Kob — A West African road — Characteristics of the Moors — The
influence of Islam — The French Soudan — Kangaba — Hospitality
— A picturesque market — Vexatious delays — African punctuality
— A new acquaintance — Uncomfortable marching — Shea-butter
— Its uses — A native toothbrush — Arrival at Bamako.
OUR route to Tombola lay across a marshy, open stretch of land
for some miles. The marsh was dried up in many places, and a rank,
coarse grass grew over it to a height of seven or eight feet. This
place was the haunt of herds of kob. The natives evidently were not
hunters, for these animals could be seen within half a mile of a
village; in fact, one I shot was close to a village. The kob is a
beautiful creature, and the herds we saw made a pretty picture as
they streamed away in the distance with their easy, graceful strides
which cover the ground so rapidly. Once or twice we disturbed a
whole family party, who, unaware of our approach as we came up
against the wind, suddenly emerged from amidst the waving grass,
not more than a hundred yards away, throwing up their beautiful
heads to stare at us for an instant and then scampering off in alarm
to a safer distance. With that curiosity so fatal to the antelope,
they would halt after galloping a short way and turn broadside on
to have another stare at the intruders of their domains. This was
the moment for the sportsman to take his shot, and it was at such
an occasion that I bagged my beast.
The country now assumed a more wooded aspect. Trees of the nature of
an African oak were dotted here and there over the grassy surface of
the ground, while small rivulets, with steep banks and deep pools
in their rocky beds, were the happy playgrounds of merry parties
of hippopotami, who disported themselves in full enjoyment of the
bright scorching rays of the sun. These rivulets were tributaries
or backwaters of the Niger, breaking up the otherwise even surface
of the land. After halting at one of these streams for the thirsty
carriers to drink, we espied close by the big road which we must
follow to Bamako. The road is a mere sandy track, thirty or forty
feet wide, worn, by the feet of hundreds of passers-by and herds of
cattle, into a passably level route. Level, that is to say, for a
West African road, but not at all suitable for a two-wheeled cart,
as its evenness is broken by frequent ruts, probably made by the
rains. But this road is a trade route of some importance, leading
as it does from the metropolis of the French Soudan to the heart of
French Guinea, and passing through the large markets dotted about
the left bank of the Upper Niger.
We constantly met large herds of cattle, usually owned by Moors,
as the French indiscriminately call the inhabitants of the vast
territory north of the Senegal River, which reaches up to the
confines of Morocco, in Northern Africa. These people are great
traders, but dishonest, often lazy, and the most unblushing liars
in the world, I should imagine. They are also very dirty in their
person and their habits. The Moors, however, possess some excellent
qualities, for they are extremely intelligent and most enduring
on the march. Their knowledge of cattle-tending must be great,
as these beasts are brought hundreds of miles from the interior of
Mauretania to the markets of Guinea without any appreciable loss
of animals. The Moor is a cunning trader, who makes large profits
out of his transactions with the more simple-minded Malinké. Their
faces are pale, dirty whitish yellow, their features are aquiline,
while their noses have a distinctly Jewish, hooky appearance.
The Moor has bright, piercing black eyes, which are a sufficient
testimony of his shrewd nature. On the march the cowherd travels on
foot with his beasts, driving the huge droves in front of him with
many weird cries and much thwacking with a stout stick, stopping
every now and then to chase a truant out of the bush whither he has
wandered to enjoy a succulent mouthful of grass, at the same time
heaping imprecations on the luckless animal’s head. They travel
slowly, and will probably cover only ten miles in one day. It is by
no means unusual for a caravan of cattle to take three months over
its journey. The master does not accompany his animals. He is far
too superior a person. He is the proud possessor of a horse, and
follows his cowherds at leisure. On arriving at my halting-place
in the evening, about five o’clock, I have frequently seen this
individual just mounting his steed in order to follow the herds we
had passed that day. Riding his mount he will cover the distance
to their halting-place in a couple of hours, and sleep there
that night. The cattle are fine, big animals, and are the humped
variety. They have huge, branching horns, stout bodies and short,
strong legs. The cows have small udders, and give but little milk
in comparison to an English milch cow of their size.
Besides cattle the Moors bring large quantities of rancid butter
and curdled milk to the French Soudan, where these find a ready
market. The butter, which is carried in leather bags called
“guerba,” is specially appreciated by the natives, who do not
appear in the very least to be disconcerted by the unpleasant smell
thereof. The Moors speak a harsh, guttural language containing a
good many Arabic words. Their knowledge of the native languages
is small, hardly extending beyond an acquaintance with sufficient
market expressions to enable them to drive a good bargain. When
they arrive at a village they herd together in their own quarter
of the place, mingling little with the West African natives, whom
they despise with a contempt they take no pains to conceal.
[Illustration: NATIVES POUNDING RICE AT TOMBOLA
This village, which is in the south of the Upper Senegal and Niger
Colony, is in the rice-growing country of that region. Rice is
the staple native food, and it is a familiar scene to watch it
being pounded in a large wooden mortar by means of a heavy wooden
pestle. This work is usually performed by the women or small boys.]
It is a sound principle to avoid camping in the neighbourhood of
Moors, on account of their thieving propensities; indeed, with
their long, unkempt hair and wild, fierce faces they have such an
unprepossessing appearance that one naturally shuns coming into
close contact with such rascally-looking people.
It was noticeable as we advanced that we were getting into a
land more under the influence of Islam than heretofore. In every
village was a place set aside for the mosque. This consisted
simply of a few rough logs, laid on the ground in the form of a
hollow square, with a break at one side for the doorway. At sunset
the “muezzin” could be heard calling the faithful to prayer,
and a large proportion of the villagers would obey the summons.
Mohammedanism is undoubtedly making great strides in this part of
Africa, but as yet the Mussulmans are far from being devout followers
of the teachings of the Prophet. Drinking, for instance, is far from
unusual, but the religion has certainly had a beneficial influence
on these people in more ways than one, and they are decidedly all
morally better for their conversion from paganism.
After leaving Tombola we marched for two days through a sandy
country, where the vegetation was more stunted and water more
scarce. Although within three or four miles of the left bank of the
Niger, running water is scarce near the villages on the roadside.
Most of them dig wells, for water is found close to the surface of
the ground, and this is preferable to sending daily to the river for
their supply. In the rainy season there is not this difficulty about
water, as the whole country is low-lying and would be inundated by
the river. The lesser bustard I saw and shot frequently in this
region, where the flat, grassy plains are a favourable haunt of
this bird.
All this bank of the Niger is much inhabited by the cobus kob; every
morning early I used to see large herds grazing in the distance near
the river. Stalking here was a difficult matter as the country was
so open. Except for an occasional oribi there seemed to be no other
variety of antelope in our vicinity. Bushfowl and guinea-fowl were
very plentiful, and it was never necessary to resort to the tough,
skinny fowl which so often forms the staple article of diet for
the white traveller in West Africa. My luxuries, such as whisky
and sugar, had by this time run out, but thanks to a good supply
of flour, the faithful Mamadu was always able to bake me plenty of
bread. With that and an abundant supply of fresh meat and milk I
fared none too badly for the bush.
On the 19th of February we reached the large, important village of
Kangaba, called sometimes Kaba. This was the first place of any size
in the French Soudan, although the actual boundary between it and
French Guinea was close to the spot where I had crossed the Niger.
I have several times used the expression “French Soudan,”
and feel it perhaps requires some explanation. It is a name the
French have given, in a very broad sense, to the whole of that vast
territory which comes into their sphere of influence from Lake
Chad to the Senegal River, and bounded on the south by the coast
colonies of Guinea, Ivory Coast and Dahomey, while the northern
limit is the Sahara Desert. The western portion of this country is
officially known as the “Upper Senegal and Niger Colony,” and
this extends from Niafounké on the Niger, south-west of Timbuctu,
to the Senegal River on the west.
The colony is divided up into a number of administrative districts,
and, of course, covering as it does such a large area, the races
who inhabit it are of many different types and shades. Kangaba is
a walled town with a population of 2000 inhabitants. The walls,
which were built in the time of the Sofa wars, are now crumbling to
pieces as they are not kept in repair. They are built of red clay,
which is found in quantities in these parts. The walls are still
in some places twenty feet high and five to six feet thick. There
are four gateways, one at each main point of the compass. The
wall has been constructed out of the clay excavated from a big
ditch running round the town. The ditch is now filled in in many
places. Kaba stands on the southern slope of a hill, commanding a
fine view of the Niger valley towards Bamako. The other sides of
this hill and the plain leading down to the river on the east are
covered with farms of Guinea corn, rice and millet. Kangaba is
divided into three villages. The main one is the market for all
the trade following the Bamako-Siguiri road. Between it and the
Niger there are two other smaller villages. The nearest of these
is the farming village, in which live many of the cultivators of
the local crops. The third village is almost on the Niger banks,
at least three miles from the market, and here the fisherfolk live.
I had great hope of being able to pick up a passing trading barge
here which would give me a lift to Bamako. But at the time there
was unfortunately none on the river.
My “boy” was very sore-footed and doleful when we reached Kaba,
informing me that he could not walk any farther without a rest. He
really was going rather lame, but was suffering more from want of
pluck than fatigue, I fancy. It had certainly been very hot on the
march, particularly during the past few days; also we had marched
continually since leaving Falama, and some of the days had been long
ones. However, I decided to make one day’s halt to let him rest,
and at the same time to arrange for fresh carriers. Mamadu came to
ask me for an advance of pay, going off in great jubilation to the
market to spend on fineries the ten francs I gave him. He was no
exception to the ordinary West African native, who is inordinately
vain and lavishes all his money on dress.
The chief of the town was full of protestations of hospitality,
and nothing would satisfy him but that I should live in his house.
He and his family turned out, going to a hut near by. The old man
was evidently of a kindly disposition, for I soon discovered to
my cost that his hut was a right-of-way for all kinds of domestic
animals. In the early morning I would be awaked by the lowing of
a cow as she casually sauntered through my bedroom on her way to
the pastures outside the village. The same animal paid me a visit
one night while I was having a bath after my evening’s shoot. On
that occasion she seemed in no hurry to go away, appearing fully
to realize the advantage of her position while I was bathing! My
cries, intended to frighten her, were treated with silent contempt.
When I flicked handfuls of water at her she merely started to lick
that portion of her anatomy which had suffered a wetting. Finally,
I had to call my “boy” to drive out the offending beast. When
the chief was given orders to prevent a recurrence of the annoyance,
he gently replied that he was sure the “missi” (Malinké word
for “cow”) meant no harm. Besides the cow, numerous pigs, goats
and fowls used to make my room a daily promenade. The only way
out of the trouble was to blockade the doors. I finally chartered
two small boys whose duty it was to sit, one at either doorway,
and drive away any offender which attempted to force an entrance.
At night the market was a picturesque scene. Innumerable tiny stalls,
each lit up by a small native lamp or flare burning ground-nut oil,
were dotted about. At each sat a woman, disposing of her wares. The
articles for sale included fish, different kinds of native diet and
fruit. But more interesting to the European were the vendors of
such articles as grass mats, country cloths, gold ornaments made
by the local smith out of Siguiri gold, also balls of rubber and
bars of native salt. While the women mostly sat quietly selling,
the men wandered about in groups of two and three, chattering and
smiling as they strolled along, giving to the whole scene more
the aspect of a promenade taken for amusement than for the sake of
buying anything. Occasionally, however, one of these tall figures,
clothed in a white Mohammedan gown, would stop in front of a stall
and ask the price of some object he fancied. This usually was the
preliminary to a great deal of haggling, and in the end the article
was probably sold for about half the price originally asked.
[Illustration: THE SPREAD OF ISLAM IN THE WESTERN SOUDAN
A Malinké chief and his followers in their Mohammedan robes
illustrate the influence the religion of “the Prophet” has
gained of recent years in these regions; for this dress is the
hall-mark of the Mussulman in West Africa. A wave of Mohammedanism
has swept rapidly and steadily westward from Egypt across some
three thousand miles of the African continent during the last
century. Apart from the consternation this causes in the hearts of
those who are endeavouring to establish Christianity in the Dark
Continent, serious thinkers are not lacking who view with alarm
the possibilities of an African “holy war” in the future.]
Bargaining is a feature of all transactions among natives, and
necessarily so, for the seller goes on the principle of asking about
double the value of his wares in the hopes that he will get it,
and secure in the knowledge that he can, if required, reduce the
amount by one half and yet not lose.
On the 21st I started off once more, hoping that this time, as we
were out of the wildest bush, I should have no further trouble with
carriers. Things in this particular respect were, to my disgust,
worse than before. Along the high road to Bamako villages were now
strewed at close intervals. Having gaily started off with eight
picked porters of sturdy build, I was congratulating myself that
they would take my loads along at a fine pace to Bamako, and I
need no further worry myself about them. Misfortune visited me at
the first village, however, where my servant came to report that
the carriers wanted to be paid and changed! We had not walked more
than four miles, so it was rather trying to my temper to hear this
piece of news.
Haranguing was of not the slightest use, and one and all proceeded
to slope away into some friendly hut or other convenient place of
refuge. I summoned the chief and made him send for a fresh gang
at once. After infinite delay I got started on the road once more,
but did not reach my halting-place till late that night, after many
similar vexatious delays _en route_. The numerous villages on the
way made the task of keeping the carriers faithful doubly hard,
they appearing to think that their duty was only to carry from
their township to the next one. After this experience I decided
to abandon the attempt of keeping my porters even for one day,
since no promises of high pay nor any amount of argument seemed
to produce an effect. I now arranged with the chief, or headman,
of the village where I spent the night to supply carriers to the
next village only; at the same time he was told to warn the headman
of that village that I would require fresh men ready at the hour of
my arrival the following day. The latter in his turn was ordered
to inform the succeeding village of my requirements, and thus I
laid a “dak” of porters for the whole of the morrow’s march.
This plan, although not an ideal one, I found worked better than
the previous arrangement, and I adhered to it for the rest of the
journey. The chief drawback to it was the loss of time involved.
If I ordered my new carriers to be ready at a certain village
at a certain hour, the chief of the place, with the native’s
delightful disregard of punctuality, would frequently not think
of sending for his gang until I hove in sight. Time is no object
to the negro, and he can never understand why it is a matter of
any importance to the white man. Of course, these people have no
watches, and their only way of illustrating time is to point to the
position the sun will approximately occupy in the sky at that hour.
Even that is not generally reliable within less than three hours.
Often when marching to an unknown spot have I asked my guide where
the sun will be in the heavens when we arrive, and he has buoyed
up my hopes of an early arrival by indicating three o’clock,
whereas we have not arrived till about six in the evening.
That night, on entering the halting-place, I noticed a white man
standing in the market. He was a French trader who had just arrived,
like myself, but from the opposite side of the Niger, where he had
been to buy rubber for his firm. I asked him to give me the pleasure
of his company at dinner, when we would celebrate the meeting of two
white men in the bush. The last European I had seen was at Kankan,
a comparatively short time ago, but this trader had been in the wilds
for six months without a sight of a white face, he informed me. We
had a very pleasant evening together, and I produced the only kind
of alcohol that remained for the festivity. It was a small bottle
of rum, a part of my medicine stores, and we drank to the _entente
cordiale_ in a glass of that!
My new acquaintance gave me some interesting information about the
trade of the country. He said the rubber trade did not now pay as
well as it used to do, for the natives were no longer content with
a few beads or looking-glasses in exchange for their produce as
had been the case a few years, or even months, ago. They now would
only take cash, and demanded a far higher value for the rubber. We
conversed on many topics of mutual interest and it was with regret
that I bade him good-bye when he got up to leave.
Owing to the open nature of the country the marches were hotter
even than before. In the middle of the day, when halting for a
meal and a rest, one was plagued by myriads of small midges. These
little insects are not to be seen when you are on the march, but as
soon as you make a halt in the shade they spring up, from goodness
knows where, in an incredibly short time, buzzing round your face
in a most distracting fashion. They do not bite, but have a nasty
habit of getting into your eyes, down your ears, and in your mouth
and nose if you give them half a chance. I don’t think I have ever
been so worried by flies as I was here. Flicking with a handkerchief
only seems to increase the fury of their onslaughts without visibly
diminishing the number of your tormentors. The only remedy is to
abandon the shade you had been so thankful to seek, and, if rest
you must, sit in the sun as far from shady trees as possible. After
about 4 p.m. these miniature demons seem to disappear, no doubt
exhausted with their ceaseless activity of the daytime, and seeking
a much-needed rest.
Two trees must be mentioned which grow in profusion here; one is the
“shea-butter,” and the other the “African oak” (mentioned
above). The former, called in Mandingo or Malinké “shi,” and
known to the French as the “carité,” grows about the size of
an ordinary apple tree. The leaves are a refreshing emerald-green,
and its graceful spreading branches and silver-grey trunk make
it one of the most picturesque flora of the landscape. The fruit
ripens about September or October. It is then picked and buried in
the earth, where it is allowed to remain till it rots. It is then
crushed with stones, and the oil which is expressed by this process
is boiled. The resulting substance is what is commercially called
“shea-butter.” It has in this form a greyish-white colour, and
is made up into balls or small blocks for convenience of transport.
Shea-butter has several uses. It is first and foremost used by the
natives as a cooking ingredient. The native is extremely found of
oily dishes, consequently shea-butter takes a prominent part in
all his culinary recipes. The odour of the butter, when cooking, is
quite one of the most unpleasant it has been my misfortune to meet
with in Africa. To my mind it is so disgusting that I can think of
nothing in England with which to compare it, and I feel convinced
that any comparison would be inadequate, only being an insult to
the English article! But in spite of its unpleasant smell it is
only fair to say that it is invaluable to the native in a country
where oil of any description is scarce. The oil is also used for
lighting purposes, in the same way as ground-nut oil. Small flares
of shea-butter are used for the house or market at night. The method
is simple in the extreme. A piece of wood, or a bit of the bark of
a tree, is scooped out so as to form a tiny hollow vessel, and the
butter is poured into this. Wick is manufactured out of the fibres
of a palm, and is steeped in the butter and lighted. This primitive
little night-light is very serviceable and does not blow out easily
in a wind. Shea-butter is now exported to Europe, where the oil is
in some demand for making cart-grease and coarse lubricants. The
export trade of the French Soudan in this article is increasing. The
trees require practically no attention, growing wild in the bush
in certain localities where the soil and climate are favourable.
The other tree mentioned above is called in Mandingo
“Mannagézé.” It also is very abundant in this part of the
Soudan. It has a pretty white flower, with a delicious smell like a
magnolia. The tree flowers through a great part of the dry weather.
The small twigs of this tree, which grows to a height of thirty or
forty feet, are used by the natives for cleaning their teeth. The
bark or skin is first peeled off and the teeth are then rubbed
with the exposed portion of the wood. It has a bitter taste, not
unpleasant, which remains in the mouth for some time after the teeth
have been cleaned. In the early morning it is a very ordinary sight
to see every carrier chewing one of these sticks as he walks, and
when his load is laid on the ground he will start to use it much
in the same way as one uses a toothbrush.
Walking along thus, and covering twenty to twenty-five miles a
day, we reached Bamako on the 23rd of February. We were now about
400 miles from the source of the river, and since leaving the
railway at Pendembu I had walked over 600 miles, almost without
a whole day’s repose, for when I had halted I had usually been
out shooting from early morning till evening, so I was glad of the
thoughts of a rest. During the last thirty miles of the march a low
range of hills appeared on the west; this was the edge of the Kati
Plateau. This plateau stretches for some miles towards the Bafing
River, and is a striking feature of the scenery near Bamako, for
it dominates the town on this side, while the surrounding country
is by contrast very flat and low-lying.
The road gradually approaches the Niger on the east, being
intersected by numerous small rivulets flowing in sparkling crystal
streams from the Kati Plateau to the big river.
The last ten miles or more are a vast expanse of cultivated
land. Rich rice and millet fields stretch as far as the eye can
reach in either direction, towards the Niger on one side and
to the foot of the plateau on the other. This is the heart of a
rice-growing district for the big markets which depend on Bamako
for their annual supplies of food. The busy farmers of this region
are prosperous and appear happy and contented, as they well may.
We arrived at Bamako a strange-looking party. I was tanned a deep
brown colour from long exposure to the fierce sun of the Soudan. My
clothes were luckily khaki, or the state of my garments would have
been even more noticeable than it actually was. I was much in need
of a thorough overhaul and repair! Mamadu was in a far worse plight
than his master; his long, white robe and white, baggy trousers
were in rags, and certainly looked as if they had been any colour
but white even in their palmiest days. Small wonder that the good
people of Bamako were astonished at the strange figures they saw
entering the town that afternoon. Crowds of small boys and idlers
turned out to watch and follow our small caravan as it wended its
way slowly into the big market-place. I am sure we must have looked
like some wild men from the woods!
With some difficulty I got someone to show me the road to the
Commissioner’s bungalow, where I was anxious to report myself
before finding a lodging-place.