys squatting on his heels, balancing
pots and pans on a pile of blazing wood, and surrounding himself with a
charmed circle of feathers, egg-shells and onions. But as long as he
sees that all his implements are thoroughly cleansed and scrubbed—and
one need not go far to find sand in Africa—there need be no real
uncleanliness, however primitive the conditions; indeed, I always find
my camp kitchen far more accessible than the one at headquarters, where
a dash has to be made across a scorching compound at each visit. Many
a simple cooking lesson have we jointly given, in the open air, under
some shady tree, seated on boxes, wrestling with a wood fire in a light
breeze. A wide smooth board, scrubbed spotless every day, makes quite a
useful kitchen table, placed across two provision boxes; one side being
kept, scrupulously, for bread-making, etc., the other used for operations
involving meat, onions, etc. Another detail that requires the mistress’
assistance is a camp meat-safe—a few yards of mosquito netting or muslin,
and the frame of an old umbrella, will solve the difficulty at once. The
muslin must have a drawstring at the top and bottom, and the birds or
joints hung on to the ribs of the open umbrella, which swings gracefully
from the nearest tree.
For light, you cannot improve on the “Lord’s” lantern, issued by
Government: it gives a splendid light, and travels in its own case, which
also contains a canister, holding kerosene; this latter, however only
carries enough oil for about a fortnight, so it is necessary to take a
tin of kerosene as well. It is not wise to economize much over oil, for
a light should be kept burning all night where you sleep. We usually
carry also an excellent little lantern, fitted for candle or lamp, and
are therefore never condemned to that ‘dim, religious light’ which is so
conducive to most irreligious exclamations, when the master falls over a
gun-case in the dark, or wants to read a paper.
During our last leave we had made, to our own design, a small
arrangement, which, from personal experience, we can recommend most
strongly. It is a light wooden box, measuring about 18 in. × 14 in. ×
7 in.; with a hinged lid, lock and key. Inside it is lined with padded
baize, and divided into compartments, containing, respectively, a pair of
candle lamps, four glass globes, two punkah tops, and a box of candles.
This box travels everywhere in perfect safety, and is an endless comfort:
amongst other advantages, it saves the inconvenience of placing a heavy
“Lord’s” lantern on a small camp dinner-table, which always seems to
attract instantly every flying pest for a radius of fifty miles at least.
Moreover, during more than six months of almost incessant travelling,
only one globe has been broken.
The actual marching will, of necessity, and from choice too, be done in
the early morning, but if possible, when making the first start, let
it be in the afternoon, a short march of only an hour or two (this is
nearly always possible from any large centre), getting to your camp well
by daylight. This is essential; the carriers will not be accustomed to
their loads, they will all squabble and fight for the lightest ones,
and, even did you purpose a morning start, an early one would be an
impossibility. Then, on arrival in camp, no one knows where to put
anything, and there is certain to be much to arrange and alter, for the
West African servitor will, for the whole of your trip, place each chair
and box exactly where he planted them that first evening, so be warned
and, on that momentous occasion, insist upon having everything placed
exactly where you hope to find it every day for the next few weeks—so
much comfort depends on this. If you are accompanied by a military or
police escort, the tents will be pitched without any difficulty; but
otherwise, I fear that a little trouble and patience must be expended in
teaching the carriers this most important accomplishment.
But do not lose heart, and feel miserable and disappointed, if things
are rather in a muddle, the servants slow and unmethodical, the carriers
disposed to dump down their loads anywhere, and disappear into the
village. Take the word of a fairly old camping hand, things will be
better to-morrow, and better still the day after. Meantime, a kettle
can be boiled in a few minutes, and, though you are probably fatigued,
yourself, after much packing, and perhaps a longer ride than you have
taken for some time, a cup of tea will make a wonderful difference.
The mistress, who, after half an hour’s rest for every one, gets up
cheerfully from her comfortable chair, saying brightly, ‘Now then, Suli,
or Mohammadu, I am going to help you,’ can reduce chaos to order and
comfort in no time, and will find her servants willing to assist; for,
as I have said before in this chapter, cheerfulness is infectious, and
nowhere more so than amongst Africans. I have often seen a crowd of
sullen, angry faces suddenly break into happy, childish laughter, moved
by one well-timed joke.
Speaking from my own experience, I can only say that I consider the
carriers to be a much maligned set of folks; they are very easy to deal
with, and after the first march, there is never a dispute—except, of
course, over ‘chop’—the carrier fraternity would wrangle in Paradise over
the possession of half a yam. I have known most of them by name; on one
long tour they used to come and say ‘Good-morning’ with broadest smiles,
and, even after long and trying marches, they would go out into the bush,
entirely on their own initiative, and collect bunches of flowers for
‘Missis’ to decorate her tent and dinner-table with. Their affectionate
impulses went so far as to induce them to rifle birds’ nests and bring me
the fledglings, until I had to be severe about it. A little sympathetic
attention to their various ailments and wounds, makes them consider one
as a valuable ally and friend.
Once shaken down into the routine of marching, you will elect to get
up at dawn, your toilet will take about twenty minutes, and a simple
breakfast, consisting of coffee and eggs, or grilled chicken, should then
be ready. During breakfast, the carriers will pounce upon, and whisk
away, the whole contents of the camp, and in less than an hour from the
time you woke the long line will have streamed away into the distance,
the head-man having instructions where to pitch the next camp, and to
have a good supply of water and fire-wood ready. Your better half will
probably have a little work to do, in the shape of a final interview with
the Chief of the place, so the carriers can always get a good half-hour’s
start.
You will then begin your march, walking in the fresh, cool, morning air,
through the loveliest, greenest, dew-soaked country possible to find,
along the tiny footpaths, which constitute the ‘high roads’ in Nigeria.
I believe some people never walk a yard on the march, but I always
thoroughly enjoy it; it breaks the monotony of many hours in the saddle,
and, I think, must be good for one, as riding at a snail’s pace is not,
after all, very violent exercise.
If a march is extremely long, it is quite easy to keep the cook and a
few carriers, with table, chairs, etc., behind the others, have a cold
luncheon prepared the day before, and select a shady spot near water,
about half-way, for luncheon and a rest—as a rule, you will find that the
carriers have already selected it with some discrimination. The ordinary
day’s march occupies five or six hours, and averages from fifteen to
eighteen miles. This sounds very little, but it is as much as your
carriers and ponies (and yourself) are able for, without distress, and,
unless time is a serious consideration, I do not advocate marching again
in the afternoon. A Political Officer will usually have ample work at
each halting-place to occupy the hours of daylight. I have done seven and
eight hours in the saddle many a time, but it is tiring, hard work for
every one, and makes the whole thing a weariness, instead of a pleasure.
You will, I think, find, when you ride in, that tents have been pitched,
everything unpacked and made ready for you, the servants will have
rested, the cook will be hard at work, preparing luncheon, and the staff
will assure you, with smiling faces, that the march has been ‘not far too
much at all.’ If one anticipates several weeks of hard marching, it is
a good thing to hire small ponies for the cook and head steward, as it
ensures their arriving first, and arriving fresh.
The evening stroll at sunset is always full of interest for me. There
is the village to inspect, cloth-making and cotton-spinning to admire,
and, perhaps, many little trifles of Hausa leather work, etc., to buy.
In places where a white woman has never been seen before, she may cause
a panic among the simple souls. In one remote little Pagan village,
I remember, the men came, as usual, headed by their Chief, to the
‘palaver,’ and, at sight of me, they fell prostrate, covered their heads
with their flowing garments, lay on the ground and _moaned_ in fear,
refusing to be comforted till I retreated from the scene. I have since
discovered that an occasional albino negress (truly, a fearsome sight) is
held by them in great reverence, and practically worshipped!
In another village the people fled at the sight of me, the only person
holding his ground being a man, nursing a sick baby, who had high fever,
from teething pain. We prescribed, and supplied, for the poor mite,
a remedy so old-fashioned, that I almost blush to record it—a nicely
smoothed and rounded chicken bone! And, when the incessant wail of pain
died away, and the baby chewed contentedly at its ‘comforter,’ the
frightened women and children crept back and smiled, and told each other,
doubtless, that we were physicians of a very high order!
One can always, I find, gain the confidence of the women-kind, by taking
notice of the ‘pikkins,’ or by a little care and solicitude for a wound
or sore. Merely the applying of a clean bandage, personally, establishes
your position in the village as the ‘Godsent,’ and, which matters
more, as the friend of the ladies—for I have a strong conviction that
(in spite of the laments indulged in by good people at home, over the
sad position of the down-trodden woman of Africa) the ladies rule the
villages and set the public tone: I have seen most lively rows and free
fights started by one lady’s uncontrolled tongue, or quarrelsome temper.
You will, of course, like to see that your ponies are properly housed,
well-fed, and comfortable for the night. It is as well to take blankets
for them, in case they have to sleep in the open, or stand in the rain.
When possible, it is a great comfort to have an extra pony, to march
along with you—one of them may go sick or lame, on a rough road, and
have to be put out of work. Ponies usually fatten and thrive well on the
march, possibly because guinea-corn, etc., is so much more plentiful in
the bush than at headquarters; but it is decidedly anxious work, taking
horses one values into thick, forest country, where guinea-corn is not
obtainable and grass rank and scarce. Great care should be exercised over
the ponies’ drinking water, and they should _by no means_ be allowed to
drink at any pool or stream they may cross. I firmly believe that bad
water is one of the causes of much of the horse sickness so prevalent
here, and unless I can see clearly up and down stream for some distance,
and satisfy myself that the water is not full of decaying vegetation, nor
stagnating under overhanging branches, my pony has to wait for his drink
until a healthier state of things can be found.
Where roads are rough and stony, extra care is, of course, needed in
searching the ponies’ feet for stones—it may not occur to the doki-boys.
In some parts of the country tents are seldom necessary, as there are
rest-houses at all the halting-places on the main roads, and very
delightful they are to spend a day or two in, when they are watertight
and in good repair—simply shelters, with a very deep, low, thatched roof
coming to within four feet of the ground, no walls (grass ones can be
added by the villagers in half an hour, if desired), cosy, yet airy from
their great height, very roomy, and usually watertight; though, to ensure
this, when there is rain about, it is a good thing to pitch the outer fly
of a tent over your bed, thus securing a dry, comfortable night, even in
a tornado. In a few places, where the rest-house is placed in a forest
clearing, outside the village, it seems rather confiding to sleep so
insecurely, but I have been told that a lamp and mosquito curtains will
daunt any but the hungriest lion.
I have only one or two more suggestions to offer before closing this
chapter: the first and most important may not sound attractive, but it is
absolutely necessary—to put all the clothing you intend wearing the next
day _under your pillow at night_. Indeed, it is the only way to ensure
its being dry, the damp penetrates everywhere, and at 5 a.m. one does
not feel disposed to walk about, lightly clothed, unlocking boxes, and
extracting one’s garments.
Another small point, which is useful to know and act upon, is, that a
very small quantity of powdered alum will clear dirty, brackish water
very quickly; all the solid matter sinks to the bottom, and the clear
water can be poured off, thus saving the unpleasant necessity for a
muddy-looking, uninviting bath: a few crystals of permanganate of potash
are rather nice in a bath, too, when the water is unpleasant to smell and
look at.
On long marches it is worth while trying to cultivate a taste for Kola
nuts: they are marvellously refreshing and stimulating, and the clean,
bitter flavour is rather delightful once one is accustomed to it. I have,
often and often, staved off the pangs of hunger, thirst and fatigue, with
a Kola nut, the sharpness tempered by a piece of chocolate munched along
with it.
For the benefit of your servants and carriers, a few simple remedies,
easily obtained from the medical officers, should be taken into the bush;
they are tabulated below, with a list of stores. This last, it must be
remembered, is confined severely to necessaries; it can be supplemented
by all kinds of luxuries, such as tinned sardines, cheese, butter, potted
meat, etc., always bearing in mind that the total transport allowed by
Government, at present to each official on the march, is an average of
twelve to fourteen loads of fifty-six pounds each.
PROVISIONS NECESSARY FOR TWO PEOPLE FOR ONE MONTH
4 lb. sugar.
4 lb. tea.
14 lb. flour.
4 tins biscuits.
18 tins milk.
6 tins lard.
6 tins jam.
2 tins baking-powder.
2 tins coffee.
2 packets candles.
1 packet matches.
1 tin kerosene.
12 boxes sparklets.
2 bars soap.
1 bottle curry-powder.
12 soup squares.
1 case whisky.
1 case limejuice.
salt, pepper, mustard, etc.
MEDICAL STORES
1 roll lint.
1 roll cotton-wool.
1 packet bandages.
1 tin Epsom salts.
1 tin boracic powder.
1 tin sulphur ointment.
2 bottles liniment.
1 bottle chlorodyne.
A small quantity of iodoform ointment.
CHAPTER VII
What to Wear
I approach this subject with some diffidence, as it is one so differently
regarded by different individuals. No two people ever seem to agree about
clothing for the tropics, so I shall not attempt to offer opinions on the
merits or demerits of ‘flannel next the skin,’ etc., but shall confine
myself to a few general hints, which, I hope, may be equally useful to
the disciple of Jaeger and Viyella, and to the advocate of muslin and
cambric.
One broad axiom that none will dispute, I may give safely: in all kinds
of clothes, aim at variety rather than at super-excellence of quality
and delicacy of trimming. Remember that you have to wear washing gowns
all the year round, and their constant attendance at the wash-tub will
destroy them very quickly if you have only three or four to ring the
changes on. This applies especially to white gowns, which, cool and
dainty as they are, I do not recommend very strongly, as a dusty path or
a shower of rain will make them unwearable after half an hour, and back
they must go to the washerman, who proceeds to forcibly illustrate the
meaning of ‘wear and tear.’
Linen skirts of any colour that is not too delicate are invaluable; half
a dozen of them, one or two holland, and a couple of simple muslins or
cool cottons, should carry you triumphantly through your time. The woman
endowed with clever fingers can, of course, add to her stock, armed with
good paper patterns, lengths of unmade material, and, if she is lucky,
a sewing-machine, and she will probably be very glad of the occupation
for her spare time. Shirts and blouses of thin flannel, washing silk
and muslin can be brought in any number that space allows—the more the
better, but the local laundry cannot goffer frills and almost always
tears lace! Cambric and muslin blouses of the ‘shirt’ order are the
most useful kind, as silk rots almost at once. For this reason let your
smarter blouses be of _crêpe de chine_ rather than silk. Evening gowns
you will scarcely want; one, or at most two simple dinner frocks, and
a tea-gown to wear for dinner at home, will be ample. For the benefit
of those who may have to spend some time on tour, I may mention that I
derive the greatest comfort from a very thin cashmere or nun’s veiling
tea-gown, or rather an elaborate dressing-gown for dinner in camp, and
also find it useful as a dressing-gown during the colder part of the
voyage. You will want one warm dress of the coat-and-skirt description
to start your voyage in, for it is usually quite cold from Liverpool
to the Canaries. It should be of the plainest tailor-made sort; once
arrived in Africa you will not wear it again, probably, until you reach
the same point on your way home. The same may be said of what was once
described to me as a ‘human’ hat, unless it is of the very plainest; for
some reason which I cannot quite define, but can nevertheless thoroughly
appreciate, a ‘smart’ hat looks absolutely ludicrous out here: in fact,
any tendency to over-dressing has only one effect, that of making your
company, usually a few hard-working men, feel thoroughly uncomfortable.
All one wants, after all, is to appear fresh, spotless and dainty, which
can be best accomplished by a clean linen frock, a shady simple straw
hat, a sensible sunshade and garden gloves.
If it will not quite break your heart, be advised and brush back your
fringe, if you have one; it is quite impossible to keep it in curl or
tidy, and the peace and comfort you will get from the absence of clammy
dank wisps of short hair will amply repay you for what you may think
an unbecoming change. May I also whisper that no one should allow her
friends at home to persuade her to invest in an ‘artistic and invisible’
‘transformation’; they are all too visible, and, for this country, are
simply waste of money.
In Nigeria there is nearly always a breeze modifying the damp
heat, which reminds me that a light cloth or flannel coat is rather
indispensable for sitting outside after tennis, on cool evenings; and,
when it sets to work to rain after a sultry day, one finds it very chilly
in muslin, the temperature drops so suddenly and considerably, that a
thin serge or flannel skirt is exceedingly comfortable.
Your riding-habit should consist of a very short skirt of moderate
thickness; I am no believer in what tailors call ‘Colonial’ habits, they
very seldom set so comfortably, and never wear so well as a good solid
cloth; moreover, the gain in coolness is not perceptible: at least, that
has been my experience, after some years in India. For underneath you
will find rather loose knickers most comfortable, made of dark coloured
washing material; the best is called ‘moleskin’ by breeches-makers, and
is used for the thinnest kind of riding-breeches for men. Don’t have your
knickers made by a habit-maker, simply have a good pattern of bicycling
knickers copied; two pairs should be quite enough. A cloth coat is
unnecessary; a few holland and white drill loose coats will answer much
better, and, as starched collars are somewhat at a discount, soft white
muslin scarves, worn like a hunting-stock, look neat and are comfortable.
I think it is a considerable advantage to have your habit very short
indeed, as, while touring, it is a great pleasure and variety to walk the
first few miles of the march, a pleasure which is completely spoilt if
you have to hold up a heavy habit skirt. Riding on tour is such crawling
work, that, if you prefer it, you could quite well ride your marches in
an ordinary short walking skirt, though personally I think there is no
garb so entirely comfortable as well-fitting riding garments.
For those wise women who adopt the ‘astride’ position, a divided skirt
is, of course, necessary. The very best is, I believe, made by Ross of
Bond Street, but that, being the perfection of cut and smartness, is,
naturally, an expensive investment, and for rough work in this country
an ordinary divided bicycling skirt would answer perfectly, or else full
bloomers worn with shooting boots and putties and a rather long-skirted
coat—personally, I should advocate the latter.
Bear well in mind, there must be no trifling with your mackintosh! When
it rains in West Africa, it _does_ rain, and you want the most serious
and really waterproof mackintosh obtainable. I have found that the
essential point is to have it of a light weight, loose and easy to slip
into, at a moment’s notice, even on a plunging frightened pony, when
the tornado catches one on the march. _The_ firm of all others for this
purpose is Burberry, in the Haymarket. I doubt whether any umbrella
really keeps out the rain; for ordinary use, I should advise a strong
silk _en-tout-cas_ of a dark colour that will serve equally well for sun
or shower. You will also want a really big cotton umbrella, lined with
green—in fact, it would be a graceful attention to bring a second one for
your better half, as they are quite necessary for and constantly used by
men who have to go out in the sun in the middle of the day.
It will be wise to stock yourself before leaving home with all small
etceteras, such as ribbons, laces, buttons, thread, needles, etc. We
cannot yet buy ‘chiffons’ in Nigeria, and, unless you bring them all with
you, it entails writing home, and waiting two months for a reel of silk
or a packet of needles. I remember well being utterly unable to get from
market or stores a single reel of white cotton, for weeks, and my husband
being reduced to wearing a highly decorative but somewhat unusual pair of
amateur boot-laces made of bright crimson Hausa leather!
Boots must be fairly solid as to soles; the soil of West Africa seems
to have a specially destructive effect on English leather. In Sierra
Leone, for instance, the soles are worn out in a few weeks, though in
Nigeria things are not so bad; for while in Sierra Leone, I walked
because I loathed crawling in a hammock, here, with ponies, walking is
not a bit necessary. Still, it is impossible to get boots resoled, so
as to be wearable, therefore do not economize in this direction, only
remember that all your foot-gear must be constantly worn or it will
spoil. Blacking boots are only a vexation, they always seem sticky,
and dirty one’s hands and skirts; I should recommend a stout, _really_
stout, pair of tan laced boots for heavy walking, about half a size
larger than usual, a lighter pair for ordinary wear (tan buckskin is
delightfully cool and soft for the dry weather), and a couple of pairs
of walking-shoes of tan or black glacé kid. It is useless to lay down
anything definite, as people use their feet so differently; some are hard
on boots, while others can wear them for years apparently. Of course,
boot-trees have a good deal to say to the longevity of foot-gear, and,
now that such light ones are to be had, three or four pairs would not
be too many. I have heard it said that walking-shoes are dangerous on
account of snakes, but they are far cooler than boots, and one really
does not have to pick one’s way among snakes as a rule, and I have
always found them a pleasant variety. About indoor shoes you will, of
course, decide for yourself; I think perhaps they wear out quicker than
at home—mine do, at all events, but my incessant perambulations in the
garden, stables, etc., may have something to do with that! They should be
glacé kid, not patent leather, on account of coolness.
Riding-boots ought to be tan, and a very easy fit; I have been told that
stiffened canvas uppers and tan-leather feet constitute delightfully cool
riding-boots, but I have no personal experience of them, and think one
can hardly improve on good tan leather: I have never desired anything
cooler, even in a Punjab hot weather. A little toilet powder sprinkled
inside makes them much easier to pull on.
Mosquitoes do not deal more gently with us here than they do elsewhere;
all the men wear long loose boots, made in this country, of Hausa
leather; they are an absolute protection, and, if somewhat too clumsy
for a lady’s wear, as a rule, they are exceedingly useful in camp. For
ordinary use, a pair of black canvas gaiters, buttoned and reaching to
the knee, can be worn over ordinary evening slippers. They are so neat
as not to be noticeable at all, and are an absolute protection when
mosquitoes are numerous and hungry.
So much for your outer woman. At the end of this chapter, I am giving a
list of what appears to me the least possible supply of clothes to make
you comfortable, and, bearing in mind that it takes two months to get
additions out from Home, even to Lokoja, and much longer up country, you
will doubtless agree that it is best to be independent. You will want a
large quantity of underclothing, and, first of all, you must decide for
yourself about the solidity of vests, etc. I cannot suggest hygienic
principles, as I never practise them; do as you are accustomed to do,
as that appears to make for comfort. I met one lady in Africa, who told
me she wore _merino combinations_, because, having worn them always in
England, she felt cold without them—and this in a mean temperature of
eighty or ninety degrees!
I think perfect comfort and happiness can be found in fine cambric or
nainsook combinations, or spun-silk vests and cambric knickers. I rather
doubt the desirability of washing-silk under-garments, chiefly because
the art of laundry work is in its infancy, and the silk shirts that I
have had washed have returned distinctly hard and harsh. But the main
point, in a climate like this, is to have enough of whatever you decide
to wear; you will probably change everything two or three times a day,
and washing is not done here in a day or two, as it is in India. Let
everything be of the thinnest texture, compatible with bad washing.
The Lahman underwear is excellent in its thinnest qualities, and is
invariably praised by those who wear it.
A supply of old underlinen to wear on the voyage and throw overboard is
invaluable; I dislike nothing more than arriving at one’s destination
with a bulging soiled-linen bag, and an uncertain prospect of getting
it converted into clean clothes. On the way home this is quite a simple
matter; after twelve months in the hands of the gentle African laundry
folk, most of your underlinen will be fit for nothing else!
At least six pairs of corsets are necessary, the coolest kind obtainable,
certainly, but I can assure you that to leave off wearing them at any
time for the sake of coolness is a huge mistake: there is nothing so
fatiguing as to lose one’s ordinary support even with a view to being
‘comfy,’ _Always_ wear corsets, even for _tête-à-tête_ home dinner on
the warmest evenings; there is something about their absence almost as
demoralizing as hair in curling-pins!
I should avoid expensive and ‘faddy’ varieties of underclothing. I
remember when I first went to India, I was induced to buy, at a guinea
each, four night-dresses of some special mixture of silk and wool,
which, I was told, would be ‘ideal wear’ for the Red Sea and other
warm localities. Perhaps I am hopelessly prejudiced against anything
resembling flannel, but I thought them _horrible_, and after enduring
one for half an hour, they were all stowed away, to be presented to my
‘ayah’ at the first opportunity. If you think fit to wear a kamerband at
night (a distinctly prudent proceeding), a yard or two of white flannel,
simply torn into lengths about eighteen inches wide, and worn outside the
nightdress, answers the purpose better than anything else; the nights are
almost invariably cool, and usually breezy towards dawn.
With these few hints, aided by your own common sense, I think your outfit
is sure to be successful and satisfactory, and your comfort and dainty
appearance assured; so I need say no more, except a word or two on the
subject of a sun-hat, which you _must_ have, no matter how much your
artistic feelings may rebel against it. Be sure it is large enough, for
the part that needs most protection is the back of the neck, and no
helmet-shaped ‘topi’ will give you real shade there. I like best the
spreading, mushroom shaped wide-brimmed hat, which will fit well down
over back hair and all, so that hat-pins and chin-strap can be dispensed
with. A grey hat, with a grey silk puggaree looks—well, as nice as a
solar topi can be made to look! With this and a couple of simple straw or
Panama hats, you will need no more; the appearance of the latter can be
varied by different ribbons and scarves to relieve the monotony.
If you have any favourite kinds of scent, soap or powder, bring them with
you; scent and powder are not to be bought here, of course, and one’s
‘very own’ soap is a delightful small luxury everywhere. I should like
to say a word for ‘Papier poudre.’ It is the greatest boon in a hot damp
climate, which gives a tendency to greasiness to the best complexions,
and does far less harm than the use of powder; moreover, it never leaves
white streaks on nose or cheeks, even if you pass the little, scented,
absorbent leaf over your face without a mirror.
Now as to boxes, and I have done.
I should strongly advise against the usual leather cabin trunks; they are
so heavy that, although it is true that they fit under a berth, it is a
herculean task to pull them out for anything you may happen to want.
They are likewise too heavy and too large for one carrier’s load, and so
are useless for camp travelling; they wear badly too under rough usage,
which they are quite certain to get. Use regulation tin ‘uniform cases,’
sized approximately 36 in. × 12 in. × 15 in. This is the ideal size for
a carrier’s load, which he carries on his head, steadied with one hand,
so you can imagine that anything much wider than the above dimensions
is a great sorrow to him. But I think, for the sake of your skirts, you
might be allowed one box a little longer, say 42 in., or just long enough
to take a skirt without folding; for the average carrier will make no
objection as to length, so long as you consider his feelings as to width.
You will find these boxes handier too in the cabin; you can put a couple
of them under the sofa-berth, and feel fairly independent of the sea
that comes in once or twice on every voyage. On the journey up river,
on the little stern-wheelers, space is a great consideration, and a big
trunk quite un-get-at-able; one feels less compunction in improvising a
seat out of a tin box than out of a leather one, and seats have to be
improvised very often on these occasions!
The following list is only intended as a basis to work on, and to be
added to as your fancy dictates and your purse allows:—
Six cambric night-dresses.
Two flannel night-dresses.
Twelve cambric combinations.
Six pairs cambric knickers.
Twelve spun silk vests.
Six pairs tan thread stockings.
Six pairs black thread stockings.
Three white petticoats.
Two silk moirette petticoats (wears much better than silk).
Two dozen handkerchiefs.
Six pairs corsets.
Twelve camisoles.
One white (washing) dressing-gown.
One woollen dressing-gown.
Four linen skirts.
Two holland or drill skirts.
Two muslin dresses.
One cloth gown.
One tea-gown.
Two evening gowns.
Blouses _ad. lib._
One habit skirt.
Four riding coats.
Two pairs riding breeches.
Two Panama hats.
One solar topi.
One light coat.
One _en-tout-cas_.
One sunshade.
One mackintosh.
One pair thick tan boots.
One pair tan walking boots.
One pair tan glacé walking shoes.
One pair black glacé walking shoes.
Six pairs house slippers.
One pair tan riding boots.
INDEX
A
Abadie, Captain, 107
“Aerolite,” 174
Aiede, 19
Albino, 20
Anglo-French Boundary Commission, 184, 185
Anglo-German Boundary Commission, 50
Ant hills, 18
Arab merchants, 140
Ashburnham, Captain, 2
Astride, riding, 265
B
Badjibo, 155
Balu, 181
Bargery, Mr. and Mrs., 190
Bebeji, 71
Benue, river, 50
Bida, 27, 185
market of, 189
“Binkie,” 62
Bird-life, 156
_Black Swan_, 50
Borgu, 147
people of, 177
superstitions of, 178
Boxes, 301
“Boys,” 214
Bryophyllum, 139
Bunu language, 121
funeral ceremonies, 122
Burglary, 63
Burutu, 3
Bussa, 160
C
Camp life, 271
kitchen, 278
provisions, 289
Cannas, 17
Carriers, 282
Carts (mono-wheel), 66
Chop-boxes, 272
Churn, 234
Cook, native, 208
Coronation Day, 22, 25
Cows, 234
D
Dogs, 221
feeding of, 223
dosing of, 224
“Doki boy,” 259, 262
Duck-shooting, 42
E
Egga, 37
Ekiurin, 17
Erun, 22
F
Filter, 201
Fish, 157
“Flamboyant,” 7
“Fritz,” 151
Fruit, 214
Furniture, 196
bedroom, 202
G
Ganna, 40, 89
Garden, 239
flower, 240
verandah, 248
vegetable, 249
Girouard, Sir Percy, K.C.M.G., 191
Gloriosa Superba, 12
Goldsmith, Mr., 26
H
Hadeija, 99
Emir of, 100
departure from, 104
Hasler, Major, 70
Hausa embroidery, 30
scholarship, 59
Home, the, 195
Horse-doctor, native, 57
Horses, feeding of, 260
Household, 205
wages of, 206
servants, 207
Housekeeping, 210
I
Igarra, 127
Ilesha, 170
funeral at, 171
Illo, 161
Incubator, 229
Isochelis, 139
J
_Jebba_, the, 58
Jebba, 153
Ju-ju hill, 124
house, 17
rock, 154
K
Kabba, 15, 112, 115
Ilorin boundary, 138
Kaiama, 167
Sariki of, 168
Kano, 73
Emir of, 79
residency, 82
_Karonga_, the, 5
Karshi, 108
Katāgum, 92
Keffi, 47
Kemball, General and Mrs., 35
_Kigelia Africana_, 139
Kishra, 176
Kitchen, Nigerian, 209
L
Lawn, 244
Lions, 166
Lokoja, 8
Look-out hill, 120
Lukpa, 15
M
Marabouts, 96
Meat, 211
Mexican poppy, 138
Moloney, Captain, 54
Momo, 39
Mosquito net, 203
Mungo Park, death of, 175
Mureji, 110
Murmur, 97
_Mussaenda Elegans_, 13
N
Nassuf, 140
O
Oduapi, 13
Osé River, 21
Ostrich, tame, 96
Oudney, Richard, 97
Oven, native, 38
Oxen, pack, 88
Oysters, 178
P
Palm-cats—_Nandinia binotata_, 137
Patti Abaja, 136
Patti hill, 8
Phillips, Captain, D.S.O., 129
Poultry, 226
feeding of, 231
Preperanda, 6
R
Rapids, ascending, 159
Rapids at Wuru, 160
at Mullale, 185
Riding habit, 294
boots, 297
S
Saddlery, 264
Salla, great, 189
_Sekondi_, the, 1
Semolika, 126
attack on, 131
stool, 134
Serval cat, 182
Sierra Leone, 1
Slaves, 47
Sokoto, disaster at, 162
Stable, the, 257
Stern-wheelers, 5
Steward, duties of, 214
Stone, Mr., 3
Strophanthus, 138
T
Tornado, dry, 163
at Kaiama, 173
Transhipping, 147
Transport, animal, 85
Trees and shrubs, 245
U
Underclothing, 298
“Uwāmu,” 95
V
Vegetables, 213
W
Wa-wa, 165
Wear, what to, 291
Wilmot, Mr. and Mrs., 133
Z
Zaria, 70
Zinnias, 70
Zungeru, 65
[Illustration: BUTLER & TANNER
THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS
FROME]