The Harmatan — Native burial rites — Koranko superstitions
— The Anglo-French frontier — Solitude of a Customs post —
A change of scenery — Smuggling — A change of carriers —
Intoxicating liquor — The Upper Niger — A splendid spectacle
— A good highway — Native music.
IN the Tembikunda Mountains I found the variations of temperature
between night and day extremely trying. The maximum by day never
exceeded ninety degrees, but at night the temperature used sometimes
to fall to under fifty degrees. The greatest height I reached was
2480 feet. The fall of temperature was evidently caused by the dry
Harmatan wind which always blows at this time of year. This wind
is said to come from the Sahara; it blows from the north-east for
more or less long periods during the months of December, January,
February, and March, all over the West Coast of Africa. The theory
that it comes from the Sahara appears to be supported by the fact
that it contains a quantity of fine particles of sand. Its extreme
dryness is particularly noticeable in the otherwise damp coast
atmosphere. Books and papers curl up, and the skin gets uncomfortably
parched at this season. Natives are especially susceptible to chills
and pneumonia while the Harmatan is blowing.
In spite of sleeping in a native hut, a place not usually remarkable
for its coolness, I used to shiver under my three blankets. Finally,
the only way I could keep sufficiently warm to get to sleep was
by lighting a huge log fire close to my bedside before retiring
to rest. Of course, the cold was not really so intense, as the
thermometer was several degrees above freezing; but the sudden fall
in temperature between night and day had the unpleasant effect of
making it appear like midwinter in England.
A curious fact about the Harmatan is that, owing to the sand carried
by it in suspension in the air, a kind of haze is produced which
considerably restricts one’s range of vision. The effect is very
similar to that caused by a London fog. Indeed, when watching the
sunset while a strong Harmatan was blowing, I could easily imagine
myself gazing at that peculiar appearance seen in the sky on a foggy
winter’s afternoon in Town. At times this curious wind blows with
great violence. This is particularly the case in the early morning,
when even on the march a thick overcoat can be worn without feeling
in the least degree too hot.
The country in which I now was is inhabited by the Korankos.
Their territory is a large one, extending for a considerable distance
north and west of the Niger watershed, while a small portion of the
tribe overflows eastward into French Guinea. The whole country is
very mountainous, and the people are extremely poor. Most of them
are pagans. These Korankos suffered considerably during the wars
of Samory, when many of them were exterminated by his Sofas. The
principal town is Kruto, lying about forty miles due west of the
Niger source, and a trading centre of some importance. At the small
village of Manson I arrived on the day of the burial of a chief’s
son. The ceremony which takes place on such an occasion is somewhat
remarkable, and it was my good fortune to witness it here.
The whole burial rites take three or four days, the body not being
taken to the grave till the last day, by which time, as can be
imagined, it is in an unsavoury state of decomposition, and not
fit to be approached by a white man.
Immediately a death occurs the womenfolk start lamenting; in the
meantime messengers are despatched to all the slaves and relatives
in the other villages. As this takes some days, the body is kept
in the house till they have all arrived. In the case of a Poro
man, his body is deposited in the “Poro” Bush. No woman is
permitted to look on the corpse. Dancing, singing, and tomtoming
are vigorously kept up the whole time. The women take a leading
part in this portion of the ceremony. A woman’s body is taken to
the “Bundu” Bush until the day of burial.
On the burial day all the mourners plaster themselves with white
clay and follow the corpse to the burial-ground. Country cloths
are buried with the deceased, the number varying directly with his
personal wealth. The favourite hour for the interment is sunset.
After the burial guns are fired by anyone possessing a fire-arm,
with the intention of frightening away all evil spirits; at the
same time a sacrifice is made on the grave of a fowl, a sheep, or
a cow, according to the wealth of the dead man. These sacrifices
are also offered for the purpose of propitiating the dead man’s
ancestors, who, tradition says, are otherwise in the habit of
torturing his soul.
Directly after the burial the deceased’s property is taken
possession of by the heir, who then invites his friends to a feast,
on the principle, I suppose, of “Le roi est mort, vive le roi.”
At a burial or a marriage the one aim of the native seems to be to
spend as much money as possible.
Some Korankos are members of the mystical Kofung society. The
Kofung society has a large organization among the Limba people,
who inhabit the north centre of the protectorate; but it has
also some influence over the western tribes. Its rites are of a
mournful, morbid character. A candidate has to simulate death, and
is supposed to be made to return to life by the officiating members
at the initiation ceremony. As he lies on a litter, apparently dead,
the members dance round him, raise him up, and wash his eyes with
a lotion prepared from the bark of a cork tree. When the dance is
ended the candidate stands over a fire, the chief of the sect then
holding a burnt stick before his eyes, and making him swear the
sacred oath of the society. There are several masonic signs by
which a Kofung man may be recognized. He frequently has a brass
ring on his toe, thumb, or wrist. One man may be recognized by a
brother in the order if he crosses his arms, or crosses two twigs.
Every member is supposed to have an attendant spirit who can
be summoned, if required, by uttering certain magical words and
calling the spirit by name seven times. Kofung men believe they can
transform themselves into animals. If, however, they are tied up to
a piece of corkwood, they believe they no longer possess this power.
As far as can be ascertained, the Kofung society is not dangerous to
the community. Murder does not appear to come within its scope. It
seems merely to teach a highly superstitious doctrine, such as
the mystery-loving pagan’s soul delights in. Even when these
people adopt Islam, they never seem wholly to give up the mystic
rites of their former pagan teachings. They certainly never lose
the superstitions of their particular tribe. In cases where pagans
have been converted to Christianity exactly the same failings are
almost invariably to be noticed.
Amongst many of these pagan tribes a curious superstition exists
with regard to the birth of twins in a family. The twins are killed
and the mother driven out into the bush, for twins are said to be
a curse from the god the people worship; it being supposed that if
the foregoing brutal procedure be not carried out the whole family
will become mad.
On the 17th of January I set out to cross the border into French
Guinea. Our road lay along small mountain-paths, more like goat
tracks than roads, which wound laboriously up the precipitous, rocky
slopes. The scenery here is very wild and beautiful. As far as the
eye can reach there rise up a series of rugged peaks, clothed in
light bush and tall elephant-grass. Numerous mountain torrents rush
down in their headlong course to the plains of Sankaran, which can
but faintly be discerned many miles below in French Guinea.
Some of these tiny streams are destined to grow into important if not
mighty rivers; such a one is the Niger. To see this insignificant
rivulet, here only a few feet wide, as it dashes down the eastern
slopes of the Tembikunda Range, who would dream that it is to develop
into a wide, splendid waterway, destined to fertilize large tracts
of country in Western Soudan, and to carry innumerable craft on
its broad bosom before it finally throws its waters into the sea
2400 miles away?
My hammock “boys” had a rough time carrying me over these
mountains. We climbed up to a height of 3000 feet, according to
my aneroid barometer, before commencing the descent to the plains
below. Once or twice, I must own, I felt as if my last hour had
come, when, having arrived at an unusually difficult place, my
satellites had to raise the hammock to the full extent of their
long black arms in order to clear some huge boulder blocking the
path. At these moments I used to gaze down at the yawning precipice
at my side, knowing that if one of those arms should waver, be it
ever so slightly, I should in all probability be hurled down some
2000 feet into the chasm below. Fortunately for me my bearers were
brawny fellows, and we arrived at the frontier village of Farakoro
without any mishap.
The good people of this little place were evidently not used
to visits from white men, and were much astonished at my sudden
appearance. The trade road between French Guinea and the east of
Sierra Leone is a considerable distance north of this place, and
goes to the important station of Kaballa, which is the head-quarters
of one of the Sierra Leone District Commissioners. On my arrival at
Farakoro the inhabitants fled precipitately, and I found myself left
in undisputed possession of the village. I at once sent my servant
with reassuring messages to the chief, who had taken refuge in the
neighbouring bush with his followers. My escort was no longer with
me, for I had sent the soldiers back to Daru that morning. After
some palaver the old chief was induced to show himself, and finally
led his people back to the market-place, although it was palpable
that his suspicions of us were not quite set at rest.
I halted an hour here to give the carriers a little well-earned
repose, and, while they were resting, I thought I would try the
effect of a present of tobacco on my old friend the chief. It was
magical. No sooner had he got possession of this highly prized
article than his face became wreathed in smiles, all suspicions
either vanished or were forgotten, and we were on the best of
terms. The old man produced some bananas for myself and some rice
for my carriers, so that everyone was in the highest of spirits.
Food has a most remarkable effect on the negro. If his stomach is
well cared for he is a cheerful rascal, and will follow you almost
anywhere. Whether he wants it or not he is always ready to eat;
indeed, the amount consumed by a black man at one meal is something
prodigious. I recollect seeing one of these men devour his ration,
one and a half pounds of rice, which, when boiled, swells to a
considerable volume, and is itself more than a meal for two very
hungry Europeans. After this he bolted two large yams, which are
also a very satisfying form of diet, and finally he ended the meal
with a leg of goat! Strange to relate, after a few hours’ peaceful
slumber he appeared to be none the worse for his huge repast.
The road now improved considerably, and two miles farther we finally
left the mountains, emerging into the broad Sankaran plains. The
change in scenery was really remarkable. Broad rice- and maize-fields
stretched on every side; in place of the wild, rugged hills we were
in a smiling land of peace and plenty. Habitations were numerous,
peasants were everywhere at work in the well-cared-for farms,
and one was at once struck by the general air of prosperity. We
soon came to a comparatively wide road, which we followed to
Sarafinian. The country was now decidedly open. Bush there was,
as there always is in West Africa, but it was all of the nature of
very low scrub and grass-land.
On my arrival at Sarafinian I was greeted by a French official,
who proved to be the Customs officer. At certain places along the
frontier of French Guinea there are Customs Stations established in
order to prevent smuggling of dutiable articles across the border.
In charge of these posts there are one or more Europeans. They are
provided with a small staff of native policemen who assist them
to carry out their duties. My friend had to supervise a section of
over sixty miles of frontier. The work is arduous and not unattended
by danger. Would-be smugglers naturally choose the night for their
dashes across the border, so a considerable portion of the work has
to be done after sunset. Even the best-behaved smugglers are not men
to hold human life of much account, so that the task of capturing
them is attended with a good deal of risk. The existence must be a
very lonely one. Situated as he was in a desolate spot, thirty or
forty miles from the nearest white man for twelve months or more,
and leading a life of some danger, it requires a man endowed with
particularly high spirits not to get depressed at times. This French
official was blessed with a large share of his country’s native
vivacity. He had been fourteen months by himself at this little
station, and during this long period had only seen one white man; yet
his good spirits never seemed to have failed him. He welcomed me most
warmly, and was kindness itself during my short stay at Sarafinian.
I was glad of an opportunity of resting my leg here. The knee was
much swollen, being so painful I could not bear to put my foot to the
ground. For the first time I had a chance to get it well dressed,
and by the 19th it was so much better that I decided to push on
upon my journey northwards.
Here I paid off my Sierra Leone carriers, whose shining black
faces beamed with delight at receiving so much wealth all at once.
I think, too, that they were rather pleased to get back to their
native land. These people are generally eager for a job in their own
country, or even, perhaps, anywhere in the protectorate; but as soon
as they get into a foreign region, where food is different, and the
laws and customs are not the same, they begin to “fear,” which,
being translated into plain English, means that they are nervous
of what may happen to them.
My new gang of carriers were local natives. They were not in the
least anxious to be engaged, but the promise of high pay and the
glowing pictures painted by the Customs interpreter of the way they
could enjoy life on the proceeds thereof when they returned, were
effective in producing a sufficient number of stalwart porters for
my needs. The carrier in Sierra Leone is paid ninepence, but the
French Guinea carrier seldom gets more than sixpence per diem. My
offer of ninepence, therefore, was to these men a munificent one,
and the tempting bait of so much wealth was more than they could
resist. The chief of the town was present while the bargain was being
made, as it is the custom for all such dealings to be done through
the medium of the chief concerned. He was highly interested in the
question of the amount to be paid each man. In fact, so eager was he
that I am afraid he had in his mind some material gain for himself
rather than the welfare of his people. This chief was a strange,
uncouth individual.
His hair was very long and matted; he also wore his beard long,
but this was twisted in a miserable thin plait, hanging down below
his chest. He looked so dirty that it would have been necessary
to scrape him with a spade for some time before he could possibly
be washed; finally, he had an inordinate craving for absinthe,
or any kind of alcohol, and, according to my French acquaintance,
he was usually the worse for liquor. How he managed, in this remote
little place, to get so much European liquor was an amazing problem
to everyone. Few traders came that way; besides, absinthe and
such-like dainties are expensive luxuries in French Guinea, where
import duty is exceedingly high, and our worthy friend was a poor
man. This was apparently a secret known only to himself, and one
he would never disclose even when he was in his most confidential
moods. So the problem is, and appears likely to remain, unsolved.
Of course, there is also a great deal of native alcohol drunk by the
negro in West Africa. In all the districts within some 200 miles of
the coast there is a broad belt of palm trees. These trees produce
a wine which, if allowed to ferment, is highly intoxicating. The
wine is obtained in the following manner. An incision is made near
the top of the tree, close to where the leaves sprout; a calabash
is then hung in such a position as to catch the liquid as it flows
out. At convenient times the owner comes to remove the contents,
which are a very cool and refreshing beverage when not fermented.
The mode of climbing a palm tree is peculiar; it reminds one of
the proverbial monkey on a stick to see the native as he ascends a
tree. Ladders are not used for this purpose, but a loop is made with
a supple creeper and placed round the trunk of the tree. The climber
then seats himself in the free end of the loop, placing his toes
against the bark of the palm. By digging his toes firmly into the
tree-trunk he is able to relieve the loop of his weight sufficiently
to permit of the loop being pushed further up the tree. In this
manner the top is gradually reached. Natives generally climb their
trees to fetch the wine in the early morning; the liquor is then
left to ferment in the sun till the evening. About sundown the men
assemble in a hut and drink the intoxicating stuff while squatting
by the fireside. Women as a rule do not drink; at any rate, I never
remember seeing a woman under the influence of palm-wine in the bush.
Soon after leaving Sarafinian I crossed the Niger. It was here about
ten yards wide, and not more than three feet deep. The stream at this
stage is, of course, of no importance, but is of interest purely on
account of the greatness which is to be its portion later. Between
this spot and Faranah the stream is crossed three times, gradually
widening out as it has room to expand in the comparatively flat
Sankaran plains, till at Faranah it is about seventy yards broad. It
is fordable all the way, and until this town is reached no canoes
are seen on its waters. The banks are lightly wooded, sloping easily
down to the water’s edge. As the little river meanders peacefully
through the bush-country, it might well be a trout stream in some
quiet spot in England.
That day’s march was a long one, for I only reached camp at six
o’clock. The carriers were all behind my hammock, and some did
not get in till long after dark. About eight o’clock the headman
arrived with the pleasant news that two of the porters had thrown
the loads on the ground and bolted several miles back. As might have
been expected, these two loads were just the most important ones of
my caravan, one of which was my camp bed. I immediately ordered two
men to be despatched to retrieve them, inwardly praying that they had
not already been stolen by some rapacious negro on the road. This
habit of throwing down one’s belongings and running away when
they feel so disposed is a common one among West African carriers,
and is particularly annoying to their unlucky employer. However,
in that land one soon gets philosophical about such trifles, and
comes to the conclusion that life is too short to permit of them
being taken too much to heart. So, making the best of affairs,
I lay down on a blanket and soon was fast asleep.
The next morning, having enrolled two fresh men from the village
where I had slept, we were once more up to marching strength. The
sun was now getting decidedly hot; the country was undulating bush,
but fairly open. We had not gone many miles when dense clouds of
smoke and huge flames became visible on the horizon. It was evident
we were marching towards a bush fire. The heat grew more and more
intolerable as the wind drove the flames in our direction, and the
porters instinctively began to run forward in order to dash through
the burning zone as quickly as possible. It was the first time I
had actually marched through a large bush fire, although I had,
of course, often been close to a patch of burning bush-country.
In spite of the terrific heat, the spectacle was so splendid as to
make one oblivious of the discomfort. For miles in front of us was
a huge wall of leaping, hissing flames. Through the centre there
ran a narrow path from which the blazing fire seemed to have been
hurled back to the right and left, thus giving us a free passage
through the scorching bank of flames. The fire was approaching
with amazing rapidity. In front of it darted out many terrified
inhabitants of the bush, such as hares, field-mice, and partridges,
all wondering, no doubt, what was this infernal, blazing demon
which thus relentlessly drove them from their homes. While the
ground was covered with these poor frightened creatures, the air was
full of equally terrified insects, attempting to get out of danger
before their wings should be singed by those cruel flames. In many
cases their attempted flight only drove them into the clutches of
their arch-enemies the hawks, who, seemingly oblivious of the heat,
circled in the air above their luckless victims, every now and then
pouncing down on a tempting morsel.
Once we started running it did not take long to get to the other
side of the fire, for it sweeps forward with extraordinary speed,
burning up the grass and small bushes in a few seconds, leaving in
its wake only charred remains and here and there a tree or bush, more
tenacious of life than the others, still wrapped in a sheet of flame
while the fire is disappearing in the distance. Big trees are often
to be seen still blazing some days after the bush fire has passed
that way. After emerging from the flames we were all begrimed with
the soot and ashes; even the natives’ dusky faces showed signs of
having been through something blacker than the colour of their skins.
The change which had now come over the surface of the landscape was
remarkable. In place of the waving bush, which had existed but a
few minutes before, there was now an open plain, almost devoid of
vegetation, carpeted with smouldering ashes. Under the heat of that
tropical sun one missed the grateful shade afforded by the bush,
and the perspiration rolled in big drops from the faces of the
carriers as they trudged stolidly on under the weight of their loads.
On the 21st of January our bush path merged into the main road which
runs from Faranah to Kissidougou. This is a highway, fifteen feet
wide, and kept in good repair by the French. It was far superior to
any road I had yet come across, and made a very decided difference
to our rate of marching. There is one great drawback to these
wide roads in West Africa, viz. they are much hotter to march on,
as there is no shade available. But that is, after all, a minor
disadvantage, as the communications of a country are obviously
greatly facilitated. Here I saw the telegraph line for the first time
since leaving the Sierra Leone Railway. To a visitor in French West
Africa it soon becomes apparent that our continental neighbours
excel in the matter of public works in their colonies. Roads,
railways, bridges and telegraphs have the most careful attention,
and a vast amount of money is spent on their construction.
That night I camped at the village of Kamaraia. The inhabitants
are an offshoot of the Korankos of Sierra Leone, and are similar to
them in their habits; but as the country is more fertile they are
more prosperous. The evening was beguiled by some native music. The
musician played an instrument called “Ballaini.” It produces a
melodious and rather liquid sound, and was one of the most musical
native instruments I heard. It is made of a gourd, partially covered
over with goatskin, and has narrow cross-pieces of bamboo nailed
over it. The musician produces the different notes by hitting these
cross-pieces with a small stick. Most natives have a good ear for
music, but their repertoire of melodies is extremely small. A man
will be quite happy, however, in sitting the whole evening repeating
the same bars over and over again to an admiring audience. I regret
to say that I was not so easily amused, and after half an hour had
to tell our friend to finish his performance elsewhere.