First, however, some reference to the European stores which have been

started at Kano. They belong respectively to the Niger Company, Lagos

Stores, the Tin Areas of Nigeria, the French Company, and a Syrian

trader. The latter has a house and does not live in a hut in the native

quarter, as do nearly all his compatriots in West Africa. He approaches a

great deal more than they to the European manner of carrying on business.

Messrs John Holt have a site, but building has not been started.

All the stores adjoin one another. They are within a few feet of the

railway. The sites were selected by Sir Hesketh Bell during his term as

Governor. His policy of facilitating commerce in every colony of which he

has had charge is recognised by merchants at home, and has been publicly

acknowledged repeatedly. The Niger Company and the French Company do what

is termed a canteen business—i.e., that of retailing tinned provisions,

etc.—as well as dry goods, whilst the other firms confine themselves

to the heavier class of articles, though a few of the former class are

also disposed of over the counter. There is not sufficient demand to

maintain even a single little store for Europeans. The number of white

people, officials and traders, does not exceed 30, and all bring their

requirements, except fresh food, for the term of service.

The stores started only a few months ago, when the railway was completed.

They are not in working order and he is wise in his generation

who does not rely on them. My stay in Kano has been longer than

planned, with the result that for a week I had no bread; hard, thick

biscuits—euphemistically called cabin bread—having to be a substitute.

They were eaten with tea for which neither milk nor sugar was obtainable.

Subsequently I learnt that I could buy fresh cow’s milk from native

farmers at 3d. a pint bottle. When the flour had been consumed, I again

flourished on cabin bread.

On a supply of flour coming up—sold at 4s. 6d. for a 7 lb. tin—the always

willing and useful Oje declared that he “fit to make bread,” and quite a

palatable quality he produced.

Fresh food retailed in Kano City is at low figures, though prices have

greatly advanced recently. A chicken, furnishing a meal sufficient for

two persons, is bought for 5d.; a guinea-fowl, larger than the chicken,

costs 3d. or 4d. A duck is to be had at a corresponding figure. Eggs

are purchased at 10 a penny. Sweet potatoes—long, thin, circular—are not

disposed of by weight, but are retailed at sight; and fivepennyworth

lasts four meals. Onions—larger than turnips, some of them scaling 1½

lbs.—minus the strong flavour of the English variety—cost 4 a penny. By

going two or three miles to the farms where they are grown, sufficient to

fill an apple-barrel can be secured for 6d. A leg of mutton—flesh that is

dearer than beef—sells at 5d., and is more than enough for four diners.

Man does not live by meat alone, and anybody coming here should bear in

mind that he is entering a new country, from the European standpoint,

where, although foodstuffs are raised, the population has quite a

different standard of feeding from his; where railway communication has

been merely a matter of months; that things which he probably considers

necessary for his existence are just beginning to be sold and that they

are of less importance and value to the firms selling them than other

articles, which therefore are naturally given preference; and, further,

that the articles referred to and others of the same character are

occasionally sold out at the great port of Lagos. I had trouble there to

buy two tins of sugar. Estimate, then, the position in Kano, distance of

a week by railway.

With the exception of the Lagos Stores, all the establishments at Kano

are in temporary buildings. The Niger Company has houses of mud and straw

and one of corrugated iron. The Tin Areas Company has corrugated iron

and also mud houses; whilst the French Company and the Syrian trader

have confined themselves to the latter material. Each store stands in a

compound. A section is 300 feet long by 100 feet wide. The Niger Company

has four sections, the French Company four, the Tin Areas two, Lagos

Stores two, the Syrian one. The buildings, of course, only cover a small

portion of the ground occupied.

I have stated that the chief business of the stores is to buy, not sell.

There are great quantities of native produce for which eager markets in

your part of the world wait, and though a good profit should show between

the prices here and those in Europe, there is strong competition in

purchasing, and everyone will be able to gauge its effect on the vendors,

who are keen and alert. They have sharpened the hereditary instinct

in the course of generations. Therefore, it can be seen that it is no

easy, certain course to sit down and deal for merchandise brought in.

The principal articles are hides, skins (goats’ and sheep), ground-nuts,

gutta percha, beeswax, and ostrich feathers. I am only touching on

articles brought out of Kano City in large quantities to the neighbouring

stores, not to those on sale at the market there.

Sheep and goats’ skins and ground-nuts form the main items in the former

category. The skins are tanned and dyed red, yellow, and green. The

dyeing process is kept secret, but I know that the ashes of dung burnt in

open ovens near the entrances to Kano City—such spots being by no means

attractive in an olfactory sense—I know that such ashes are used, and

that the bright red colour much in favour is obtained from juice of the

holcus.

I am unable to say at what price the skins are purchased. One cannot

put such questions to buyers who, obviously, are averse from disclosing

information which would be useful to rivals, but I believe the figure to

be well under to slightly above 1s. each. The sound quality skins easily

fetch 6s. or 7s. each in Europe. They are used for satchels, purses,

bookbinding, and, within the last few years, slippers and boots have been

made from them.

It is safe to state that the purchases of all the other stores together

do not approach those of the Niger Company. One can see quite a string

of dealers, accompanied by servants carrying skins on their heads,

processions of camels and bullocks bearing large bales of skins, and

hundreds of donkeys panniered with ground-nuts making their way to the

compound of that Company.

It is no reflection on the men in charge of the other stores to say

that they have a very difficult task indeed in competing with the Niger

Company. In the first place, it is known, and was well known before its

present competitors were heard of. Ask anybody in Kano of the Bature

Company—the White Company—and, if he can, he will direct you to the Niger

Company’s store. European firms may comment as they will, the Niger

Company is liked by the population. “In the days of the Company’s rule,”

I was told in the southern part of the Protectorate, “we paid no taxes.”

That is not accurate, but it is believed, which is just as good as if it

were. People, therefore, who have skins to sell naturally first think of

the Niger Company, and as it has a name for fair dealing, undoubtedly a

heavy preponderance is taken there. Everything is paid for by cash, on

the spot.

But the Company depends not on its name alone. An elaborate organisation

exists by which native merchants who are vendors are introduced by

brokers—a better analogy is that of an outside clerk to a stockbroker—who

help a transaction through. Some Arab and native local merchants have

already established a branch in England, where skins and feathers are

sent direct. To these men the Niger Company acts as forwarding agent,

sending goods over the railway to Baro, thence by the river route to the

sea for shipment.

Although the general canteen business of the stores—apart from the

trade to Europeans—is small at present, it should extend. In Kano and

the immediately surrounding districts there must be 50,000 to 60,000

inhabitants. Nearly all have some money to spend. The trade with these

people will probably not be done in a direct manner, but by native

retailers, who know their own folk best and with whom, as dealers,

Europeans cannot compete. The trade, I think, will be a small wholesale

one.

What can be done in that way is already clear from the six months’ work

of the Syrian previously referred to. In the six months he has been up

here he has done business to the amount of £4,000 in English calico and

beads. Doubtless the gentleman will be surprised to find that these

figures are known to me. They have been obtained in no underhand manner.

[Illustration: ONE OF THE EMIR’S TRUMPETERS.]

[Illustration: NATIVE SKIN-MERCHANTS WITH TRANSPORT, KANO.

(See page 76.)]

No wonder he is about to open a place at Manchester to be used as a

forwarding depôt. Though this Syrian, Farris George, is not to be

compared to the large firms, his record demonstrates the field of trade

that can be cultivated in Nigeria. A few years ago he landed at Lagos

and commenced trading in a street market in the smallest manner. Steadily

he did more and more; was joined from time to time by members of his

family; and eventually he became well-to-do. When, as the phrase goes,

the railway opened up Kano to outside commerce, George was quickly on the

spot, and he has improved his opportunities all the time. Although when

the stores get into their stride his total will appear insignificant, I

shall be surprised if he has not secured quite a respectable proportion

of the whole, an amount not to be despised and very difficult indeed to

lower.

CHAPTER IX

A GENTLEMAN ADVENTURER

The London and Kano Trading Company—The Captain

intervenes—Army, Civil Service, Commerce—Discarding

appearances—Contrast of mansions—The pleasure of

business—“Traders” and others.

Although there is a law that no non-native of Nigeria may live

permanently in Kano City, the London and Kano Trading Company has a large

establishment there. That is because the firm took the step long before

the present regulation was promulgated, or probably thought of.

The London and Kano Trading Company was started in 1903 by Mr Loder

Donisthorpe and Mr White. Both were in the Northern Nigeria Government

service, and they were so taken with the idea—and, I think I may add,

with the prospect of making a fortune—that, not staying to finish their

12 months’ term of duty, they resigned and commenced the new concern. But

though chances were plentiful enough, the handicaps to utilising them

formed a serious drawback, so serious that, at least once, abandonment of

the enterprise was contemplated, or, at all events, considered.

Within the last year two events occurred which placed the L. and K. T. C.

in an entirely superior position. One was the completion of the railway,

which, forming a junction at Minna, connects Kano with the port of Lagos

and with Baro, thus linking up the river route. The second occurrence was

the advent of Captain J. J. Brocklebank on the directorate of the L. and

K. T. C. That event proved the turning-point in the career of the concern.

Yet, it took place quite by chance, almost accidentally. Having acquired

an interest in the company, he came to Northern Nigeria—not for the first

time—for a short visit of 4 months, intending to dabble in the work and

have some big game shooting; but, captivated by the first, he threw in

his lot with the company and now largely directs its operations, which

have since proceeded at express speed and have become greatly enlarged.

No more interesting or romantic figure—certainly among the Europeans—is

to be found within 100 miles of Kano. Educated at Eton and Cambridge,

Captain Brocklebank commenced soldiering by going on active service in

the South African war, as a subaltern of the 8th Imperial Yeomanry,

from which he was gazetted in 1900 Second Lieutenant in the King’s

Dragoon Guards and soon afterwards won the D.S.O. Seeing little chance

of adventure with that regiment, he got seconded to serve with the

Mounted Infantry of the Northern Nigeria Regiment, and in 1908 was

promoted Captain in his own corps. The same year, at his request, he was

transferred to the Political Branch of the Northern Nigeria Government,

but in 1911 he resigned from that and from the Army, electing for

leisure, travel and sport. The London and Kano Trading Company meeting

him before he could formulate a scheme of jaunts, there he is. It is

rumoured that he has a personal income which would enable him to pass

life luxuriously and without effort. He evidently prefers to be in Kano.

He dresses with studied neglect. Sundays and week-days I have seen him

in the same suit of clothes, which are not even of the style generally

worn here in the bush country. They are made of tweed and are faded

to the verge of shabbiness. The ends of the coat sleeves are usually

covered by the turned-up cuffs of his shirt. Instead of riding boots,

he wears low-cut shoes, like dancing pumps—of course, of dull leather.

A first-rate horseman, he is never seen mounted; he goes hither and

thither in a pair-horse buggy, the only horse-drawn vehicle in or about

Kano. Colonials in hot climates have their hair cut close, but his would

almost do for a Bohemian actor, musician, or artist. He is the only man

I have seen for hundreds of miles who wears a beard that is more than

stubble. Yet no one would mistake him for anything but what he is, a

gentleman—gentleman from boyhood. Thinking of him, it strikes one as

childish to painfully labour the point that the managers of the stores

are merely “traders,” as distinct and distant from the very superior

persons who are not. Technically correct, the term trader is understood

in these parts to apply to natives who sit in open places or who are

peddlers.

[Illustration: CAPT. JOHN J. BROCKLEBANK, D.S.O.

(See page 81.)]

[Illustration: THE PREMISES OF THE LONDON AND KANO TRADING COMPANY AT

KANO.

(See page 80.)]

Captain Brocklebank will occasionally say something stronger than a big

D but always with the slight drawl which marks his intonation, never

raising his voice, and with the smile which shows he is not angry. I have

never seen him look so serious and solemn as he did when I was taking his

photograph. He speaks Hausa colloquially and will frequently make the

natives laugh by his waggisms in that tongue. I have heard him switch

off his conversation with an Arab merchant to discuss matters with a

French officer who could talk only in his own language. He would probably

strike you as being languid and indifferent, but no Arab merchant is more

alert, mentally, to the turns in a business transaction, and I happen to

know that there are few, if any, individuals who look further ahead in a

commercial survey. He appears to take things easily, and never hustles;

but no day’s work ever overlaps another.

A man who in England is spick and span, keeps his high-power motor and

dwells in a large town house and a country mansion, at Kano his domicile

is a more or less dilapidated mud dwelling where white ants cause pieces

from what must be called the ceiling to drop continually on the mosquito

curtains over the camp-bed. The combined sitting and dining-room is,

I warrant, not nearly as comfortable as the stable for his hunters in

England. The “wine cellar” is a shelf in the mud wall furnished with one

decanter and three other bottles. The wines are for his friends. He does

not take any.

As we sat in this hovel, comparatively speaking, smoking cigarettes over

a cup of tea, Captain Brocklebank leaned back in his folding chair and

remarked laughingly, “I really don’t know why I am here.”

“Nor does anybody else,” was my rejoinder. “I assume because you like it.”

“Yes, that’s the explanation, I suppose.”

“But how came you to give up the Army, and then the interesting

occupation of the political branch of the Northern Nigerian Government?”

“Well, there did not seem much in humdrum soldiering. I might have

reached command of my regiment, but there appeared to be nothing beyond.

And with all its engrossing interest, the civil department in Northern

Nigeria was a little monotonous.”

“You wanted greater freedom?”

“Not quite that—opportunities for initiative. I felt that I wished to do

something, to be going ahead, and going by my own efforts.”

“Being your own master, as the phrase is?”

“Yes and no. I had not the slightest ground for complaint of any kind

against the policy I was a humble unit in helping to carry on, nor

against my colleagues, with whom I have always been on the best of terms.

I simply wanted to do something fresh, and chance brought me here.”

“Neither you nor your present associates regret the connection?”

The reply was a smile, followed by “I think not.”

“Are you likely to remain?”

“Oh, certainly, unless there is an unexpected upheaval.”

“That was not your original plan?”

“Quite so. I commenced by nibbling; now I have my teeth fairly locked in

a grip of the things; and I have no inclination to lose them. I am going

on.”

In a compound near by Captain Brocklebank had 20 horses; his personal

property. I asked whether they were kept for pleasure or for business

purposes, and the answer was “For either, or rather for both.” The cost

of feeding such a stud by one who bought his guinea-corn in the fat

period of the year is small. If his friends wish to borrow a horse for a

day or so they can have it. If there is enquiry for something the London

and Kano Company have not but which is worth getting, Captain Brocklebank

sends half-a-dozen mounted messengers in as many directions to try and

secure it. If anybody desires to purchase a horse he is pretty sure to

see one at his figure among the batch; and if anyone desires to sell,

then the Captain is ever a buyer. An animal more or less makes little

odds.

The acquisition of a man of this kind by the London and Kano Company

is of value beyond words. Well-to-do and helping the concern with “the

sinews of war,” he can assist in a commercial fight at every step. He

has already reaped largely in the new sphere opened by the railway.

Greatly liked by both the official element and the representatives of

the merchants, he can probably do business easier than one of less

ingratiating manners, and, being a principal in the firm, he can promptly

say yea or nay to a proposition of any magnitude. A man of his education,

means, family connection, and social status is surely the equal, to say

the least of it, of anybody else in Kano Province, which shows still

more clearly the absurdity of looking down on the commercial class as

something beneath notice, or only to be noticed in curt, frigid form and

sternly ignored in every other way.

CHAPTER X

KANO CITY

The founder—Hunter and prophet, too—The city wall—Warfare and

slave hunts—Provocation and defiance to the British—The Emir’s

challenge—March on the city—First check—Renewed attempt—Entry—A

new ruler.

Kano City seen from a distance of a couple of miles presents no special

features to the eye. It is practically indistinguishable from the

surrounding country, which is flat and sparsely wooded. Fields of tall

guinea-corn and clusters of trees screen the houses of the town. In their

midst, however, two oblong hills, side by side, with flat tops, stand

against the sky-line. That to the left, looking westward, is named Goron

Dutsi, and the one to the right Dalla. On this hill the founder of the

city is said to have lived more than 1,000 years ago. He, Berbushay,

legend credits with having killed an elephant single-handed with his

spear and carried the carcase on his head to a spot near his house. The

place where the burden was put down became Kano, and Berbushay was its

first Chief. He was not so ambitious as the rulers of the Balkan States

to-day and did not aspire to the kingly title. That was assumed by one

David, forerunner of the several conquerors of Kano. His success had been

foretold a generation earlier by Berbushay, who apparently besides being

a mighty hunter was also a bit of a prophet.

Nearer approach to Kano discloses an encircling wall, with tall date-palm

trees standing sentinel-like. A closer examination shows the wall to have

a thickness of 40 feet at its lowest part, and to run to a height of 50

feet. The top has half-circles, at the backs of which bow-and-arrow men

could shoot with ease, and elsewhere this opportunity for defence is

varied by mud compartments—as hard as stone—fashioned into the top of

the wall where men could stand and use muskets through loopholes in the

solid wall. A deep ditch lies in front of the wall, which has thirteen

gates for entrance. The road to each gate narrows, with heavy, low side

walls, so that an attacking party would be crowded into a small space,

allowing few to press forward together. Several of the gates were further

protected by the wall turning at an angle outwards, allowing missiles to

be poured on the flank of an advance party.

Inside this Kano, less than eleven years ago, a slave market flourished,

although the country was then a British Protectorate, and out of these

gates there issued forth from time to time the then Emir and his

thousands of mounted spearmen, setting out on slave-hunting expeditions,

cheered by the loud-sounding drums and trumpets, and encouraged by the

cries of the women-folk, who yelled to their lords to bear themselves

well. So the Emir’s following rode on, raiding tracts of territory,

carrying off the women and children, slaughtering male adults with never

a second thought. When the dwellers in a village had wind of the coming

onslaught and hid themselves, the raiders burnt the houses and crops to

the ground, leaving the people to perish by exposure and starvation. Thus

was the land being depopulated. In 50 years it had been decreased to less

than a fifth.

In 1900 organised raids on a large scale, to keep up the supply of

slaves, were brazenly carried on by the Emir of Bida and the Emir

of Kontagora, almost within sight of the British administrative

headquarters—then at Jebba—where the High Commissioner, Sir Frederick

Lugard, sat impotent. It was as much as he could do to maintain his hold

on the Provinces occupied, for the large contingent of troops—1,200—he

had to supply for the Ashanti War had left Northern Nigeria helpless to

stop the murder, plunder, and slave-hunting that was taking place from

the north.

With the return of the native soldiers the subsidiary Emirs were dealt

with separately, but Kano, the political centre, the strong place of

Hausaland, stood out defiantly. Sir Frederick Lugard tried persuasion,

for he realised that his resources were not on a scale to tackle the

great fortress city of Kano unless at much risk.

The wall ran to a circumference of just over 11 miles, and the town had

means of maintaining those within it indefinitely. Herds of cattle and

sheep, and wide grazing grounds for raising more, acres on which were

grown corn and wheat, gave a supply of food far in excess of requirements

and made a siege, even were an army available for an investment, a futile

proceeding.

Could Sir Frederick but bring the Emir to a peaceful frame of mind

tremendous dangers would be avoided. But the Emir treated all overtures

with contumely or open defiance and provocation. Still, the High

Commissioner cultivated patience. An unsuccessful attack on Kano would be

immediately followed by a rising of the most powerful Moslem Provinces.

Some who had made their submission were suspect, and others were merely

waiting to see whether Kano, to which their eyes were turned, and on

which their hopes rested, would be able to defy the new Power which had

established itself in the southern Provinces.

An event took place which brought the situation to a climax. The

Magasi—Viceroy—of Keffi murdered a British Resident with his own hands

and fled to Kano. The Emir challenged the High Commissioner, not only

by giving the murderer refuge but by providing him with a house and

according him the place of honour on the Emir’s right hand in royal and

public processions.

That was in 1902, and if there were any remaining doubts of the

sentiments of the Emir they were swept away by his organising an

expedition and marching at the head of it to attack the British garrison

at Zaria, only 90 miles to the south, in November of the same year.

Perhaps fortunately for us, the Emir and his armies turned back, on

word reaching him that the Emir of Katsena refused to be drawn into

the enterprise. But possibly others might, especially if they saw

the now defiant, truculent Emir of Kano not only flouting the High

Commissioner but actually taking steps to overrun a Province in which

his representatives had been accepted and over which the British flag

flew. Unless the whole country was to remain in a condition of ferment,

unrest and apprehension, clearly there was only one course for the High

Commissioner, and that was to strike, if he could. He determined to make

the attempt.

As many troops as could be collected—as could be spared from other

parts—were assembled at Zaria. They were exclusively Protectorate

soldiers, for quickness in delivering the blow was a great factor

towards the chance of success. The force was made up of 550 infantry,

101 mounted infantry, 71 artillerymen with 475 mm. guns and 4 Maxims,

and the following Europeans: 24 officers, 2 doctors, 12 non-commissioned

officers. Colonel Morland, D.S.O., was in command.

On the night of February 2 the column camped at the Shallawa River, 6

miles from Kano and next morning advanced on Kano, leaving the carriers

in a zariba guarded by 2 officers and 75 men.

First an attempt was made to blow in the Dukawayia Gate, but it was so

constructed that the guns could not be placed where their projectiles

would strike. Then the guns were turned on the mud wall, in the endeavour

to break it down or make a breach. The shells had absolutely no effect.

Though of mud, the great thickness of the wall, baked by the sun’s rays

to the hardness of stone, remained intact.

The position was not a comforting one, in fact it was distinctly bad, for

unless the city was taken, and taken quickly, the besiegers were likely

to find themselves in the position of being besieged or of retiring, with

Kano immensely enhanced in prestige by having driven off the English. The

result would undoubtedly have been a general rebellion over the entire

northern Provinces of the Protectorate, and possibly in the southern

ones as well. Colonel Morland saw the impossibility of carrying the

Dukawayia Gate and at the same time was impressed with the necessity of

fulfilling Sir Frederick Lugard’s plan. The town must be taken.

Although several of the gates had been built in the manner of the

Dukawayia, the mounted infantry, which was commanded by Major Porter,

reconnoitered and discovered a gate, the Kukabuga, where a gun could be

trained without the gunners being under fire from the walls. A move was

made to that point, the gate quickly breached, and a storming party, led

by Lieutenants Dyer and Gascoyne and Sergeant Lefanu, rushed through.

On a broad, open space a short distance ahead a large body of horsemen

carrying spears were preparing to charge. A gun which was at the heels

of the leading troops was quickly brought into action and a single

shell discharged into the mass of horsemen scattered them. They never

re-formed. The enemy manning the wall were easily driven off. As Colonel

Morland’s column moved into the city the defenders broke up and all real

resistance had ended. There was some slight fighting on entry being made

into the Emir’s Palace. That was all.

The Emir had gone to Sokoto previous to the arrival of the British,

taking 2,000 mounted fighting men with him. The force he had left to

defend the city now streamed out with the intention of joining him. They

were directed to surrender their arms, and, not doing so, Colonel Morland

ordered them to be broken up, which was done by the mounted infantry.

Colonel Morland and his staff took up quarters in the Emir’s Palace,

and so readily was the new order of things accepted by the inhabitants

that a few hours later British officers were strolling about the streets,

unattended, sightseeing. The very next day the market resumed most of

its activities, and within three days from the entry was again in full

swing, with a notable omission: the slave section had disappeared. The

Headmen of the people were invited by Sir Frederick Lugard to elect the

new Emir. Selection fell on the Wombai, the deposed Emir’s brother, who

had counselled him to submit to the British. He is on the throne to-day.

[Illustration: SIR FREDERICK LUGARD, D.S.O.

First Governor of Northern Nigeria and now Governor-General of Nigerias

Southern and Northern.

[_Photo by Elliott & Fry._]

CHAPTER XI

KANO CITY—(_continued_)

Houses and rents—From 1s. 6d. to £5 a year—Mud mansions—No. 1

Kano—When to build and repair—Advice on building—A contract and

a surprise.

The residential parts of Kano are made up of irregular square mud houses,

most of them with slightly domed flat roofs. That is the prevailing form

of architecture. There are some round ones having thatched tops and a few

made altogether from that material. They belong to the poor. The style is

not favoured by reason of the danger from fire. The Emir allows the more

flimsy product on an understanding that it be replaced by mud as soon as

the worldly prospects of the dwellers warrant the improvement.

There is no private landlordism—or rather, according to the law, there

is supposed to be none—in Kano. The State, in the person of the Emir,

owns the ground. It is not his individually; it belongs to the people; he

regulates occupation.

A ground rent is fixed according to the space covered by the

compound—which may contain several buildings—at the fraction of a penny

per square foot annually. This does not work out at an extravagant sum

according to our ideas. You can, as a native of Northern Nigeria—none

others are allowed to be occupiers—obtain a house if it be vacant or

ground to build one at a rental of 1s. 6d. a year. These dwellings are

not exactly palatial mansions.

The scale of rents rises by a few pence to 3s. 6d., at which quite a

desirable residence may be secured. My very good friend Adamu Ch’Kardi,

a man greatly respected by all classes, from the Emir to the beggars in

the streets, pays 3s. 6d. a year, and as 34 persons live in his house

and its annexe, and as Adamu is not a person to be content with piggish

surroundings, the house will be estimated as pretty large. Those who

desire to keep up greater style have full opportunity. Rents go as high

as £1 a year or even £2, £3, £4, or £5, which is the scale for a palace

with a large surrounding garden. The Prime Minister occupies a house of

the kind in the corresponding Belgrave Square of Kano.

Though there are 30,000 inhabitants, streets are not named, but each

house has a number. I do not know the top numerals; all my observations

and investigations were made without official local assistance. Adamu’s

house is 4,032, and I have seen 6,249. So, whilst in the Cantonment at

Zungeru you may live up to number 8 Zungeru—if I remember rightly that

is the highest—here your address might be 6,242 Kano. I happened to pass

number 1 and took a photograph of it. It struck me as distinctive—no. 1

Kano. But there was nothing distinctive about the house. The occupier’s 9

olive branches came outside for the picture, but neither is that quantity

of youngsters distinctive for a proud father in these parts.

[Illustration: HOUSES IN KANO CITY.

The cheapest type of house. Rent, 1/6 a year.

A detached dwelling. Rent, 1/9 a year. (See page 93.)]

The population is to some extent a floating one. Many persons stay in

Kano a matter of weeks or months, then journey eastwards or north for a

similar period, alternating from Kano to the centres of commerce in the

interior of Africa and on the shore of the Mediterranean. Certain of the

Arab merchants keep their own houses in Kano. Others are boarded and

lodged for a stipulated amount. The more general arrangement is for a man

to be put up at no settled sum. He agrees to pay his host 1s. from each

£5 worth of goods sold, and the host helps the guest by making enquiries

respecting requirements in quarters where he will have better and more

intimate knowledge than the stranger within the gates.

The mud habitation is characteristic of Hausaland. Persons in Europe may

think of them as thin, weak structures, run up in a few hours and liable

to be blown to bits by a strong wind. Nothing of the sort. A mud house

which you folks at home would look upon as a mere hut, properly made may

be the ideal form of domicile, away from the perfectly-constructed stone

bungalow with scientific ventilation—punkahs, air-fans, etc., etc.—and

electric light. And I am not at all sure that I do not prefer the mud

dwelling. The principal advantage of the former is that a continuous

draught clears winged insects, an exasperating torment when writing

continuously. In the course of the last few weeks, days and nights have

been passed in four mud houses each of which differed from the others.

Two of them were as comfortable as one could wish to be, much more so

than the ordinary house in England during the extremes of summer or

winter.

But the mud house, as I have said, must be properly built. There is a

right and a wrong way, as in most things. They know the correct way in

Kano. The time to erect your mud house is at the end of the wet season,

when there is an abundance of water in the ponds and lakes of the city

and the ground is soft, for you can obtain ample material gratis. But it

must not be taken from the street; fields are set apart for the purpose,

and there people draw supplies.

Bit by bit the walls are raised, the outcome of each day’s work being

plastered by hand into that of the preceding ones, and before the last

layer has been laid on, the whole will be still susceptible to thumb

pressure. Completed, the building is left to dry in the undiluted blaze

of the burning African sun, which bakes all into the hardness of brick.

The wet season certainly puts mud houses to severe trial, and those of

the jerry-built order sometimes succumb. Even the strongest, having walls

two or three feet thick, have to be repaired and patched after continuous

rain—as it rains in Northern Nigeria—and the time for general exterior

overhauling is also at the close of the wet season, if the threatened

habitation will stand so long.

Mud houses are quite common for Europeans near Kano City; in fact, with

the exception of brick bungalows in the official element quarter, all

whites have that type of dwelling. Part of this chapter has been written

in one of recent erection which had not gone through the months of

hardening process. It looked substantial enough, with its 24-inch stout

walls, circular, from a distance resembling a Martello tower. One might

have believed it to be proof against any soaking. Five hours of much

less than the standard tornado had caused a steady run of mud to drop

with ominous sound on various parts of the floor. The wooden gutters that

projected horizontally had been undermined and fallen, and the top of the

wall on which they had rested was being steadily and in rather liquid

form deposited around me. Still, the very centre of the room was, so

far, clear of direct descent; and splashes of dirt, though persistently

maintained, are a mere nothing in this country. Presently the owner of

the house came in to warn me that I had better stop writing and move my

bedding and boxes into his store. In his opinion it was not unlikely

the walls would collapse. As he did not seem quite certain on the point

I said I would chance it and remain. A journalist who desires to send

an expected contribution to his paper must not be over-particular about

falling walls around him. Nothing on this earth is so important to his

mind as the thought that he must not miss the mail. So I rattled on.

[Illustration: HOUSE IN KANO CITY.

Rent, 2/6 a year.]

[Illustration: NO. 1 KANO.

The houses in the City are numbered to facilitate taxation. (See page

93.)]

Presently one of my boys ran in dripping, his face—as much as a black

skin can be—pale. He gasped, “Massa, the wall he be fit for fall!” and at

the same moment the friend who had placed the house at my disposal came

and begged me in emphatic language not to make a fool of myself and to

clear at once. I did, for the next worst thing to not doing his duty to

his paper is for a Special Correspondent to get killed in trying to do it

extra well. Sure enough, seen from outside, the thick wall had cracked

from top to earth and the perpendicular had distinctly shifted from its

original alignment.

The larger houses, in or out of Kano City, are not home-made. There

is a recognised trade of builders. If you are ordering a house do not

fix the price by contract. You will probably be able, especially if you

pride yourself on your astuteness, to beat the builder’s estimate down

to almost any figure you care to push it, but refrain from reflecting

afterwards that you are an exceedingly clever fellow who has prevented

somebody from making a fair profit, which you have saved for yourself.

The builder will make the profit he calculated from the first. Your

house, or rather you, will be the loser.

It is infinitely better to pay the contractor so much a day, or per week,

as long as he and his assistants are building. He will certainly keep

the job going as long as he can; it may run into months where days would

easily cover from start to finish, but if you keep visiting the busy bees

you can be satisfied that more and more is being added to the house, and

when you feel content that it suffices for your purpose you cry out,

“Hold! Enough!”

Should you, however, decide for a contract payment, be careful that it is

comprehensive. Contracts are not sealed, signed, and settled portentous

documents. They are verbal and made in the presence of an interpreter.

What wonder that where Europeans are concerned misunderstandings arise,

and naturally nobody is more surprised at them than the bland, ingenuous

builder. He made sure everything was so perfectly clear.

I knew a European who contracted to have a house built, of course outside

the city. He would leave no backway to any individual to get the better

of him, so he carefully stipulated for every detail, and emphasised them

all. He went to bed content that he had made a good bargain. No other

Englishman, he was sure, had concluded so cute an agreement.

The walls grew, and as they did—the requisite thickness never

lessening—his complacency rose in corresponding degree. The agreed height

was reached, and the builder asked for payment.

“Pay you!” cried the indignant recipient of the request; “certainly not;

not until the job is finished.”

“It is finished,” was the polite retort.

“Finished! How can it be finished with no roof? Put on the cement roof I

said I wanted and you can have your money.”

“Oh,” explained the builder through the interpreter, “the cement roof is

another man’s work. Putting on a roof is never understood to be in our

agreement. It is quite separate.”

The householder withheld payment, and on the dispute coming before the

Resident’s Court—the tribunal which tries cases in which a white is

complainant or defendant—the decision, based on local custom, was that

the builder was right and that the other must pay.

CHAPTER XII

KANO MARKET

A cosmopolitan rendezvous—Arab merchants—The desert route and

the iron-horse—War and commerce—Local industries—Arts and

crafts—Skilled workers—Camels, cattle, sheep, horses—Pitiful

brute suffering—An appeal.

Kano market is famed throughout Africa. To it pilgrims of commerce come

east, north and a hundred and more directions between these points of the

compass. It is said to be the largest market in the world, but a man who

has also been to Timbuktu tells me that it is four times the size of Kano

and has four times as many people frequenting it. Kano, however, need not

bury its diminished head. If there be another Richmond in the field Kano

shall not feel ashamed.

Various calculations have been made of the number of persons who

congregate there on the busiest days of the week; 7,000, 8,000 have been

figures given. I put it higher and estimate the crowds at 10,000 to

12,000 and one who probably knows Kano in this respect better than any

other individual agrees with my rough-and-ready census.

What African cosmopolitan crowds they are! Not merely Fulanis, Hausas and

Nupés, but Turegs—who gave the French so much trouble—Ansim men, Arabs

from every part of North Africa on the Mediterranean—Tripoli, Morocco

and Tunis—Arabs of every degree of colour, coal black to skins as white

and clear as that of an English girl.

Fine-looking men most of them, and finely clothed: turbans of cambric

and turbans of gold-like embroidered cloth. Vests—resembling an army

officer’s mess jacket—also of embroidered cloth, the edges set with

valuable lace of rare make and exquisite quality. Beneath the full robe

of white, blue or other colour, trousers on which fancy work of many

designs have been wrought. Each of these garments costs a matter of

sovereigns. I have handled vests for which the owners paid £7 each.

See these gaily-bedecked Arab magnates mounted. The native saddle with

curved-up back displays the skill of yet another craftsman; saddle

cloth of brilliant and varied hues—scarlet to yellow—girth straps

picked out with designs woven in silver. Bridle and head-collar hidden

behind tassels and hanging cords bearing more tints than the rainbow

when the sun shines brilliantly after a summer shower. The running,

horse-attendant completes the picture of men of affluence who omit

nothing the absence of which would detract from their rank and dignity.

No Zaki salute—on the knees and with head to the ground—comes from these

men. Meeting you when they are mounted, they may—one in a 100—raise the

right hand from the elbow—tantamount to taking off the hat in Continental

Europe—or, passing you on foot, they may, in the same proportion, render

a slight token of military salute. As a rule they give no sign beyond a

side scrutiny, as one does at an unusual visitor from another country

They convey to you that they know too much of the world to look upon

you—you and each of you—as a great leader, a chief, a Zaki.

They are not as the Moslem who has never been out of Hausaland and who

knows you only by the prowess and governing ability of your countrymen

there. These cosmopolitan Arabs appraise differently. They tell you, by

looks, that chance has given you the upper hand. So be it. They care not.

Let them go on with their trading and they are utterly cold as to who

rules. There is no common, fellow-feeling between these men and those

among whom they move. No feeling of patriotism unites them. There is a

link, however, stronger, more potent, one that would draw as a magnet

millions of Moslems in Africa and beyond. It is their religion. Let us

beware.

You may not like these Arab merchants from the north and from the east.

You may regard them as prepared to trade in anything for gain. You may

believe them to have been the moving spirit of the former slave-hunting

days. But they are picturesque, and if you are not satiated with

sightseeing you must turn and look at them.

These Arabs, who are principally from Morocco, from Algeria and from

Tripoli, bring European goods—wools, cloths, beads, scents—and take back

chiefly skins and ostrich feathers. They formerly came, and some still

do, by camel caravan from the north, traversing the sandy wastes of the

Sahara. The journey occupies 6 months in the wet season and 4 months in

the dry.

[Illustration: EX-SERGT.-MAJOR DOWDU.

A Beri-Beri from Bornu.]

[Illustration: AN ARAB MERCHANT

Who trades from the shores of the Mediterranean to Kano. (See page 101.)]

It was inevitable that the extension of the railway from Lagos would draw

the life out of the desert route. This process of travel is dying of

inanition. It might still have lasted years, for trading was to be done

en route and people naturally conservative in habit do not readily change

their methods. But the Morocco trouble and the Tripoli war have given the

desert route the happy despatch. It is already practically dead. Healthy

commerce and warfare cannot exist together, and the desert route has been

abandoned by the majority of the Arab traders.

They are coming and going by the sea service from Europe to Lagos or

Forcados and thence either by train all the way from the former port or

from the latter one by boat up the Niger to Baro and then by rail to

Kano. These plans have been accompanied by other advantages, for the

continental goods previously brought by the Arabs from the Mediterranean

ports have to a considerable extent been replaced by British

manufactures. Moreover, several of the Arab merchants are establishing

branches in Manchester and Liverpool. If they can obtain in England

the articles wanted the men will not incur the expense of going to the

Continent to buy.

The Arabs from North and from Central Africa form a very small proportion

of the crowds in Kano market. How are these crowds to be described?

Not at all, unless at tabulated length. Buyers and sellers come in

from districts 100 miles away and intermediately. There are markets

and markets, near and far, large and small, and Kano is the hub, the

receiving and the distributing centre of them all. Sokoto, Katsina,

and their surrounding districts send horses and cattle. Villages near

weave cloth, plait straw into mats, basins and a dozen other forms, and

place the article in Kano market. Kano itself and a wide radius around

supply hides and skins, and Kano tans and dyes them. It is the combined

Lancashire and London of West Central Africa; manufactures and the

centre of exchange. But there are no large factories. Tanning, dyeing,

weaving, the basket industry, leather work, all and much else are done by

individual families or by men employing half-a-dozen employees.

Do not conclude that Kano market is only for big transactions. You can

buy anything there, from flocks and herds to native-grown cotton, ginned

or unginned, or less than a handful of ground-nuts—known in English fruit

shops as monkey-nuts—for a few cowries, of which 280 are the local rate

of exchange for a penny.

Arts and crafts flourish in Kano market. Yes, arts and crafts

essentially. Note the skill of the fancy leather worker: satchels

of many kinds; long, flat purses wherein a double compartment slips

perpendicularly into another—a favourite form of keeping money or

documents—slippers and covered sandals of brightly-dyed leather carrying

devices in still brighter contrast; cushion covers looking as though a

dozen chess-boards had been interwoven; large and small bags; whips and

many other articles fancily formed of leather, and strips of it decorate

spurs and anything where art or ornament can be used with effect. Nothing

is more noticeable than the riding boots reaching above the knees and

bearing in front brilliant figuring fit for a Claude Duval.

There is the wood carver, handling a small, crude blade and fashioning on

calabashes, large and small, curves and lines and flowers, symmetrically

shaped and arranged, and selling the whole thing, according to the size

of the vessel, for 1d., 2d., 3d., or 4d.

In the blacksmith’s shop only implements of utility are being produced,

principally the hoe, which, used by hand, takes the place of our plough

in forming a furrow for planting. It consists of a short handle—about 18

to 24 inches—and a small shovel blade set at right angle at the end.

Although not made in the market, there you may see knives and swords

of diverse quality, always encased in a leather sheath. The knives,

which are of the dagger type, are mostly worn for show. A common way of

carrying is at the elbow, the lower part of wearer’s arm passing through

a broad ring of leather. Swords nowadays are not regarded as to be drawn

for offensive or defensive purposes. But every gentleman of quality wears

one. And in Hausaland a gentleman of quality may be a man of poverty with

his robe in rags. For ordinary walks abroad the sword will be held by a

length of lamp wick or several strips of discoloured linen passing over

the shoulder. On State occasions—for processions of the Emir—the sling

will be wool, plaited to thick tubular form, the ends finished by large

tassels. Green, yellow, red are the colours of slings, some combining the

three.

These swords are remarkable evidence of the ability of the metal workers.

The blades are occasionally made from high quality steel previously used

in a similar capacity, but most have been iron which bound packing-cases,

and to this iron is added odd bits of other iron—nails or whatever of

the kind comes to hand—the whole welded by hand hammering.

It is astonishing to take some of these swords and, placing the point in

the ground, bend them to a half-circle, so finely tempered has the metal

been brought by the simple process. The handles are dulled and set with

pieces of brass cut from used cartridge-cases and fitted artistically.

The leather scabbards are also daintily picked out with small corners of

the same metal alternating with polished tin. The swords range in price

from 1s. 6d. to 35s.

A number of used cartridge cases will be hammer-beaten by hand into one

sheet which is made into a fairly deep dish to hold food or the takings

at a stall.

The locksmith’s stall has ordinary shaped padlocks of iron, copied from

European patterns and commonplace in make and finish. At this stall I

bought a couple of native-made padlocks—all that were in stock—very rough

in shape but, I think, quite unique in form. Each was an oblong box,

and at an end a screw, having a ring top, was wound. When the screw was

inserted and turned to the left it went along the threads, closed the

bolt and came out: it was the key. When the screw was again inserted and

turned righthandwards it released the bolt and returned.

Native-grown cotton can be seen being drawn into thread by hand, and

although, as just stated, most of the straw work—flat, dish-shape and

baskets with covers, like a lady’s house receptacle for needles, cotton,

thimbles, etc.—is done in the outlying villages, men and women are also

practising the industry in the market.

Guinea corn is another feature of the market, though little is to be

seen. Sales of large quantities mostly take place with the article

stored. Outlying markets, however, send supplies to Kano, where at

present more than 10 times the quantity available would be bought as food

for labourers on the tin fields.

The Government at Zungeru has recognised the situation, and a few

days ago I met by chance my old friend, Mr J. E. Selander, lately

Engineer-in-Charge of Construction of the Jebba-Zungeru section of the

railway, who since August, when the line was handed over as completed,

has been detailed to make a survey for motor roads in various parts of

Kano Province.

Most valuable of all would be one from Katsina, about 120 miles

north-west of Kano. Katsina is a great centre for horses, cattle and

grain produce. Motor roads would be practicable for 9 months in the year,

and impossible only during the heavy rains. The country is flat, with

no necessity for bridging. Cost of labour should be low, about 1d. a

day per man, and when the road was finished motor lorries could be run

in conjunction with the train service from Kano. Transportation from

railhead to many of the tin fields could be made easy for mechanical

means.

Just off the centre of the market is an Alkali’s Court, placed there

specially to adjudicate on quarrels arising on the spot. Persons get to

loggerheads over some deal. There is no long-drawn wrangle and subsequent

exchange of solicitors’ letters followed by briefing of counsel. The

parties and their overlooking witnesses, with the evidence fresh and

red-hot, simply step across to the Alkali’s Court and he judges and

settles the dispute out of hand. It is justice whilst you wait.

We turn to the cattle section of the market. There are camels, bullocks,

sheep, donkeys and goats. Horses stand in an adjoining street. Few camels

are bought and sold. Ansim, near Lake Chad, seems to be the country for

that business; £7 each is the average price at Kano. A bullock fat for

the butcher is worth £4, whilst his brother to be used for transport, in

nearly every case with panniers, will realise from 35s. to 45s. The price

of sheep has a longer scale, comparatively, than any other animal. The

value is from 3s. 6d. to 18s. each. Goats are sold from 3s. to 4s. 6d.

each.

A donkey figures at an average of 30s., which is double the price of a

few years ago, due to the demand for transport to and from the tin fields.

A horse, or rather pony, useful for riding is worth £5. An animal of

corresponding kind in England would change owners for from £15 to £25. A

polo pony should be obtained in Kano for something between £8 and £12.

The English figure is £40 to £60. Kano is not a horse-breeding district.

Sokoto and Katsina are the principal districts whence they come. Kano is

the chief market for that stock.

The horses are generally small, I should say, from 13½ hands to 15 hands.

One of 17 hands towers over nearly all it will pass in the course of a

month. The animals have not the stamina of the British horse and are

slower. They are entire. An experiment was made to have 17 geldings in

the mounted infantry, but the animals proved dull and spiritless and

were discarded as useless.

[Illustration: THE MAGISTRATE’S COURT IN THE MARKET.

His Worship is on the steps. (See page 107.)]

[Illustration: A DETACHMENT OF THE EMIR’S POLICE.

(See page 68.)]

Horses are unshod and mercifully their tails are not cut short, for flies

around Kano are a perpetual torment to man and beast. The rest-house (!)

in which I was sentenced to live, but to which I did not go, would have

been a torture in that respect. It stood in a field near where herds of

cattle passed accompanied by swarms of winged insects. An ideal place,

truly, to put anybody who was writing hours daily. Knowing what I now do

of Kano ways, it is just what might have been looked for from one quarter.

The bit used by natives is similar to that seen in North Africa and

other Arab towns. The pace of the horse is checked by the rein bearing

on the bit, as a person would press a lever, the action causing the bit

to press on the palate, and as the iron bar has two prongs which rise as

the rein is tightened, the result is extremely painful. At times blood

will trickle from the animals’ mouths, the palate having been pierced by

the prongs on the bit bar. It is right to say that this bleeding will

occasionally be caused by champing and not by misuse.

Horses ridden by natives are, as a rule, never thoroughly groomed.

They are given a rub down about once a week. I have heard that once a

year represents a nearer estimate on the period when the operation is

performed.

Of course, horses belonging to Englishmen have the pattern bit in use at

home, and the doki boy—as the groom is styled, doki being horse in Hausa

language—is soon initiated into the use of curry-comb and brush. The

weekly cost of having a horse is small: 3s. for guinea corn and 3s. 6d.

the doki boy’s wages.

The pain from the native bit is nothing to the unutterable suffering

endured by camels and donkeys engaged in bringing loads to Kano City

and taking them thence to places around. It is too terrible for words

to express adequately one’s sense of shame and anger that such a state

of things should exist. I am given to understand that the folks at the

Residency are so frightfully busy, but I do wish the Resident would

find a few minutes to make representations to the Emir. I am certain an

immediate improvement could be brought about and probably a permanently

better condition effected in the course of a few months.

Camels have large patches of flesh raw and open and on these places the

wooden saddle holding heavy packages will rest. At times the blood can be

seen running from under it, as fresh skin is rubbed off. When the load

remains on the beast for a long journey the heat of the body will dry the

liquid part and a sore forms which becomes glued to the load. When this

is taken off strips of flesh are torn away and into these exposed parts

stinging and other flies cluster in swarms. As the animals have the packs

removed from their backs the cries and groans go to one’s heart. It is

awful.

One of the worst sights I saw was that of a camel with flesh exposed and

festering for about 6 inches long and 2 inches wide between the eyes

and the nostrils, and the whole of this skin-bare flesh was practically

covered with flies, which the beast was unable to shake off, as it was

tied to a string of other camels. A pennyworth of shea butter mixed

with minesam would have kept the insects away effectively. I do most

earnestly plead to the British Resident at Kano to have such distressing

occurrences remedied.

A man from Lagos up at Kano was with me when a file of camels were

approaching their destination. He rubbed his hands gleefully. “This is

quite Eastern,” he exclaimed, as the animals swung along towards us.

Presently they were halted and made to go down and then was commenced the

unloading. The beasts wailed piteously.

The visitor asked me, “Why do they make this painful, crying noise?”

I said nothing, clenching my teeth.

As the loads were removed and the bleeding flesh exposed my friend said,

“Good God! This is terrible. Now I am sorry I came.” He turned away. The

sight was more than he could bear.

The poor, patient little donkeys also suffer shockingly. No notice

is taken by most natives of sore backs and flanks when placing loads

pannier fashion, so heavy that a donkey may have difficulty to walk,

and when standing puts its legs wider apart to prevent the topheaviness

overbalancing.

Oh! how I wish the King and Queen, with their solicitude for all

sufferers, human and animal, would go to Kano. If they saw one thousandth

part of what I witnessed I am certain a new era would open for the silent

victims of the brute creation in this part of the world.

A more pleasant topic is that of the people of Kano.

CHAPTER XIII

KANO MARKET AND CITY

Deference to the Englishman—A sagacious policy—Administration

of justice—An Alkali’s judgment—The native Treasury—Kano

municipality—Money matters.

Reference has been made to the Arab merchants. They, however, constitute

only a small number of the multitude who frequent the market and the

adjoining streets. You will see them at their stalls or continually

passing along in the afternoon, the thoroughfares crowded with them:

Fulanis, Hausas, Nupés, Beri-Beris, male and female, many carrying in

hands or on head cotton goods, native and imported, for sale. It is a

busy multitude and few there are not intent on business.

The men are tall and bear themselves well, in turban and robe wide and

ample, of blue or plain white or white figured with green or whatever

may be the decorative colour. Respectful, nearly every one of them. They

invariably give the salute which is regarded as due to the Englishman in

Northern Nigeria: removal of sandals and kneeling on the ground, though,

of course, where persons are thickly gathered only the semblance of the

compliment can be performed.

[Illustration: A CORNER OF KANO MARKET.

Note the Stocks. (See page 112.)]

[Illustration: A SECTION OF THE MARKET WITH OPEN-AIR STALLS.

(See page 104.)]

Where instead of the turban a kind of white fez is worn, as is frequently

the case with young men, it is lifted in courteous salute. An Englishman

may well feel proud whilst walking in the streets of Kano, not because

his vanity is ministered to by the repeated deference, but that he may

reflect and remember the courageous pioneers of only a dozen years ago

who with resources improvised in the country won the land for Great

Britain and placed the name of Englishmen highest in the land.

Going through the streets the white man is gazed at as an unusual sight,

but the people did not look at me with more interest than I at them,

wondering how we, a mere handful, overthrew their rulers and the large

armies of mounted, trained fighting-men and captured their strong towns.

However, one need not wonder long. Knowledge of contemporary events gives

the answer. Still more to admire—for, after all, conquering is only a

feat of arms—is the sagacity which produced the policy in full operation

to-day, that of the people ruled by those whom they have selected, and

rulers and people thoroughly co-operating with the governing Power in

administering the affairs of the country. History furnishes no example

where that has been done with anything like the same material in a

similar period.

A peculiar thing struck me in connection with this general salutation. In

Zungeru, esteeming the excellent feeling shown by the native population

to the English, I was told I would find it still better in Kano. That

is just what I did not find. In Kano City, yes, and, to an extent, at

the despised British traders’ stores, but the nearer one goes to the

Residency quarter the less general is the salute given an Englishman.

Apparently, estimating from such signs and tokens, he is respected most

in the native area. Strange, this.

Not alone the city but the entire Province of Kano is ruled by the Emir,

who appoints native Judges, and from him subsidiary Chiefs and village

Headmen, through Chiefs of districts, take instructions and render

reports. We rule through the native rulers, the leaders of the people. A

very brief survey of its operation in Kano City may not be out of place.

The entire administration of justice has been placed in native hands,

except where a European is involved. The Alkali, as the Judge is called,

decides cases civil and criminal, framing his decisions on custom and

usage based on the Koranic law. That, purged as it has been of corruption

and inhumanity, is approved by the population, who are overwhelmingly

Mohamedan, as being right and just, much more than would any application

of English forms and methods. The Alkali is paid a fixed salary from the

public Treasury and no longer, as formerly, has a share of the monetary

penalties exacted.

Moreover, although acting under the general administration of the Emir,

the Alkali is irremovable, as Judges are in England. These features of

a regularly-paid, ample salary and fixity of office give the Alkali—and

other Alkalis as well—an independence of judgment uninfluenced by

temptation of bribery. The Governor can, of course, remove an Alkali,

and though there is no formal appeal from an Alkali’s Court, which at

Kano is empowered to deliver death sentence in a case of murder, all the

decisions can be altered by the Resident or revised by the English Chief

Justice attached to the Governor’s headquarter staff.

[Illustration: AN ENTRANCE TO THE COURTYARD OF THE EMIR’S PALACE.]

[Illustration: THE PRINCIPAL MOSQUE.]

Judicial and administrative functions are separate. The Alkali decides

punishment and the Emir’s officers carry it out, just as in England,

though Nigeria practice is the outcome of native usage.

A single decision of the Alkali is selected as an example. A young

constable complained that his wife—who looked his senior by several

years—entrusted with some cattle for sale had appropriated the proceeds

and transferred her affections to another married man with whom she had

dissipated the money claimed by her rightful lord. The woman admitted the

action but put in as defence that what she had sold had been purchased

with her own earnings and was her individual belonging. She proved that

to the Alkali, who thereupon dismissed the charge of theft but held that

if the woman did not promptly return to her husband the new domestic

partner she had taken unto herself must monetarily recompense the

original one for the loss of connubial felicity and to the extent of the

wedding portion he paid for the angel on the hearth, minus a proportion

for the years of married life.

The Married Women’s Property Act may not be embodied in clauses and

sections; statutes of Parliament are not codified and docketed;

jurisprudence is not packed in dusty volumes, one contradicting another;

but the principles of justice and common-sense, blended with the outlook

of the people on what is right and proper and fair, mark the judgments of

the men set up to decide among them.

Assessment and collection of taxes have been explained in Chapter VII.

I went to the Beit-el-Mal and saw the accumulated revenue in boxes

holding copper and nickel penny coins, bags of guinea corn—taxes paid in

kind—neatly piled and stored to be sold at suitable opportunity—and boxes

containing silver coins, which were interned in an inner chamber, locked

and dark.

Hanging up ready for inspection at any moment by those empowered to

examine were satchels in which had been put counterfoil receipts,

all numbered and in regulated order, and suspended near was the book

specifying what should be in the building and the general total. The

descriptions were written in Hausa, but with Roman characters and

figures. The intelligent Fulani and Hausa people have been trained by

British officials to modify their former system to this extent.

I was also formally invited by the Resident to accompany the Acting

Governor of the Protectorate on his visit to the native prison and on

that occasion peeped round the corner inside for a few seconds. Though

I believe the prison is excellently kept, I should have liked to have

gone more privately when there would have been opportunity for asking

questions.

Quite a different place, outside the city, which I should also have

been glad to look over was the school for Mallamai (Mohamedan scholars)

and Chief’s sons at Nassarawa. But for some reason the aid to general

investigation at Kano, which I had a right to expect, was proffered in

such a way that nobody with self-respect could use it, and having to

set about seeing things by other means, so much time was occupied that

the Nassarawa school was one of the places which had to be cut from the

programme. The establishment is based on the lines of that at Bo, Sierra

Leone, which was copied from the one in French Senegal.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL COURTS OF JUSTICE.

(See page 114.)]

[Illustration: THE NATIVE TREASURY, KNOWN AS THE BEIT-EL-MAL.

(See page 115.)]

Besides the central, native Government, Kano City has also a rough form

of municipality. It is divided into wards, each under a Wardmaster,

responsible to the Emir. The streets are kept scrupulously clean from

refuse. That must be placed in stated spots and is removed daily.

As a matter of fact, there is little. The people waste nothing that can

by any possibility be utilised. Cattle are killed in the open market by

the Mohamedan priest, and nearly every part goes to a useful purpose:

some of the internals are made into strings for musical instruments and

from the bones praying beads and other articles are fashioned. Small

portions of offal thrown in the appointed places are disputed for by

ownerless dogs who wander about and by vultures.

Do not shudder at the word vulture and conjure up scenes of battle and

men dead and dying. The vulture is quite a useful institution here.

In the compound where I live two will perform the office of minor

scavengers. So much are the birds esteemed that you kill one at a penalty

of £5.

Even the clearings where cattle stand is removed by arrangement with the

city authorities by persons who buy it either to use in the preparation

of cloth dyes or for field manure.

To persons going up to Kano—or, for the matter of that, to any part

of Northern Nigeria—small money will be a considerable convenience

and probably saving. No gold coins circulate although legal tender. A

two-shilling piece is rare. If a shilling is given in the market-place

for a purchase, more likely than not that the stallkeeper will have

to ask several of his neighbours to change it. The threepenny bit and

pennies and halfpennies are best for one’s exchequer. The “dash”—i.e.,

tip—is not the disease it has grown to be in Sierra Leone and Lagos, but

tangible recognition of little services rendered is not wasted at Kano,

any more than it is elsewhere. Visitors may, however, be reminded that a

“dash” is not looked for in Northern Nigeria to the extent it is in Coast

towns.

For everyday transactions nothing equals the threepenny bit for

convenience. It is preferred by sellers. A good supply should be brought

up from the bank at Lagos or Forcados. I am now in possession of my

second £10 worth. Persons must not rely on obtaining the coin to any

extent here nor on the way.

Of £25 drawn from the Bank of British West Africa at Zaria, no threepenny

bits could be spared for that amount, £50 being the minimum with which

they were given and then only to the extent of 2½ per cent. of the sum

drawn. I could be given no more than £1 in sixpences, the remaining £24

was in shillings. Both the Manager, Mr Fenn, and the Cashier, Mr Cameron,

are always willing to accommodate clients as much as possible, but

request for smallest money and for nickel pieces are so many that a scale

of proportions has to regulate drawings.

[Illustration: A STREET IN KANO.]

[Illustration: DOCTOR’S SHOP IN THE MARKET.]

CHAPTER XIV

SOME ASPECTS OF SOCIAL LIFE

Wives of the upper-class—Women and the mosques—Polygamy—Its

difficulties in the home-circle—How to maintain peace—Hints

on management of the feminine character—A domestic

diplomat—Slavery—The former and the present position—Status of

a slave.

Wives of men not well-to-do have stalls in public places, peddle or

trade by travelling fairly long distances. When the women are their own

capitalists the money earned is by no means handed over to the husband.

He, too, must work and pay towards the housekeeping. Women of the Hausa

and kindred tribes have decided wills of their own. The profits from

their trading go to maintain aged relatives or to obtain for themselves

cloths and other articles of adornment which the husband’s wages will not

procure.

Wives of what may be styled the upper-class do not trade. Nor do they

perform housework. That is done by hired servants or by domestic slaves.

These wives are not kept in seclusion, but they seldom go out of the

compound adjoining the husband’s house except on Fridays—the Mohamedan

Sabbath—and then only to visit intimate female friends.

Although many women have affixed to the head, suspended round the neck

or attached to the arm little leather cases containing selections from

the Koran, unless advanced in years, they do not attend a mosque for

prayers. Their religious worship is fulfilled at home. Why only elderly

ladies at the mosque? Because, say the Mallamai—teachers; literally, wise

men—presence of the younger feminine element would be likely to deflect

the thoughts of the male portion of the congregation from the sacred

purpose for which they go to a mosque.

Polygamy is general, as with all Mohamedans. Among the native friends

made in the course of the journey I count Abigah one of the most

illuminating on domestic problems. Abigah’s father, also that name, is

King of Lokoja. Abigah junior speaks English fluently. For 12 years

he was an attentive pupil at the Church Missionary Society school at

Lokoja, becoming a teacher there in secular subjects. Outside the school

strong pressure was put upon him by an official then high in the public

service of the Protectorate to forswear Mohamedanism. Immediate reward

and alluring prospects were offered. The young man was firm. He would

not, as he expressed himself to me, “be false to the faith of my people.”

He is now at full manhood, and, like all his brothers, has been sent by

the father to learn the world in the best manner of tuition, namely, by

having to earn a livelihood away from home.

[Illustration: A HAUSA BELLE.]

[Illustration: HAUSA WOMAN TRADER.

Her clothes are silk and her rings silver.]

Abigah junior has two wives. Now, there are tribes much lower in the

scale of civilisation than the Mohamedans of Northern Nigeria when the

more wives a man has the prouder each of them is to be one, as the

larger the number the greater the husband’s importance. They are not

reciprocally jealous. It is different with the Fulani, the Hausa, the

Beri-Beri and cognate folk. A man has to be both tactful and firm to

maintain peace in the domestic circle. Abigah told me he determined to

start with that object in view, and therefore directly he put on double

matrimonial harness he informed his spouses, in kindly but decisive

tones, “Remember, there must be no wrangling. If either of you want to

quarrel, quarrel with me.” His admonition has been effective.

In the higher castes wives do not sit at meals with the husband, though

in some cases they cook for him. It would not be considered dignified

for him to be seen by them eating. The food is carried to him by a

male servant. Where wives are on good terms together the husband’s

cooking is done co-operatively. When strained relations make that course

impracticable, wives take in turns culinary duty two or three days each.

“Never,” Abigah warned me, “tell one she is a better cook than the other

in the hearing of that other.”

“Why?” I innocently asked.

“Because,” he replied, “there is nothing so likely to make a woman

bad-tempered and spiteful to her own sex than being inferentially

belittled by praise of someone she knows well.”

At times Abigah has to leave on business for weeks. He takes one wife. I

enquired, “But is there no rivalry as to which shall be with you?”

“Oh, yes,” he exclaimed, “and I manage it in this way. For several days

previous to going I am very soothing to the one to be left, reminding

her she is to go next and promising to bring her a present of a fine

piece of cloth.”

“You keep your promise?”

“Certainly.”

“Does the wife who has been your companion regard your company as

preferable to a length of cloth?”

“Well,” said Abigah, confidentially, “I give her a little present, too;

something small, so as to make matters as nearly equal as possible to

both. Never,” he added, advising as though I were about to plunge into

polygamy, “let any wife believe you like another better. Make each think

she is _the_ one.” A domestic diplomat is Abigah.

Reference has just been made to domestic slaves. As the subject may

not be fully understood at home a short explanation is offered. Under

British suzerainty the capture of any person as a slave, as well as sale,

exchange or gift of a slave have been prohibited; and all children born

of slave parents after the promulgation of that declaration were to be

free. It may be asked by worthy individuals at home, who only England

know, why Great Britain should assent to the status of slavery in any

shape or degree?

[Illustration: ABIGAH (SEATED) AND HIS TWO WIVES.

(See page 120.)]

[Illustration: TUREG TRADERS FROM LAKE CHAD.

They are reformed robbers. (See page 100.)]

The answer is, first, that in Northern Nigeria slavery was a recognised

and integral part of the social organism, and had an enactment been put

into effect that all slaves were forthwith at liberty to discard control

there would have been crowds of workless, loafing gangs roaming over the

country, a misery to themselves and a danger to peaceable, industrious

inhabitants. Secondly, such an enactment would have brought to ruin many

rich and middle-class families whose herds, farms, and businesses were

carried on by slaves.

That would inevitably have created an uprising which local troops would

not have resisted. Even had England herself found money to remunerate

owners, the first-mentioned peril would have occurred and the entire

basis of society and commerce thrown out of gear.

What the British Governors did, in addition to what has been stated,

was to get the Emirs to agree that any slave might claim his freedom by

payment to the master. The roads, the railway and other public works

then being put in hand by means of the grant-in-aid from Imperial funds

enabled a slave by exertion of his muscle to gain the wherewithal for

complete independence.

The method was a simple one. He would go to an Alkali’s Court and make

his desire known. The Alkali gave a certificate which enabled the man to

move without restraint and at the same time intimated the position to the

department under which the man wished to serve. The department deducted

in weekly amounts from the man’s earnings the recoupment to his former

master, which was remitted through the Alkali.

The fact should not be overlooked that domestic slavery—i.e., slaves born

in a household and remaining there with parents—is a very different thing

to the barbarous raiding, with its attendant bloodshed, which was in full

swing previous to British influence making itself felt.

Even in the earlier period a man could be prosecuted for ill-treating a

slave, who by law was entitled to food, housing, care in sickness and

release from all control for several days in the year. That the practice

of domestic slavery did not bear hardly is shown by the large number who

voluntarily remained, notwithstanding the facilities for independent

employment. There is generally mutual trust and confidence between

master and domestic slaves. It is not unusual for the former to supply

the latter with goods for trading and to send him or her on a journey

of several days’ duration. On returning and handing over the takings

the slave will be given a proportion of the profits. Were slavery the

servitude which some folks view it, nothing would be easier than the

oppressed to go off with sufficient endowment of the master’s property to

give a sound start in an unreined career.

CHAPTER XV

THE MISSIONARY QUESTION

Missions and Moslems—Strong comments—Bearings of the

situation—Present practice—The British solemn promise—The

alternative.

I should have preferred passing over the question of religion in

connection with politics, but the matter is of supreme importance in

Nigeria and therefore I shall not mince words in dealing with the subject.

An English friend in Nigeria has sent me a copy of the _Birmingham Weekly

Post_ in which a letter appeared from a missionary, stating, apropos

of the prohibition of conversionist activity among the Moslems of Kano

Province:

“... It will now be generally known that the Government have

shown themselves in their true colours, and not only England

but the whole Christian world will now see that the English

Government in Africa, Egypt and West Africa especially is

distinctly anti-Christian and pro-Mohamedan. In all the

large towns in Northern Nigeria schools are to be opened by

the Government, in which Mohamedanism is to be taught and

fostered. We hear, too, that in Bauchi the Pagan tribes are

being put under Mohamedan Emirs, which practically means that

the Government intend to force Mohamedanism on the Pagans and

compel their law Courts to be based on Mohamedan law.”

My friend has asked me to write him what I think of the communication.

As I have no time for private correspondence I sent a postcard saying,

as comment on the missionary testimony, “The 9th Commandment.” It is

distressing to find a gentleman who is a teacher of religion and an

exponent of ethics delivering himself of half-truths mixed with facts in

a way to give an entirely wrong impression.[2]

Let the public at home understand the situation in all its bearings.

Mohamedanism may sit lightly on a section of the population, but once

allow the idea to take root with the inhabitants that this faith of

theirs is being menaced and you produce the cohesive influence which will

bind the population together in a resisting, very likely an aggressive,

mass. Now the Government does no more than leave the people and their

religion alone.

There is perfect freedom of thought and practice. The native clerks and

artisans from Sierra Leone, the Gold Coast and Lagos who are Christians

can, and do, have their churches and chapels and worship as they please.

To admit active propagandist methods in such a Moslem centre as Kano

would be tantamount to waving a lighted torch in a magazine.

Do not speak of its being done tactfully and without ruffling the

susceptibilities of a population ever suspicious of interference with

its national faith, the faith on which its laws are based. Picture the

result of projecting among such a population a fanatic of the type of

some missionaries. No doubt their intentions are good enough. These

intentions put into practice at Kano would pave the way to making it

correspond to a place the way to which, a proverb says, is also paved

with good intentions.

Further, a solemn promise would be violated by allowing missionaries in

Kano against the expressed wish of the native rulers, who are opposed to

the intrusion on the ground that it would be a danger to peace. When Sir

Frederick Lugard formally extended the authority of Great Britain over

the territory he pledged his word that no interference should ensue to

the religion of the people.

It shows a total absence of knowledge of local circumstances to argue

that there is no interference by allowing missionaries to come in, the

native being free to listen or not, as he desired. The native of Northern

Nigeria looks upon every Englishman as above himself, as one to whom he

must listen and obey. A missionary would be regarded by many in the same

light, but the strain on the loyalty of others—of the great majority of

the leaders and thinkers—would be too great. They would likely resent it

with as much fanaticism as that which the missionary advocate shows in

his epistolary fighting, with this difference, we should realise in their

case that the sword was a more practical protest than the pen.

Of course, if the British nation is prepared to impose missionaries

on its Moslem fellow-subjects of Kano against the advice of every

disinterested native and European whose word is worth anything—opinion

I found unanimous, even among devout Churchmen—then do so; but count the

cost. You will need a considerable force of white troops permanently

stationed in a distant tropical land where preservation of health is a

serious thought for each European living there. You must have the little

army in a country where at present it is not necessary to maintain a

single white soldier, except for a term as instructor to native troops.

If the British public are prepared for all this and the attendant danger,

to please those who agree with the gentleman whose letter was published,

by all means do it. But count the cost.

There are a number of other aspects of life in and around Kano upon which

a great deal could be written, but a message is to hand stating that the

long-expected transport carriers from Rahama to the Bauchi Plateau will

be ready by the time I arrive at the former spot.

[Illustration: “ZAKI! ZAKI!”

Natives giving the usual salutation to a white man.]

[Illustration: RESPECT TO THE AGED IS SHOWN BY REMOVING THE SHOES AND

CURTSEYING.]

I must not, however, close this chapter without short acknowledgment of

assistance I have received here from two men among several others. If I

were to mention at every place the courtesy and aid received I should

have to tabulate a list and give the names of almost all with whom I

came into repeated contact. At Kano, however, the early difficulties

in being in a position to acquire full information were as unexpected

as they have been exceptional. The task has been fulfilled, thanks in

particular to Mr. W. P. Byrd, Agent of the Niger Company, and Captain J.

J. Brocklebank, of the London and Kano Trading Company. The facilities

for moving about which they gave me, especially Mr. Byrd in that respect,

and the channels of information which I was enabled to reach by the

help of both allowed me to carry out my duty almost as well as if I had

gone forth arrayed in local, exalted patronage. My indebtedness for much

interesting knowledge is also due to my excellent native friends, Adamu

Ch’Kardi, of Kano, and to Suly, of Fuggi, the adjoining village. With

sincere regret I take leave of them and of others whom I frequently met.

CHAPTER XVI

THE BAUCHI LIGHT RAILWAY

Zaria and other stations—The two gauges—Through new

country—Second-hand rails—A new post for Sir Frederick Lugard—A

relic of tribal warfare—Sport for the gun—A derailment—Blend of

tongues—Smart re-railing work.

Going down the railway from Kano the traveller opens his eyes widely at

Zaria Station. At Kano there is no platform and no station. Time had not

been sufficient to build either. Passengers climb into the train from the

rails. For 90 miles southwards—to Zaria—the same conditions exist, with

this difference, that there are not so many people to see the engine and

carriages and their human freight as at the terminus. At Kano a small

corrugated iron shed for the telegraph instruments, a mud house for the

office, and a board indicating the place are all that mark the spot. You

thoroughly realise you are in a country only recently opened.

But, arriving at Zaria, instead of a single track there are seven wide

gauge—3 feet 6 inches—four narrow gauge—2 feet 6 inches—tracks and

commodious engine sheds, a large building being put up to warehouse the

increasing quantities of tin which the Government expects from the tin

fields.

White railway officials hurry hither and thither with an air of bustle,

hustle and business, and, most striking of all at first sight, a station

with an upper story for the administration staff. As you look nearer you

notice that the roof is merely of iron and that the ornamented woodwork

appears somewhat crude in its first coating of green paint. But, coming

from where there are none of these adjuncts, the general appearance of

Zaria Station is imposing, and, although tiny by comparison, the thought

occurs of Euston, Paddington or Waterloo. Men coming upwards from the

Coast may not be impressed by these things, for they have recently been

where larger dimensions rule.

Bound for Bauchi, at Zaria Station the traveller takes the first turning

to the right, literally so, as he walks from one side to the other of the

island platform for the continuation of his journey. But the continued

progress is not quite so promptly accomplished as may be imagined from

this description.

The boat train from Lagos, which should leave on the previous Friday

evening, is due at Zaria 11 a.m. on Tuesdays. The traveller must wait

till next morning, as it is not possible to transfer luggage, etc., from

the boat train to the one going to the foot of the Bauchi Plateau in time

to reach that destination the same day, and, as the Bauchi line is fresh

and unballasted, the service cannot safely be carried on during darkness.

The night is therefore spent in a rest-house, for which a charge of 2s.

is made. Next morning at 7 a.m., the train starts from Zaria Station for

Rahama, turning eastwards and forming an angle to the main line.

I will not work myself into a state of uncontrollable excitement and

frenzy over the Bauchi Light Railway having been laid down a narrower

gauge than the line of which it is a branch, nor will I belch forth fire

and fury, in the shape of epithets of stupidity and ignorance, against

whoever decided on the gauge. I will content myself with saying that it

would have been better to have had the uniform gauge and thus avoid the

delay and expense of breaking bulk on transfer. The line was laid down

at a time of emergency and was largely an experiment, for then the exact

direction of the main tin deposits had not been determined. The prime

object was to have rail transport for the tin as quickly as possible and

for as long a distance as the £200,000 given by the Home Government would

cover.

There is no need to weep and wail and tear one’s hair about the thing,

for it is merely temporary. Embankment and bridges have been built to

take the wider gauge and the rolling stock is easily convertible to use

on that measurement.

You in England, as many do here, may laugh at this little line, which

needs a day to traverse 88¼ miles, sometimes not doing it in that period.

You may call it ironically, as people do here, the Bauchi Express or the

Bauchi Flyer, but I must admit I was never so thrilled at any mechanical

means of traction, never so impressed by any trial trip of a gigantic

ocean liner, never so moved by participating in the initial run of a

train at home embodying some new feature intended to make the public

admire, I was never so thrilled by any one of such many departures in

which I have taken part as I was when the train started round the iron

curve from Zaria for Rahama.

One must indeed possess a dulled imagination not to have one’s feelings

stirred by contemplation of this line running through quite new country

where it seems but yesterday a white man had scarcely trod. Who can go

over this line and omit to think of John Eaglesome and his staff for

having given them in the course of a few months means of transportation

on a course where everybody is feverishly eager to get to his destination

at the earliest possible moment, for nowhere more than in mineral

prospecting is time, every minute of it, money.

You may rate me too ecstatic. But trek 90 miles along unmade paths in the

extreme hot season or in the excessively wet season. Then say what you

would give for a railway lift from starting-point to finish.

The first 14½ miles of rails are second-hand. They are taken from the

old tramway which ran from Barijuko, on the Kaduna River, to Zungeru

previous to the advent of the Lagos Railway. The remaining 5½ miles of

rails of the tramway are being used for the trollies which take the

refuse from Zungeru every morning. The old tramway station is re-erected

as the central market shed in Zungeru native village. That is the way

they administer in Northern Nigeria. Nothing is wasted. Lugard had left

when that was done, but his spirit and methods remained. Complaints are

heard in England of extravagance and wastefulness by public departments.

I wonder whether the appointment of Sir Frederick Lugard to control the

spending departments in London would effect a remedy.

Passengers on the Bauchi Light Railway have a plain van with a sliding

door the height of the coach. A van serves for two men, who must bring

chairs and, in case of the train being detained overnight en route,

beds, and also make their own arrangements for cooking. The demand for

accommodation frequently exceeds the supply; and that men be not delayed,

the traffic staff provides a similar van but one usually used for goods.

Such a van will not have the cooling, protecting matchboard under the

iron roof, and persons using a van of that kind should therefore remember

that a helmet, or at least some headcovering, is a wise provision against

sun troubles.

Vans have a small compartment at each end for native servants, but there

are no stoves. Should, however, there be a delay during the journey,

passengers’ cooks get out and kindle a fire on or near the track. That

is the chance for a hot meal. There are seven stations: Awai, Soba,

Duchi-n-Wai (for the Berrida and neighbouring tin mines), Karre, Kudara

(for the Wassaku Concessions), Worroko and Rahama.

The first 10 miles passed are open, flat country, having slight bush,

with sections here and there under cultivation for guinea corn. Near

Awai, 17 miles from Zaria, can be seen the remains of a walled town.

The wall, now quite thin, has been worn away by the weather to a few

feet in height, broken and irregular at top, and within it thick trees

of many years’ growth and wild grass demonstrate that where thousands

of souls lived and where their children might be dwelling to-day has

been destroyed utterly, the dead fruit of fierce tribal warfare. A few

straw, circular huts belong to recent comers who are tilling bits of the

desolate city.

At 10 o’clock, whilst at Soba Station, word came that the heavy rain of

the night had caused a washout of the line some miles ahead. Questions

were asked whether we should have to tramp the remaining distance to

Rahama. “Oh, no; it would only mean a stay of about four hours.”

Now, you folks at home, delayed at a tiny village station would probably

exhaust the interest of the place in a few minutes and relieve the tedium

of waiting by gloomy maledictions or settle down to fitful and impatient

reading. Not so out here. We are all philosophers at such trifles.

We know that a day’s set programme may at any moment be completely

upset by the elements. One of the passengers, Mr D. Bannerman, of the

Northern Nigeria (Bauchi) Tin Mines, complacently unlocked his gun case,

shouldered a rifle and, accompanied by a little party, sallied forth in

the bush to look for sport and perchance bring something fresh back for

the dinner pot, arranging with the engine-driver that a long loud whistle

should notify that telegraphic word had come that that washout was near

being remedied. Mr Bannerman was back well before a start was made, at

2.45.

Thirty-five miles from Zaria the Duchi-n-Wai hills loom in front, only

the tips of them, above the dark green of trees, now much closer, which

on both sides have closed in the view to a mile or so. They soon give way

left and right to fields less freely timbered, with an occasional acre

bearing guinea corn.

It had been clear when we left Soba that the journey could not be

completed that day, so on reaching Duchi-n-Wai, at 4.15, a stop was made

for the night. Cooks cut wood for fires from trees near and commenced

preparations for dinner.

With two camp-beds up and mosquito curtains there is not much room for

other furniture in a van. Folding chairs and tables are therefore brought

and put on the rails, and along the side of the train they are ranged,

each with its hurricane lamp amidst plates and dishes.

The native servants make their fires the other side of the train, sit

round them and join together in song, sleeping on the ground, in the

open, which they prefer to inside the carriages.

Six o’clock next morning another start was made. At Bibin, between the 60

and 61 miles’ boards, high, rocky hills are within a few hundred yards

of the line. As the engine stops for water and you glance backwards, it

looks as though the train had entered a very narrow opening. In front

is a similar view. Going out of this gorge there is again grassy plains

studded with trees.

We had left Kudara Station, 66 miles from Zaria, and were thinking of

an easy, plain spin for the rest of the journey, when occurred a sudden

severe jolting, the more pronounced as the sleepers are of metal and not

covered by gravel: we were derailed. There was just a semblance of panic

among some of the passengers and one rather excitedly jumped from the

train. We had been going round a curve and doing it slowly, at 6 miles an

hour, so there was not much danger of being upset. The train was quickly

stopped. The driver gave the double whistle which is a distress signal

and tells all who know railway language that there is a mishap.

It happened that near by was the hut of Mr Robert Brown, Bridging

Foreman, who had gone in to read a letter from his wife, in England,

which the train had dropped a few minutes earlier. Running out and seeing

what had occurred he had a trolly put on the line and sent word to the

temporary workshed at Kudara Station for hydraulic jacks and other

implements. The double whistle had also brought hurrying to the spot

Richard Brown, driver of a ballast train a quarter-of-a-mile away. Never

have I seen men work with more energy than these two and the driver of

the train, J. Swainson, did on that tropically hot morning. Swainson had

ordinary jacks on the engine, and a start was made with them. Of the

seven coaches, three had been derailed, each 26 feet long and weighing

about 8 tons.

Everyone who has duties keeping him in this country speaks some Hausa.

It is especially necessary for persons who are in constant direction

of natives. A large gang at work on construction—for the line is not

nearly finished, and is only open unofficially for the convenience and

assistance of transport to and from the tin fields—had been summoned and

Robert Brown disclosed his linguistic acquirement as his men ran to and

fro at his orders.

But there are some words for which the Hausa tongue has no equivalent,

and these words have become incorporated in their pristine freshness into

local vocabularies. Thus, it sounded amusing to hear, “Kow jack; Muzza

muzza.” (“Bring the jack, quickly, quickly.”) Sharply also were called

the orders to “Kow crowbar,” “Kow slewing bar” and “Kow” half-a-dozen

other things given their English names.

By the exertions of the two Browns and Swainson (who had all along been

obliging in every way he could to the passengers) the three derailed

coaches were lifted back on the rails, and in an hour-and-a-half from the

time of the accident the train was again running. As it moved off we gave

a hearty cheer for the Browns and for Swainson.

No further incidents marked the trip.

At 88 miles the train glides round a headland, and a little in front

there are several straw huts and a crowd of figures—there have been

scarcely any at the intermediate stations—diminutive in the distance

but distinct, white-robed, indicating that that is Rahama; and in a few

minutes the train pulls up in a shallow cutting which is the present

railhead.

You climb up from the track by steps cut into the clayey earth, and

shortly after rain it is all a chance whether you maintain your balance

whilst making the ascent. Having got to the higher ground you are at the

jumping-off point for trekking.

[Illustration: THE RELIGION OF THE MOHAMEDAN FORBIDS THE USE OF SOAP, AS

IT CONTAINS FAT.

Shaving is therefore done with the aid of water only.]

[Illustration: SPECIMEN OF THE BARBER’S ART.]

CHAPTER XVII

AT RAHAMA RAILHEAD

Engaging carriers—How to facilitate getting away—Hausa horse

coupers and political economy—Bullock transport—Donkey

carriage—The man who belies a fable.

At Rahama one says good-bye to the railway. Henceforth locomotion must be

of the animal or the human kind. The whole of the transport onwards is

in the hands of the Niger Company, and everybody who desires to progress

must go there.

Perhaps I should not say “must.” All are free to make their own

arrangements, but it will be found impossible to engage carriers direct,

for every man-Jack available is constantly employed by the Niger Company,

who could do with hundreds, if not thousands, more. Had the Company, or

someone else, not organised transport there would have been such scramble

and chaos in the endeavour to get carriers for the tin fields that the

Government would have been compelled to itself organise the service, for

the confusion would have been intolerable. As matters are, everything

goes much easier and is a great deal more reliable than if carriers were

hired casually.

The Niger Company is sharply, even bitterly, criticised for the time

occupied in goods reaching consignees in the tin fields’ area. The fact

should be remembered and counted as an element of consideration that

not only is the country new but that the tin-mining industry has come

unexpectedly and with a rush and no public or private concern in the land

which is actively involved can cope with the mountain of requirements

which have arisen. Railways, roads—where there were not so much as bush

paths—and transfer of thousands of men from one occupation to another are

not evolved in a day, or a year, by the mere want of them. They cannot

be produced by a Governor’s proclamation, the most potent document in

Northern Nigeria. They take time; and attempts to do things too hastily,

regardless of special local difficulties, mean courting a complete

breakdown.

Decidedly it would not do for men to come to railhead and bid against

one another for carriers. That would mean the individual with the

longest purse would always be first, and the cost to everyone would

be more than it is. If the Niger Company at Rahama is advised well in

advance of a person’s wants he is seldom, if ever, kept waiting. Goods

cannot be forwarded at once. A man and his immediate belongings are. Of

course, people must not expect 300 carriers apiece. The plan is to allow

sufficient for personal requirements—I think 30 carriers to an individual

is the present limit—and an ample margin beyond. Engaging and taking away

a large number of carriers might be a trick to keep other persons back.

Above everything, I am informed, is it necessary to let the officer in

charge at Rahama know as long as possible in advance. Whilst I was there

a man who had not given previous notice of his requirements offered to

pay more than anybody else, and was willing to put the money down on the

spot, if he could be immediately supplied with carriers. His offer was

declined. The transport officer acted on the principle of the Company,

that having taken in hand persons’ needs it was morally bound to comply

with them, as though there had been a contract. It seems to me that the

work at Rahama is regulated by a sense of responsibility and fairness.

In obtaining a pony for trekking there is a broader choice. It can be

bought from or through the Niger Company or purchased direct from a

dealer in Rahama Town, near by. I should not advise the latter way. The

horse dealer here is not far removed in instinct from his counterpart in

England. He takes stock of his client and acts accordingly. “He savvy

plenty he be Bako Bature”—“He recognises that the buyer is a stranger

white man,” as a Hausa interpreter expressed the situation to me—and

therefore fair game. Although the horse merchant has not been a deep or

diligent student of the works of Adam Smith and John Stuart Mill, and

probably cannot read or write a word in any language, he estimates to a

nicety the extreme doctrine of political economy, and nobody knows better

how to hold the market and shape his bargains after that preliminary.

A horse for which £12 is asked in Rahama Town can be bought through the

Niger Company for £8, 10s. I will not give my own experience as it might

be thought I was favoured. I will relate two cases of fellow-passengers

which came under my notice, as each showed me his mount for an opinion.

One went direct to a Rahama dealer and paid £8, 5s. for an object on four

legs, which, poor beast, seemed inured against the persuasion of reins

or whip Another passenger had from the Niger Company a black Katsena

pony—next to the Pagan horse, the best type for trekking in a country of

broken roads and stone-stepping spruits—at £8.

One must not expect at Rahama a fiery, untamed, prancing Arab. Untamed,

possibly yes; more probably, utterly broken in spirit and with a mouth as

firm as granite. No novice need fear getting on top, and if he does roll

off there is not far to fall, for the average height appears to be from

12 to 14 hands.

Should a horse be wanted for settled use in the country it ought to be

obtained at Zaria or Kano, the latter greatly for preference.

A further word of advice. Bring saddle and bridle from England. Any for

sale here are immediately snapped up. Owing to the competition a man

will likely have to pay more for an English bridle and saddle falling to

pieces than the cost of a new one at home plus the expense of carriage

out.

The Niger Company bullock transport for the tin fields keeps 150 animals

going, worked when necessary in teams of 16. Thirty oxen will draw 12

two-wheeled carts of half-a-ton carrying capacity at an average speed

of 10 to 12 miles a day. The men who drive were taken over from the old

cart transport between Zungeru and Kano, instituted by Sir Frederick

Lugard previous to the railway being laid. The training on the road was

done by drivers from India, many of whom had passed through the military

transport service there, to which no doubt is to be traced some of the

words used. The bullocks shamble off hearing “Tashi!” the Hausa word for

“Start!” and stop at the sound of “Halt!”

Besides bullock carts and wagons, donkeys are also used in the dry

season for the tin fields’ work, not in traction but in pannier style.

They are cheaper than human carriers. A donkey will take the load of

two of them, and one man—the owner of the animals hired—looks after

three. The donkeys have not to be supplied with provender. They fend for

themselves on the march, feeding on the dry stalk of the guinea corn—in

some cases an inch in diameter—after the ear has been garnered.

The Rahama branch of the Niger Company is in charge of Mr Percy Garrard,

who had Government experience in South Africa, East Africa and India.

His post is far from being an enviable one, especially on the arrival

of a train, when perhaps several men who have given no notice of their

coming want to be horsed, equipped with carriers and away in a twinkling.

Though his position is one where many of us would turn savagely on folks

harassing us to death, or at least to distraction, Mr Garrard does

nothing of the sort. He just does the best he can for everybody, giving

precedence for those for whom he has prepared and fitting up the others

as quickly as he is able. He works rapidly, as he must or he would be

overwhelmed by the continuous stream of matters claiming attention.

He is one of the most remarkable individuals to be met with in Northern

Nigeria. Not alone that he is incessantly occupied, doing things at

lightning speed and yet never becomes flurried nor loses his temper,

it seems incredible that the whole of the transport work at Rahama is

directed by him with only one European to assist in the multifarious

duties, which commence at high pressure at 6 a.m., and continue at an

equal rate throughout the day.

Nobody has so many pressing requests from impatient travellers. Everybody

who arrives from the Coast of course wants carriers at once, probably

needs a horse, and, more likely than not, wishes to take with him more

packages than there are carriers to bear them.

All these desires are urged on Mr Garrard, and, naturally, each person

believes his own business to be more urgent than that of anybody else.

The wonderful thing is that Garrard not only tries to please everyone,

but, notwithstanding the tragic fate of he who in fable attempted a

similar result, Garrard succeeds, although it is seldom possible to do

all that is asked. He has an infinite capacity for what is known as

getting on with people. All speak well of him; in fact, that is putting

the position too mildly; they speak of him enthusiastically. A couple of

men who were out for their second year and had been through Rahama four

times said to me, “If you write a book on your travels you should include

Garrard’s photograph. We would cut out the picture and carry it with us,

and whenever we happened to be annoyed at not having forwarded things we

wanted, whilst we were miles away in the bush, we could look at Garrard’s

portrait and that would give us pleasurable recollections and tone down

anger at the delay.”

The offices and stores of the Company are corrugated iron sheets, not

fixed together to form a wall, but merely touching one another, leaning

on bamboo frames and covered by a dried-grass roof. The whole thing is

taken to pieces and carried forward as the railway line advances and is

put together at each new railhead.

Rahama is also the clearing centre outwards. To it, from different

districts, comes tin, which is sent by the Bauchi Light Railway to Zaria,

then transferred to the Baro-Kano Line and taken to Baro, where it is

carried down the River Niger and shipped to England.

CHAPTER XVIII

ON TREK—RAHAMA TO JUGA

Heavyweight and overweight—The white barred—Collective

displeasure—Getting off—A doki boy—Tin-mine pilgrims—A

scion of royalty—The rest-house—Village elders—Acrobatic

horsemanship—The carriers—Headman Hanza—Over the edge of the

Pagan belt.

Be sure no package exceeds 60 lbs. That is the first thing to govern

preparation for the trek. If parcels are heavier carriers may refuse to

take them. Do not talk about “making” the men do so. You who have had

experience with carriers on the Coast, in other parts of Africa, or in

the Far East, must not think of putting into operation methods which

obtain there. You will find that the natives here are entirely different,

have different ideas, and require different handling. You must begin

learning knowledge of carriers and other labour afresh. That is not the

product of my own philosophy. The words were said by a man who had been

mining all over the world and whose years of observation probably doubled

those of anybody now actively engaged in Northern Nigeria. The carrier

here is, however, one of the best fellows on the face of the globe. He

needs to be understood. That accomplished, you can get him to do anything

in reason. Such is my conclusion and testimony. I am referring to men

who are carriers from choice, not to those taken from other occupation,

more or less against their wish.

Though it is essential your loads shall not exceed 60 lbs. each, to avoid

opening and redistributing the contents of trunks in the open ground

there is no reason to inconvenience yourself by placing more in boxes

than you desire. The golden rule is not to have any above the specified

standard. Below it does not mean increase in the number of carriers. The

procedure at Rahama is this. All packages are set in a line. Mr Garrard

looks at each and quickly weighs them up mentally, testing by lifting.

A load of, say, 20 lbs. is placed with another or more and all securely

tied to equalise every load to about 60 lbs. The carriers do their own

roping, according to the individual manner of bearing a package, which is

on the head.

For the first day an early start is out of the question. A number of

little things have to be done which cannot be effected in advance. Nor

should a long stretch be decided upon for the initial stopping-place.

The men like a near one in order that they may settle down and become

accustomed to their loads before the journey is entered upon in real

earnest. You will lose nothing in the end by humouring these feelings of

the carriers. Give way to them in small things, which do not matter, and

you will be able to have your way in larger ones that do matter.

My packages were paraded in the way prescribed, and the carriers stood

behind them ready for Mr Garrard’s directions. Just then I walked up,

and as soon as it was seen that I was to accompany the party two of the

men showed restiveness and said they did not wish to go. Now, I do not

think I am a very fearsome-looking personage, and I failed to understand

why a glance at me at once deterred otherwise willing workers. It was

subsequently elicited that the two men had previously marched with a

European who had hurried, harried and bullied them, and whilst they were

quite ready to take any load and go anywhere, they desired to do it only

with their fellows. When a party of that kind travels the men usually

do very short distances in the preliminary part and select their own

stopping-places, generally near a market that suits them, but whatever

time be lost by these deviations they are sure to make it up and to

arrive at a destination at the stipulated hour. They merely like to do

things in their own way.

Mr Garrard simply dismissed the gang and called up the next in waiting.

All these carriers working for the Niger Company receive a fixed wage,

with additions for the journeys carried out. I asked whether any

reprimand or punishment would be given to the two refractory carriers.

Mr Garrard replied, not by him. The gang would be put last of those in

waiting and might not be sent out that day. The members of it would,

therefore, lose their “extra,” and those of them who were willing would

be sure to lead the couple of recalcitrant ones to a suitable place and

there administer the measure of their displeasure at being baulked of the

earnings.

The fresh carriers were soon apportioned their loads and streamed away

towards Gidan Gombo, the first stopping-place, 11 miles. They left at 11

a.m. The caravan consists of 20 carriers and a Headman, two doki boys and

three boys for domestic service. The last department is made up of a

steward, a cook and a small boy as general help.

I did not ride out until 4 p.m., staying to write and send off _African

World_ despatches, as after leaving Rahama I would not be near a post

office for at least nine days. Kogini Rahama—Rahama Brook—a narrow river,

had a bridge made of rails and sleepers thrown across it by the railway

survey people, but it had met the fate of many bridges at this season; it

had been broken by the storms and floods. Mr Garrard has an arrangement

with the owner of a canoe to take across any traveller and his carriers

at a charge of 2s.

A few hours previous to my starting heavy rain had fallen, and the first

miles were over ground so slippery for the horse that I found it quicker

to walk. Where the road was firm I rode hard, in the endeavour to get

to Gidan Gombo before dark. Mr Garrard’s own doki boy, who was to bring

a parcel back, came with me, and however quickly I rode he remained

running in front, carrying a rather heavy writing satchel all the time.

(Doki is the Hausa word for horse, and all servants, no matter their age,

are styled boys.) Among those for whom I shall take away a very kindly

feeling, and also one of admiration, is the best type of doki boy.

The portions of greasy road were so long that, following the brief

twilight of the tropics, though darkness had set in by 7 o’clock I was

still jogging along. The doki boy, however, knew the route, and there

was no drawback except that of going over strange ground with no moon.

About a quarter-of-an-hour later there was the unpleasant sound under

these circumstances of breaking water ahead. Nobody had passed us for

some time. During the day it is easy to learn if a stream across the

high road is fordable. Persons coming from the direction on the tramp

have evidently crossed the water, but at night, after a recent downfall,

streams which might have been walked over on stones prior to the deluge

are impassable.

I was nearing the place and debating in mind whether to chance trying

to go over—there seemed no alternative, unless I was either to ride

back and so put twenty miles on the journey, or stay at the spot all

night—when a light swung ahead. A little party from the rest-house had

brought a lantern to obviate the difficulty of crossing and by its light

stepping-stones were clearly visible. The rest-house was only a mile

further on, and into the compound I passed at 7.40.

An example of willingness on the part of good carriers was furnished.

One had been overtaken by a mounted messenger when nearly half-way with

an order to return. He was bearing a steel trunk not less than 60 lbs.,

and awkward to hold. It contained papers which should have been shown at

Rahama. The man turned back, set out again, and although walking alone

and going over the same ground on which I found it not easy to keep a

horse up, and the latter part over which the pony went at a fair pace,

still the carrier, who only had two hours’ start, came in at 8 o’clock,

with no more stimulus than 1s. given at Rahama.

The rest-house compound at Gidan Gombo had within it quite an assemblage

of natives who were tramping to Naraguta district attracted by the

expectation of employment at the tin fields. Not labourers—they sleep

in villages—but Coast mechanics and similar workmen and interpreters. In

a rest-house compound are a number of smaller mud huts for the carriers,

and in these shelters coloured men pass the night. There was a lad among

them said to be son of the former Emir of Kano. If so, the scion of

royalty had been much reduced in position. He—who whether the story be

true or not was evidently of a superior caste—had been servant to Captain

Maclaverty, of Zungeru, and was walking to Naraguta with a friend of the

family—an interpreter—to enter the service of an Englishman there.