BURUTU
A port in a swamp—Training native engineers—A composite
village—Social grades—Medical provision—Mr John Burns on a
Nigerian river—Back to the sea 348
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
A Gateway in the Wall of Kano _Frontispiece_
The Rt. Hon. Sir George Taubman Goldie, Founder of
Nigeria _Facing page_ 64
One of the Emir’s Trumpeters ” 78
Native Skin-merchants with Transport, Kano ” 78
Captain J. J. Brocklebank, D.S.O. ” 82
The Premises of the London and Kano Trading Company at Kano ” 82
Sir Frederick Lugard, D.S.O., First Governor of Northern
Nigeria ” 92
Houses in Kano City. The cheapest type, rent 1s. 6d. a year ” 94
Houses in Kano City. A detached dwelling, rent 1s. 9d. a
year ” 94
House in Kano City, rent 2s. 6d. a year ” 96
No. 1 Kano. The houses in the city are numbered to
facilitate taxation ” 96
An Arab Merchant who trades from the Shores of the
Mediterranean to Kano ” 102
Ex Sergt.-Major Dowdu, a Beri-Beri from Bornu ” 102
The Magistrate’s Court in the Market. His worship is on
the steps ” 108
A Detachment of the Emir’s Police ” 108
A Corner of Kano Market. Note the stocks ” 112
A Section of the Market with Open-air Stalls ” 112
The Principal Mosque ” 114
An Entrance to the Courtyard of the Emir’s Palace ” 114
The Royal Courts of Justice ” 116
The Native Treasury, known as the Beit-el-Mal ” 116
A Street in Kano ” 118
Doctor’s Shop in the Market ” 118
Hausa Woman-trader. Her clothes are silk and her rings
silver ” 120
A Hausa Belle ” 120
Tureg Traders from Lake Chad. They are reformed robbers ” 122
Abigah (seated) and his Two Wives ” 122
“Zaki!”—Natives giving the usual salute to a white man ” 128
Respect to the Aged is shown by removing the Shoes and
Curtsying ” 128
The Religion of the Mohamedan forbids the use of soap, as
it contains fat. Shaving therefore is done with the aid
of water only ” 138
Specimen of the Barber’s Art ” 138
Carriers ready to start ” 168
A Bridge which is swept away by the stream each year during
the wet season ” 168
A Government Rest-house ” 174
The Headman’s House at Toro, where the Author slept ” 174
Approach to a Pagan Town. A maze of impenetrable cactus ” 248
A Pagan Homestead, built against a rock to prevent rear
attacks ” 248
Pagan Farmer using his only implement, a spade-hoe ” 250
The King of the Jarawa Pagans dancing in Honour of the
Author’s Visit. The accompaniment is by his Court band
in State uniform ” 250
A Naked Pagan riding his pony barebacked ” 256
Pagan Horsemen ” 256
Bukuru Sign Language ” 258
Mr S. E. M. Stobart, the Resident at Bukuru, and His Staff ” 268
Bukuru Residency ” 268
Pagan Feminine Fashions ” 270
A Pagan Beauty of the Dass Tribe ” 272
A Girl of the Jarawa Tribe. The cuts in the face are made
when she reaches the age of puberty ” 272
Jarawa Pagans. The marks are produced by the flesh being
cut and charcoal placed in the incision ” 276
Signalled message _Page_ 290
A Beri-Beri Woman with an elaborate headdress _Facing page_ 290
Swearing in a Pagan and a Mohamedan for the Northern
Nigeria Regiment ” 290
Hausa Boy playing the molah, a kind of banjo ” 298
Fiddle with Strings and Bow of Horse-hair rubbed with Gum ” 298
Hausa House-Building with Grass. The foundation ” 310
The Finished Mansion. It is put up, including cutting the
grass, in a couple of hours ” 310
Manicure. The fee is twenty cowries, i.e., about
one-fourteenth of a penny ” 338
A Nupé Pilot on the Niger ” 338
A European Trading Station on the Niger ” 342
On a Creek of the Niger ” 342
The Niger Company’s Wharf at Burutu ” 348
Shipping Palm-oil for Direct Transit to Liverpool ” 348
THROUGH UNKNOWN NIGERIA
CHAPTER I
OUTWARD BOUND
Call of the Coast—Mal-de-mer—Coasters afloat—From 78° to
90°—The Kru sailor—His civilised degeneration—Laundryman’s
discipline—A dangerous stretch—The skipper—From ship to train.
What induces that mysterious, elusive “call to the Coast” to which
few who have been to West Africa remain unresponsive? None deny its
existence, even those who remain unaffected. Yet no conclusive answer
has been given for a strange, fascinating attraction to revisit a part
of the world which is regarded as uninviting. The “call” cannot be one
of mere novelty, for it is only men and women who have lived in West
Africa—perhaps suffered there—who are impelled to return, in spite of its
drawbacks and talked-of risks, some real, some unduly and unnecessarily
magnified.
Whether I felt the “call” strongly, overpoweringly, or merely preferred
the country as a change to England has been tested. Not long ago my
Editor enquired was I willing for a journey to Egypt, with its splendid
climate and the charm of looking on the land of Bible stories; he asked
whether I cared for a trip through East Africa, with the delightful flora
and fauna of a new colony. Neither attracted me. The mention of each
created no eagerness. But when, one Wednesday afternoon, he called me
into his room and spoke of West Africa I was all agog.
“You will be there in the rainy season,” he warned.
“I know, though I should prefer another period of the year; but do not
ask anybody else if you wish me to go.”
“All right. When would you be ready to start?”
“From London next Tuesday if you urgently desire, but I should like a
little longer, to fulfil a special engagement.”
The conversation took place at 2.30 p.m. By 5.30 the following afternoon
everything had been settled.
Another prospective journey in West Africa filled me with delight, and
no more blithesome soul stepped on the Elder Dempster liner _Akabo_ the
morning she left the Princes’ Quay at Liverpool.
A smooth course through the Irish Sea takes us next morning round
Land’s End and across the mouth of the English Channel, which is in
anything but a friendly mood; and, as usual on the second day out, the
chronicler promptly goes into involuntary retirement. In previous similar
experiences he had not troubled the ship’s doctor, but on the present
occasion a slight trouble not yielding to the applications from his
own medicine-case, he thinks it well to utilise skilled, professional
treatment.
As promptly as if he were carrying out a three-guinea visit, Dr Hanington
appears. A British Columbian with an exceedingly rapid delivery of
words, before you have finished your explanation, not a look at tongue
nor a touch at the pulse, he has darted out of the cabin and almost
instantaneously returns, holding a tube of gelatine in the left hand and
a tumbler of water in the other. You cannot gulp down drug and liquid and
splutter or stammer your thanks in time for them to catch the swiftly
disappearing doctor, who whilst you have been employed in the operation
of swallowing has ejaculated, with a delightful Irish brogue, “That will
put you right. You will be skipping about the deck to-morrow.”
Three times that day Dr Hanington came unsolicited to see the patient,
the two later visits extending to interviews with conversations. They
were of the bright, cheery kind, such as, “The Channel is always beastly.
I am usually sick there myself. We shall be through the Bay to-morrow
noon. It will be smoother than this choppy water”—a glance through the
glass of the porthole—“and then you will be running along the promenade
deck.” That seems a far-distant vision to the helpless victim of grievous
mal-de-mer, though its manifestation is limited to intense headache.
Meanwhile prompt attention is forthcoming from the berth steward, W.
Harrison. The measure of your suffering is indexed by your feed. The
first morning of being down Harrison enters the cabin and asks tenderly,
“What can I get you for breakfast, sir?” holding out a menu-card. “Don’t
show me that” is the shuddering reply. The sight certainly the thought,
of it provokes an internal protest against food. “My stomach no fit
for chop,” as the natives down the Coast would say. Anglise: “I cannot
possibly eat.”
Midday Harrison appears in an enquiring attitude, “No, thank you; not
now.”
The evening brings him again. The situation is slightly on the mend, for
a few grapes are requested and a large bunch is sent in by the chief
steward, Mr James Toner. Next morning there is a brighter outlook. Life
appears worth living. Dry biscuits and grapes are readily asked for. The
doctor makes a call, which is repeated a few hours later, and each time
he insists, in his quick manner of expression, that the still-stricken
patient is appreciably nearing the stage of tearing about the deck.
Lunch-time the menu-card, which Harrison on his calls has evidently been
holding behind him, out of sight, no longer creates the former revulsion,
and a little cold meat, mashed potatoes and biscuits are selected. The
fulfilment of the doctor’s prophecy still, however, feels a long way off,
but he urges the powers of the sea, the fresh air and the breeze, adding
that “the close breathing in a cabin gives as much trouble as the rolling
waves.”
Two efforts were made to dress. They had to be abandoned. The prone
position was the only one endurable. An hour or two and a third
endeavour. Very laboured was each stage of the toilet. There were strong
indications that internal influences would prevail. Fortunately the
perpendicular balance was maintained until the last touch had been given,
and then a washed-out looking object crawled upstairs and huddled itself
in a deck chair. Dr Hanington’s declaration was not as far removed
from justification, after all, for the fresh air proved wonderfully
recuperative, and by the following morning the patient was, like Richard,
himself again. It was the shortest of his many terms of mal-de-mer, the
limited span entirely due to the excellent doctor of the _Akabo_.
Now there is opportunity to look at one’s surroundings. We have not
many trippers aboard. Half-a-dozen for the Canary Islands. The rest are
Coasters, the term given to men employed in West Africa, either in the
Government service or in commercial concerns. Some are going out for the
first time; others have served many years and are returning after the
home leave which is given at the close of every twelve months, eighteen
months, or two years, according to the agreement. Government men are
allowed four months in England, on full pay, for every twelve spent in
West Africa. It sounds pleasant and easy, but, although marvels have been
wrought in the health statistics by the discoveries of Manson, Ross and
Boyce on the transmission of malarial fever; and the splendid medical
staff in the colonies, with the hospital Sisters, have multiplied many
times the chances of life, still, under the best conditions the climate
must remain a trying one, and an unduly long sojourn in it is likely to
undermine the constitution of the strongest.
Contact with another civilisation, or years passed in places where there
is none, has not made coarse the tender chord of sentiment in these
outward-bound Coasters. Look in at their cabins and you will frequently
discover the framed photograph of a female figure and perhaps the
voyager in front of it, bent, writing. Possibly the original in some
English home is similarly occupied towards this direction.
It must not be assumed, however, that people whose days are spent in
West Africa have a more serious view of life than the rest of mankind.
As a body, they are a happy, light-hearted community, with the colonial
spirit of good-fellowship. No fears of the unhealthiness of the climate
affect them. If fever or worse is to come, time enough when it puts in
an appearance. They are not men to meet trouble half-way. Part of the
battle in warding off climatic disease is not to think of it. They act on
that principle. Whether as Government officials or those associated with
mining or commerce, nearly all are physically above the corresponding
class in Europe.
One quickly realises why the men are the few chosen from the many called.
They have been selected with care. There is no place for wasters in West
Africa, either from the health or the business aspect. A few may get
there. They are soon found out. In recruiting their staffs the trading
firms select those likely to justify the expense of being sent. The
salary to be earned as an “agent”—manager of a store—attracts persons who
have not the opportunities in England which present themselves in West
Africa. There are drawbacks, but the recompense is not small for a man
who can make his way. Everybody must weigh the pros and cons for himself.
A sharp change of temperature occurs as we pass Cape Verde, nine days
out. A little beyond this point is the great Gambia River, which comes
out heated by the scorching winds of the Sahara Desert, and at the mouth
of the river there are also flowing up towards us warm currents from
the south. It is not uncommon for hardy voyagers to be weakened and
temporarily knocked over by the sudden rise of temperature. These are the
figures we experience:
Thursday 10 a.m. 72° off Cape Blanco.
Friday 10 a.m. 78° approaching Cape Verde.
Saturday 10 a.m. 82°.
Saturday 4.40 p.m. 86° in a well-ventilated cabin with an
electrical fan running.
Saturday 4.40 p.m. 90° on deck of the ship at full speed, under
a stout awning.
At Sierra Leone—eleven days from Liverpool—the ship’s company is
augmented by a number of Kru sailors, who proceed to a spring-cleaning
with a zest and enjoyment unmistakable.
The Kruman is the seaman of West Africa. His villages are on the
seashore. He is put in the water and made to swim from babyhood. He can
be seen coming to a ship, on rough, rolling waves, in a frail canoe
crudely cut or burnt out from the trunk of a soft-wood tree. A couple
of small boys will paddle such a canoe two or three miles out to sea.
At certain parts of the Coast the lads dive for coppers thrown from an
anchored vessel, and do it as unconcernedly as though they were in a calm
river instead of a place frequented by sharks. Yet no fatalities are
known, which is probably due to the noise the youngsters make. Should a
shark be espied hovering near, several of the boys will even swim towards
it, shouting, yelling, and splashing, and the brute, who is a coward,
slips away.
At Axim, Gold Coast, three days beyond Sierra Leone, a further complement
of Krumen are shipped. Each batch is of a different tribe. That from
Sierra Leone consists of Nana Krus; at Axim they have come from the
Beri-Beri country, on the French Grain Coast. Some years ago they
clandestinely left French territory, where they were compelled to labour
on public works, and founded a small settlement near Axim, for the
purpose of serving on British ships. At one time the French prevented
shipment from their own shore unless at a tax per man, but now there is
no objection to enlistment at recognised ports of entry. Krus who have
made homes in the British sphere prefer to remain there.
Considerable difference is noticeable between the two tribes mentioned.
The Nanas are greatly inferior in physique and stamina. The degeneration
is due to evils resulting from the “civilisation” to be found in certain
districts of Sierra Leone. The Beri-Beris, who have been freer from these
influences, are a much better type. In a set period, fifteen of the
latter will do more work, with less effort, than can be carried out by
twenty-five of the former in the same time.
Each body of Krus is under its own Headman, who will be either a village
Chief or appointed by the Captain of the ship. The Headman can usually be
relied upon to keep his folks up to the mark. He receives instructions
from the officers as to what is required. They leave him to have it done,
and, as a rule, it is sure to be done well. The Headman is given tea and
other small luxuries, in addition to the usual rations of rice and fish,
and he is allowed to bring a small boy, usually his son, to assist him
in cooking.
At Sierra Leone there has also come on board the black laundryman and
his “boys,” who deal with passengers’ linen. It is not turned out in the
finished style of a first-class establishment in England, but what is
lacking in other respects is made up by very liberal starching. A couple
of collars feel they could support an anchor.
The laundryman frequently walks round with a broom. The article is not
for professional use in connection with the tub; the handle is utilised
for gentle persuasion and is applied to the cranium of the delinquent who
needs stimulus or correction. When applied, the thwack can be heard many
yards distant and is only rivalled in sound by the ship’s siren. A thin
skull would be crushed by such a blow. The “boy” who receives one shakes
it off as nothing, and sometimes gets a succession of them for laughing
at the first. There is “Home Rule all round” for the various black
departments of the vessel, and he is a wise man who does not attempt to
interfere with local customs and usage.
The night after leaving Sierra Leone we are passing the Kru Coast,
Liberia, probably the most uncertain and dangerous four hundred miles
stretch along West Africa, because of the outlying rocks and reefs
and the irregular insetting currents. Except at Monrovia, Grand Bassa
and Cape Palmas, and even there the lights are of minor power, no
illuminations or beacons mark the dangers. Often without warning the
currents set towards the land. No precautions on the ship are considered
superfluous. The deep-sea lead is cast at not longer intervals than every
four hours, and anybody who owing to the heat has made his bed on deck
and is awake may see the figure of the Captain frequently flit from his
cabin during the night to join the officer on watch on the bridge.
When we are in calmer waters and the dark night has shut out surroundings
and made us feel we are a little world to ourselves, we are now and again
reminded of the vigilance maintained for our safety, as the look-out
sings to the officer of the watch, “Light on the starboard bow, sir,”
and you see, miles away on your right front, a small gleaming lamp which
tells of another ship on these trackless areas. And if the officer of the
watch is in light mood you may hear him humming the doggerel of the “rule
of the road” at sea:
“If all three lights I see ahead, I port my helm and show my red,
For green to green and red to red are perfect safety, ‘Go ahead.’
But if to starboard red appear, it is my duty to keep clear.
To act as judgment says is proper, port or starboard, back or stop her.
But when in danger or in doubt I always keep a good look-out.
In danger with no room to turn, I ease her, stop her, or go astern.”
Skippers of these West African liners become well known to the voyagers
who pass backwards and forwards at regular intervals, and it is my good
fortune to sail with one of the most popular of them. The manner Captain
Pooley is regarded by travellers may be gauged from the fact that three
on this journey are making the third voyage designedly on his ship and
another had altered the date of starting by a fortnight to again be with
him.
Twenty years along the West Coast of Africa and among its native
population has not dulled the sympathy of Captain Pooley towards that
race. All that can possibly be done for the deck passengers, taken on
at the various ports, is effected. Canvas awnings are put up to protect
the men “and especially the women and babies,” as he explains, from the
downpours of the wet season.
The skipper is a storehouse of stories about the Krumen. He tells a tale
related by a fellow Captain against himself. He was carrying two white,
Rotterdam hogs to the Oil Rivers and noticed one of his Kru sailors
seated on the ground, gazing into the pen where the animals were kept.
Placing his hand on the Kruman’s woolly pate, he said, “Hullo, my frien’,
you look your brudder, eh?”
Turning his face upwards the Kruman answered, “Massa Capin, he no be my
brudder,” adding, with a twinkle, “he be white.”
Secondee, Cape Coast and Accra are the further ports at which stops are
made, and at 7 a.m. on the sixteenth day from leaving Liverpool we are
at anchor about four miles off Lagos, the capital of Southern Nigeria.
Passengers going up-country tranship to a branch steamer of about eight
hundred tons which takes them over the sand-bar, which the liner cannot
pass, and across the large lagoon, depositing them at Iddo Wharf, the
railway terminus.
CHAPTER II
FROM THE COAST BY TRAIN—THE WEST AFRICAN PULLMAN
Iddo Wharf—Strange sights and
thoughts—Umbrellas—“Niggers”—Train luxuries—Liquor permits—The
iron-horse at the Niger—Ferry and bridge—Budget details.
Passing the length of the lagoon—a mile wide at its broadest
point—leaving the town of Lagos, with its busy wharves and crowded
streets, on his right, less than an hour’s steaming from the Roads and
the traveller is at Iddo Wharf. The train is drawn up near the water, and
passengers walk a few steps from marine to land locomotion.
Strange sights appear to the traveller as he stands at Iddo Wharf. The
strangest—or the strangest thought—of all is that there should be a train
running in West Africa on which there is every reasonable comfort and
luxury, and that this train should be in existence—the first of its kind
in this part of the world—a few months after the extension of the line
had been opened. First, however, a word or two on the surroundings at the
terminus.
The train leaves at 9 p.m. on whatever day the ocean ship arrives. The
vessel is due in the morning, but people have not the inconvenience
of loafing about a strange town for hours. The boat train is an ark,
available all day as a resting-place for the sole of the foot. All its
resources for meals can at once be utilised.
By nightfall most of the luggage will have been stowed in the vans. A few
late arrivals, perhaps persons who have not come by the ship, will be
having their belongings attended to. Black wharf labourers, who have been
working late and are going home, put their umbrellas on the ground in
order to give a hand in packing the vans. These labourers, whose attire
is usually like that of the Wandering Minstrel in “The Mikado,” “a thing
of shreds and patches,” almost to a man carry an umbrella as they go home
o’ nights—bless you! not for protection against rain, but as an article
of adornment. It is as much a matter of course with them as the clay pipe
and the cloth cap are with their counterpart in Great Britain. Different
countries, different customs.
Nearly all the other officials at Iddo Wharf are also indigenous West
Africans—clerks, inspectors, foremen, porters. There are as many grades
and degrees of education among any one Coast people as there are with
our folks in Europe. Were this fact always recognised and remembered,
perhaps a little more tact might be exercised by individuals who regard
all black men as “niggers” and suit their actions to the word. I stand as
no apologist for the smatteringly-educated native, who dressed in uniform
takes up an attitude truculent and offensive towards white men. It is
British policy and systems of education which are responsible.
There is also at Iddo Wharf at least one first-class, white railway
official on duty to attend to any matter requiring his attention.
The train usually consists of eight coaches, some of them fifty feet
long, and therefore easy running at the fairly high speed over certain
portions of the line. Meals are served en route, and every attention
is received from the inspector of restaurant cars, who was formerly a
chief steward in the Elder Dempster fleet. In the course of the journey
I witnessed his solicitude, and that of the European head guard, Cyril
Richards, for passengers who were not well and unable to take the table
meals. The inspector, whose name I regret to have mislaid, had light
food brought instead, the charge for which was, in instances, less than
a quarter that of the regular menu. Perhaps the action does not appear
surprising, but it means a deal in a country where a man feels weak and
knows he has little margin of strength to withstand the effect of the
climate.[1]
The term sleeping saloon means provision of bed, blankets, and linen.
Couches are fitted for rest during the day. Electric light is in all
compartments, which are provided with electrically-driven fans and have
mosquito-proof windows. Shower baths are another luxury for which there
is no extra payment. No doubt it all sounds prosaic enough to the trotter
across the European continent. Let him “pad the hoof” in the tropics, or
so much as be in an ordinary West African train for several days where he
is entirely “on his own,” with a temperature ranging from 90 degrees to
112 degrees in the shade, or with the Harmattan winds bringing scorching
dust into his ears, nostrils and the pores of his skin, covering every
mouthful before it can enter that avenue. Should he have experienced
these things, have a memory, and is inclined to gratitude, then he will
take off his hat to the Administration of the Lagos Government Railway,
if he does not go so far as to be Biblically impelled and rise up and
call the work of their hands blessed.
The traveller wakes for early morning tea to find himself traversing the
palm belt. There is a continuous line of the tall, thin, bare trunks,
surmounted by the graceful, drooping palms beneath which cluster the
kernels which are the main wealth of Southern Nigeria. Palm kernels and
palm oil are to Southern Nigeria what coal is to England. There are
rumours that that mineral has been located on the lower Niger. Possibly I
may be able to say something on the subject as I come down the river on
the return journey.
Running through at night, several features of interest are unseen,
prominent among them the exceptionally pretty view towards the Sacred
Hill at Olokemeji and Ibadan, the largest town in West Africa, though not
nearly so frequently spoken of as the much smaller ones of Zaria, Bida,
Sokoto and Kano. Each has had the advertisement of war.
A short stop for water—not the first—is made at 6.45 a.m. at Oshogbo,
187 miles from Lagos, and still one of the hopes of the British Cotton
Growing Association. Little more than an hour later the line enters
Northern Nigeria. At Offa, the station over the frontier, permits have
to be shown to take wines or spirits into the Mohamedan land, even for
personal consumption. We are now 1,500 feet above sea level.
Jebba, 306 miles, is reached at noon, and here one of the stiff
difficulties of railway construction which faced the engineers can be
seen. The Niger must be crossed. The easiest way of doing so is from the
south mainland to a large island, thence to the north mainland. The south
channel is 1,100 feet broad, the north one rather less. The latter has
been bridged; the former is still under that operation, which will not be
finished for two years, making three in all.
The length across the river is the least of the obstacles to be solved.
Heavy rises and falls of the water—in a month it may alter from 15 feet
to 50 feet—made the work not only hard and hazardous, but impossible at
certain periods of the year. But with hundreds of miles of rail completed
south and north last November, it would have been an exasperating
position to have to wait a further two and a half years for through
connection. A civil engineer will tell you that nothing on earth is
impossible. It is only a matter of money and time.
Well, the same train which carries you from Lagos to its destination at
Minna, 161 miles beyond Jebba, covers its course without the traveller
having to leave his carriage. The train goes over the Niger by means of
a ferry. That, however, is itself a difficult subject by reason of the
varying height of the river. The question at issue was how to transport
weights, too heavy to be safely lifted, from a fixed level to an
alternating one.
The carriages are run to the head of an inclined plane and a wire rope
fastened to each coach, the other end encircling a winding drum. Another
rope bound to the further end of the carriage draws it on the slope
of the plane, and the winding machine lets it down. The plane carries
the carriages to a trolly bridge resting on the river, and rising and
falling with it. The trolly bridge fits to a steam ferry which bears four
carriages, so that the entire train is taken over in two journeys. At
Jebba Island the reverse process is followed, and a freight engine being
coupled up the train proceeds over the north channel bridge and thus
onwards.
Kooty-Wenji should be made by daylight, and there a halt is made till
next morning, as the line has not yet been ballasted, and is therefore
not safe to be used at night.
At 6 a.m. the train is again on the move, and in less than an
hour-and-a-half we draw up at Zungeru, 430 miles from Lagos. The course
has been covered in thirty-six hours. A week later the boat train
attained a record by doing the journey in twenty-four hours.
I am making a short stay at Zungeru; but perhaps it will make a better
connected narrative if a few additional railway particulars are given
now. Midday the train leaves for Minna, which is its destination. A
journey straight ahead can be made by ordinary train to Kano, 282 miles
from Zungeru. The traveller for the tin fields in the Bauchi and the
Nassarawa Provinces will alight at Zaria, 90 miles south of Kano. From
Zaria, the Bauchi Light Railway will in seven hours take him the 88½
miles to Rahama railhead.
Appended are the through fares by the boat train, including sleeping
accommodation and attendance:
£ s. d.
Lagos to Ibadan 3 0 6
” ” Zungeru 6 7 3
” ” Zaria 8 12 4
” ” Rahama 9 14 7
” ” Kano 9 14 10
First-class passengers by the boat train are allowed the following weight
of luggage, excess of which is placed at heavier rates:
2 cwts. free.
20 ” at 7s. 2d. per cwt. to Zungeru.
20 ” at 9s. 3d. ” ” to Zaria.
20 ” at 9s. 11d. ” ” to Kano.
Additional 20 ” at 10s. 6d. ” ” to Zungeru.
” 20 ” at 13s. 6d. ” ” to Zaria.
” 20 ” at 14s. 6d. ” ” to Kano.
Meals are charged: early morning tea, 6d.; breakfast, 2s.; lunch, 3s.;
afternoon tea, 1s.; dinner, 4s. 6d.
Doubtless very mundane details, but useful to the man who desires to know
before setting forth from Europe how he is to fare financially in small
matters.
CHAPTER III
ZUNGERU—THE CAPITAL OF THE PROTECTORATE
A garden-city Capital—“Ikey” square—Autocracy
thorough—Circumscribed accommodation and doubled-up
quarters—Young administrators—Strict, stern, severe economy—The
Governor’s “Palace”—Job-lot furniture—His Excellency’s
1s.-an-hour, Bank-Holiday motor-car—Pooh-Bah Cantonment
magistrate.
I expected to find Zungeru a town more or less roughly divided into
official, business and residential quarters, with clearly-defined and
named roads and thoroughfares. The Capital of Northern Nigeria—the
administrative headquarters—is, however, a city in a garden; and a very
small city at that, probably the smallest in existence, much smaller than
Monrovia, the Capital of the Republic of Liberia.
Still, power is seated at Zungeru—power strong, clear, absolute. The
Governor of Northern Nigeria is given fuller authority over the people
and the country than is in the hands of the Kaiser of Germany or the
Czar of Russia. Without giving a reason he can decide questions of life
and death; cancel a lease held by European or native; deny entry of or
expel white or black; make law by simply issuing a Proclamation. He has
not even a nominated Legislative Council, as in Crown Colonies. The form
of government for natives in Northern Nigeria will be dealt with in a
separate chapter.
Zungeru consists of a few bungalows dotted irregularly amidst trees
in open grass and bush country. The roads, made by the Public Works
Department, are very good: gravel, 10 to 30 feet wide and excellent for
cyclists. The thoroughfares are all unnamed. You do not say that you live
at such-and-such a house in such-and-such a road, or avenue, or street,
but that your address is number one, two, or three, or any other number,
as the case may be, Zungeru.
One point must not be included in this generalisation. Leaving out the
Secretariat, five of the principal Government buildings face the same
centre, and are designated by the natives Aiki—pronounced Ikey—Square.
Aiki is the Hausa word for work, and the name therefore means “the place
where the work is done.” Gratifying to the persons whose hours are spent
there.
Certainly there is an official quarter, but it comprises the whole of the
town, with the exception of the Niger Company’s store, and the native
village, which is a recent creation. Midway between the two points are
the native clerks’ houses. Distinct from all the places stated are the
military lines and the police barracks. That, in outline, is the story of
Zungeru to-day.
It is ten years old, and previous to the advent of the British, in 1901,
was scarcely a “geographical expression,” for few maps gave the place.
The population is made up of seventy officials, two hundred native
officials, and four white members of the staff of the Niger Company and
the Bank of Nigeria.
The extension of the Lagos Railway from Jebba to Kano via Zungeru last
January has brought the last-named within two days of the sea, instead
of between three and four weeks, according to the state of the rivers.
But the character of Zungeru is unchanged, and is likely to remain so.
There is no prospect within sight of its becoming a city or even a town,
as understood in Europe. More passengers may pass up and down the line,
for commercial or other reasons, than formally travelled through, and a
number of individuals may consider it necessary to come to Zungeru to see
Government officials about mining matters—though the total of these is
not likely to be large, as the Government Inspector of Mines, who advises
the Governor, is located at Naraguta—but there is nothing at present to
indicate an appreciable influx of population to Zungeru.
Let there be no mistake about the accommodation in Zungeru. It is
extremely limited. If anybody thinks to arrive by train and “roll off”
to an hotel he will be grievously disappointed. Only in one town of
Southern and Northern Nigeria—territory 333,300 square miles in extent—is
there an hotel. That is at Lagos. Men come without previous notice or
inquiry to Zungeru and expect provision to be made in the way of board
and lodging. It simply cannot be done. Bungalows are few and nearly all
are overcrowded, from Government House down. The Chief Secretary to the
Government, the Chief Justice, the Attorney-General, the Commandant, the
Treasurer, the Director of Public Works, the Principal Medical Officer,
the Chief Transport Officer, the Inspector-General of Police, and the
Commissioner of Police alone have separate housing, very circumscribed.
The rest of the Government staff are “doubled-up,” i.e., two men to
every three-roomed bungalow. As matters stand, there are not sufficient
bungalows to go round even on this plan. It is not uncommon for an
official to be moved from one to another as a man returns to duty, just
finding room where somebody is going on vacation.
Four rest-houses are provided for visitors staying temporarily. The
structures are rather primitive, of dried mud walls and thatched roofs.
The stranger within the gates must bring all his daily requirements with
him: bed, table, chair, cooking utensils, groceries, etc. Fresh meat can
be bought in the native market at certain hours of the day.
Happy in the enjoyment of hospitality at a large private house, I felt
quite a twinge of unworthiness at going to interview at one of these
rest-houses a President of Chamber of Mines, Colonel Judd, who in England
probably dines at the Carlton, the Ritz, or the Midland Grand, and who,
even in Northern Nigeria, wearing a bush shirt, was still spruce, with a
gold-rimmed monocle. A dozen people would have been glad to pay him the
compliment of an invitation as guest, but there was simply no room in
Zungeru where he could be placed. Colonel Judd was the least concerned of
anybody. He expressed himself as quite content, and told me, as we both
sat on the arm-rests of the single deck-chair available, that he had had
to put up with much worse places in the course of his journey and that I
would be fortunate to get as good in the areas I shall shortly cross.
These four rest-houses are frequently all occupied to the fullest
extent. The advent of a stranger, perhaps bent on business with a
Government department, creates a painful situation.
Everything in Zungeru has been done on the lowest price scale, which
is perhaps not the cheapest. From the first, Northern Nigeria has been
short of funds. The Imperial grant-in-aid was kept down to a minimum,
and that minimum much less than it should be in justice to the men who
serve here at great risk to life and health. Not a penny has been spent
that could be avoided. With the exception of the railway bungalows, which
are of brick, but for which rich Southern Nigeria paid, all the others
are of wood which has been exposed to a wasting climate for ten years.
Several are in a dilapidated condition. They are occupied by men holding
high posts whose work is essential to the administration, the finances,
and the peace of the country; yet we make them live in dwellings—there
are none other—which are a daily challenge to health and provocation to
disease. This is not economy; it is gambling with men’s lives for the
sake of a miserable few shillings capital outlay. Sanitary housing—houses
of the proper material and with ample air and protection against the
insect and accompanying pests of the land—is second only to good food in
keeping “fit.” It is high time the necessary measures were carried out.
Excuses have been made for the situation. The future of Zungeru is
uncertain as the Capital of the Protectorate. I will deal with that as
a separate question. On the ground that the Capital may eventually be
located elsewhere, the word went forth five years ago that no further
building was to take place beyond what was absolutely necessary. It is
only what is absolutely necessary that I advocate.
The high invaliding and death-rate which formerly obtained amongst
officials in Northern Nigeria is to be attributed to the bad housing
to which they have been subjected. The rate has lowered greatly. But
too strong a deduction should not be drawn from the latest figures. An
unhealthy station may enjoy long immunity. Tropical illnesses will not
always arrange their appearance in the arbitrary terms of twelve months.
To facilitate statistical argument, they more frequently rise and fall in
a cycle of years. Let the proper steps be taken in Zungeru before the old
high percentage of mortality reasserts itself.
Northern Nigeria is a country of and for young men.
The Postmaster-General strikes you as a fair-haired boy of twenty-two. He
tells you, with pride, he is “much older than that.” He is thirty-two.
The Acting Chief Justice is no “potent, grave, and reverend seigneur,”
but is of an age when in England he would probably be fulfilling the rôle
of “devil” to a leader in the High Court. The cool, clear-headed, and
obviously capable officer temporarily in command of the 1st Battalion
(1,314 men) Northern Nigeria Regiment, Captain G. C. Kelly, would,
elsewhere, in these days of slow promotion, be lucky to have got his
company. His colleague in charge of the battery of four light guns,
Captain C. F. S. Maclaverty, could not hope to discharge anything like
that responsibility at home. The Deputy Director of Railways, under the
famous John Eaglesome, might pass as a youth who had not long finished
his articles.
Those at the head of affairs are not much older in years. I do not
venture to ask the Acting Governor his age, and there is no “Who’s Who”
within reach, but I should judge Mr C. L. Temple, C.M.G., to be on this
side of forty; and the next in rank, the Acting Chief Secretary, Mr H. S.
Goldsmith, who recently temporarily carried out the duties of the highest
position—with absolute rule over a territory containing 10,000,000
inhabitants—is, I learn from a friend, thirty-eight.
He started thirteen years ago, when Northern Nigeria was taken over by
the Crown from the Niger Company. He began, as there was urgent demand
for getting the administrative machinery into working order, in a very
junior post in the Protectorate. In the course of his first year he had
to give help wherever it was most pressing, going from one office to
another: Stores, Transport, Treasury, and the Marine Department. All his
willingness and eagerness were not wasted. Although seemingly unnoticed
at the time, it marked out the kind of officer Sir Frederick Lugard
wanted. In the last birthday honours list Herbert Symond Goldsmith,
Acting Chief Secretary to the Government of Northern Nigeria, received a
C.M.G.
Yes, the country has still opportunities for the man who is ready and
keen. But it is not the place where “the lotus life” can be lived. The
tradition of plenty of work and responsibility which Lugard established
still obtains. Government office hours end at 2 p.m., with an hour’s
interval from nine to ten for breakfast. But they start early, and you
may be startled at first at finding that an appointment for which you
asked has been fixed for 7 a.m.
The time for official hours does not mean that it is a case of “down
tools” as the clock points. I have found the Chief Secretary still hard
at his duties at 5.30 in the afternoon, and one Sunday morning, when I
went to see Captain Kelly at his bungalow, I learnt that he was closely
engaged at the Brigade Office on a defence scheme.
The Secretariat has only a few constituting the personnel, nothing
like the number one might look for at the Capital of such a large and
well-populated territory. In Northern Nigeria the Government is greatly
decentralised. Wide discretion is left to the Residents, who in some
distant and not easily accessible places, such as Bornu and Sokoto,
occupy the position of well-nigh sovereign kinglets. Further, actual and
daily rule is left to the hereditary Emirs of the Provinces, subject to
the advice and guidance, when necessary, of the Residents.
Another cause of the limited staff at the Secretariat is that in Northern
Nigeria strict, stern, severe economy remains the order of the hour.
There is evidence of it all round. The Secretariat is a poor building
indeed. Bare brick whitewashed walls and cement floor crumbling in
places, and in others worn into holes. Not a roll-top desk or anything
approaching it in the place. Old, plain wooden tables, and, at the
farther edge of each, roughly-made pigeon-holes. By way of contrast,
the tables are of a light colour and the pigeon-holes have at some time
or other been given a single daub of green paint, now faded. The Chief
Secretary’s room is just like the others. His table is covered by a bit
of threadbare green baize which a messenger at Whitehall would not think
fit to wipe his boots upon and for which no Hausa trader would give a
handful of cowries.
At present occupied by the Acting Governor, Mr Temple—whose wife
shares his “plain living”—the Governor’s “Palace” is a mean shanty. A
seven-roomed, wooden bungalow, it has stood “the battle and the breeze”
for nine years and shows signs of the ordeal in all directions. It looks
as though it could be easily shaken to bits. The dining-room is walled
with boards which once received a single dash of brown staining. This
apartment, however, is luxurious compared with the Governor’s office
adjoining, the plank partition of which has not its ugliness improved by
a sparse covering of green paint, of the quality used in England on the
garden fences of thirty-pounds-a-year houses. Nor does His Excellency
recline on soft velvets or plush cushions, as might be expected of the
ruler of Emirs and Kings who turn out in splendour. As I talked with him
he sat in a plain chair, the hardness of the seat of which was somewhat
relieved by an old horse-blanket folded.
The furniture at Government House is of the same nondescript character.
It might have been picked up in job lots at public auction rooms. In
order that I might take a group photograph six chairs were brought into
the grounds from the drawing-room and I noticed that the six were made up
of three different styles. Before the picture could be composed I had to
do a temporary repair to one of the chairs.
The motor-car in which he gets about Zungeru, and which is used for
traversing distant roads the railway does not cover, is an old shambling
machine making as much noise as a traction engine. The motor-cabs of
Europe, and even the vehicles of the London General Omnibus Company are
smart and ultra-fashionable by comparison. I should say that a suburban
shopkeeper would scorn to hire it at a shilling per hour on a Bank
Holiday to take his family round Battersea Park or Hampstead Heath.
Well-to-do natives in Lagos use better.
These latter things are not written in any mere fault-finding, jeering
spirit. They are set out in heartfelt admiration of the manner in which
unnecessary hardships are cheerfully accepted by the members of the
Government of the Northern Nigeria Protectorate, from the highest to the
humblest. Millions have been spent on the country, but the money has
gone in building railways, facilitating commerce, bettering the material
opportunities of the native population and assuring them protection that
they may pursue their ways in peace. The question may fairly be asked
whether the time has not come when something should be done for the men
who have put this policy into actual operation. John Bull stands to gain
a great deal by the acquisition of Northern Nigeria. I am sure he would
willingly acquiesce in more liberality on the part of those who act for
him.
A figure which pervades Zungeru at every turn is the Cantonment
Magistrate. The Governor is a commanding person, of whom everyone, from
the visiting Sultans and Emirs to resident and travelling Europeans,
stand much in awe. But the Governor is on a pedestal away from the
general, daily run of affairs. Excepting on special occasions, when
Government House is opened to hospitality, or an audience is sought, the
ordinary individual does not come in contact with the Governor.
The Chief Secretary, as the leading member of the administrative staff,
is pretty prominent, yet unless a matter is of importance he will not
personally appear on the scene, though his name or signature will be used.
But the Cantonment Magistrate! You cannot get away from his authority.
His functions seem interminable. He is a dozen individuals rolled into
one. He is a veritable “Pooh-Bah” without, as it was darkly hinted to me,
the emoluments of that Gilbertian creation.
Here are some of the parts carried out by the Cantonment Magistrate of
Zungeru, formerly Captain, now Mr, J. Radcliff:
He is President of the Cantonment Court, and tries small cases
at law.
He is Coroner within the area of the Cantonment.
He is an ex-officio Commissioner of the Supreme Court.
He is the Public Trustee, being charged with administration of
the estates of all deceased Europeans.
He is the Borough, or Town Council, for to him falls the
levying of rates on all houses in the Cantonment, excepting
those occupied by Government officials.
He is Public Treasurer, as keeper of the Cantonment Fund.
He is Registrar General, for he must keep a register of all
residents.
He is the local London County Council, as he regulates all
streets and buildings. You may not cut down a tree without the
permission of the Cantonment Magistrate.
He is the Highways Committee of the local London County
Council; he constructs the roads.
He is the Local Government Board, for the work of the public
department in England in the matter of sanitation is at Zungeru
discharged by the Cantonment Magistrate.
He bears another duty of the L.C.C., in issuing licences to
domestic servants, who are all males.
He does what is performed over post-office counters in England
at certain times, for he gives a licence to keep a dog.
He supervises the native quarter of Zungeru.
He is the outside Master of Ceremonies of Government House, as
he arranges communications and interviews between the local
native notables and the Governor.
See the Cantonment Magistrate in his own court. Note the side glance of
scepticism, scorn, and unbelief as a voluble female pours out her tale
of woe. It is just the glance of the stipendiary on the bench at home.
Looking at the lady, one would be driven to the conclusion that, after
all, human nature is pretty much the same the world over, and that there
is no great difference between Bridget or Mary Ann in England and Amina,
Fatima, or Rekia in Zungeru.
Every Wednesday morning the local native Council consult with the
Cantonment Magistrate. I chanced to be at his office as the four of
them and the Chief came up. They salaamed by kneeling and bending their
heads to the ground, and then arose and followed the Englishman into the
building. Conversation ranged over several subjects. The C.M. lightly
reminded the Chief that rents of market pitches were not being collected
with that regularity, thoroughness, and completeness which the Governor
liked. The Chief responded that people complained of little business, but
that he would see to the arrears forthwith, and he improved the occasion
by pointing out to the C.M. that certain parts of the market needed
repair and money spent on improvements. The C.M. answered that it would
be the first thing to be put in hand as soon as the arrears were received.
The talk branched into another channel. The Chief proceeded to say that
he had been somewhat troubled in mind of late. The slightest trace of
a questioning smile came on the visage of the Cantonment Magistrate.
The Chief continued that it was so long since he had paid his respects
to the Acting Governor that he was commencing to feel quite uneasy.
His Excellency might consider him indifferent to politeness and his
obligations.
The Cantonment Magistrate gravely told him to sleep well at nights on
that score, as the Acting Governor was thoroughly aware of the Chiefs
loyalty. All the same, the C.M. would ascertain His Excellency’s
convenience for the audience and would promptly inform the Chief.
Then the visitor asked about the health of the Acting Governor. The C.M.
gave satisfactory assurances on that point. The next enquiry was as to
the well-being of Mrs Temple. The C.M. rendered an equally gratifying
report, and diplomatically remarked that she was looking forward to the
pleasure of meeting the Chief, at which his face showed that he rejoiced
exceedingly.
With similar ceremony to that at the commencement of the visit it ended.
CHAPTER IV
ZUNGERU—THE CAPITAL OF THE PROTECTORATE—(_continued_)
Native settlement—Rents and Treasury—A model prison—Northern
Nigeria Constabulary—Mails paid time-work—Sport at the
door—Up-country and Coast natives—Selection of Zungeru—The
future Capital.
The only European trading establishment in Zungeru is the store of
the Niger Company. It adjoins the Cantonment. With a white population
composed entirely of Government officials, all of whom bring their main
requirements for a twelve-month’s term, it cannot be said there is room
for another firm. The store is a great convenience, as men frequently
miscalculate what they will need, or occasionally run out of some article
of diet or clothing. The store is comprehensive, and stock is kept of
provisions, hardware, men’s wardrobes, and wines.
During one of my purchases over the counter a man who had been up-country
for a considerable period, and whose attire was much the worse for what
it had undergone, came in to be equipped for a visit to comparatively
fashionable Lagos. He was fitted literally from head to foot, if not
in Bond Street style, at least in striking contrast to what would pass
muster in the bush districts.
The store stands in a compound wherein grow trees bearing paw-paws,
limes, oranges, mangoes, cactus and rubber shrubs.
A mile or so from the Cantonment is the native town, which shows in
miniature the principle on which the government of the country is carried
on, that of ruling the natives through and by natives. At Zungeru a
native settlement came as a sequence to the selection of the place as the
administrative headquarters. The people were given plots 100 feet by 50
feet. The town has been designed on thoroughly sanitary lines and wells
were sunk. A market, with iron roof and concrete floor, is in the centre
of the town. For a pitch in it two shillings and sixpence per month is
paid. Another market has been put up with thatch-covered stalls, and here
ninepence per month is the due.
These market dues go entirely to the native Treasury, which has to
render a strict account to the Cantonment Magistrate, and are used for
the upkeep and improvement of the native town and for payment of native
officials who are appointed by the Chief, including the market and the
Alkali’s court officials and the town police.
First-class plots for houses are rented at sixteen shillings a quarter,
second-class plots eight shillings a quarter. Half the rent goes to the
Government and half to the native Treasury.
Reverting to the direct British administration, Zungeru possesses a model
prison, where the inmates have humane treatment without being made so
comfortable that they welcome a sojourn within its walls as a place where
the tasks are light and regular food is in larger quantities than they
would get “on their own.” The prison, which is used for convicts sent
from various parts of the country to serve long sentences, is controlled
by Captain A. E. Johnson, D.S.O., who is also Inspector-General of the
Northern Nigeria Police. He is making good use of his hobby as a skilled
amateur gardener. Prison labour has been used to lay out a rubber
plantation of 100 acres, started 3½ years ago and added to annually. It
promises to yield good results.
He has also had fruit trees set along the left bank of the Dago: orange,
lime, mango, guava, banana, covering 30 acres, all of which are doing
well; and these at the proper stage will give Zungeru and surrounding
districts the luxury of fresh fruit supplies. It may be asked why the
step has been left to the Director of Prisons to utilise suitable soil.
The answer is that with an 8 months’ severe drought in 12, the necessary
watering could never be done by private and paid labour at a remunerative
sum.
The interior organisation of the gaol is equally estimable. Whilst a
number of prisoners are put to road-making, railway construction—they
made the first five miles from Zungeru to Minna—the best behaved are
taught trades. There are five workshops—detached structures of brick,
put up by delinquents—where carpentry, blacksmithing, tailoring, boot
and slipper making, and grass mats (coloured and used as window and door
screens) are turned out.
In the blacksmith’s section curios are made. I saw a pair of native
stirrups produced from old aluminium water bottles. Used cartridge cases
are converted into various articles; they are hammered into one piece
and a fancy plate shaped from it. The plan in all these trades is for a
long-term man of commendable conduct to be taught a trade, and he teaches
others. The system makes honest labour of more monetary value than
malpractices to the discharged convict.
The Emirs and Chiefs throughout the Protectorate raise and maintain
their own native police, but there is also a force under the central
Government, termed the Northern Nigeria Police. It was started in 1900 by
Sir Frederick Lugard, with 50 men selected from the Royal Niger Company
Constabulary. It now consists of an Inspector-General, the aforesaid
Captain A. E. Johnson, a Deputy Inspector-General, 4 Commissioners, 14
Assistant Commissioners, and 838 non-commissioned officers and men, the
training being on modified military lines. The Sergeant-Major of the
Zungeru detachment is the best-looking negro I had met to the time of
visiting the town, and his intelligence is equal to his position. Several
times I asked the Commissioner, Captain F. A. E. Godwin, to alter the
position of the body paraded to be photographed. In every instance the
request was transmitted to the Sergeant-Major, who promptly gave the
proper order in military terms, never once failing to bring the 40 men
into the required situation.
The force is recruited chiefly from ex-soldiers of the West African
Frontier Force. Among the representative races the proportions are:
Hausas, 60 per cent.; Yorubas, 30 per cent.; the remainder is comprised
principally of Daka-Keri, Kukuruku, and Bauchi Pagans. For night duty the
constables carry tell-tale clocks with dials for pricking at certain
hours, and there are similar clocks in fixed spots where they must also
register. The rank and file live together in lines, each man having his
separate house. There are no bachelors in the Zungeru detachment.
The 1st battalion of the Northern Nigeria Regiment and 4 guns of the
artillery are quartered at Zungeru. The training and efficiency of the
troops are dealt with separately in Chapter XXXIII.
The Postmaster-General of Northern Nigeria, Mr H. M. Woolloy, is located
at Zungeru. Mail services are by rail or river, where practicable. In
many instances, however, runners have to be employed. Where possible,
they are mounted on Bornu ponies. The runners are specially selected
and work by contract; the faster they travel the more their pay. This
is found more expeditious than providing relays. Thus the road from
Zungeru to Sokoto is really a 17 days’ journey. It is covered by the
mail runners, afoot, each carrying a 40 lb. to 50 lb. bag, in 11 days.
The postal and telegraph services were originally designed solely for
administrative and strategical purposes and were not calculated to
prove revenue-producing until a remote period. In spite of this, whilst
the income in 1901 was £842, last year the value of the work performed
amounted to over £20,000, obtained with an expenditure of £16,000. Apart
from the Naraguta and the Kano telegraphs, none north of Zungeru can be
regarded as of any commercial value.
The little white community of Zungeru try to make life pass pleasantly.
The Games Club provides for tennis and golf, and there are similar
associations for angling, polo, and races. A horse costs about £8. Sport
with the gun abounds, though it must not be indulged within 3 miles of
the Cantonment, or, figuratively, the hand of the C.M. would be on your
shoulder.
Anybody may walk beyond the limit and easily find plenty of warthog,
hartebeest and winged game, and sometimes bigger prizes. These
occasionally visit the Cantonment. The other evening a large leopard
stood looking contemptuously at the bungalow in which I am staying but
elected not to jump the low palings. Had he, no doubt the C.M. would have
taken a merciful view of the use of a couple of rifles which were cocked
and ready. Nearly every evening at the same distance there is a vocal
performance by a company of hyænas.
There is an extremely pleasant aspect in Zungeru, typical of Northern
Nigeria, of the respect and good feeling shown by the coloured population
to the white, and reciprocated. I say “coloured” instead of “native,”
for there are a fair number of “foreigners” from the Gold Coast and from
Sierra Leone, imported for routine clerical work. The native Moslems
invariably salute a European. The form of salute is generally that of
removing sandals, followed by a low bow. The Gold Coast and Sierra
Leone clerks are affected by the environment and custom. They scarcely
ever fail to raise their hats and utter a “Good morning” or “Good
afternoon, sir.” In the Coast towns the prototypes of these young men
are too frequently gratuitously arrogant and needlessly insolent towards
an Englishman. Problem: Why is the up-country native in all British
West African colonies, be he Moslem or Pagan, in nearly every case a
gentleman by nature, whilst the output of the Government and missionary
schools, with the possible exception of Catholics, too often a creature
who makes himself hateful to white men?
The theme could be enlarged by analysis of the proportion contributed
by the clerk class in Europeanised towns to the criminal calendar.
Elementary education on English lines in West Africa is certainly not a
success, decidedly not in the aspect of honesty and morals.
Does the respectful salutation of the Moslem to the English mark the
subserviency of one to the other? Emphatically, no. It is a token of
respect towards a race standing in the position of a Protectorate
Power, exercising its position in the interest of the inhabitants and
safeguarding their traditions, their customs, their religion.
Now, a few words on a question which has been discussed in West Africa
and, to a certain extent, in England, namely, the selection of Zungeru
as the administrative headquarters and its future. Sir Frederick Lugard
has been criticised for the choice, though, considering what he did in
and for the country with the means at his disposal, I marvel at any
nature hardy enough to comment in an adverse sense. Still, I suppose the
former High Commissioner would be one of the last to complain of his
actions being scrutinised. I can write without subjecting myself to the
suggestion of personal influence, for I have never met Sir Frederick
Lugard. I merely speak as one who for several years has been a close
student of West African affairs, who has had the advantage of looking
at matters on the spot, and who for a long period wrote publicly on
military operations. I make bold to assert that all the complaints on
the selection of Zungeru are made by persons who do not study what the
conditions were in 1902 when Jebba was discarded.
Let any reader take a map of Northern Nigeria and argue out the question
for himself. Zungeru was decided upon, not, I should say, solely because
it was in a central position, but on the strategic ground that it
occupied a point extreme north of the territory then actually controlled,
with an excellent administrative base from which movements of troops and
political officers could be directed. It was also comparatively easy of
access from the south.
No man was less ready than Sir Frederick Lugard to fussily interfere
with the petty acts of subordinates. One of his primary principles was
that of delegation and personal responsibility. But in the critical
years between 1900 and 1907 the presence of the High Commissioner was
continually essential in the Provinces northwards of Zungeru, and in
those days of bush trekking, when covering 100 miles would be calculated
at little less than a week, being as much “on the spot” as possible was
a weighty consideration. The Sultans and Emirs to be visited or to be
installed would regard nobody in the same light as they would the High
Commissioner, whose name and fame had spread through the land. What
Kitchener was and Wingate is in the Sudan, Lugard has been to Northern
Nigeria.
Take a map and consider the situation in 1902. The Provinces of Sokoto,
Kano, Bauchi, Nassarawa, Kantagora (although the town of that name had
been taken), and the walled city of Zaria, and the large town of Bida,
were all either actually or passively hostile. One of 3 courses: They
would have to be brought into line with the rest of Northern Nigeria or
there was the alternative of maintaining a large standing army or of
retiring south. Zungeru was the best pivot on which to turn wherever
attention might be required. Why, it has been asked, select a place which
was not easily accessible in the dry season and a low river? No other
spot presented even the qualities of Zungeru. It was within 10 miles of
the navigable part of the Kaduna River—with which it was connected by
a steam tramway—and through the town itself there ran a stream of pure
water all months of the year. The climate has proved to be as healthy as
at any other station.
Sooner or later, however, a decision must be taken whether Zungeru is
to be retained as Capital. On it being now the most suitable spot I do
not feel qualified to give an opinion. But Lokoja and Jebba, which have
each been spoken of as the “natural Capital” may be dismissed. Both have
been tried. Kano has also been referred to in the same connection, so put
forward for the glamour of its name and the prominent place it has become
in recent history, as well as for its commercial importance.
The very qualities cited operate against the central authority being
established in or near Kano. A largely populated centre is not the
best situation for a government. The local powers-that-be are unfairly
dwarfed and the neighbouring population likely to exercise an undue
influence on the executive. Possibly, London is an example of these
drawbacks. On the one hand, the L.C.C., bearing in mind the interests
and area it represents, is overshadowed by its towering legislative
big brother at Westminster. On the other hand, an outdoor demonstration
of large dimensions in the metropolis has more influence on the Cabinet
than a similar gathering five times the size in Lancashire, Dublin, or
Glasgow. South Africa has shown wisdom by not locating the Parliament at
Johannesburg.
The Bauchi Highlands have been brought forward as the coolest, best
temperature for a new Capital. Much water will flow down the Niger before
any such scheme is practicable. At present the main obstacle to Bauchi
is lack of transport. When a railway makes it like Zungeru, within a
few days of Lagos, instead of two or three weeks, then Bauchi will come
within the sphere of practical politics. Lastly, the administrative
headquarters of Northern Nigeria may, in the near future, be of less
importance than it has been, for by the union with Southern Nigeria,
the seat of the Lieutenant-Governor of each—assuming that be the form
adopted—will obviously fulfil quite a secondary rôle. And to me it seems
inevitable that Lagos will become the capital of United Nigeria.
CHAPTER V
ZUNGERU TO KANO
Everybody his own porter—Religion and missions—Divining
water—Carriages patchy in parts—Native passengers—In the
track of the slave-raider—Engine sustenance—Kaduna Bridge—A
tight-rope performance—Close cultivation—“The lazy negro”—Two
civilisations—At Kano.
“The line is the thing,” to modify Hamlet’s phrase. To get the track into
working order at the earliest possible day, that is the object of all
concerned in the construction of a railway, once it has been started. You
must have rails laid, locomotives, carriages. All subsidiary matters can
be improvised provisionally. It is not necessary to wait until “the last
button on the soldiers’ leggings” has been fixed. Thus, on the section
from Zungeru to Kano a number of things remain to be done before there is
the completeness which is seen south of the Niger.
To anybody with whom time is a consideration, a railway, instead of the
old method along the cart-road of 282 miles to Kano, is an unspeakable
boon.
Some novel travelling features appear on Zungeru Station. There has
not been sufficient time to enrol a full staff and therefore one must
make one’s own arrangements for getting heavy packages into or from
the train. First-class passengers can enjoy the unusual experience of
obtaining from the Stationmaster partly printed labels, writing on them
the destination, then hunting for a glue-pot and themselves affixing
the labels. It is a case of every man his own porter. We are not at a
fashionable resort, and all who have to do the job undertake it in a
laughing spirit.
Directly the train moves off you realise you are on your own resources.
Private, or even official, hospitality cannot extend to a train where
everybody is expected to look after himself in all things for nearly half
a week. A 50-foot coach is partitioned into four divisions, all quite
bare. In a division—you may be fortunate in having two—you must rig up
your little home: a sitting and dining-room by day; a sleeping apartment
at night. Each end of the coach has a stove, where the cooks can prepare
meals.
Minna—38 miles—is reached in two hours, and here the night is spent. In
the hot weather passengers put their camp-beds on the open platform,
arranging them under the projecting roof if rain threatens.
Arrival of the train at Minna marks a busy time, for the line upwards
from Baro joining, passengers who have come by the river route are
waiting to continue the journey northwards, or others may have come down
from that direction.
Amidst all the bustle of people coming and going, of the excitement of
sorting baggage for carriers, of piles of bales and boxes being moved,
of loud whistling of locomotives and of shunting engines, I saw a
white-robed figure go on his knees, turn his face to the east and bend
his head in devotion. It was a Mohamedan silently offering up evening
prayer. Religious duty was louder to him than the babel resounding
around. He was not ashamed to speak with his Maker in sight of the
multitude.
Yet there are worthy folks at home who seek to send missionaries to
these people to teach them to worship the same God but in a different
way. Why is the money and the energy expended on such missions—which are
practically hopeless in Mohamedan countries like this—not deflected to
the better purpose of mitigating the vice, the crime and the preventable
poverty in the great cities of the United Kingdom, where the triple evils
stalk abroad in the daylight, unabashed, unashamed.
At Minna Station one must see Mr A. Newport, the stalwart traffic
inspector. I say one “must,” because the first time travelling over
the line there are enquiries which have to be satisfied. For instance,
change of train is made for the journey continued early next morning.
Further, it may not have occurred to a traveller, even thinking out all
requirements to the most minute detail, that wood for a fire on the train
to cook food would be necessary. Finally, one’s filter may not be within
easy access and condensed water be needed for preparing the evening meal.
In all these, and perhaps other instances, Mr Newport is of incalculable
aid and value. Whatever the multitude of matters pressing upon him for
immediate attention, he always seems willing to accept one more without
impatience or irritation. But if everybody going through Minna leaves all
these things to be supplied by Mr Newport, it is likely that he will not
have a sufficiency of them to satisfy everybody’s expectations. Maxim
and moral: When travelling in Nigeria never depend on supplying from
another’s provisions that which you have wilfully neglected to provide
for yourself.
At Minna Station one may also meet Mr E. H. Biffen, Traffic
Superintendent of the Baro-Kano Railway, uniformly genial and courteous,
and ever ready to do all in his power to help a traveller; and on the
platform there will probably be Mr J. Oldfield, Traffic Assistant, who
seconds the manner of his chief.
On waking up at Minna Station one realises more fully than on the
previous afternoon what it is to be on one’s own resources for bodily
needs. Sufficient condensed water had been economised for breakfast,
but, in a tropical country above all, some kind of wash, at least once a
day is almost as necessary for comfort as food, and for preference the
operation is performed on getting out of bed.
Just at 6 o’clock, as I was wondering, after an hour’s cogitation, what
was to be done in a distinctly uncomfortable predicament, mental relief
came. Looking out of the window I saw my native servant—for the time
being maid-of-all work, cook, steward, and general factotum—Oje, trudging
along towards the stationary train with a pail on his head, and by the
manner of balancing the utensil it was clear that it contained water.
Without being told, Oje had set out and discovered water.
How did he come to divine its presence in a place where he had not
previously been and of which he had never heard? I asked him. He said
he saw a footpath from the railway and sagely concluded it must lead
somewhere. That somewhere, he deduced, was likely to be a native village.
A village was sure to be near a stream or other water. He would go and
investigate.
I do not mean that Oje argued all these points in their logical sequence,
after the manner of a Sherlock Holmes; instinct told him at once.
The water had come from a shallow, stagnant, well-nigh dried-up water
course. It looked yellow, and on being shaken took the consistency of
thick soup. Still, it was water, and for that relief much thanks.
Oje—poor, friendless Oje, hundreds of miles from home and parents—had
more prescience than his master—employer is a word I would sooner
use—more prescience than any white man on the train. A chapter could
easily be written of Oje. He deserves it, is worthy of it. He is always
helpful, frequently a pleasant companion to speak with, and occasionally
a comfort to talk to in the silent evenings when flying insects make
writing impossible, in spite of his limited vocabulary of even pidgeon
English. His devotion is staunch and unmistakable. I shall remember Oje
with many kindly sentiments when thousands of miles of sea and land
separate us, and when, perhaps, I am tramping through the lands of
another continent.
The prospect of an unwashed state happily past, as the train spins along
one can heartily enjoy the free-and-easy existence, as one sits on a
camp chair and, facing the open door of the “saloon,” tries to catch the
breeze stimulated by the running train. It seems more enjoyable than
the luxury of the boat express. Your pail containing water may leak;
no matter, you _must_ effect a repair on the spot, and that is done by
drawing a rag into the hole. You discover that you have no bread for
breakfast and that none was to be bought at Minna Station; no matter,
a tin of biscuits from your food boxes will serve instead. You find
out that the firm who made up the food boxes have omitted the sugar;
no matter, some other passenger will help you out. Whatever your petty
troubles, they are lost sight of in the feeling that you are in your own
little compartment, within its walls living in your own way, distant from
the stilted and artificial manners which clog life at home.
The celerity with which the Baro-Kano Railway was constructed—its
junction with the Lagos Railway is at Minna—and the instant and
remarkable success it has proved have caused an “over-running of the
constable” in the provision of rolling stock. You may notice that the
first-class coaches are patched up in parts. As a matter of fact, I
believe that a number were to have been broken up, having been discarded
by home lines, but the call for accommodation was so pressing that as
many as could be made serviceable were again put on the rails. So you see
the result of two or three worn-out carriages being made into a single
sound one; sides and floor, with some doors from other carriages screwed
on to form a complete article.
The demand on the part of third-class passengers—of course, all
natives—was much greater. It was not merely a case of the construction of
the finished track outstripping the supply of carriages; the number of
passengers carried had exceeded the utmost expectations. It was estimated
that the total receipts for the last financial year, 1911-12, April to
March, would amount to £10,000, but they totalled £46,000. It is clear
that on this line, as in the case of most in the United Kingdom, the
third-class passenger is to be the stand-by of income for human freight.
Apart from the fact that there are few Europeans in the country—I
should say less than 700 to a native population of 10,000,000—averaging
the 255 miles between Minna and Kano, the respective proportions are:
first-class, seven Europeans; second-class, two or three Europeans; third
class, 150 natives.
The supply of ordinary third-class coaches was utterly insufficient.
Every type of truck has had to be used in addition, or the passengers
left. All canvas sheetings obtainable for roof coverings did not suffice,
and as native travellers clamoured to be carried in any way so long as
only they were carried, low side trucks were put on, and then high ones,
containing coalite and other goods in transit on which the passengers
wished to sit.
It should be borne in mind that these people have always been in the
habit of moving from one place to another—these Hausa traders—and they
quickly grasped the advantage and the comfort of riding in trains at a
low charge instead of tramping along bush paths or caravan roads. By
means of using the railway they could do as much business in one day,
with less marching, as they formerly did in a month.
And how these people enjoy the train ride! No party of school-children
on their one-day-a-year excursion more so. See them crowded as the
proverbial sardines, laughing, joking, happy, with legs dangling over the
sides of the goods trucks. When Lugard projected, Girouard put in hand,
and Eaglesome carried out the railway from Baro to Kano they builded
better than they knew.
The track between Zungeru to Minna takes a gentle rise; the latter is
500 feet higher than the former. The country traversed is wooded and
fertile, but depopulated, the effect of the cruel slave-raiding descents
from the north, which devastated districts, leaving, as evidence of the
visitation, burnt-down villages, the inhabitants all either dragged off
to slavery or put to the sword on the spot. The land sunk into disuse and
desolation.
British power has stopped it for ever, at least, as long as British power
is supreme. But decades must pass before tillers are again on the soil.
When they are the wide acres of Northern Nigeria will give agricultural
produce on a scale that will bring great prosperity to the Protectorate
and render it of value to territories beyond its borders, exporting
perhaps foodstuffs, and certainly those essential oils for which
manufacturers in Europe are searching the tropics.
Immediately after leaving Minna, in the first six miles the rise is
300 feet. The track then becomes fairly level, frequently crossing
tributaries of the Kaduna River, the largest of which is the Kogin
Serekin Pawa. From this the line follows the valley of the Kugo River,
climbing 30 miles to the Zaria Plateau, which is touched at Bakin Kasua,
70 miles south of Zaria City and 19 before reaching the Kaduna. Then a
drop of approximately 400 feet to Kaduna Station.
Over certain parts of the track, where temporary work has quite recently
been superseded by that of a lasting character which has not yet hardened
and settled, the train proceeds very gingerly, for it is heavily laden
and must needs be hauled with caution and knowledge.
Most of the stations consist of a bank of gravel, levelled as a platform
would be, with a 10 feet by 12 feet corrugated iron box, which holds
telegraph instruments—the eyes and ears for safe conduct of the line—and
is also the Stationmaster’s office. Two or three huts near by are the
domiciles of the staff, comprising a telegraphist, a pointsman, and a
labourer, all natives. A pointsman is necessary, as, although the line is
a single track, every station has a loop for trains passing each other.
At stations of a very minor type the Stationmaster is also telegraphist.
At intervals the engine halts for sustenance. A tank is set up, sometimes
quite in bush country but always near streams which are never completely
dried up, and water forced into the tank by a hand-pump worked by “boys,”
who live in huts near by. The railway engineers have made small dams
across the streams as safeguards for supply.
Every three or four miles are gangs of eight to ten “boys,” who live in a
small settlement of their own, and, under a headman, pay attention to the
track, supervised by a European platelayer, who has charge of 25 to 30
miles of line.
There is unmistakable evidence of approaching Kaduna. The line broadens
out to four tracks and there are other adjuncts of a locomotive depôt.
Kaduna has also the importance of being the headquarters of the Director
of Railways. In the absence on vacation of Mr Eaglesome, I spent the
evening—the train stays overnight—with the Deputy Director, youthful Mr
E. M. Bland, referred to in the Zungeru chapter.
Among the entertainments in the way of sightseeing and instruction which
he gave me was a walk across the adjacent Kaduna River railway bridge.
I was lured on unsuspectingly and, I am sure, innocently on the part of
Mr Bland. He never guessed—nor will he know until he sees these lines in
print—of the ordeal it was to the visitor. The Kaduna Bridge is 660 feet
long. The rails are fixed to sleepers the spaces between which are open
to the river below.
In the middle of the track is a narrow sheeting of iron and along this
Blondin-like tight-rope strode the Deputy Director, I tremulously
following. Had I half an idea that he intended going beyond the first few
inches I would either have invented some excuse for turning back or have
boldly asked to be excused on the score of a sudden headache or something
of the kind. I certainly expected every minute that this exasperatingly
cruel guide would stop. When we reached midway across I wondered why on
earth he was continuing the walk. Only that I did not trust myself to
turn round on the narrow pathway I would have returned forthwith.
Mr Bland never ceased to speak of points of interest left and right,
throwing a directing finger first in one direction and then in another,
I more or less mechanically answering in monosyllables, the slippery,
heavy nails in my boots striking the narrow metal pathway ominously, and,
scarcely lifting my eyes from it all the time, I thought of people I knew
in England, conjuring up what they would say to my having come to my end
by falling through into the waters beneath Kaduna Bridge, instead of
going under by the more heroic malarial fever.
Once Mr Bland, indicating a notable landmark, turned round to make the
matter clearer, and on my quickly replying with a “Yes,” as though I saw
and understood everything—earnestly praying he would get over the bridge
at the earliest possible moment—he remarked that I was looking the wrong
way and that the object to which he referred was half-a-mile off the
opposite side of the bridge.
At last we were across, and I glanced around to discover a boat by which
we could row or paddle back. Before I could gain breath to utter a word
out spake Mr Bland. He said how sorry he was that he could not indulge in
canoeing, as he did at home—he is a Canadian—as there was no craft of any
kind for miles.
Then we must go back over that few-inches-wide iron path! Why were
engineers so madly stupid as to place such an ordeal under the uncertain
feet of an enquiring journalist? However, there was no alternative. A
repeated 660 feet of mental tribulation and we were safe on the other
bank.
Immediately I developed a wonderful power of conversation and comment on
all the Deputy Director had told me during those horrible perambulations
from bank to bank. In my exuberance of spirits I felt I wanted to
slap him on the back. Oh, yes, I now saw quite distinctly and with
eagerness the concrete piers on which the temporary bridge was laid for
construction purposes, and a little higher up the river I recognised,
visually, the ford used in the old days of the caravan road from the
north.
Kaduna is left at 5.45 a.m., and 13 miles further on is Rigachikun,
remembered as the former point of departure from the train for the tin
fields. It was from Rigachikun the Government made a 12 feet wide roading
for transport to the fields.
A further higher altitude is reached at Dumbi, 12 miles south of the
station of that name. The native village is 6 miles nearer the station.
From Dumbi there is again a descent. The land is open, with trees in
some parts singly and occasionally in clusters, but never in the jungle
density which flanks most of the line of another West African railway,
the one from Secondee to Coomassie. The park-like appearance of this
Province of Northern Nigeria makes the view indistinguishable from
English scenery. The fields are in a bright, in fact brilliant, green
from the overnight rain; the tall, waving grass brushes the carriages
as they roll past. Sheep and herds of cattle are on the pasture land.
One crowd of them merely gaze at the passing train; another batch, more
apprehensive, scamper away. Their colours contrast with the uniformity
of the green ground: brown, black, and a drove of about 30 all white. So
the landscape continues until Zaria is reached. Here is a branch line—the
Bauchi Light Railway—to the tin fields. To that I shall return for the
Bauchi Plateau trek.
Proceeding northwards, after half-an-hour’s stop at Zaria, 25 miles
further on, for the third time since leaving Minna, there is a rise to
over 2,400 feet above sea-level, at Anchou, and from here all the rivers
and their tributaries flow into Lake Chad, those previously passed going
to the Gulf of Guinea. Twelve miles south of Kano, which is 90 from
Zaria, the Shallawa River—a broad, sandy stream—is spanned by the largest
bridge on the Baro-Kano Railway. From Anchou there is a gradual fall,
amounting to 700 feet, to Kano.
As one approaches the 50 miles radius from Kano City one sees evidence
of close cultivation of the soil which marks that Province of Northern
Nigeria. The land is flat, open, and in parts fairly well wooded. There
appears to be no barren waste soil within sight. Plots, varying in
size, are clearly marked off and separated by 2 feet high straw fences,
close-growing grass of the same height, or neatly-trimmed bushes. The
fields are green—freshened by recent light rains—and occasionally the
bright colour merges into a fainter tint, whilst tracts are yellow with
the ripened crops shortly to be harvested.
As the eye is cast across the level plains, now and again backgrounded by
hills and small mountains, the scene might be taken for one in an English
agricultural county. The illusion would the more readily be accepted, for
the circular clumps in the fields might easily pass as small haystacks.
They are native houses, and a fuller understanding of the situation is
grasped as the busy figures hoeing the furrows look up and it is seen
that they have black skins.
Are these busy groups of men industriously winning produce from the soil
the “lazy negroes” in whom we—new-comers to the land—are to inculcate
“the dignity of labour”? Can it be that we have as little to teach them
in that respect as in several others?
The scenes of sowing, planting, reaping, gathering, are repeated in
various forms as the train rolls on until, there in the distance, is
a greyish line which must be the walls of famed Kano City. The engine
heads straight for the wall, as though it would impatiently break down
whatever should stand in the way of modern ideas of advancement; but as
we draw nearer it would seem wiser councils prevail, and, bearing to the
right, we swing past the city walls, showing that by tact, sympathy,
imagination, and judgment the two civilisations can exist side by side.
Speed is being reduced, but a couple more miles are to be covered, and as
we go slowly a clearer view of the stout encircling wall is discerned.
First to relieve its evenness is the Dan Agundi Gate, and near that
opening—between it and the railway—is the discarded mission house, where
a few months ago poor Fox died. Next we pass the Nassarawa Gate, then
the Mata Gate, and a few yards further on the train pulls up at the spot
where Kano Station is to be built.
CHAPTER VI
ARRIVAL AT KANO
Plans and expectations—Small water-famine—The handy man—Change
of quarters—Ants as sauce—Niger Company.
It is well perhaps that things should not go too smoothly. It is well,
probably, that though matters are thought out and plans made in advance
they should crumble by no fault of the maker. It is as well, no doubt,
that suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune should befall
one who until arriving in Kano had had a pleasure trip, not made less
pleasurable by unremitting work, the joy of the journey enhanced rather
than lessened by a few minor discomforts.
I had imagined that the previous enjoyment would be multiplied many
fold at Kano, famous Kano. Everything possible had been done to prevent
mishaps. The house had been engaged. It was one of those the Government
has put up for travellers passing through. True it was a circular hut
of mud and straw, but, I was told, two French officers were occupying a
similar dwelling, so it was as good as I had any warrant to expect. The
train by which I was to arrive had been notified to the quarter that had
a right to know. Nothing seemed omitted from the preliminary arrangements.
No more forlorn figure landed on a foreign shore than the writer of
these lines presented, to himself at least, as he stood on the ground
known as Kano Station. He knew only a single person in Kano, and, for
what appeared justifiable cause, he would not humble himself by sending a
message to that individual. No porters are at Kano, and there the fresh
arrival stood, helpless to move, with a couple of dozen heavy boxes. He
had not the slightest idea of the situation of the hut in which he was to
live, and nobody present could inform him. It was a pretty predicament.
Of course, there was a cause for the embarrassing situation, but it need
not be explained.
An hour passed, and then someone saw who had a heart. As on several
occasions in the course of this journey aid came from a Baro-Kano Railway
man. Mr A. W. Brayscher, Traffic Assistant, the officer in charge of Kano
terminus, came up and asked if he could be of service. Having told him,
minus details, how badly stranded I was, he offered a mud and straw hut
similar to the adjacent one in which he lived, belonging to the railway
and used by engine-drivers. It was eagerly accepted and the impedimenta
promptly transferred under its roof. Here I thought to settle down for a
week, and, at all events, to be conscious of a spirit of independence.
But my troubles were not ended. Food now became a consideration. For that
water was necessary. Where was it to be obtained? I learned, at a well
“over there,” the locality indicated being a field half-a-mile away. If,
my reader, you desire to be satisfied with, if not thankful for, the high
charges of your British Municipality or Metropolitan Water Board, come
to a place like Kano and prove what it is to be compelled to go out and
find a well sunk in a spot unrevealed until you are actually at it. The
humour (?) of the situation is the richer by your being conscious that
you have been warned that the quality of the liquid is suspect.
Be the water whatever it might, it must be had. One has not necessarily
to get desperate in order to have that frame of mind. One has only to
be hungry and very thirsty, the thirst accompanied by a headache which
produces a positive craving for a cup of tea.
It had become dark. Still, the blessed water must be got. I could not
send Oje half-a-mile across strange grass country, with no sign of a
path. The hurricane lamp had been lit, and I was about to start off
with the faithful lad in search of the well when up walked Mr Brayscher
holding out two pint bottles of water which had been boiled and filtered.
Heaven knows whether I should have found the well, for the moon was not
up, and there appeared to be nobody to act as guide. The search could now
be deferred to morning.
I never had to attempt the task. Another dweller in a hut near by was Mr
W. J. Marsh, who was a passenger on the ship by which I came out, but
with whom I did not come into contact on board and who was practically a
stranger, though he was in the saloon at a little entertainment on the
voyage in which I took part. Hearing I had arrived in Kano, and knowing
the water trouble, he very thoughtfully sent four pint bottles of the
precious liquid, boiled and filtered. Mr Marsh, like Mr Brayscher, is
on the Baro-Kano Railway. He is a First Grade Foreman of Works, and is
rated as a Second-Class Officer. Be his class what it may, I am proud to
mention W. J. Marsh as a friend indeed.
As a matter of fact my indebtedness did not end with the indispensable
water for breakfast. A week or so later the exceedingly intricate and
delicate mechanism working the shutter of an expensive camera got out of
order. After long and unsuccessful efforts to make it work the thing was
given into the hands of Mr Marsh. I admit I had small hopes of his being
able to accomplish anything. Had the matter been one of drawing an iron
bolt or straightening the axle of a locomotive I would have been more
trustful, but the elaborate springs of a photographic shutter resemble
the interior of a Geneva watch.
However, the handy man at Kano Station, after a wrestle lasting not quite
an hour with the fragile springs, sent the camera back in perfect working
order. It was also the most natural thing in the world, when my Browning
automatic pistol jammed, to call in Mr Marsh, who put it right in the
proverbial jiffy.
The wealth of six pint bottles of filtered water, though seriously
diminished after two meals, made the water question less urgent, and,
therefore, I sallied forth the morning after arriving to buy a few
utensils which had not been included in the domestic purchases down
country. The walk brought me acquaintance with my greatest benefactor
during the stay at Kano.
Entering the Niger Company’s store to obtain the articles required, Mr
Byrd, the Kano Agent—Manager he would be called in England—enquired if
I was who I happened to be, and on my admitting the fact he said that
the District Agent at Zaria, Mr Wilks (whom I saw there, but who I did
not know intended taking the step), had wired him of my coming up, but
that the telegram had only just been delivered, though handed in 24 hours
earlier 90 miles away. It was subsequently ascertained that the native
post office messenger had received the telegram for delivery in due time
but had put it in his robe pocket and taken it home, judging that next
day, on the way to his duties, would do just as well for the addressee.
Mr Byrd, learning where I was living, offered the use of an unoccupied
house in his compound. It was like the railway hut, made of mud and straw
but had the great advantage of a cement, instead of an earth, floor.
Although consisting of a single room, it was quite a mansion in its way.
The change of quarters was speedily made and I at once settled down to
write.
“You always speak well of the Niger Company,” was the remark made by a
man I met in the train. Certainly, I do. I have the best of reasons for
doing so, for while journeying in these parts I have invariably received
the utmost courtesy and aid from all members of the staff. This is
evidently done on principle, for the few shillings spent at the stores
must be of the smallest consequence. Nor can the attention be given me
just because I happen to be Special Correspondent for a London journal.
I have heard of similar help being rendered to other travellers who
have passed over ground where the Niger Company are established. I have
heard of it at Bassa, in the south of the Protectorate; I have heard of
it at Yola, in the east; and I gladly testify to a large measure of
appreciation in the north.
The superiority of my new residence over my former habitation was soon
manifest. Whereas the white ants in my first resting-place were to
be numbered in hundreds of thousands—at a modest computation—in the
second they were a mere matter of hundreds, and with a hard floor the
rendezvous they formed there could be swept clear periodically, which
is not practicable where the floor of a hut is soft ground and the ants
come upwards. In the new residence they descended from the walls and from
above only. From the latter direction they dropped into the hot meals but
seemed to make no difference to the flavour of the food. The best way was
to look away from the table; then one could not be positive that ants
accompanied the food in its transfer from platter to palate.
Still, the house is really comfortable. A mud wall encloses a verandah,
level with the ground, round the house. The roof, of dried grass, is
double. Between the lower and the upper ones a clear space provides
excellent ventilation without interfering with the rainproof qualities.
CHAPTER VII
FASHIONS, GOVERNMENT, ADMINISTRATION
An Empire builder—The country and population—Hausa
tribes—Moslem and Pagan—Sartorial distinctions—Ruling through
natives—Election of their own rulers—Lugard’s peaceful
persuasion—A modern Earl of Warwick—The genius of Taubman
Goldie and Lugard—Native administration—Residents—Taxation—Law
Courts.
When the British Government assumed control of the territories over which
the Royal Niger Company had held its charter for governing and trading
those lands were divided into the Protectorate of Southern Nigeria—since
amalgamated with the Colony of Lagos—and the Protectorate of Northern
Nigeria. Together they extended nearly half-a-million square miles.
That has been the tangible contribution of the Royal Niger Company
to the British possessions. Sir George Taubman Goldie, founder and
head-and-front of the Company for a number of years, deserves the title
of Empire builder, if ever man did.
Northern Nigeria is 255,700 square miles, with an estimated native
population of 9,269,000. This population may be divided into Mohamedans
and Pagans. The former are frequently spoken of as Hausas, although the
term comprises the Fulani, the pure Hausa, the Beri-Beri, the Bornu, the
Borgu, the Nupé, the Yoruba and others.
Apart from religion there is a marked sartorial distinction. Moslems
when not at some heavy, laborious task usually display garments of ample
size. Men above the poorest ranks wear flowing robes and trousers as
close as a knickerbocker below the knee, above it very wide, the waist
part sufficiently so to accommodate at least three persons if it were not
folded and held in position by a broad strip of cloth. The women, who
ignore foot covering of any kind, use cloths and wraps from the shoulders
to within a few inches of the ankle.
Costume among Pagans varies from a loin-cloth for men who live on the
belt of their area which adjoins Hausa country, where they have become
what is called Hausaised to this extent, to the stage where ladies and
gentlemen are in the simple condition of the guest at Hans Breitman’s
party.
Kano is the centre, the focus of the Moslem population.
A few brief words on the government of the Hausa Provinces. As stated
in Chapter IV, we rule by and through the natives, leaving to them the
selection who shall be their Kings—known as Emirs—subject to the approval
of the Governor of the Protectorate. Although a Protectorate has been
declared for a considerable period, previous to the assumption of power
by the Crown a large part of the country was occupied only in name. The
endeavour of Sir Frederick Lugard, the first Governor, was to bring
those areas under influence without the use of troops if possible. No
civilian could be more a man of peace than this ex-soldier. In one of his
memoranda to the political officials he wrote: “Capable officers can do
much more by getting in touch with the people than can be effected by a
series of punitive expeditions and bloodshed.”
[Illustration: THE RIGHT HON. SIR GEORGE TAUBMAN GOLDIE.
Founder of Nigeria.
[_From the Painting by Herkomer._]
He acted on that principle himself. When eventually he had sufficient
troops to impose his will he always held them back until amicable
counsel, reasoning and argument became hopeless. Wherever an Emir, no
matter what his former record, promised to rule his people fairly,
justly, and not to war upon or raid tribes for slaves or other plunder,
he was confirmed in his position and promised the moral and, if
necessary, the material support of the suzerain Power.
Where Emirs persistently and defiantly continued evil practices they were
deposed. When that had to be done Sir Frederick moved rapidly. He was up
and down and across the country at remarkable speed and with marvellous
energy, trekking all the time and covering wonderful distances in the
hottest periods of the year, playing the part of the famous Earl of
Warwick, unmaking and making Kings as he went along. Whenever the ruler
had to be dethroned Sir Frederick called on the Chiefs of the people to
select and elect the successor, whom he then ceremoniously installed, he
representing the Great White King beyond the seas. Of the several thus
put on thrones, I do not think a single one has had to be removed.
Even when military operations were imperative, it might appear
astonishing how quickly the inhabitants acquiesced in the new order of
things. That is to be largely attributed to the fact that in the old days
of tribal warfare or raids the fruits of the fighting were gathered by
the caste above, by the Emirs and their satellites and parasites; the
commonalty had to be content with the husks. The readiness with which
dwellers accepted the new Heads was to a great extent also due to the
perception that the British hand was not to be on them but against the
methods of an Emir whose weakness, and the consequent harshness of his
hangers-on, pressed hardly on his own subjects.
Sir Frederick Lugard always made that clear, just as he endeavoured to
obtain from the leading folks promises to amend crooked ways. In his
first annual report to the Colonial Office he said: “I am anxious to
prove to these people (the Fulani) that we have no hostility to them and
only insist on good government and justice; and I am anxious to utilise,
if possible, their wonderful intelligence, for they are born rulers and
incomparably above the negroid races in ability.”
It is to the genius first of Taubman Goldie then to that of Lugard that
the faculty of the Moslem population of Northern Nigeria to govern has
been utilised to the admirable extent in existence to-day. The former
recognised and gave scope to the faculty in the time of the Royal Niger
Company, when he was practically if not actually supreme ruler of as
much of the country as control could be exercised over; the latter, on
becoming Governor at the advent of the Crown, continued on, and extended,
the same line. The result is that we have over hundreds of square miles
a capable, efficient—one may say, in their own way a talented and
gifted—civil service composed of natives of all grades who are doing
duties which no number of Europeans could effect so well. Internal
administration, maintenance of order, appointment of judges, punishment
of criminals, assessment and collection of taxes are well carried out in
the Hausa States by the Emirs of the various provinces and the men they
select for the work, carried out in accordance with local tradition and
still not violating the cardinal ideas of justice and humanity.
There are, therefore, more than 250,000 square miles, a population much
over 9,000,000, many of whom were first-class fighting men in the shape
of formidable cavalry, and 424 Englishmen officials. Most of these are in
the political department and termed Residents. They advise the Emirs on
matters which need assistance and they generally supervise, seeing that
the Government is continued without those mischiefs and tragedies which
stained the old rule of the Fulani, but interfering as little as can be
in the routine of internal affairs.
In a narrative of this kind no more than an outline can be rendered of
the singular system of native government. It is also referred to in
Chapter XIII as I observed it in being.
I hope this part of the subject is not dwelt on unduly—it seems to me
an intensely interesting study—by explaining how taxes are assessed,
collected and allocated. The matter is stated pithily in the last annual
report by the Governor of the Protectorate, then Sir Hesketh Bell, and
his words, which cannot be bettered, are quoted. Possibly the statement
does not make quite clear that the British official who fixes the
assessment does so in conjunction with a representative of the Emir of
the Province.
“In Sokoto Province each village is assessed, after careful
inquiries made on the spot by a British official as to
the resources of the inhabitants, at a lump sum, and the
apportionment of the amount payable by the individual is
left to the village Head and his Council. They are directed
to assess the individual in accordance with his wealth from
whatever source it may be obtained. In Bassa the individual is
assessed at a fixed and universal rate _per capita_.”
These two systems represent the extremes of divergence which occur in
methods of assessment and are each suited to the conditions existing in
the Provinces where applied, which differ in a corresponding manner.
In Bassa the village Heads could not apportion the tax proportionately
amongst the individuals, whilst in Sokoto the native would disapprove of
a system which compelled the poor to pay as much as the rich.
“The total amount of the taxes paid by a native unit are
divided into four parts. Two of these form the Government share
and are paid into the general revenue. The other two are paid
into the Beit-el-Mal (native treasury). One is earmarked for
the payment of fixed emoluments individually to the Emir, his
councillors, his police, his official messengers, the officials
told off by him to look after roads, buildings, sanitation, and
public works generally, and to the payment of the native Judges
(Alkalis). Also to defray the cost of public works such as
markets, gaols, etc., road-making, well-making, of education,
and of the subsistence of persons who according to Moslem
tenets should receive State aid. Also towards establishing a
reserve fund, in case at any time, owing to the failure of
crops, it should be necessary to remit a portion of the taxes.
“The remaining fourth share is divided among the district
and village Heads in proportion to the amounts of rents and
taxes for the collection of which each is responsible. In
some Provinces the district Heads have been placed on fixed
salaries, notably Bornu, but it has not yet been decided as to
whether this system should be adopted generally.
“The organisation described in the preceding paragraphs has not
been entirely elaborated in the Pagan districts, but in every
case efforts are being made, and in many with considerable
success, to establish a common fund, administered on the lines
described.
“Generally speaking, it has been found expedient to pay the
native officials on a generous scale, and it must be said in
justice to them that a marked improvement in his work has
followed in every case where an official has been granted an
assured income. The funds administered by the Beit-el-Mal
throughout the Protectorate amounted to over £200,000 during
the year under review.”
TYPICAL DISTRIBUTION OF FUNDS ALLOCATED TO NATIVE TREASURIES, TAKING KANO
AS AN EXAMPLE, A TERRITORY OF 28,600 SQUARE MILES AND WITH A POPULATION
OF 3,500,000.
£
Salaries, Central Administrations 6556
Salaries, District Administrations 20910
Salaries, Village Administrations 13940
Judicial 2760
Police 1769
Prisons 1438
Public Works Department 4836
Treasury 540
Education 1240
Land Survey 600
Hospitals and Sanitation 1024
Special Grants for Economic Development 500
Charity and Entertaining 500
Miscellaneous Contingencies 1000
Balances and Reserves 12027
------
£69640
------
From the same source I also take the constitution of the native law
Courts:
“The effect of the payment of the native Judges deserves
special notice. The improved position and growing efficiency
of the native Judiciary has now been established. In former
days the Judges had no fixed stipends and depended for their
livelihood on the generosity of the reigning Emir, or on the
fees collected through orders from their own Courts. In such
circumstances it could hardly be expected that the Courts
would be efficient or free from bribery and corruption. It is
now generally conceded that the former weakness of the native
Courts was caused rather by a radically bad system than by any
real lack of men who could, if properly supported, efficiently
administer justice.
“In Kano and Katsena a measure has been adopted which it is
hoped it will be found possible to extend elsewhere. In these
two Emirates the Courts do not execute their own judgments.
The Court informs the Head of the district in which it is
situated that an order has been given, and should this entail
the payment of a judgment debt, the Beit-el-Mal is also
informed by the Court. The district Head is responsible for
the execution of the order, for the collection of any amount
due and for its payment into the Beit-el-Mal. By this means
a complete check on both the Judiciary and the Executive is
established.
“At the present time in the Northern Provinces almost every
district has a salaried Alkali’s Court with considerable but
limited powers. Minutes of every case tried in the district
Courts are submitted monthly to the chief native Judges at
the various Capitals of the Province. Serious cases are
referred to the Courts in the Capitals of the Emirates....
Crimes of violence and robbery, which in the early years of
the Protectorate were so regrettably numerous, have almost
disappeared since the native Courts, with their corollary,
native police (dogari), have been given a free hand.”
In Kano Province last year the Alkalis’ Courts tried 20,740 cases, of
which 1,267 were criminal indictments and 19,473 civil actions. I grieve
to think that the last category includes no less than 9,020 instances of
the disturbance of connubial bliss under the heading of “Matrimonial.” It
is pleasant to learn that few of the assault cases were of a serious kind
and still more gratifying to know that violence to women forms a small
proportion.
An analysis shows that only ·07 of the population committed acts which
brought the perpetrators within the law, whilst grave crime is so small
in quantity that there is not a European nation which would gain by
comparison with Kano Province, Northern Nigeria.
CHAPTER VIII
KANO PROVINCE AND CITY—BRITISH TRADE PROSPECTS
Town and country—Officials and traders—Belgravia and
Bermondsey—A housekeeping budget—European stores—Buying and
selling—A Syrian in the fold.
The Province of Kano extends 28,600 square miles and has a population
of 3,500,000 souls. Kano City and the settlement near it are, however,
spoken of as Kano. Kano City accommodates a native population of more
than 30,000 inhabitants. Outside the city there are an English official
quarter and a few European stores. The latter are, roughly, two miles
from the native city, and the official quarter is a corresponding stretch
further on. Each centre is separate, distinct, isolated. Between the
stores and the native city there is, however, constant communication,
much coming and going for business purposes. Between the official quarter
and the stores there is scarcely anything more than the most limited
exchange of messages, verbal or written, stiff, formal and frigid.
There is not so much difference in London between Belgravia and
Bermondsey as there is in Kano between the official and the traders’
quarter. In London efforts are made to minimise and soften the extremes
of existence, while at Kano, if there are extremes, the policy pursued
has the effect of hardening, accentuating, emphasising them. Why this
spirit should be necessary in Kano I do not know. It does not exist in
Lagos or Zungeru.
I leave this part of the subject with the remark that I can say very
little about the official quarter, as there was never any cause for me
to enter it beyond a few yards when I had to go to the Post Office to
despatch cables, for two visits to the Residency and one to the Treasury
to obtain change of money. The place is no doubt comfortable enough.
Reports say that it lacks little in that respect. But in Mandarin-like
attempts to set up a caste apart from all other men, it reminds one of
the Forbidden City of Pekin. Yet these matters are insignificant—I hope I
ruffle nobody’s sense of dignity by saying so—compared with the interest,
the attraction, the fascination, and the importance of Kano City and its
inhabitants.