politeness, and that anybody would act similarly. I should like to be
able to say so. You may think I make too much of common courtesies and
small hospitalities. Travel across a country such as this and you will
appreciate them, the more by contrast. I suppose a great deal depends
on character and temperament, otherwise there is no understanding the
difference which marks men.
Not long ago I was located in a mud hut which was clean and roomy and in
which I was quite happy. The second night I was informed it was wanted
for someone else—a junior member of the staff of the concern—and although
there was plenty of accommodation for either him or me in other buildings
on the ground, the quarter given me to sleep in was of a kind that, in
preference, I went to the hovel where two of my native servants—the horse
boys—were passing the night, and had the bed brought there.
Of course I could have had the place to myself, but the boys were there
first and had made a fire to keep themselves warm during the cold hours.
Had I turned them out, they could not then have secured further fuel, and
to have gone into a cold hut from a warm one, with their single blanket
apiece, would be dangerous to health.
You may not regard highly the Englishman who puts another into the
position stated, though it be merely a passing traveller. I make no
grievance of the incident, unpleasant as the situation undoubtedly was.
When, therefore, a T. H. Driver appears in the path, with his considerate
heart, too much can scarcely be said for him.
My own case is not the only one I have witnessed. When passing through
Gurum on a previous occasion I saw a man being carried in an invalid’s
hammock towards Rahama. His health had broken. He had been sent home and
was too ill to ride a horse. The bearers stopped a little way from Mr
Driver’s bungalow, and the sick man sat under the shadow of some trees as
a temporary rest from the tiring hammock. I looked on as Mr Driver went
over. He exchanged a few words with the man, who was a stranger, and then
led him across.
The miner had been a burly, strong fellow. Now he was in a shattered
state and could not stand alone. With arm round the poor fellow’s waist
and as tender and gentle as if he had been a girl, Driver helped him
along with slow steps to his own bedroom and bade him lie and rest there
until the midday intensity of the tropical sun had abated. And when
the invalid resumed his journey Driver had given him a proper utensil
for boiling water and thus added to the stranger’s chance of retaining
life whilst in the bush. “Good luck! Drop me a line to say how you are
on reaching the Coast,” were Driver’s parting words. They constitute a
tactful paraphrase of a request to know whether a man has lived to get to
the sea.
I was away from Gurum in the early morning, and we easily arrived at
Raffan Governor, 14 miles, about the time people in England would be
finishing breakfast. There was thus a clear day for writing, and the
carriers would have a good rest, away from the nocturnal attractions of a
large village, for the long march on the morrow.
The carriers were aware that on the last day they had to do the
longest—though, as regards the ground, not the hardest—march since they
had been with me, and there was no trouble in parading them early and
getting away.
Since I previously came over this ground the aspect has altered
considerably. The rain-torn roads, making them into ditches and ridges,
have been repaired and are now smooth enough to have wheeled along them
frail bassinettes. The surface is as level as an ideal sand road. No one
who had not seen would think that it will be washed away to a condition
impassable for wheeled vehicles in a few weeks of the rainy season.
The streams, some impassable after a short storm, are in many cases now
completely dried up. There are a number which would not be recognised
as watercourses. Even rivers as broad as the Thames at Windsor are
sufficiently shallow to be crossed on stepping-stones.
Other signs are to be noted. One sees that one has returned to a caravan
route. Instead of two or three persons met during the day, the 20 feet
wide road has carriers—a file of 30 or small detachments of a larger
party—about every 100 yards.
But carriers, donkeys, and bullock wagons, they all seem so primitive,
the method so ancient. It recalls the Biblical period. One thinks of
mechanical transport; if not the railway, which, with a single train at
its slowest, would whirl along in half-a-day the load which thousands
of carriers need six times as long to transport, then of motor lorries,
a couple capable of doing in a day work that requires 150 men with
head-loads three days. Such lorries are due up a fortnight hence and will
be the first distinct step in utilising the latest product of mechanical
science to supersede the old, human manner.
A pleasant companion for several miles was Mr Speed, a grey-bearded
veteran who had come to Northern Nigeria to judge its value for ranching.
He has seen much of the world. Born in Australia, and a few years ago
associated with mines in Rhodesia, he knows the whole gamut of colonial
life.
He is as enthusiastic over this country as man can possibly be. He
considers it admirable for cattle-raising and for wheat production.
Any question of hazards to health he waves aside. He thinks there is
no reason why Englishmen should not settle permanently on the land, as
they have done elsewhere. He argues that, by reasonable precautions,
danger from the sun’s rays can be avoided. He says they are bad, if not
so strong, in Rhodesia and that there white women and children live and
thrive, though a few years ago it was declared to be fever-ridden and
impossible to any but the hard, inured campaigner.
Why, he asks, should not the present health conditions in the Chartered
Company’s territory be brought about in Northern Nigeria? He affirms
that, as far as he can tell from intense observation, no cause exists to
deter that consummation.
Mr Speed is one of those exceptional cases where an individual ignores
some of the prime safeguards of two kinds against fever. In spite of the
fact that he is much older than is regarded as safe for men to spend more
than a fleeting visit to West Africa, he tells me that he never has a
net to protect him from mosquitoes at night, as such an adjunct on his
bed would prevent him sleeping by impeding free passage of air; and also
that he does not use a filter, merely taking care that drinking water is
simply boiled. That line of conduct with many men would be tantamount to
signing their death warrant.
CHAPTER XXVIII
CLOSE OF THE TREK
Character of carriers—The only blow given—Native grooms’
monetary transactions—Material for a _cause célèbre_—Dispensing
justice on the road—Headman Dan Sokoto—Dan’s sharp practices—A
long march.
I left Mr Speed at the Gidden Gombo rest-house in order that I might
push on to railhead the same day. The distance was only 10 miles and
the carriers quite fresh and fit at this stage. It is surprising what
difference a few miles additional to an ordinary march will effect.
Though my men would, of course, have preferred to have stayed at Gidden
Gombo with Mr Speed’s carriers, they offered not the slightest demur to
going forward; and after stretching themselves on the ground for about 20
minutes they rose willingly and headed their loads with smiles.
There are shirkers and wasters and defaulters among the Hausa carriers,
as there are among bodies of men of lighter colour skin; human nature
does not become perfect, whatever the externals; but treated properly—by
which is meant, with tact, firmness when necessary, and consideration—my
testimony is that the Hausas are as good-tempered a class as can be found
anywhere, and always ready to respond to whatever call is made upon their
endurance.
Do not conclude they are free from frailties and failings found
elsewhere. Justice is, however, the talisman for ruling them, justice
with self-control, never allowing your temper to master you, be the cause
what it may.
This particular gang had been with me nearly four weeks, and it is
scarcely probable that in that period there would not be among themselves
cases of quarrels brought to the white master for settlement or an
occasional act which needed some disciplinary step.
Both were surprisingly few. Only on one occasion was the strong measure
taken of striking a blow. The steward boy, Oje, during a temporary halt
on the road objected to a carrier sitting on a box containing food,
and as the man would not move Oje attempted to draw the box from under
him, whereupon he slapped the boy’s face with such force as to make
him stagger. Oje responded by hitting with a light cane, and then the
carrier—a rather tall fellow—advanced menacingly towards the lad. As he
did, I, who unknowing to them happened to be standing by, stepped forward
and with a single sharp cut from a short riding whip recalled the carrier
to his senses.
A few words of admonition on the cowardice of a big man striking a
little one brought approving cries from the gathered circle, and the man
expressed his regret on the spot. Later he spontaneously apologised to
Oje.
The two horse boys—Kolo and Mama—usually the friends of a common
fraternity, sometimes had mutual monetary dealings. The outcome of a
transaction of that kind—the loan of 3d.—was a dispute. The alleged
debtor, Kolo, asserted he had paid. Persisting in the declaration, Mama
flew into such a rage that, in his exasperation, he tore the other’s
robe. This was clearly wrong, so, to maintain good order, I awarded Kolo
6d. from Mama’s wages, subsequently, in order that Mama might not feel
embittered at the loss, taking care he should do a special service with a
reward of 9d.
After the reconciliation which followed the judgment, and notwithstanding
my reiteration of Polonius’ advice to Laertes, rendered colloquially,
a week later a feud broke out between the same two over the loan of a
penny. The matter was brought for my decision. To have gone into the
question would have incurred very much longer time than could be spared,
so, warning each disputant against a resort to violence—threatening to
have both punished if they fought and to have the one who hit first
thoroughly flogged—I told them that, as the trek would end in a couple of
days, they must take what would possibly be regarded as a local _cause
célèbre_ to the court of the Alkali, the native judge.
The Headman of the carriers, Dan Sokoto, was quite a character, as most
Headmen are. He was a strong contrast to Headman Hanza, with whom I first
set out on trek. Still, I got to like Dan. Rather under the height of
most Hausamen and an age that would be looked upon by them as old, he was
wiry and as alert as the youngest. He did not wear a turban, like the
stately Hanza, but affected a white embroidered linen cap, conical shape,
cocked rakishly to incline to the right eye. His goatee beard he would
stroke whilst he smiled benignly when the steward or the cook asked
for the money which Dan made a point of getting either as a temporary
personal accommodation or to buy for them some extraordinary bargain of
clothing or a sleeping mat from any market we happened to be passing. Dan
was always ready with a reason why the purchase was deferred and why he
should in the meantime retain the money.
His industry was to be admired. Whenever we stopped, whether it be for a
few minutes or as a rest in the course of a long day’s march, out would
come his needle. He plied it incessantly either in making himself nether
garments or in fancy woolwork. At both he acquitted himself well.
Dan started his service badly. I had engaged 20 carriers. Dan turned up
with 22. Asked why the requisite number was exceeded, he answered that
the loads were too heavy to be apportioned to the lesser figure. As he
had not seen them, it was unmistakably an attempt to have more men under
him than I considered necessary. He would no doubt have drawn an illicit
commission from the wages of the couple unwarrantably enrolled.
The superfluous couple were dismissed. Really, made up into about 60-lb.
loads, only 18 men would have been wanted, but going away for a month
from the chance of refilling any vacancy, it was desirable to have two
spare men in case any of the others fell ill. In order that all might
do their share as long as possible, the loads were arranged into 20
divisions.
At the close of the first day’s trek I called Dan Sokoto and told him I
did not at all relish the trick he had tried and that if anything of the
kind occurred again I would send him back and appoint another Headman.
The answer was characteristic. He did not attempt to justify his conduct.
He said he was sorry for what he had done; that he hoped to remain with
me; that if I forgave him I would have no further cause for complaint.
Put in a more blunt way, he meant, “I tried to get the better of you; I
failed. There is no necessity to make a fuss about the thing; let it pass
and allow me to serve you.” So I regarded the matter.
Perhaps I should apologise for making this digression from the narrative,
but progression on trek depends so much on one’s carriers that I thought
these glimpses into their personality and manners might be of interest.
I have mentioned that a few miles added to a normal march will
occasionally mean much more than the distance appears. Though the men
went on from Gidden Gombo buoyantly and light-heartedly, after a couple
of hours, with the sun’s rays increasing in power, the pace fell off
considerably. The men held on bravely and were as good-tempered as ever,
but were unable to maintain the rate, and by the time we had entered the
last five miles there were signs of distress among some. I encouraged and
stimulated them, referred to this being the end of their present efforts;
joked of the “dash”—i.e., present—to be given when we reached Rahama and
of their having light work, or none to do, the next day.
The heat and dust had become very trying, and although the carriers could
march easily in the early mornings bearing their loads for 10 or 12 miles
without a stop over fairly rough roads, they were now so done up on this
last stretch that in the final 5 miles they had to rest three times.
It would have been easier for me to have cantered on, but I felt it due
to the excellent fellows with whom I had been across and back over the
Plateau for so many days to stay with them; and so together we at last
reached Rahama; again saw a railway, and found Mr Garrard, the local
senior representative of the Niger Company, as cheery as ever. The men,
each carrying at least 60 lbs. weight on his head, had covered 26 miles
in a typically torrid temperature.
It was well the march had been maintained, as the weekly train was to
leave at 8 a.m. the following morning.
CHAPTER XXIX
TOWARDS THE PAGAN COUNTRY
Hausa and Pagan—Distinction of dress—Deeper divisions—The
price of peace in former days—Public highway—Revenge and
brotherhood—Scope of an Assistant Resident.
The inhabitants of Northern Nigeria may be broadly classed as Hausa and
Pagan. Each comprises many tribes. The Hausa is generally regarded as a
Mohamedan, though no more so than that everybody in England who does not
attend chapel, synagogue or meeting-house is to be counted as Church of
England.
The distinction between Hausa and Pagan is easily seen in dress. Any
Hausa worth the name sports a flowing robe and wide linen trousers. A
well-to-do man’s garments of that kind will make those of a British
Jack-tar appear puny and of spider proportions. Costume affected by the
Pagan sexes will be referred to presently.
A less visible but far deeper division between the two is that formerly
the Hausa people raided Pagan tribes wherever it could be done, dragging
prisoners to slavery, killing the villagers unfit for it, burning the
houses, destroying the crops and food stored for the lean months,
and leaving any persons who had escaped the raiding bands to death
by exposure and starvation. The price of peace to a Pagan tribe was
tribute, which usually took the form of an annual quota of slaves. They
were mostly obtained by raiding other Pagan tribes, and, as an area that
was secure from raiding found a vent for its energies and warlike skill
by inter-fighting, the whole countryside for hundreds of square miles was
in a continual ferment of bloodshed.
The advent of the British made a radical alteration. When a Protectorate
was proclaimed it was announced that whilst the Pagan would be preserved
from being raided he was to allow free passage through to the Hausa, for
a few years ago no Hausa dare enter these regions where the Pagans were
strong enough to resist attack. Caravans which came near enough to the
danger zone were assailed or harassed by the wild men from the hills.
With the inception of the new conditions, a public path, corresponding
to a highway in England, was marked out, wherever possible away from
the Pagan villages, and it was proclaimed that any peaceable stranger
passing along who was murdered would be avenged by the British. Although
that is enforced to some extent in the neighbourhood of large centres of
administration, it cannot be the uniform rule over a vast territory where
means of locomotion are almost entirely confined to bush and mountain
tracks. Held in check by the supreme authority, the fierce hatred and
enmity of Hausa and Pagan remain. You cannot eradicate in less than a
decade the memory of wrongs for generations, nor at once replace with a
spirit of sweet and loving brotherhood the intense desire for revenge.
The feeling manifests itself around outlying posts in minor ways. Murder
is, however, seldom resorted to.
Seven days’ marching has brought us to the middle of the Bauchi Plateau,
4,000 feet above sea-level, although the spot could have been reached in
four days by a more direct line from Rahama.
I speak of “The Pagans of the Plateau,” but the term should be understood
to comprise a number off it. There are two reasons for the extension.
First, some tribes are spread from the Plateau to the lower land, and,
secondly, it is better that certain of the customs and practices should
not be precisely located, for, notwithstanding they are known to the
higher British authorities, no Resident or other official would wish them
placed to his discredit by people unaware how limited were his resources.
It is not realised at home that large tracts of the country are no more
than nominally occupied, and it would be unreasonable to expect that
close supervision and control of social habits are to be effected by
an Assistant Resident responsible for a district extending to anything
between 5,000 square miles and 10,000 square miles, where he is expected
to maintain peace between sections mutually yearning to fight; where
he exercises magisterial functions and enforces sentence; where he has
to collect taxes from quarters none too willing to pay; and where, to
carry out these duties with force and pressure additional to his own
personality, he has a garrison of 10 native policemen. If he failed to do
all these things he would be sharply called to account by the Governor of
Northern Nigeria; and if in his zeal to do any of them he caused a rising
that needed troops to repress, then he would be asked why he could
not, like others, accomplish his task without requiring the use of the
military.
There are dozens to whom the description applies. I shall presently show
part of an Assistant Resident’s functions in operation and an estimate
can then be formed of what these men do in Britain’s name for the people
placed in their charge. Every one with whom I came in contact was imbued
with the desire to administer the principles of humanity and justice
between man and man, or man and woman, and to do so in a common-sense
spirit.
This preamble is given so that readers may not be unduly shocked at
the introduction of cannibalism, especially at the fact that the diet
is indulged in merrily in a British colony. Other customs are given
precedence.
CHAPTER XXX
IN A PAGAN TOWN
Bukuru Residency—Bukuru town—Its ingenious defences—Traps
for an attacking force—The blacksmith—Musical
instruments—Pagan orchestras—A royal male Pavlova—The
Court band—A King’s reward—Pagan homesteads—The sleeping
apartment—Farming—Incentives to obtain money—Enhancing nature’s
charms—Male and female decorations—Bareback and bitless
horsemanship—Races—Care of horses—The hunt—Sign language.
At Bukuru is the post of an Assistant Resident, typical of several.
Formerly no Hausa would dare to penetrate so far into the Pagan country
or within a week’s march of this part. Now there is a Hausa market
established within sight of the highway, for the convenience of caravans
passing through.
About half-a-mile away is the Residency, a ramshackle mud dwelling not
nearly as good as a farmer’s stable in England. Living in such places,
out of sight and out of mind of the public at home, badly housed, these
Residents are paid immeasurably less than the value of the service they
render the nation. A few feet from the entrance, at the top of a thin
flagstaff planted in the ground, a Union Jack flutters. It is the symbol
of a power—accepted by faith rather than by sight—strong enough to
enforce peace and to hold the scales evenly in disputes brought to its
representative.
Two miles from the Residency is the nearest Pagan town, that of Bukuru.
It is not situated, as some are, in the mountains or on a high hill. It
spreads, roughly, six miles by two, on ground slightly above the level
of the surrounding country. But the approach is impossible to traverse
without a guide. Nearly a mile before the first batch of houses is
reached you enter a narrow avenue of cactus. Not the form of plant seen
in English public parks but strong trees clustered from the ground to
the crown with thick, hard leaves each edged with a dozen or more prongs
sharp enough to tear a man’s clothes and his flesh to ribbons. These
cactus trees are planted so closely that, the branches interweaving, you
cannot see between them. The top ones cross and intertwine, forming a
tunnel 15 feet high.
It was a scheme of defence in the days when a swarm of Hausa horsemen
might swoop on a Pagan town and overwhelm it. The cactus avenue is
planned on the principle of a maze. It winds, twists, turns, has
branching courses leading to blind alleys where the sides are too close
to allow a horse to be turned: a perfect ambush. Other narrow ways take
you back to places you have passed in coming inwards, the design having
been to bring the front sections of a hostile column of mounted men,
hurrying on, face-to-face with the middle or the rear sections of the
force, who would also be impetuously pushing forward, anxious to be clear
of the trap in as short a time as possible.
[Illustration: APPROACH TO A PAGAN TOWN.
A maze of impenetrable cactus. (See page 248.)]
[Illustration: A PAGAN HOMESTEAD.
Built against a rock to prevent rear attacks. (See page 251.)]
The confusion produced is easily imagined. From the side walls of cactus
through which the Hausas could not break, even with the weight of their
horses, the Pagans sent showers of poisoned arrows, galloping on ponies
from point to point as the situation required.
Nearer to the town the cactus sides compress to almost touch your elbows
as you sit in the saddle; and, making it still more difficult for hostile
horsemen who had managed to get so far to either go on quickly or to
retreat, the pathway slopes into trench-form, sufficiently deep to reach
to a horse’s knees and with so little width that the animal cannot stand
with the forelegs side-by-side and therefore must keep moving. An enemy
forced to fight in such quarters would be helpless.
No wonder those Pagans of the Plateau maintained their towns inviolate
against the raiding Moslem tribes.
Having passed through the cactus maze we are entering the town. The first
house differs from the others further on, not only in size, but in use.
It is about 15 feet in diameter and is the only place of business in the
town. It belongs to the blacksmith. The spade-hoe, spear points, broad
swords and knives, the jointed bar which is placed on the nose and under
the chin of a horse, a small bell that hangs from the pony’s neck, these
are the manufactures. All are of iron. The metal is obtained by smelting
ironstone, but customers must bring their own charcoal, so scarce is
fuel. Payment is by accha, the native grain.
Everything else each Pagan produces for himself, though there are
exchanges, such as a man who has aptitude for making musical instruments
swopping one to a neighbour good at, say, shaping pipes.
Musical appurtenances range from a harp, 20 inches by 8 inches, made
entirely of reeds, and drums, to wind instruments of a score variety:
flutes, piccoloes and an article resembling an orange which is hollowed,
hardened and three holes bored on top thus: [Illustration]. The bottom
one is whistled through, fingers placed on the smaller holes regulating
the sound.
Every village has its band and no orchestra is without a drum. Tunes are
beyond the comprehension of white men, but undoubtedly the Pagan learns
on some distinct principle. Usually the music is of a low, sing-song
tune. A common practice is for the performers to form a circle and walk
behind one another whilst playing, which increases the monotony of the
music.
I have, however, heard spirited, enlivening airs, as at Fedderi, where
the Chief, or King, of the Jarawa tribe performed a skirt dance in honour
of my visit. Gathered round was “a large and appreciative audience”
of his own folks. The old Chief’s everyday dress does not err in the
direction of excess, but, to constitute himself a royal male Pavlova,
he donned a Hausa robe, which was kept at his hut exclusively for the
purpose. The musical accompaniment was “by special request” rendered
by the Court band, who wore their State uniform. What that was can be
seen from the photograph facing this page. The dance proved really
entertaining, and, like the music, developed on settled lines; it was not
a mere inconsequent throwing about of the limbs.
I gave each of the instrumentalists a threepenny bit and the King a
shilling. His Majesty was so overjoyed at this munificence that I
believe I could have made a treaty of alliance, with any clauses I
liked, straightway. I mean a treaty in the domain of diplomacy, not
of matrimony. That has been offered to me times out of number in West
Africa.
[Illustration: PAGAN FARMER USING HIS ONLY IMPLEMENT, A SPADE-HOE.
(See page 253.)]
[Illustration: THE KING OF THE JARAWA PAGANS DANCING IN HONOUR OF THE
AUTHOR’S VISIT.
The accompaniment is by his Court band, in State uniform. (See page
250.)]
A few hundred feet beyond the blacksmith’s establishment we are abreast
of the first cluster of houses. The scattered Pagan settlements are
called towns for want of a better title. They could as well be spoken of
as big villages. Bukuru is one of the largest.
A single family, perhaps two, will have its own plot of about a
quarter-of-an-acre. This is enclosed by a fence of cactus, not nearly so
formidable as the outer defences of the town; merely to prevent marauding
sheep, goats and dogs of neighbours from enjoying themselves on the
cultivated part of the compound.
The ring-fence used to be stronger in days when the lust of combat
induced disputes between a couple of men to result in an assault on the
domicile of one of them, though, if blood did not boil too rapidly, the
disputants usually agreed to fight out their differences at a suitable
spot away from the dwellings, so that the friends of each party could
have a hand in the fun.
A Pagan homestead comprises a cluster of huts. Whereas the Hausa house
may consist of one room screened by hanging mats into two or more
compartments—though, among the well-to-do in cities such as Kano and
Zaria the buildings have interior walls making distinct rooms—the Pagan
has a separate hut for each part of his daily life. They are small,
circular, very neat, about six or eight feet in diameter, of mud with a
roof of the same material lightly covered with thatch. One or more will
be the grain store, where the gathered crops are kept and drawn upon for
food whilst others are growing. The supply is reached from the top, by
tilting the roof, which makes thieving less easy than if there were a
door. The solid wall also prevents insects getting through. To safeguard
the contents against ants the grain huts are built on big stones and are
placed high enough for the fowls to take shelter from storms and to go to
roost at night.
Various members of a family have different huts for sleeping; the younger
children in one, grownups in another, and possibly an aged parent of wife
or husband in a third. His spouses will be accommodated either singly or
in couples and the requisite number of huts built.
In the centre of the cluster of huts meals are prepared and the evening
one eaten round a fire. At many parts of the Pagan country wood is
scarce. Fuel consists of dried cattle-dung and sapless cactus. A leaf or
grass without moisture takes the place of the English kitchenmaid’s paper
for lighting the fire. Flame is obtained by striking flint on a bit of
iron or focussing the sun’s rays by means of a piece of glass, probably
part of a broken bottle dropped by some Hausa miles away and picked up in
the fields. Where a Hausa village, which always means a market as well,
is near, matches are being introduced.
As the keen, evening air strikes chilly, the family huddle round the
fire, and, shortly after eating, retirement to rest takes place. A 86° or
higher temperature when the sun is up falls in the dark hours to 44° or
less.
No lights are used in the houses. Lamps are unknown. How, then, is warmth
gained during the cold night? People who wear no clothes by day are not
likely to don pyjamas or fancy bedgowns. Civilisation has not touched
them to the use of a blanket, like the Hausas.
When sleeping huts are built a broad shelf of mud is made to the wall.
This is the couch of repose. Under it a fire is lit, and, every crevice
of the doorway being closely covered, temperature soon rises. There is
no ventilation whatever, so the smoke disposes of any mosquitoes and
other insects, though I should say that the carbonic thickness of the
atmosphere would alone effect the purpose. The marvel is for any soul to
emerge alive. Asphyxiation seems certain. Yet I gathered from the Pagans
that they enjoy the hours in comfort and tranquillity.
In the plot of ground in front of the huts small vegetables are grown: a
kind of kitchen-garden and kept scrupulously clean. I have looked over
dozens of plots without finding a single weed in any.
The farm land is not in the towns. It may be four to eight miles away.
A man, riding a pony, goes to his farm in the morning when the sun has
made its warmth felt and remains at work until about 4 o’clock in the
afternoon. The pony is not tethered. A hobble-rope is put on two legs
and the animal allowed to wander. A bell attached to the neck indicates
its whereabouts to the owner, who occasionally has to penetrate through
grass higher than himself to bring back the steed. The heavier work of
the field, such as hoeing, is done by the farmer and his sons, whilst the
ladies of the household assist at sowing and reaping and alone do the
weeding. That arrangement applies both in the farm land and the compound
adjoining the dwelling. But the feminine units are expected to walk to
their tasks. The wife on domestic duty goes out with the food for her
husband and for those of his other wives and sons and daughters who are
with him on the farm.
The main crop is accha. There are also an inferior kind of guinea-corn
known as magaragara, which grows about 4 feet high, douro, gwaza, doiya,
tamba, risga and tobacco, which is smoked in long pipes by both men and
women. In some parts the ladies do not smoke; they chew tobacco. Bees are
kept in hives of mud, and though there are few flowers, honey is obtained
plentifully.
A pony is not possessed by every farmer, and at first it is a strange
sight that of a farmer walking to or from his ground with a string of
four or five wives, the party in single file and absolutely no clothing
on any of them.
The Hausa is a skilled agriculturist, who has nothing to learn in that
respect from any white race. He, however, is distanced considerably by
the Pagan, who tends his land cleaner. The soil is much poorer than that
of the Hausa country and needs greater skill and effort for cultivation.
At present the Pagan raises only sufficient for his own requirements,
which besides the matter of food remain small. When he and his womenkind
yearn for the gee-gaws of what is termed civilisation, and he wants money
to purchase them, then he will make more use of the nearest Hausa market
to transform his corn or other produce into cash. So far, the principal
luxuries which attract most Pagans are matches and cigarettes. In some
places the people are developing a taste for meat, for which, of course,
money must be earned. Though sheep, goats and, in instances, cattle are
bred, seldom are any killed for food. They represent a man’s wealth and
in the owner’s view it would be rank heresy against political economy to
consume them.
There is a large open space—three or four acres—in Bukuru town. Nobody
farms the ground, nor is it used for individual purpose. There the people
foregather for public celebrations, which take place at least twice a
year. Events that prompt these assemblies are gleaning of the farm crops
and other agricultural periods in the calendar. Then it is that the
fashions of Bukuru can be seen in all their glory.
Clothing does not enter into the pageantry. Paint is the agent employed
to enhance nature’s charms. Earth and tree-bark are ground into a red
paste and with it the fair young dames cover between the ankle to
below the knee, where a narrow white colouring marks the limit of the
decoration. Only this; nothing more.
Men dab the red paint on chest and nose and also use it on their
ponies. More attention is bestowed on the animals than the owners
give themselves. The hindquarters are painted red on which, at equal
distances, white circles the size of a five-shilling piece are
superimposed. The breast of the horse may likewise be embellished with
red pigment, and on its face brass ornaments or a band of the same metal
across the forehead are fixed for festive parades.
No stirrup or saddle is used, though on show days a piece of goatskin is
put on the horse’s back as a decoration, not for utility or comfort. Nor
is a bit utilised. A light iron, jointed, across the nose and another
under the jaw are connected by a ring on the left-hand side of the head.
To that ring a single grass rope is joined, passing under the animal’s
neck and held in the hand of the rider. By that means a horse is pulled
up and partly guided. Its movements left and right are regulated by the
rider’s feet in the inner side of the forelegs.
The equestrian will perhaps have a plait of straw encircling his head or
possibly wear a hat of the same material. Besides half-a-dozen spears in
his hand, he will likely carry a long knife or sword in a brass sheath
hanging from his waist. A grass bag in the left side, suspended from the
right shoulder, provides a receptacle for trophies of the chase or any
other article, such as a pipe.
At the public assemblies at the open spaces everybody who has a horse
brings it. The men ride in line and in file, throwing themselves into
various attitudes to amuse the crowd.
Short races take place across the 1,000 yards or so of ground. There is
no settled plan for the contest. One of a group challenges another, and
at once off they dash, most likely accompanied by a third or fourth who
heard the summons. On pulling up the chances are there will be pushing,
either as a joke or in the course of a dispute as to which has won. Then
spears are flourished and a thrust is almost a certainty, though seldom
is there more damage than a slight flesh wound. The day winds up with a
general carouse, in which the local-made beer has a leading rôle.
[Illustration: A NAKED PAGAN RIDING HIS PONY BAREBACKED.
(See page 255.)]
[Illustration: PAGAN HORSEMEN.
(See page 255.)]
Bukuru men are excellent horsemasters. The appearance and condition of
the animals are better than those belonging to Hausas elsewhere and are
equal to any except the very best kept by Englishmen. Horses belonging to
others which were lame or would not thrive have been taken by the Bukuru
people, who returned the animals in first-class health and fettle. They
will not disclose the details of their methods. One includes hot water
drunk by the horse and another is that of salt and other ingredients made
into a ball which the animal is forced to swallow.
The Pagan hunt is a mild performance. It takes place in the dry season.
The high grass is burnt and the flames beaten out when sufficient space
has been cleared. Some distance from the clearance the grass is again
fired, whilst the huntsmen, waiting on their ponies for the rats and
lizards which dart out, spear the vermin. A few small, bush deer are
obtained in the same way. A free fight is not an uncommon wind-up to the
hunt.
* * * * *
The folks of Bukuru are people of few words, signs being largely used
instead of speaking, though, estimating from the number of wives acquired
in some quarters, I should say that the language of love must be an
extremely easy dialect.
To express “No” in the sense of there being none, the right forefinger is
brought past, touching, the lips, at which the slightest semblance to a
whistling sound is made.
“I do not know,” such as the answer to where a person is for whom the
questioned individual has regard, is replied to by raising the shoulders.
“I do not know and I do not care” is conveyed by the open hands and the
forearm at right-angle to the upper limb.
Answer respecting the age of anyone not the person questioned is made
by the fist held vertically at a distance from the ground, indicating
the height of the individual, from which illustration the age has to be
gauged. The people have no sense of calculation beyond four or five years.
A gift or anything given in payment is usually received without word or
sign. Should it be sufficiently liberal to impel stronger feeling the
equivalent of “Thank you” will probably be uttered. Should the recipient
be stimulated to add emphasis he will say “Mr feng”—the first word
pronounced Mer—translated, “I rejoice,” and with the elbows of bent arms
strike the ribs repeatedly.
The figures in the photographs which exemplify the sign language were
placed at my disposal by the kindness of Mr E. Evans, one of the two men
of the Sudan United Mission station in Bukuru. The natives were in his
service, which accounts for wearing so much clothing and also, possibly,
for their rather fleshy appearance. The Pagan working in the fields is
lean, wiry, active, yet strong and healthy.
[Illustration: BUKURU PAGAN SIGN LANGUAGE.
(1) “No.” (2) Indicating a person’s age. (3) “Don’t know and don’t care.”
(4) “Don’t know.” (5) Gratitude. (6) Large numbers expressed by beating
the fists together. (See page 257.)]
What is to be said of this mission station planted in the heart of the
country of wild tribes? Medical attendance is given, and it was pathetic
to see the look of appeal by women, children and men who came for wounds
and ulcerous parts to be washed. Several young natives had been trained
to the use of the antiseptic syringe and dressing and they carried out
that part of the treatment after a case had been looked at by one of
the white men. In this humanitarian course the mission is doing angel’s
work, though I cannot refrain from wondering if it was necessary to
go so far afield for needful patients. As to the religious aspect, I
cannot understand why this out-of-the-way part of the world was sought
to spiritualise the heathen whilst so many of that description abound in
Great Britain.
CHAPTER XXXI
ADMINISTERING JUSTICE AND TAXATION
Direct rule—Cases in a Resident’s Court—Wife and “another
man”—Trial by ordeal—Modification of that method—Kidnapping for
slaves—“The liberty of the subject”—Extenuating circumstances
and even-handed justice—Benefits that are not welcomed—The
joy of fighting—Graduated taxation—How to express numerals to
people who have no such terms—Two tax collectors—First lessons
in administration.
Possessing no corporate existence or regular system of government the
Pagans must therefore be ruled in a direct way by the British. The
authority and influence of their Kings and Chiefs vary and is seldom
strong and capable of being exercised in accordance with equity and
humanitarian principles. Where in touch, the Residents are endeavouring
to stimulate them to accept responsibility, but it must necessarily be a
slow process, as the men shirk incurring unpopularity and dislike among
their own people by discharging unpleasant tasks. At present the main
thing is to prevent fighting, which until recently was the usual manner
of settling a dispute, either between individuals or ’twixt tribe and
tribe. Tribal warfare had become a recognised part of existence. Quarrels
had engendered aloofness to such an extent that to-day there are villages
15 miles apart which do not understand each other’s dialect. The British
have endeavoured to impress on the Pagan that any quarrel which cannot be
composed amicably must be brought to the nearest Resident, who acts the
part not merely of Judge but also that of friendly adviser.
Whilst at Bukuru I spent two mornings in the Court held by the Resident,
Mr S. E. M. Stobart—he has the rank of Assistant Resident—and what was
seen will perhaps give an idea of one portion of the excellent work
performed by the British political officers in these all but unknown
areas of Northern Nigeria.
The first case was that of an elderly Pagan who complained that a young
wife of his had gone to the house of “another man,” who struck him when
he went to interview and claim the lady. Mr Stobart sent one of his
native staff to make enquiries. The report put a fresh complexion on the
story. True the girl was living in the house of “another man” and he had
assaulted the veteran Benedick; but the girl was his daughter and she
had sought refuge from the ill-usage of her husband. Mr Stobart told the
complainant that when he was satisfied the young woman would be properly
treated she would be ordered to return; not until.
The next suit dealt with a plot of farming land near Bukuru. Each of
the two men claimed it. As tribal convention tinged with a dozen local
considerations would be a determining factor guiding a conclusion, the
Resident had referred the question to the sub-chiefs of the respective
wards in which the men lived. Previous to the advent of the British,
if a fight had not been desired the issue would be tried by ordeal. At
the direction of a Chief, poison would be prepared by a medicine man
for both parties, which they would swallow, and the one who survived or
better resisted the effect of the draught would be adjudged the award.
Trial by ordeal is now strictly prohibited, but until the Pagan people
have developed more intelligent methods a substitute remains unbanned.
This consists of each party to a dispute providing a fowl, which is given
poison. The owner of the surviving bird secures the verdict. It is a
process not encouraged by the British Residents, who strive to make the
leading men decide matters on their merits.
The two sub-chiefs had come to say they could not agree—no doubt because
neither was willing to give decree against a person in his own section
of the village—and they thought trial by fowls would be the best way of
reaching a satisfactory conclusion. Mr Stobart pointed out that when he
had to solve a difficult case he did not call for two fowls and that
sub-chiefs of such intelligence should be able to rely on their own
brains. He would not sanction the use of fowls. They must themselves
judge and bring adjudication to him within three days. They promised to
have another try.
A young Pagan presented himself to the Resident and stated he had been
twice sold into slavery. His story was that whilst working on his farm
he was seized by a Hausa, taken several days’ journey and disposed of
for two horses. The vendor explained to his victim that he had to do it
owing to severe need and told the sufferer that if he escaped—giving
a scheme by which he might—and came to the captor he would see that
the captive got home safely with at least part recompense for what he
would have endured. The unsophisticated Pagan did escape and came back,
whereupon he was again made prisoner and sold for three horses. A second
time he escaped, and having learnt wisdom he went to the Resident of his
district, who sent for the accused Hausa and committed him for trial by
a higher Court. If found guilty he would forfeit the five horses to the
injured party and be liable to five years’ imprisonment.
Although slave-raiding on the scale practised a few years ago is now
impossible, kidnapping and slave-dealing is by no means stamped out. One
plan is by various pretexts to induce individuals or a family to journey
to some place near the French or the German frontier and sell them over
either border, where apparently the crime is not regarded nearly so
seriously as by the British authorities.
There had been a party of Hausas who caught young fellows, sent them by
go-betweens along routes off the main track to confederates north of
Sokoto, by whom the captives were sold over the French boundary. When the
English authorities first learnt part of the scheme they kept quite quiet
until the whole plan and those engaged in it were known. Then, suddenly,
descents were made simultaneously at both ends and all the principals
and their subordinates arrested. Evidence was overwhelming. The main
offenders are serving five years’ hard labour.
A slave case of a different character came before Mr Stobart whilst I
was at Bukuru. In this instance it was a Pagan who was charged with
having in his house, prisoner, a boy, son of a Fulani. The lad had been
in charge of a herd of travelling cattle which instead of keeping
together and on the move whilst going through cultivated ground had been
allowed to stray among the Pagan’s accha crops. To his remonstrances the
youngster answered defiantly. The farmer marched the boy off and informed
his father that the child would not be given up until compensation for
the damage was forthcoming. The Fulani went to Mr Stobart, who sent
his police for all the parties and, having heard what they had to say,
delivered judgment, in effect, as follows: The Pagan had done serious
wrong by interfering with the “liberty of the subject.” Technically he
had made the boy a slave and therefore was liable to severe punishment,
especially as he should have known that redress was always exacted for
damaged crops. However, taking into consideration the provocation, for
every day he had held the lad prisoner he must go to prison for 4, making
16 in all. On the other hand, the Fulani was responsible for not taking
care that his cattle were controlled in a way that would prevent them
damaging the crops of the Pagan and therefore the order was for him to
pay all the compensation claimed.
A case which arose from a similar cause was that of a Pagan having
speared a Fulani in the leg. Only a flesh wound had been inflicted. The
Fulani’s bullocks, passing the farm of the Pagan, had eaten his growing
guinea-corn. The sentence of the Resident was that although the Pagan
suffered a grievance he had no right to take the remedy into his own
hands and would accordingly be fined eight spears—all he possessed—whilst
the Fulani, who should have precluded his animals straying off the path,
must requite the complete damage specified.
I gathered that Mr Stobart uniformly exacts full compensation for damage
by cattle to Pagans’ crops, as, being only agriculturists, their crops
are their all-in-all. The award is made even when a Pagan is punished
for retaliating. Further, now that the Fulani, the Hausa and similar
tribes have right of passage through Pagan country, not infrequently
going with herds of cattle, they must understand that the property of the
inhabitants has to be scrupulously respected.
Another Pagan was charged with slightly spearing in three places a Hausa
living in the public market recently opened near the highway path a few
miles from Bukuru. The Pagan, evidently excited from indulgence in the
native beer, had attempted to pass through the Hausa’s house, and, the
occupier barring the way, declared he would go where he pleased. On the
Hausa advancing, the trespasser struck him as stated. A hue and cry
was raised and the Pagan made off across the fields, throwing away his
spears to facilitate progress. I saw the fugitive running, with a large,
gladiator-like sword unsheathed. As the pursuing crowd was rounding him
up he cast off the sword, was arrested and at once taken before the
Resident.
The case was heard patiently, the situation illustrated by rough diagrams
drawn on the earth floor, as the Pagan asserted it was a “near cut”
through the house to his village. Mr Stobart asked what he would say if
a Hausa endeavoured to go into his house without permission. The Pagan
answered that that was different. He was convicted without extenuating
circumstances of any provocation and received the light sentence of 14
days’ imprisonment, which merely meant being kept under restraint, not
sent a long journey to a prison. He would be set to gardening work in the
Residency compound. But the four spears and the sword thrown away were
confiscated, as it was against orders for men to be in the public market
carrying such weapons; for obvious reasons, though no notice is taken if
the people pass along the centre path and do not stop.
A Resident’s duties are by no means confined to exercising judicial
functions. He has to collect taxes, which are no more popular among the
wild Pagans of Northern Nigeria than is the rule in English cities.
Most of the tribes never experienced a requisition until recent days.
Still, it is desirable that, either as tribes or individuals, they should
pay. It is the most convincing lesson of the power of the ruler. They
have value for the impost. Peace and security for life and property are
maintained. The Fulani and others are prohibited from swooping down
with armies of cavalry to raid the country for slaves, and inter-tribal
warfare among the Pagans themselves is sternly forbidden. But, sooth
to say, these benefits are not welcomed. The people do not thank us
for them. They would infinitely prefer to be without taxation and to
take their chance. They say that over very large tracts of country,
particularly on and around the Bauchi Plateau, they were well able to
take care of themselves against Fulani, Hausa and the kind, who would not
venture in the area; whilst as to fighting among themselves, why, it was
that which made life worth living.
Efforts of the Residents have been to persuade unwilling tribes to accept
the principle of taxation; to get in the thin edge of the wedge, as it
were. Reasonable increase can be made as the British control becomes
firmer. Taxation of the Pagans therefore ranges from a goat paid yearly
by a village of between 700 and 800 inhabitants to 2s. 6d. annually per
male adult of other villages.
A taxation census is taken where that can be done without using troops.
Only an approximate result is obtained. The Resident goes to a village
and notes the compounds, asking how many men live in each. The people
cannot count nor express themselves in numerals. They have names for
figures up to 10 but do not give them with confidence after 5. They may
be able to speak of 6, 7, 8 or 9, though not at all sure. At the figure
of 10 they are, as that simply means two 5’s. The fingers of one hand
keep the mind fresh up to the lower number. As Mr Stobart goes through
the villages of the Bukuru division he collects at each village a small
bag of stones and uses them as denomination for questions relating to
figures. I saw an answer given in that form as to the number of wives a
man had. Fortunately the bag of pebbles was ample for the expression.
The same method is employed in conveying details of taxation. One day
I was in the circular mud hut which Mr Stobart has as his Court and
office and some taxes were brought in from Bukuru village. Village
Chiefs are appointed for the collection, so that by degrees they may
learn simple administration. They are given 10 per cent. of the amount
gathered. Recalcitrant individuals are reported to the Resident, who
takes measures to make them do as their neighbours. The usual method
is to send a couple of native police early in the morning to bring in
the defaulters. They are told that if payment be not forthcoming in a
reasonable period certain of their goods, such as a goat or a horse, will
be confiscated.
Bukuru village is taxed at 1s. per adult annually. On the occasion
referred to, the sections whose payments the two Chiefs had brought
should have yielded £5. The amount counted on the ground, in shillings,
was £1, 10s. short. The couple of worthy gatherers, who probably wondered
why in their mature years they should be afflicted with the mental
worries of revenue and finance, were made to understand by means of 30
small stones that there was that quantity of backsliders who must be made
to toe the monetary line or the names given to the Resident. They went
home, I believe animated by the honest desire to do their best. But this
tax-gathering must be a sore trouble to the Pagan village Chiefs, who
formerly never knew the need of money and who regarded wealth only as
represented by horses, sheep, goats or oxen.
In no instance is taxation oppressive, harsh or even hard to pay. Corn
is easily grown by the Pagans, and the sale of a single sackful produces
a year’s tax on the highest scale. The establishment of Hausa markets on
the main caravan paths provide places where the corn is sold easily. The
markets have been made possible by the British declaration that neither
Hausa nor Pagan shall attack the other.
[Illustration: MR. S. E. M. STOBART, THE RESIDENT AT BUKURU, AND HIS
STAFF.
(See page 261.)]
[Illustration: BUKURU RESIDENCY.
(See page 247.)]
CHAPTER XXXII
MARRIAGE AND DEATH CUSTOMS
Fashions—A wedding-ring warning—The former way with
undesirables—Succession to a Chiefship—Marriage—Dowries—A
perpetual leap-year—Widows—Burial usages—Cannibalism—Eating
those who die from natural causes—Etiquette of the practice—A
credit and debit account.
In referring to social customs of the Pagans on and just off the Bauchi
Plateau it is desirable to survey the subject comprehensively in order to
avoid repetition and overmuch detail. First, fashions. Little can be said
on that topic. Men in the outer districts, who for some time have been
more-or-less in contact with the Hausa people, rejoice in a loin-cloth,
and, in a few instances, a short, loose shirt which once was white,
whilst the women wear a large bunch of leaves in front and another at the
back. Towards and in the inner areas of the Pagan country transition of
male attire is abrupt to nothingness.
As one travels through the country one sees that the ladies of the
various tribes exercise more gradation. Change is not so sudden. The
two fronds of leaves give place to one, which is worn either fore or
aft, according to individual fancy. Further on, a bunch of grass stalks,
six inches long, secured by a string round the body, hanging behind
and looking like a table crumb-brush, constitutes the sole extraneous
adornment to the female form divine.
Then, presently, even so much is not used. In some of these last areas,
during the first few months of married life the matron dons a thin plait
of skin or grass round the waist, as a kind of wedding-ring, probably
to warn all and sundry gallants that henceforth they may not pay their
court to her. In one large village I saw some unmarried girls each with
a walking-out costume consisting of a small bell, made by the native
blacksmith, tied by a string round the loins and suspended in front
tinkling.
* * * * *
The absence of any corporate government, civil or military, among the
Pagans makes getting into touch with the people a slow and tedious
process. They never, like the Fulani and Hausa tribes, had police,
prisons and other adjuncts for ruling. Questions that affected the
community were decided by public opinion. If there were persons who were
a danger or a nuisance, the villagers assembled and settled what was to
be done to the delinquents. They might deny an indictment and be tried
“by ordeal”; or, waiving that test, the verdict would be death or being
despatched to the Hausa country and sold for slaves. Pagan villages
and hamlets which paid annual tribute of slaves to the Fulani Emirites
disposed of their own desirables in that way, filling up the quota by
raiding other villages.
[Illustration: PAGAN FEMININE FASHIONS.
(See page 269.)]
* * * * *
There are Pagan “Kings” and Chiefs, but their authority in many
instances is slight and always confined to a limited area. The Burrum
tribe—one of the largest—comprises 26 large villages, called towns, each
with a separate and independent Chief. The regulations for succession to
a chiefship are not uniform in all tribes. At Burrum towns the eldest
brother of a deceased Chief takes his place; in the absence of eligible
brothers, the son of the defunct occupies the post. With the Jarawas,
the Headmen of a town elect a Chief from the family of the last one. It
is usually the eldest brother. The Rukuba Chiefs, whose authority is
stronger than in most Pagan tribes, nominate their successors, which is
either a son or a brother, according to preference.
* * * * *
Marriage is of extreme simplicity in most quarters. The Teria folks,
although so isolated in their lives that no other village speaks their
language, are not alone in the manner of mating up. With them merely a
nominal dowry passes for a wife. But no woman of theirs has more than two
children, and as infantile mortality runs its course the town is rapidly
becoming depopulated.
The word dowry is used, though among all the tribes of Nigeria where
the usage prevails it is payment by the husband to the girl’s father or
guardian.
The Jarawas have no regular dowry system. “Free love” is carried to the
most extreme line and no claim by a man to a woman is allowed. When,
however, a swain from another tribe comes wooing his affinity in this
one he has to pay a dowry of a horse and five goats and then, in the
event of infidelity of his wife, he is held to have a claim against his
father-in-law.
The Rukubas do not understand chastity on the part of unmarried girls.
This tribe also has no regular practice of dowry, which is quite formal:
perhaps either some beans, a hoe, two goats, pots, or 10 calabashes. If a
wife leaves her husband he seeks out a discontented couple and pairs off
with the lady.
The Burrum population honour a rigid dowry scheme, which consists of
payment of a horse and five goats. Marriage is not recognised until the
dowry has been paid. If a couple elect to go in double domestic harness
without that preliminary, all children born to them can be claimed by the
woman’s father. Should a wife desert her husband for another, he must
pay the original consort the counterpart of the dowry. Failure to do so,
or husband number 1 declining to accept the solatium, children born to
the couple are forfeit to the grass-widower. Their value is apparent.
The girls would be a source of potential wealth to whoever gave them in
marriage, whilst the boys could be set to work on the farm from an early
age.
With the Angass tribe courting is a perpetual leap-year, for the girl
selects the husband and tells her mother whom she has chosen. Of course,
Barkis must be willing, as the dowry is from 20 to 30 sheep. Provided
the prospective bridegroom is agreeable, he liquidates the dowry by
instalments, leaving about seven sheep to be paid when the girl is to go
to him. That is decided by her mother, upon which the balance is handed
over. There is no special wedding ceremony. The marriage tie is a loose
one. If the girl does not find her husband congenial she is free to leave
him, but her parents or the next husband refund the dowry. Until she
marries again she is at liberty to distribute her qualities as a wife to
whom she likes and to as many as she pleases.
In this tribe no marriages are permitted among blood relatives or even
with those connected by family.
[Illustration: GIRL OF THE JARAWA TRIBE.
The cuts on the face are made when she reaches the age of puberty.]
[Illustration: A PAGAN BEAUTY OF THE DASS TRIBE.
The incisions on the face are tribal marks.]
* * * * *
On the demise of a father who has grown-up sons, in most tribes his
possessions pass to them. A widow becomes the property of the eldest of
any sons the deceased husband may have had by another wife. At times
this works out that the widows are divided up among the sons. It may be
assumed that the practice is a hardship on the head of the household
which takes in the widow. By no means. The man who wishes to marry her
has to pay dowry to her guardian, and, in the meantime, or if she is on
his hands altogether, a woman is always welcomed to help in the field or
to relieve another from cooking for that purpose. As a matter of fact,
unless quite aged, widows go off splendidly. They are usually a thorough
success. As was explained to me on a previous journey by a Chief in
another country who offered a rather ancient matrimonial gift from his
own ample store, it is not always the youngest who are the most tractable
or industrious.
On the death of a widow having a young family her property, i.e., the
children, go to her husband’s brother.
* * * * *
Burial usuages are marked by great diversity, according to tribal
tradition. The Teria tribe, in this as in many observances, is distinct.
Mourning is notified by a rope round the loins. The dead are sewn in
grass mats. Cooked beans and mai—fat—are buried with him. Ten days later
gia—native beer—is poured in the grave. Members of the same family are
buried in one grave. When an interment takes place the remains of the
preceding occupants are taken out, the latest tenant put in and the
disinterred corpses—or what is left of them—placed last. This must be
quite an exhilarating and healthful exercise. The top man cannot improve
by the repeated handling.
The Jarawa bury anywhere in the bush, a few inches deep, the face of the
dead covered with a cloth. There is no regular cemetery.
A Burrum man of position is sewn in the skin of his horse and buried
behind his house. Individuals of lesser rank are enclosed in goats’ skins
and put under ground at a place in the bush kept for that use. The flesh
of the animals whose integument has formed the shroud, whether horse or
goats, are eaten at the feast which immediately follows the funeral. If a
man expresses a wish that his other horses be killed at his death, that
is done and the hides buried with him.
The Narubunu tribe consists of four towns, or villages: Buji, Gurrum,
Gussum and Jengre. At the last two there is a ceremonious washing of the
corpse by the subordinate members of the household of the Madaiki. (It is
a Hausa word meaning the second man of the town.) Burial takes place in
a large hole in front of the entrance to the Chief’s house, resembling a
catacomb, which must make it quite a cheerful residence. The corpse is
laid on a mat and carefully covered.
But a number of the tribes, more than are assumed, eat their dead who
die from natural causes. Possibly you shudder at the thought of a corpse
which came to that stage by disease being consumed for food. I admit
it does not seem nice, according to our tastes and ideas, but if I am
ever to be the dainty served up at a meal I greatly prefer the cannibal
company having the feast through my having shuffled off this mortal
coil more or less of my own volition, so to speak—by fever or other
illness—rather than the diners should hasten the consummation by means of
spear or poisoned arrow. If they enjoy the tit-bit, I am sure I shall not
mind. The trouble, in the event of any of my friends wishing to make a
pilgrimage to the sepulchre, would be locating it.
None of these cannibal gentry ever hunted or specifically killed human
beings for food; certainly not in recent times.
The causes which operated to make mortal remains find their way to the
cook-pot were that of the vital spark having been quenched in fight; the
frame which held it put to death for an offence against the community; or
that it gave up life in the ordinary way.
With tribal and inter-tribal wars forbidden and exaction of the death
penalty in the hands of the supreme authority, menus in which human flesh
figures are now necessarily fewer.
In this eating of the dead there is a certain etiquette. You will
appreciate that the pleasure of the palate must be tinged with some
sadness, or at least regret, in the knowledge that—assuming you to be
a cannibal—your meal is made from the man who lived across the way or
further up the path and with whom you had been on visiting terms; whilst
obviously there must be some sentiment against consuming one’s near
relations.
Count is taken of these human traits, and a village which indulges in
cannibal luxury will exchange bodies with another village. It occurred to
me that mortality would not invariably be equal between the contracting
villages and I asked whether a debit and credit account was kept. The
question was put jokingly, as I expected the thing would be allowed to
work itself level, but I found a rough-and-ready record was kept of the
village exports. An epidemic, such as smallpox, may yield quite a harvest
of material to the larder—whatever the disease makes no difference
to those who sit down to the feast; they are not at all fanciful or
capricious—and so pile up the debt beyond chance of quittance within a
reasonable period. Therefore a settlement is made at regular periods and
the balance defrayed by cows or goats.
The number of bodies is not alone computed. You need not be an epicure in
the business to understand that a fully-developed individual who becomes
_non est_ is, in a table sense, worth several ancient, withered carcases.
All this is calculated in the settlement.
[Illustration: JARAWA PAGANS.
The marks are produced by the flesh being cut and charcoal placed in the
incision.]
There is also a kind of payment in advance, to facilitate the process
of exchange. If a village sends a corpse or two, the receiving parties
hand over any persons who are very old or extremely ill. That saves the
visitors, who have perhaps come 5 or 10 miles, a double journey. It is
considerate and courteous. Whether the tramp to their new abode improves
the health of the departing ones is another question.
Some tribes are gallant enough not to eat women.
CHAPTER XXXIII
SOLDIERS AND THEIR SPORTS
British-trained troops—Little-known Mr Atkins—Swearing-in
recruits—Hausa and Pagan oaths—Native priests on active
service—Number of wives allowed—Artillery on men’s heads—Gun
drill—Dipping for toroes—Mounted infantry—Signalling
tuition—Teaching the band—Inculcating self-reliance—The
military classification of white civilians.
Northern Nigeria is 255,700 square miles in extent, more than twice the
size of the United Kingdom and Ireland. A few years ago nearly the whole
of Northern Nigeria, with its 10,000,000 inhabitants, was more or less
hostile: at the best, that portion in British occupation no more than
sullenly acquiescent to the condition and quite “good enough” to eject
the white intruders at a suitable chance. That stage has been passed,
and, although a considerable territory remains merely nominally occupied,
most of the country has been brought within thorough control. Warlike
tribes, spending much of their lives in systematic exercise of arms and
periodically engaged in severe battles, have been overthrown. They are
now entirely engaged in agriculture or trading. The land is pacified.
The position has been attained without employing as much as a Corporal’s
guard of white troops as a separate unit. The wonder has been attained
by using natives, not as auxiliaries and in loosely-formed bodies for
merely scouting or outpost purposes, but in properly disciplined and
strictly supervised regiments prepared to withstand the shock of an
onslaught from hordes of formidable warriors. Not least remarkable has
been the breaking up in combat of large armies by comparatively small
numbers of Nigerian soldiers. The secret of this superiority has been
firmness, steadiness in defence, daring in attack; qualities due to
British schooling and leading in the field.
The regular military force of Northern Nigeria consists of the 1st and
2nd Battalions Northern Nigeria Regiment, a battery of 6 guns and a
company of Mounted Infantry. The corps are entirely unknown by sight in
England. They have taken no part in royal processions and a detachment
has never figured at the Military Tournament. There are less than 1,000
whites in the whole of Northern Nigeria, and only comparatively few have
seen the troops with which we have won the country.
A widely-prevalent practice at home is to speak of West Africa
comprehensively, as one would of Europe. There are greater differences
between peoples in the former regions, though of the same race, than
there are between the Scot and the Turk or the Celt and the Circassian.
Neither the West India Regiment—one battalion of which is usually
quartered at Sierra Leone—nor the Gold Coast Regiment are Northern
Nigeria men, notwithstanding that representatives of the first two
sometimes figure in London picture-shop windows as “Our Army in West
Africa.”
As stated in other chapters, the term Hausa is no more distinctive as a
class than is “English” when it embraces the town-bred wastrel of the
south and the hefty, pure Highlander of the north. Moreover, Mohamedanism
as a faith sits as lightly on large sections of Hausas as the tenets of
the Church of England do on many recruits in the United Kingdom. But
every regard is paid to whatever scruple a Nigerian may have in the
way of sentimental denominationalism. Whether he has any or none he is
expected to be true to his oath as a soldier.
On enrolment, therefore, the Mohamedan—orthodox or nominal—is sworn
on the Koran; the Pagan on the bayonet. Holding the blade and having
expressed in his own tongue the declaration of fealty to the King, he
touches the bayonet with his tongue and declares that, should he be
false, may it destroy him.
There is no separation in the regiment according to faith. Companies and
squads are composite. That system has not given the slightest trouble
or difficulty. A “palaver” among them over divinity matters has never
occurred. A lay Mohamedan does not seek to proselytise his fellow, and
the Pagan is not interested in the devotion of the other. The best of
comradeship prevails. If a fairly large number of soldiers go on an
expedition, Mallams—priests and religious teachers—are detailed with them
for the Mohamedans, as Army Chaplains do on active service with European
troops; and if the Mallam, who is under military law, does not attend at
the proper times to conduct prayers he must answer for it in the orderly
room.
This perspicacious measure was initiated by Sir George Taubman Goldie,
the founder of Nigeria, in his advance against Kabba, in 1897, which was
the first time Hausas had been called upon to fight people of their own
religion. The presence of Mallams counters any attempt to stir up a jehad
or to represent a campaign as due to endeavour of the white man forcibly
to convert the Mohamedan. It also prevents that argument being used to
undermine allegiance of the troops.
Social usages are likewise interfered with as little as possible.
The main consideration is that the men shall be made into thoroughly
efficient soldiers. That is what they are paid for, and nothing is
allowed to interfere. Beyond it their own customs, approved by law, are
permitted. Otherwise there would be very poor material in the ranks, for
service is quite voluntary.
Marriage prevails practically without exception among adults in West
Africa. The Tommy Atkins of Northern Nigeria, like his white comrade
here, must obtain permission to take unto himself a wife. Should he do so
without that preliminary she is not “on the establishment,” in which case
he must provide for her living outside the barracks. If the young fellow
is well-behaved the Commanding Officer gives permission for matrimony.
Of course there must be a limitation in number. A Private is therefore
allowed one wife; a Sergeant, two, and a Sergeant-Major, three; with an
additional spouse to individuals in each rank on completion of three
years’ exemplary service. When I heard of the regulation my early
aspiration for a military career recurred strongly. Forgetting the
question of race, I reflected that I might rise to be a Sergeant-Major in
the Northern Nigeria Regiment.
The regiment has English officers, who are attached for five years. They
are assisted by non-commissioned officers from home, locally styled
Colour-Sergeants, with a Sergeant-Major as senior. They supervise the
barrack-square drill and instruction, which is given by the native
non-commissioned officers, who, as has been indicated, can attain the
rank of Sergeant-Major.
The guns are carried on the men’s heads. As a faithful attendant at many
Military Tournaments in London I declare I never saw a smarter bit of
work of its kind, either by the best Royal Horse Artillery battery or by
picked men of the navy, than was witnessed on the drill ground at Zungeru.
At a whistle signal from the battery commander, Captain Maclaverty,
the men advanced about 50 yards, with the guns, in pieces, on their
heads. On the signals, “Halt,” “Action Front,” the several parts were
put together and brought into action, firing four rounds. The guns were
then broken up, the sections hoisted on the men’s heads and retired to
the original position. All this was done with the rapidity and precision
of bluejackets, without the slightest flurry or confusion, and, from
beginning to end, carried out in well under a-minute-and-a-half.
I had taken a kinematograph apparatus from England and secured moving
pictures of the operations, so there was the double test of time by watch
and the amount of film used.
The battery can, however, from the halt, walk a distance, put the guns
together and fire a round in less than 30 seconds; in fact, anything
longer is considered bad. The movement specified is that of firing
case-shot to repel cavalry attack.
The projectiles used are: shrapnell shell, 12½ lbs., effective at 3,400
yards; double common shell, 18 lbs., effective at 2,000 yards; case, 15
lbs.
The white personnel of the four guns I saw at Zungeru—the remaining
two were at Sokoto—was made up of a Captain in command assisted by
a Subaltern, and a Sergeant-Major, whose chief work was that of
Quartermaster-Sergeant. Further, there were the native Sergeant-Major and
other black N.C.O.
Gun-carriers are enlisted for two years, and actual gunners for six
years. Re-enlistment is allowed. The native Sergeant-Major has 15
years’ service. Though recruiting can be direct into the battery, the
artillerymen are drawn mainly from the gun carriers.
All gun orders are given in English. Although very few of the men
understand the tongue, they learn to recognise the meaning of the
words of command. Every officer must, however, pass a colloquial test
in Hausa. Recruits are put through their early stages by the native
non-commissioned officers, who take most of the parade drilling. All
these native Sergeants and Corporals, and most of the Bombardiers, are
capable of commanding the battery and of taking a series.
Do I labour detail too much in stating the items of transportation? The
process is as follows:
The gun itself, weighing about 240 lbs., is borne on slings, the poles
of which rest on the heads of four men.
The cradle, into which the gun fits and to which are attached hydraulic
buffers to take the recoil of firing, weighing about 240 lbs., is carried
in the same way as the gun.
The trail, or carriage, which has a spade to assist in checking the
recoil, weighing about 240 lbs., is transported as those stated above.
The two wheels are each carried by a man, who has a 70 lb. load.
The axle, about 70 lbs., is a one-man load.
A box of spare parts and cleaning traps, about 70 lbs., is carried by one
man.
There is also a Headman to superintend and assist.
Similar guns were used in the capture of Kano, in 1903, the great Hausa
city with mud walls 40 feet thick and 50 feet high. Against these walls,
which it was thought would be knocked to pieces by the artillery, all
ammunition was impotent. An entry was at last effected by smashing one of
the heavy gates with a shell.
The sports in which the men of the regiment are encouraged to indulge are
mostly of British origin. They are very keen on wrestling and tug-of-war
and greatly enjoy dipping for toroes. A toro is a threepenny bit. A large
basin of flour, in which a number of toroes have been buried, is placed
on a table. At the side of the table is a pail of water. Competitors,
stripped to the waist and with hands behind back, one by one dip their
faces into the water and then plunge them in the flour, attempting
to pick out a coin with the teeth. The crowd of sightseers at the
public display I saw at Zungeru shouted with delighted amusement at the
ludicrous appearance of each contestant as his features emerged from the
flour.
The favourite sport of the mounted infantry is wrestling on horseback.
That itself is pretty exhilarating. A spice of added excitement is
provided by the mounts, which enter into the spirit of the situation with
zest, by darting at and attempting to viciously bite one another.
I may explain that in their ordinary training the men of the mounted
infantry do not pass back into the unmounted branch. The uniform somewhat
resembles that of the Sikh, and, though their arms includes a lance, they
are taught to fight as foot soldiers as well.
Not least interesting is the moulding of the signallers. Obviously it
is of vital importance on an expedition that detached parties, perhaps
unexpectedly surrounded by overwhelmingly superior numbers whom they may
be able to keep off temporarily, shall be equipped with means for making
their position and plight known to the main body.
Whether the men selected for signalling tuition are Hausa or Pagan
matters not. Scarcely any can read, much less write, their mother tongue.
That, to say nothing of English, would be as Greek is to the average
recruit in Great Britain.
You will gather what pains and patience the British N.C.O. exercises
with his charges when it is said that these Nigerians—some, wild men
from the hills and mountains; others, simple labourers or farming hands
previous to the equivalent of “taking the King’s shilling”—can not alone
signal by flag, lamp and heliograph a message handed to them in English
but—it seems almost marvellous—receive from any of the three instruments
mentioned, and write, such a message, not knowing in the least what it
means.
The explanation is simple. They learn that a figure—for example, B—is
sent by a particular form of flag-waving, lamp-flashes or helio-rays.
Conversely, certain movements of flag or the other instruments mean that
the man receiving them has to draw the character—i.e., letter—associated
with the sign; space between words, of course, being recognised as well.
Imagine what it must be to teach that to simple creatures who know no
writing and can read none and who never fingered a pencil until they
entered the signalling squad, for, as has been said, they have not the
least idea what meaning is conveyed by the messages they despatch or
receive.
The value of signalling was utilised for civil purposes two years ago,
when early in the tornado season the telegraph connecting Zungeru with
the important centre of Minna, 38 miles distant, was destroyed by storms.
For 10 days, until the line could be restored, communication between the
two places was uninterruptedly maintained by the signalling section of
the First battalion.
A message was flagged under my observation by the Second battalion, at
Lokoja. Beyond handing the paper to the native Corporal, no white man
gave instructions or interfered in the slightest. On page 290, photograph
1 shows the original communication; photograph 2 is as the receiving
signaller wrote it. I asked Major Baker, temporarily in command of the
battalion, to use the words employed, as I wished to have a kinematograph
illustration of the operation.
Then there are the bands, and excellent they are. Both the Hausa tribes
and the Pagan tribes have a multiplicity of musical instruments on their
native heath, wind and even string. A detailed catalogue would occupy
space of an article as long as this. But the military band of each
battalion is quite in the lines of English regiments.
Instruction? Well, the men are as innocent of eye-understanding music
as they are of caligraphy. You might as well show them the signs of the
zodiac or the combination of any other astronomical constellation. The
English bandmaster teaches his pupils through their ear. Heaven only
knows how he obtains the result from such raw material. Listening to the
band playing alternately popular tunes and classical airs outside the
officers’ mess in the evenings, you would indeed wonder.
The titles of the pieces might naturally puzzle, or at least confuse, the
performers. They could scarcely be expected to differentiate on an order
for Cavalleria Rusticana or one for Rule Britannia. Therefore, the simple
expedient is adopted of giving the compositions numbers, which obviously
are much easier borne in mind. Thus, on the bandmaster ordering, for
instance, “One,” God Save the King would be rendered; “Two,” Rule
Britannia; “Three,” A Life on the Ocean Wave; “Four,” Hearts of Oak; and
so on.
It is not found specially difficult to replace a fresh tune to an old
number. On one occasion you might hear, in response to the order “Five,”
selections from The Bohemian Girl; a few months later the same word of
command would produce The Policeman’s Holiday.
You should see the Drum-Major, who is a native. He bears himself as
though leading the Grenadiers, the Coldstreams, the Scots or the Irish
Guards. His imposing staff is swung and twisted and twirled in the
air, and presently balanced horizontally as he guides the front rank
of the band wheeling, or he holds it aloft as a sign for the files to
counter-march. He is quite conscious of his importance as regards his own
men, I assure you; yet he knows his work so well that when Sergeant-Major
Slaney, who had been detailed from the Coldstream Guards for Special
Service instruction, told him how to take the band round the ground for
kinematograph purposes, it was necessary to tell him only once.
That induces me to mention the admirable method followed in handling
the men. All words of command by the whites, whether officers or
non-commissioned officers, are given in quiet, cool tones. There is never
any undue bustling in a manner to make the men frightened or nervous. Nor
are they treated as automatons. Every opportunity is taken to develop
the intelligence of those capable of exercising any. I noticed both
at Zungeru and Lokoja that whenever an officer wanted a section to go
through a movement he invariably gave the order to the senior native
non-commissioned officer and allowed him to move the squad accordingly.
In this way these non-coms become self-reliant and of immeasurably
greater value in an emergency on active service, where they may be thrown
on their own resources.
I witnessed a march of the Second battalion through Lokoja, traversing
the native quarter. It was done for recruiting. How the drums and fifes
and bugles brought the young women to line up on the route and gaze on
the troops as they proudly swept by! And there were the small boys, as
yet entirely minus clothing, trotting along to the martial sounds.
For days some of the bigger lads hung about the encampment of huts where
the troops live, desirous of enlisting as buglers but not venturing to
enter the trimly-kept compounds. At first they shrunk back with awe as a
white officer or non-commissioned officer passed in or out. But as one
of either class smiled at the youngsters or patted them on the head they
gained courage and eventually several asked a native soldier how they
could enlist. The majority of the youthful buglers are, however, sons of
soldiers or of ex-soldiers.
The military spirit has a large influence among the civilian Hausa
population. They classify all Europeans in the country into practically
two classes: “Colour-Sergeant _bature_”—_bature_ is Hausa for white
man—and “_Bombature_.” The latter is equivalent to big white men—not
in stature but status—and the former is the mark of subordinate rank.
The “Colour-Sergeant _bature_” will be men of the class of overseers
on the mines or second-class officials on the railway and others of
corresponding rating in commercial concerns, as distinguished from
their seniors. Occasionally there is an individual between the two
classifications. He is provided for by the designation “Sergeant-Major
_bature_.”
In the estimate of the Hausas, there are no whites to be ranked as
Privates. All are regarded as in some degree above themselves. It behoves
Englishmen who go to Nigeria to remember this and to bear themselves
accordingly. That does not warrant arrogance but entails self-control.
[Illustration: PHOTOGRAPH I. PHOTOGRAPH II.]
[Illustration: BERI-BERI WOMAN WITH ARTISTIC HEADDRESS.]
[Illustration: SWEARING IN A PAGAN AND A MOHAMEDAN FOR THE NORTHERN
NIGERIAN REGIMENT.
(See page 280.)]
CHAPTER XXXIV
ZARIA CITY AND PROVINCE
Prominence of Zaria—As a produce and trading centre—The
gold discoveries—Opposite deductions—Model, native
town-planning—Various taxes.
On the railway route from Lagos to Kano the largest European trading
centre produced by the opening of the line is Zaria. Several factors
have contributed to making the place prominent and important. Until
Kano was subdued, in 1903, Zaria was the foremost Hausa city which had
submitted to the British. Secondly, the idea of making Zaria, instead
of Zungeru, the administrative headquarters of Northern Nigeria, and
the steps taken towards that object, which included building a suitable
house for the Governor and others for the principal officials, mark Zaria
as a Government station of distinctiveness, for though the commodious
bungalows are not occupied by the class originally intended the men there
are a senior grade.
Thirdly, the junction of the Lagos-Kano trunk line with the branch,
Bauchi Light Railway, and the fact that passengers from either to the
other must stay at Zaria at least one night necessitate the provision of
several rest-houses and has encouraged the increase of European stores to
cater for items supplementary to the outfit and the “chop boxes” which
people take from England.
Fourthly, Zaria possesses several districts in which produce is raised
of the kind readily bought by exporting firms, and the railway has
enabled natives who cultivate such material to bring it with ease to
a comparatively large purchasing centre. The chief descriptions are
shea-nuts, ground-nuts, benniseed, and a little beeswax. There are also
hides and other skins.
Of the European Stores, the Niger Company, as usual, was first in the
field, opening in the middle of 1911. It was followed shortly afterwards
by Lagos Stores and the Tin Areas of Nigeria. These were joined in time
by John Walkden and Co., and Paterson and Zochonis. Sites are now being
built upon by Ollivant and Co. and John Holt, whilst plots are in the
hands of the London and Kano Trading Co., Pagenstecher and Co., Geiser
and Co., and the French Company. Most of the establishments buy produce
as well as retail European goods.
No doubt in time Zaria will outgrow its present condition beyond
recognition, but I am by no means sure that already the supply of stores
is not well in excess of the demand for several years, both for selling
to Europeans and for the purchase of native produce. Even as matters
stand, there is not nearly enough to go round remuneratively, and, though
the amount is sure to increase, a long time will pass before it is of
sufficient quantity to warrant the number of establishments which have
been and are being run up.
Moreover, Zaria is more likely to diminish, rather than increase, in
importance as a stage on the railway when the gauge of the trunk and
the branch lines have been altered to uniform gauge—the work will have
started weeks previous to this being published—which will avoid breaking
bulk for transhipment and will enable travellers to continue the journey
without change of carriage; the acceleration providing a through service
thus making unnecessary the present enforced wait at Zaria.
The Niger Company is gathering the fruits of having been the pioneer firm
at Zaria. The mud houses and sheds are being replaced by more permanent
structures. The retail store is of brick and is 80 feet by 35 feet. There
are also two iron buildings with cement floors, one for warehousing
the trading goods and the other for keeping the produce purchased. In
addition an 80 feet long, open shed is used for weighing produce bought
and to give shelter to the sellers whilst they wait their turn. The large
compound in which the buildings stand is itself a public market on a
small scale. Natives foregather there, sit down as at a meeting-place,
and small traders assemble to sell food to the people who dispose of
their produce, which may have been brought several days’ journey.
Although it is generally assumed that the gold discoveries made are in
Zaria Province, the only one of which the finder says he is satisfied
lies just over the border, in the Niger Province. That belongs to Mr L.
H. L. Huddart, who has shown me specimens from the ground which look
enchanting. Whether the mineral is to be won in payable quantity is
a question I am not prepared to answer. There is Mr Huddart, who was
first in that field and who declares he is content with that on which
he has lighted; whilst, on the other hand, some of the smartest mining
men in the country have prospected around the centre and have reported
adversely. Of course, both may be right.
Apart from this matter of gold, Mr Huddart evidently believes in the
country’s minerals, for a couple of miles from the European cantonment
at Zaria he is putting up permanent buildings to be used as offices
and a laboratory at which he proposes to carry on his profession as a
consulting mining engineer.
Zaria, the administrative headquarters of the province of the same name,
consists of three parts: the native city—a large, walled town resembling
Kano—four miles from the railway, so that the native life, under the
Emir, may be as free as practicable from disturbing influences; the
Government offices and officials’ bungalows; and the European merchants’
stores.
The group of stores and the group of bungalows are quite near each other
and within a stone’s-throw of the station.
A quarter-of-a-mile from these centres there is the small sabon
gari—i.e., native town—established for the requirements of natives who
draw supplies there which they retail to the resident Europeans, in the
way of daily household requirements. The sabon gari is also a great
convenience to the large number of natives who bring in produce to sell
to the exporting firms. Compared with Zaria City, this sabon gari is of
limited dimensions. It differs markedly from Zaria City in having been
laid out on Sir Hesketh Bell’s plan for model native towns.
It is divided into rectangular blocks, or plots, 50 feet by 100 feet.
The rent for a plot is 12s. or 16s. a year. The main avenue is 100 feet
wide, and other roads have a breadth of 50 feet, whilst streets parallel
with the houses—which, of course, are of mud—are 15 feet across; 183
plots are occupied.
Rentals from plots are divided evenly between the British administration
and the Beit-el-Mal, but dues from the market stalls go entirely to
the Beit-el-Mal. This institution—which is the Treasury for native
administration—is described in Chapter VII.
General taxation in Northern Nigeria in every province is adjusted to
local custom and usage. Therein lies one of the secrets of our success in
governing the country, that the ways of the people are interfered with as
little as possible.
But the population must pay taxes. They have always done so in one
form or another. Whereas formerly they had to render service, or its
substitute, for war or for slave-raiding and were squeezed in actual
taxation according to the requirements of the Emir’s Chiefs and, in
addition, any man who prospered became an object of cupidity for the
taxing Chief, now everybody is rated on a general plan and the amounts
levied are decided upon in consultation between the British and the
native authorities. Perhaps it will not be considered unduly out of place
if, as an example, the system in Zaria Province is stated.
There is, first, the kurdin gidda, or house tax. Every owner—lessee, as
we should term him—pays 1s. 6d. annually for occupancy. The kurdin kassa,
or farm tax, is levied on every adult male farmer, whether working on his
own account or for somebody else. The amount depends on the wealth of
the town and the facilities of the inhabitants for earning money, such as
proximity to trade routes and a railway. The tax ranges from 3s. to 6s.
annually.
The kurdin gari—tax of the town—is paid by adult males who do not farm,
whatever their work or occupation, or if they have none. The actual sum
paid is fixed on the capacity of the payee to earn. The average is about
3s. a year.
A special tax which has been in existence for centuries is the kurdin
karra, or tax on sugar, charged on sugar-cane plots, at 4s. yearly,
independently of the size of the individual plot and of the number of men
working on it.
Native non-Moslems are levied for a hoe tax, which is imposed only on
adult male farmers, who pay from 3d. to 3s. a year on the same principle
as that applied to the kurdin kassa.
As in every Hausa Province, all these taxes are collected by the
district Chief and paid into the Beit-el-Mal. Fifty per cent. is taken
by the British administration and goes towards the cost of the supreme
Government. It is the price for protection from aggressive wars by
neighbouring peoples and for the control of their own rulers against the
extortions and oppressive demands which past rulers exercised. No part of
the present taxation is taken out of the country.
The 50 per cent. balance is divided roughly into two. One of the two
parts is for the Emir of Zaria Province, who has a fixed civil list
for his personal expenditure and the expenses of his Court and for the
payment of native Judges and police and the upkeep of a central prison;
the other part is apportioned among the town Chiefs of the Province,
who pay their subordinate officials a salary previously decided on the
proportion it shall bear from the collected taxes. The salaries must not,
however, exceed the figure decided when each appointment is made.
Of course, any attempt, detected, on the part of the Chiefs or village
Headmen who collect the taxes to act in an irregular manner is dealt
with severely. The natives know they can appeal against injustice to the
British Resident. But the Residents do not interfere between the native
Chiefs and the population unless some great principle is violated. By
utilising the machinery of social organisation, which has existed for
hundreds of years, for the purpose of native government, a Civil Service
has been obtained of men who understand their own people in a way no
white could be expected to, and is obtained at a fraction of the cost
incurred in having the work done by Englishmen, who could not carry it
out with a tithe of the efficiency.
The Government officials’ bungalows at Zaria are the best in Northern
Nigeria. Nearly all are of brick. The roads are excellent. They were
laid out by the Public Works Department, with the exception of the
main trading road to Zaria native city, which was made by the Emir
with his own people, directed by those of them who had been on railway
construction. The highway is 60 feet wide and is planted both sides with
trees, which give a comforting shade.
Two groups of rest-houses are at Zaria. One is within a few feet of the
station, in charge of the railway staff, and is very convenient for
persons who arrive by a main line train and leave the following day by
a branch line train, or _vice-versâ_; the other group is used by the
Resident for travellers who may be staying a little longer.
It was to the latter group I went on my first stay; and it would
ill-befit me to omit mentioning the courtesy shown at each visit. When
here previously the Resident, Captain Fremantle, was occupied with
preparations for moving into the native city for one of the usual
periodical visits, lasting a few days; but the morning following my
arrival he sent his next-in-command, Mr M. P. Porch, to enquire if I
was comfortably quartered, and Mr Porch so thoroughly carried out his
mission as to spontaneously ask whether I was short of any supplies, as,
if so, he would willingly send me some of his. Dr Johnson, the medical
officer, did not wait for the formality of an application for condensed
water—that or the filtered variety is indispensable—but offered the
necessary authority to draw a daily supply from the man in charge of the
condenser. Dr Johnson had sufficient thought and human feeling to reflect
that a new-comer might lack the appliances to convert liquid poison into
drinkable stuff. He did not put across a polite note a pencil scrawl,
“Apply to the railway people,” whose place is a mile away.
On reaching Zaria this time I find Captain Fremantle, whom I had looked
forward to meeting, temporarily invalided to England, his place filled
for the time being by Mr A. C. Francis, who had been described as one of
the most delightful men in the Northern Nigeria Government service. That
is just what I should say of him.
[Illustration: FIDDLE.
With strings and bow of horse-hair, rubbed with gum.]
[Illustration: A HAUSA BOY
Playing a molah, a kind of banjo.]
CHAPTER XXXV
THE BARO-KANO RAILWAY
Emirs’ assent—Compensation for palm trees—A locomotive’s
food—Engine whistling preferred to Caruso—Official
opening—Natives’ curiosity—A Mallam’s impressions—Horse _v._
train.
Previous to taking my last railway journey in the course of the present
stay in Nigeria, it will not be out of place to give a sketch of the
building of the Baro-Kano line. It starts, southwards, from Baro, on the
River Niger, to Kano, joining at Minna the system running from Lagos. The
portion of that system in Northern Nigeria was constructed with funds
advanced from rich Southern Nigeria, whereas the Baro to Minna portion
was built from the Northern Nigeria exchequer exclusively.
Although the line was imperative both for strategic and commercial
purposes, care was taken not to ride roughshod over the susceptibilities
of the people nor to run full-tilt against any prejudices of theirs. The
Emirs through whose territory the track passed were formally asked to
signify assent, which they readily gave. They are highly intelligent men
who, long ago having realised that British ascendency was inevitable and
permanent, saw clearly that their own positions would be strengthened
by increased facilities of the paramount and protecting Power to move
troops should that be necessary.
Every palm-kernel or other trade-value tree cut down was paid for at five
years’ purchase, assessed at the rate of 10s. annually, the money handed
to the Chief of the area. This policy earned the hearty good-will of the
population directly affected.
The line passed through the county of three Emirs: those of Bida,
Zaria, and Kano. All displayed the utmost cordiality and co-operation
in the construction. They directed and encouraged their subjects to
work in building the railway, though labourers were paid personally and
individually.
The Emir of Zaria evinced so much interest in construction that he was
in the habit of sitting on the embankment, with his officers of State
around, watching the rails laid. He would repeatedly enquire how much the
locomotive ate, in the matter of fuel—wood—and what quantity of water it
drank. He regarded it quite as a living creature. Above everything, he
loved to hear its voice, to listen to its whistle and shriek. For his
greater enjoyment, the whistle would be kept going at its loudest for
several minutes at a stretch. That appealed to him more than the finest
tones of a Caruso or the sweetest notes of a Melba or a Tetrazzini.
The Emirs were each invited to perform the ceremony of opening the
railway in his own Province. In 1909 the Emir of Bida opened the 43
miles’ section from Baro to Badegi, Sir Percy Girouard, then Governor of
Northern Nigeria, being present with his staff; early in 1911 the Emir of
Zaria opened the extension to 267 miles’ point, Mr C. C. Temple, Acting
Governor, attending; and the lengthening to Kano was opened by the Emir
of that name. The Emirs were presented with bronze spanners—a material
more highly valued than silver—with which they screwed up the last
fish-plate bolt.
For the first few months or so that weekly trains were running to Kano,
natives from the city and the surrounding villages displayed curiosity
concerning the locomotive to the degree of assembling in crowds on the
track at the railhead—there is no station yet—to gaze again and again at
the engine. Quite polite and giving no trouble to the officials, they
would examine it from every point of view, some lying on the ground to
look underneath the phenomenal thing.
Last January, shortly after the railway started, a treat was given to the
pupils of the Government schools at Nassarawa. The establishment is used
for instruction to the sons of Emirs and Chiefs and to men for public
duties, of whatever age, to equip them better mentally for their tasks.
The treat consisted of an outing by train. One of the pupils, a Mallam
from Bornu, 70 years old, was with difficulty persuaded to go into the
truck. Covered carriages had not arrived. Eventually he did and was soon
at his ease. He watched intently all that took place during the trip and
on returning was asked cheerily by one of the young engineers what he
thought of it all. The old man thanked the railway officials for so much
education given in so short a period, but in reply to the question he
said he could tell them only by writing a big book. One pointed out that
some of them might not live until he had finished, in which event they
would die in ignorance of the knowledge sought from him. Therefore he
should speak at once.
After thinking, the Mallam replied that he might tell them a few of his
impressions in a long speech, and was preparing to gird up his loins for
the operation. That prospect was not at all alluring to the audience, so
he was urged to give voice to the one thing which impressed him most.
He at once answered, “The fact that the engine drank more water than a
thousand elephants!”
Some Chiefs from outlying districts were brought in for a joy ride in
trucks. When the initial uneasiness at the novel form of movement had
passed off, they seemed to enjoy the thrill of being whirled along at 20
miles an hour by no effort of theirs. Asked whether the sensation was not
better than travelling in the saddle they replied, “Certainly not, as the
horse did not spit hot sparks at a man on his back or behind him.”
* * * * *
A little after 6 a.m. the train by which I travelled left Zaria for Baro,
which is a two days’ journey. The first night was spent at Minna, 155
miles from Zaria. The line from Lagos and that from Baro roughly form the
apex of a triangle at Minna, with the Niger, between Baro and Jebba, as
the base.
Two years ago railhead from Baro was at Minna, then a small, temporary
station, really merely a stopping-place. Now there are platforms 300
yards long, and the station offices are of red brick, made on the spot,
with cement facings. The station is lit by incandescent oil lamps,
the oil forced up 30-feet standards. It is the only station which has
semaphore signals, three in each direction. There are six tracks of the
standard West African gauge—3 feet 6 inches—and a turn-table capable of
taking the largest vehicle on the railway, 50 feet.
One sees as many as 50 trucks, brought up or down the line, waiting to be
made up for their several destinations. They contain cotton goods from
England, cement and machinery for the tin mines, kola nuts from the Gold
Coast Colony for the great Mohamedan centres of Zaria and Kano. Formerly
the nuts were taken by head carriage.
After the first few stations from Minna towards Baro permanent buildings
are in existence: square, brick buildings, with an annexe consisting of
a roof on pillars, used as a waiting-room for native passengers, where
they can go for protection from the rain. I noticed, too, that the
open trucks, which were all that could be obtained for the unexpected
dimensions of the native traffic in the earlier months of the opening of
the line, are being converted into covered carriages.
It is good to see on this Baro-Kano Railway, so much used by native
passengers, the provision made for their reasonable comfort. They are
regarded as human beings, not merely freight. Their fares contribute
considerably to the revenue of the railway. There were people in England,
and plenty in Nigeria who had not been through the district, who saw in
the scheme of the line from Baro to Minna, running as it does parallel
with the section from Jebba to Minna, only an unnecessary competing span
with the latter stretch, just built, so they said, to satisfy Sir Percy
Girouard’s idea, he being “out” to propound a scheme of construction in
accordance with his reputation as a railway builder.
Persons who formed so ungenerous a judgment thought of merchandise alone;
they took no note of the inhabitants of the land. Such persons should
see the immense convenience the line is to the native; to what an extent
it has lightened his life, in more ways than one, and then they would
recognise both its utility and necessity. This is stated independently
of considering the Baro-Minna section in the general, broad policy of
railway development.
A gladsome sight at some of the stations south of Minna was bananas
brought by women for sale. A bunch of 12 for a penny was the price, which
my boy, who made the purchases, told me was double the charge he would
pay if marketing for himself. Still, I was eager enough to buy at the
higher rate, for I had had no fresh fruit, and, with the exception of
onions and potatoes, very few vegetables of the same character for about
six months.
The appearance of the fruit showed I was passing into country where the
cultivation and climate differed from that lately seen. There were other
signs. Flat, open, grassy land, fairly wooded, but not to the extent of
marring the landscape view, the general effect in several respects is to
make it indistinguishable in appearance from English country. This effect
is rather added to than otherwise by an occasional sheet of water. But a
characteristic of the tropics is distinguishable in the aristocratic-like
palms, standing separately and much higher than the other trees.
Near some villages along the railway are a few small patches of tobacco
growing, the long and broad leaf drawing attention to the plant from the
surrounding greenery. There is a freshness of verdure in these low-lying
lands of more marked kind than the higher, cooler, and drier reaches
yield. It is here and still further below in the valleys of the Benue
that cotton will be produced if the plant is to be cultivated in any
quantity in Northern Nigeria.
The train was due at Baro on Saturday evening, and my plan was to go
straight on board a launch, if one was available, leave in the early
morning for Lokoja, there to join the first mail stern-wheeler for the
sea. During Saturday afternoon a telegram was handed me at a station,
sent by Mr E. N. Coleman, Transport Agent of the Niger Company at Baro,
who had been a fellow-traveller on the voyage from England, containing an
invitation to the hospitality of the bungalow there for the night, and
stating that the launch was ready for continuing the journey next day. It
was quite dark when the train drew into Baro.
CHAPTER XXXVI
BARO ON THE NIGER
Baro port—A Selfridge-Whiteley 400 miles up the Niger—London
frock-coats in West Central Africa—Fretwork and ladies’
garments—An untutored eye and its guide—The rat a table
delicacy—Oje’s local patriotism—Baro and Jebba; hygienic
problems—A superfluous hospital.
Up early the following morning, to make most of the time before starting
down the Niger, a quick look round at once gave a view more like the
general pictures of West African towns seen along the Coast than the
plains and highlands recently left. Small, square, and oblong houses,
painted white and with red roofs, surrounded by a horseshoe-shaped hill
400 feet high, covered with green, bring to mind some resemblance to
Sierra Leone and Monrovia, as seen from the sea at a distance.
Baro is 130 miles below Jebba, and was selected by Sir Percy Girouard for
the terminus of the railway. The Niger is 1,000 feet across, divided into
two channels by an island about two miles long, on which the native town
is located. The south channel—the one nearest the railway—is only 100
feet wide, and you can walk over it, on sand, at lowest water.
Formerly Baro was an important produce-buying station of the Niger
Company, principally for shea-nuts and ground-nuts. Since the opening
of the railway the place has become important as a transport point for
transference from the river stern-wheelers—run in connection with the
ocean liners—to the train, for passengers and material bound for the tin
mines. Now an average of 5,000 packages are handled weekly, ranging from
personal baggage to heavy parts of machinery.
There are a number of people, particularly those going to the tin fields,
who have little time to make purchases in England and who cannot supply
the deficiencies when at the mouth of the Forcados River, as there is
direct transhipment from the ocean ship to the stern-wheeler. Practically
any requirement can, however, be satisfied at Baro, where there is always
some interval between the arrival of the stern-wheeler and the departure
of the train. The stay is long enough to make any outlays. The store of
the Niger Company was stocked as I had not seen an establishment stocked
for a long time, not since I had been in Zungeru more than six months
earlier. There was everything actually on sale needed for a man going to
the mines or prospecting. I walked up and down the building, as big as
a large drill hall, and noted light tools for joiners and carpenters;
oil stoves, useful for doing cooking on the train when a carriage has no
facilities of that character; table and wall lamps; medicines, including
quinine; tinned and bottled fruits; table necessaries and delicacies;
liquids, from lemon squash, lime juice and Wincarnis to champagne; clocks
and wristlet watches. I counted 6 brands of cigars and 20 kinds of
cigarettes, camp-beds, deck chairs, men’s clothing, from soft felt and
tweed hats to boots of various sorts, even to sock suspenders.
Then, to my surprise, I saw black frock-coats, just as the doctor or
other professional man would wear in England. Although second-hand, I was
staggered on learning that they are sold at 3s. 9d.! Fancy being rigged
out in a respectable frock-coat 400 miles up from the Coast in West
Africa at a cost of three shillings and ninepence! And, presumably, this
figure leaves a profit after payment of transit from home.
And who wants to wear a black cloth frock-coat in these sultry regions,
where white linen is more appropriate? I ask.
The answer is that there are two destinations for the articles. Natives
in the district who are well off—such as a petty trader—buy and use them
as rain-coats. They enquire at the store for “a water, black gown.”
The second destination to which a frock-coat goes which may have graced
the figure of a company director, or even a member of the House of Lords,
is as a present to some native Chief in Southern Nigeria, who will don it
on State occasions, as the Lord Mayor of London comes out resplendent in
his robes of office when an imposing ceremony is afoot.
In this store there was an array of another garment which my untutored
eye took to be men’s undervests having intricate fretwork at the neck and
on the short sleeves and under the fretwork what I thought to be blue
and pink blotting-paper. On enquiring the correctness of my surmise,
young Mr Coleman, who was showing me round, said in a rather loud tone,
half-scornful at ignorance and half-pitiful, “What! Men’s undervests!
Why, they are ladies’ chemises, with insertion. What you call fretwork,
as though it were wood carved, is embroidery. Did anyone ever hear of
embroidered men’s undervests!” And he laughed. After a pause he added,
“Aren’t you married?” “No.” His rejoinder was merely “Oh!” I learnt he
was.
Naturally I wondered what female form was decorated with such trappings
and was told that the belles from villages miles around were particularly
partial to this adornment, worn without anything over it; whereas in more
civilised lands—so Mr Coleman informed me in a confidential, fatherly
way—a dress covered the artistic production.
I always try to understand a subject in all its bearings, but you who may
regard me as woefully deficient in knowledge on this topic please bear in
mind that I have just come down from country where fashions and styles
and manners of dress are much simpler and approximate—in fact, in many
cases have not even attained—to the Garden of Eden stage.
The large number of rat-traps for sale led me to enquire whether there
was a plague of the rodents. I was told No, but that the folks of the
neighbourhood esteemed the vermin as an article of diet, properly cooked.
The traps were used to secure the delicacy. My boy Oje informs me his
people—the non-Moslem Yorubas of Ibadan—also enjoy the dish of rat, but
he made clear that they would not demean themselves to eat the house
variety, as the Hausas at Baro do, instead catching the field rat,
“because he chop (feeds) on corn and be big and good past the other.”
Oje never misses an opportunity to give reasons why his tribesmen and
tribeswomen are superior to all the coloured race. He has a bump of local
patriotism fully developed.
After looking over the excellent Railway Institute—a great boon to the
employees—closer examination than had been practicable the previous
evening was given to the Niger Company bungalow for staff quarters. It is
built of cement blocks, with an overhanging verandah of wood and a roof
of tiles, which has the immense advantage over iron or tin in that rest
is not disturbed at night during the wet season, as, at the most, the
rain merely purrs on the tiles. Under them is a wooden ceiling, giving
coolness, and corresponding effect is obtained on the hottest day by
use of cement blocks for the walls. The cement came out in barrels and
the blocks were made by a Cyclops hand machine on the spot. When the
railway authorities saw the bungalow a similar block-making machine was
immediately ordered for their own purpose.
The whole bungalow is large and airy. It contains eight bedrooms—the
verandah is suitable for sleeping during the highest temperature—and
downstairs there are a lounge for smoking and reading, a dining-room, and
a domestic store. All the rooms have been made mosquito-proof.