reaching the encampment in Gozenákko, to the great amusement of our
neighbours, parodying the usual salute of “iná labári” (what is the
news)? I asked my people immediately the news of our cooking-pot, “iná
labári-n-tokónia” (what news of the pot)? I was greatly pleased with my
day’s excursion; for Tasáwa was the first large place of Negroland
proper which I had seen, and it made the most cheerful impression upon
me, as manifesting everywhere the unmistakable marks of the comfortable,
pleasant sort of life led by the natives:—the courtyard fenced with a
“dérne” of tall reeds, excluding to a certain degree the eyes of the
passer-by, without securing to the interior absolute secrecy; then near
the entrance the cool shady place of the “runfá” for ordinary business
and for the reception of strangers, and the “gída,” partly consisting
entirely of reed (“dáki-n-kára”) of the best wickerwork, partly built of
clay in its lower parts (“bóngo”), while the roof consists of reeds only
(“shíbki”)—but of whatever material it may consist, it is warm and well
adapted for domestic privacy,—the whole dwelling shaded with spreading
trees, and enlivened with groups of children, goats, fowls, pigeons,
and, where a little wealth had been accumulated, a horse or a pack-ox.
With this character of the dwellings, that of the inhabitants themselves
is in entire harmony, its most constant element being a cheerful
temperament, bent upon enjoying life, rather given to women, dance, and
song, but without any disgusting excess. Everybody here finds his
greatest happiness in a comely lass; and as soon as he makes a little
profit, he adds a young wife to his elder companion in life: yet a man
has rarely more than two wives at a time. Drinking fermented liquor
cannot be strictly reckoned a sin in a place where a great many of the
inhabitants are pagans; but a drunken person, nevertheless, is scarcely
ever seen: those who are not Mohammedans only indulge in their “gíya,”
made of sorghum, just enough to make them merry and enjoy life with more
light-heartedness. There was at that time a renegade Jew in the place,
called Músa, who made spirits of dates and tamarinds for his own use.
Their dress is very simple, consisting, for the man, of a wide shirt and
trowsers, mostly of a dark colour, while the head is generally covered
with a light cap of cotton cloth, which is negligently worn, in all
sorts of fashions. Others wear a rather closely fitting cap of green
cloth, called báki-n-záki. Only the wealthier amongst them can afford
the “zénne” or shawl, thrown over the shoulder like the plaid of the
Highlanders. On their feet the richer class wear very neat sandals, such
as we shall describe among the manufactures of Kanó.
As for the women, their dress consists almost entirely of a large cotton
cloth, also of dark colour—“the túrkedi,” fastened under or above the
breast—the only ornament of the latter in general consisting of some
strings of glass beads worn round the neck. The women are tolerably
handsome, and have pleasant features; but they are worn out by excessive
domestic labour, and their growth never attains full and vigorous
proportions. They do not bestow so much care upon their hair as the
Féllani, or some of the Bagírmi people.
There are in the town a good many “Búzawe,” or Tawárek half-castes, who
distinguish themselves in their dress principally by the “ráwani” or
tesílgemíst (the lithám) of white or black colour, which they wind round
their head in the same way as the Kél-owí; but their mode of managing
the tuft of hair left on the top of the head is not always the same,
some wearing their curled hair all over the crown of the head, while
others leave only a long tuft, which was the old fashion of the Zenágha.
The pagan inhabitants of this district wear, in general, only a leathern
apron (“wuélki”); but with the exception of young children, none are
seen here quite naked. The town was so busy, and seemed so well
inhabited, that on the spot I estimated its population at fifteen
thousand; but this estimate is probably too high.
[Sidenote: Thursday, January 16th.]
We still remained near Gozenákko, and I was busy studying Temáshight,
after which I once more went over the letter of the sheríf El Fási, Háj
Beshír’s agent in Zínder; and having become fully aware of the
dictatorial manner in which he had requested Elaíji to forward me and
Mr. Overweg to him (just as a piece of merchandise) without asking our
consent, I sat down to write him a suitable answer, assuring him that,
as I was desirous of paying my respects to the son of Mohammed el Kánemi
and his enlightened vizier, I would set out for their residence as soon
as I had settled my affairs in Kanó, and that I was sure of attaining my
ends without his intervention, as I had not the least desire to visit
him.
This letter, as subsequent events proved, grew into importance, for the
sheríf being perplexed by its tone, sent it straight on to Kúkawa, where
it served to introduce me at once to the sheikh and his vizier. But the
difficulty was to send it off with the warlike messengers who had
brought the sheríf’s letters, as they would not go without us, and swore
that their orders, from the sheríf as well as from Serk’ Ibrám, were so
peremptory that they should be utterly disgraced if they returned empty-
handed. At length, after a violent dispute with Fárráji and these
warlike-looking horsemen, the old chief, who took my part very fairly,
finished the matter by plainly stating that if we ourselves, of our own
free will, wanted to go, we might do so, but if we did not wish to go,
instead of forcing us, he would defend us against anybody who should
dare to offer us violence. Nevertheless the messengers would not depart;
and it seemed impossible to get rid of them till I made each of them a
present of two mithkáls, when they mounted their horses with a very bad
grace, and went off with my letter. The energetic and straightforward
but penurious old chief left us in the afternoon, and rode to Kálgo, a
village at no great distance.
[Sidenote: Friday, January 17th.]
Still another day of halt, in order, as I was told, to allow Háj
ʿAbdúwa’s salt-caravan to come up and join us. Being tired of the camp,
I once more went into the town to spend my day usefully and pleasantly;
leaving all my people behind, I was accompanied by some of my fellow-
travellers of the caravan. Arriving at Overweg’s quarters, what was my
surprise to find Fárráji not yet gone, but endeavouring to persuade my
companion, with all the arts of his barbarous eloquence, that though I
should not go, he at least might, in which case he would be amply
rewarded with the many fine things which had been prepared in Zínder for
our reception. The poor fellow was greatly cast down when he saw me, and
soon made off in very bad humour, while I went with Overweg to El
Wákhshi, who was just occupied in that most tedious of all commercial
transactions in these countries, namely, the counting of shells; for in
all these inland countries of Central Africa the cowries or kurdí
(_Cypræa moneta_) are not, as is customary in some regions near the
coast, fastened together in strings of one hundred each, but are
separate, and must be counted one by one. Even those “tákrufa” (or sacks
made of rushes) containing 20,000 kurdí each, as the governors of the
towns are in the habit of packing them up, no private individual will
receive without counting them out. The general custom in so doing is to
count them by fives, in which operation some are very expert, and then,
according to the amount of the sum, to form heaps of two hundred (or ten
háwiyas[2]) or a thousand each. Having at length succeeded, with the
help of some five or six other people, in the really heroic work of
counting 500,000 shells, our friend went with us to the sick sultan
Mazáwaji: I say sultan, as it is well for a traveller to employ these
sounding titles of petty chiefs, which have become naturalized in the
country from very ancient times, although it is very likely that foreign
governments would be unwilling to acknowledge them. The poor fellow, who
was living in a hut built half of mud, half of reeds, was suffering
under a dreadful attack of dysentery, and looked like a spectre;
fortunately my friend succeeded in bringing on perspiration with some
hot tea and a good dose of peppermint, in the absence of stronger
medicines. We then went to the house of Amánkay, that useful fellow so
often mentioned in the Journal of the late Mr. Richardson, and by
myself. He was a “búzu” of this place, and had many relatives here, all
living near him. His house was built in the general style; but the
interior of the courtyard was screened from profane eyes. Fortunately I
had taken with me some small things, such as mirrors, English darning-
needles, and some knives, so that I was able to give a small present to
each of his kinsmen and relatives, while he treated us with a calabash
of fura.
In the afternoon we strolled a long time about the market, which not
being so crowded as the day before yesterday, was on that account far
more favourable for observation. Here I first saw and tasted the bread
made of the fruit of the magariá-tree, and called “túwo-n-magariá,”
which I have mentioned before, and was not a little astonished to see
whole calabashes filled with roasted locusts (“fará”), which
occasionally form a considerable part of the food of the natives,
particularly if their grain has been destroyed by this plague, as they
can then enjoy not only the agreeable flavour of the dish, but also take
a pleasant revenge on the ravagers of their fields. Every open space in
the midst of the market-place was occupied by a fire-place (“maidéffa”)
on a raised platform, on which diminutive morsels of meat, attached to a
small stick, were roasting, or rather stewing, in such a way that the
fat, trickling down from the richer pieces attached to the top of the
stick, basted the lower ones. These dainty bits were sold for a single
shell or “urí”[3] each. I was much pleased at recognizing the red cloth
which had been stolen from my bales in the valley of Afís, and which was
exposed here for sale. But the most interesting thing in the town was
the “máriná” (the dyeing-place) near the wall, consisting of a raised
platform of clay with fourteen holes or pits, in which the mixture of
indigo is prepared, and the cloths remain for a certain length of time,
from one to seven days, according to the colour which they are to
attain. It is principally this dyeing, I think, which gives to many
parts of Negroland a certain tincture of civilization, a civilization
which it would be highly interesting to trace, if it were possible,
through all the stages of its development.
While rambling about, Overweg and I for a while were greatly annoyed by
a tall fellow, very respectably and most picturesquely dressed, who
professed himself to be a messenger from the governor of Kátsena, sent
to offer us his compliments and to invite us to go to him. Though the
thing was not altogether impossible, it looked rather improbable; and
having thanked him profusely for his civility, we at length succeeded in
getting rid of him. In the evening I returned to our camping-ground with
Ídder the Emgédesi man mentioned in a preceding part of my narrative,
and was very glad to receive reliable information that we were to start
the following day.
[Footnote 1: This same variation is to be observed in the name Marádi,
which many people pronounce Mariyádi.]
[Footnote 2: “Háwiya” means twenty, and seems originally to have been
the highest sum reached by the indigenous arithmetic. I shall say more
about this point in my vocabulary of the Háusa language.]
[Footnote 3: “Kurdí” (shells) is the irregular plural of “urí” (a single
shell).]
CHAP. XXIII.
GAZÁWA. — RESIDENCE IN KÁTSENA.
[Sidenote: Saturday, January 18th.]
We made a good start with our camels, which having been treated to
a considerable allowance of salt on the first day of our halt, had
made the best possible use of these four days’ rest to recruit their
strength. At the considerable village of Kálgo, which we passed at a
little less than five miles beyond our encampment, the country became
rather hilly, but only for a short distance. Tamarinds constituted the
greatest ornament of the landscape. A solitary traveller attracted our
notice on account of his odd attire, mounted as he was on a bullock
with three large pitchers on each side. Four miles beyond Kálgo the
character of the country became suddenly changed, and dense groups of
dúm-palms covered the ground. But what pleased me more than the sight
of these slender forked trees was when, half an hour after mid-day,
I recognized my splendid old friend the bóre-tree, of the valley
Bóghel[4], which had excited my surprise in so high a degree, and
the magnificence of which at its first appearance was not at all
eclipsed by this second specimen in the fertile regions of Negroland.
Soon afterwards we reached the fáddama of Gazáwa; and leaving the town
on our right hidden in the thick forest, we encamped a little further on
in an open place, which was soon crowded with hucksters and retailers. I
was also pestered with a visit from some half-caste Arabs settled in the
town; but fortunately, seeing that they were likely to wait in vain for
a present, they went off, and were soon succeeded by a native mʿallem
from the town, whose visit was most agreeable to me.
About sunset the “serkí-n-turáwa,” or consul of the Arabs, came to pay
his regards to Elaíji, and introduced the subject of a present, which,
as he conceived, I ought to make to the governor of the town as a sort
of passage-money; my protector, however, would not listen to the
proposal, but merely satisfied his visitor’s curiosity by calling me
into his presence and introducing him to me. The serkí was very showily
and picturesquely dressed—in a green and white striped tobe, wide
trowsers of a speckled pattern and colour, like the plumage of the
Guinea fowl, with an embroidery of green silk in front of the legs. Over
this he wore a gaudy red bernús, while round his red cap a red and white
turban was wound crosswise in a very neat and careful manner. His sword
was slung over his right shoulder by means of thick hangers of red silk
ornamented with enormous tassels. He was mounted on a splendid charger,
the head and neck of which was most fancifully ornamented with a
profusion of tassels, bells, and little leather pockets containing
charms, while from under the saddle a shabrack peeped out, consisting of
little triangular patches in all the colours of the rainbow.
This little African dandy received me with a profusion of the finest
compliments, pronounced with the most refined and sweet accent of which
the Háusa language is capable. When he was gone, my old friend Elaíji
informed me that he had prevented the “consul of the Arabs” from
exacting a present from me, and begged me to acknowledge his service by
a cup of coffee, which of course I granted him with all my heart. Poor
old Elaíji! He died in the year 1854, in the forest between Gazáwa and
Kátsena, where from the weakness of age he lost his way when left alone.
He has left on my memory an image which I shall always recall with
pleasure. He was certainly the most honourable and religious man among
the Kél-owí.
The market in our encampment, which continued till nightfall, reached
its highest pitch at sunset, when the people of the town brought ready-
made “túwo,” each dish, with rather a small allowance, selling for three
kurdí, or not quite the fourth part of a farthing. I, however, was happy
in not being thrown upon this three-kurdí supper; and while I indulged
in my own home-made dish, Gajére entertained me with the narrative of a
nine days’ siege, which the warlike inhabitants of Gazáwa had sustained,
ten years previously, against the whole army of the famous Bello.
[Sidenote: Sunday, January 19th.]
We remained encamped; and my day was most agreeably and usefully spent
in gathering information with regard to the regions which I had just
entered. There was first Maʿadi, the slave of Ánnur, a native of Bórnu,
who when young had been made prisoner by the Búdduma of the lake, and
had resided three years among these interesting people, till having
fallen into the hands of the Welád Slimán, then in Kánem, he at length,
on the occasion of the great expedition of the preceding year, had
fallen into the power of the Kél-owí. Although he owed the loss of his
liberty to the freebooting islanders, he was nevertheless a great
admirer of theirs, and a sincere vindicator of their character. He
represented them as a brave and high-spirited people, who made glorious
and successful inroads upon the inhabitants of the shores of the lake
with surprising celerity, while at home they were a pious and God-
fearing race, and knew neither theft nor fraud among themselves. He
concluded his eloquent eulogy of this valorous nation of pirates by
expressing his fervent hope that they might for ever preserve their
independence against the ruler of Bórnu.
I then wrote, from the mouth of Gajére and Yáhia (another of my
friends), a list of the places lying round about Gazáwa, as follows:—On
the east side, Mádobí, Maíjirgí[5], Kógena na kay-debú, Kórmasa, Kórgom,
Kánche (a little independent principality); Gumdá, half a day east of
Gazáwa, with numbers of Ásbenáwa; Démbeda, or Dúmbida, at less distance;
Shabáli, Babíl, Túrmeni, Gínga, Kandémka, Sabó-n-kefí, Zángoni-n-ákwa,
Kúrni, Kurnáwa, Dángudaw. On the west side, where the country is more
exposed to the inroads of the Fúlbe or Féllani, there is only one place
of importance, called Tindúkku, which name seems to imply a close
relation to the Tawárek. All these towns and villages are said to be in
a certain degree dependent on Raffa, the “babá” (i.e. great man or
chief) of Gazáwa, who, however, himself owes allegiance to the supreme
ruler of Marádi.
There was an exciting stir in the encampment at about ten o’clock in the
morning, illustrative of the restless struggle going on in these
regions. A troop of about forty horsemen, mostly well mounted, led on by
the serkí-n-Gumdá, and followed by a body of tall slender archers, quite
naked but for their leathern aprons, passed through the different rows
of the aïri, on their way to join the expedition which the prince of
Marádi was preparing against the Féllani.
About noon the natron-caravan of Háj Al Wáli, which I had seen in
Tasáwa, came marching up in solemn order, led on by two drums, and
affording a pleasant specimen of the character of the Háusa people.
Afterwards I went into the town, which was distant from my tent about
half a mile. Being much exposed to attacks from the Mohammedans, as the
southernmost pagan place belonging to the Marádi-Góber union, Gazáwa has
no open suburbs outside its strong stockade, which is surrounded by a
deep ditch. It forms almost a regular quadrangle, having a gate on each
side built of clay, which gives to the whole fortification a more
regular character, besides the greater strength which the place derives
from this precaution. Each gateway is twelve feet deep, and furnished on
its top with a rampart sufficiently capacious for about a dozen archers.
The interior of the town is almost of the same character as Tasáwa; but
Gazáwa is rather more closely built, though I doubt whether its
circumference exceeds that of the former place. The market is held every
day, but, as might be supposed, is far inferior to that of Tasáwa, which
is a sort of little entrepôt for the merchants coming from the north,
and affords much more security than Gazáwa, which, though an important
place with regard to the struggle carried on between Paganism and
Islamism in these quarters, is not so with respect to commerce. The
principal things offered for sale were cattle, meat, vegetables of
different kinds, and earthenware pots. Gazáwa has also a máriná or
dyeing-place, but of less extent than that of Tasáwa, as most of its
inhabitants are pagans, and wear no clothing but the leathern apron.
Their character appeared to me to be far more grave than that of the
inhabitants of Tasáwa; and this is a natural consequence of the
precarious position in which they are placed, as well as of their more
warlike disposition. The whole population is certainly not less than ten
thousand.
Having visited the market, I went to the house of the mʿallem, where I
found several Ásbenáwa belonging to our caravan enjoying themselves in a
very simple manner, eating the fruits of the kaña, which are a little
larger than cherries, but not so soft and succulent. The mʿallem, as I
had an opportunity of learning on this occasion, is a _protégé_ of
Elaíji, to whom the house belongs. Returning with my companions to our
encampment, I witnessed a very interesting sort of dance, or rather
gymnastic play, performed on a large scale by the Kél-owí, who being
arranged in long rows, in pairs, and keeping up a regular motion, pushed
along several of their number under their arms—not very unlike some of
our old dances.
[Sidenote: Monday, January 20th.]
Starting early in the morning, we felt the cold very sensibly, the
thermometer standing at 48° Fahr. a little before sunset. Cultivated
fields interrupted from time to time the underwood for the first three
miles, while the “ngílle,” or “kába,” formed the most characteristic
feature of the landscape; but dúm-palms, at first very rarely seen, soon
became prevalent, and continued for the next two miles. Then the country
became more open, while in the distance to the left extended a low range
of hills. New species of trees appeared, which I had not seen before, as
the “kókia,” a tree with large leaves of a dark-green colour, with a
green fruit of the size of an apple, but not eatable. The first solitary
specimens of the gigiña or deléb-palm, which is one of the most
characteristic trees of the more southern regions, were also met with.
Moving silently along, about noon we met a considerable caravan, with a
great number of oxen and asses led by two horsemen, and protected in the
rear by a strong guard of archers; for this is one of the most dangerous
routes in all Central Africa, where every year a great many parties are
plundered by marauders, no one being responsible for the security of
this disputed territory. We had here a thick forest on our left
enlivened by numbers of birds; then about two o’clock in the afternoon
we entered a fine undulating country covered with a profusion of
herbage, while the large gámshi-tree, with its broad fleshy leaves of
the finest green, formed the most remarkable object of the vegetable
kingdom. All this country was once a bustling scene of life, with
numbers of towns and villages, till, at the very commencement of this
century, the “Jihádi,” or Reformer, rose among the Fúlbe of Góber, and,
inflaming them with fanatic zeal, urged them on to merciless warfare
against pagans as well as Mohammedans.
It was here that my companions drew my attention to the tracks of the
elephant, of whose existence in the more northern regions we had not
hitherto seen the slightest trace—so that this seems to be the limit of
its haunts on this side; and it was shortly afterwards that Gajére
descried in the distance a living specimen making slowly off to the
east; but my sight was not strong enough to distinguish it. Thus we
entered the thicker part of the forest, and about half-past four in the
afternoon reached the site of the large town of Dánkama, whither Mágajin
Háddedu, the king of Kátsena, had retired after his residence had been
taken by the Fúlbe, and from whence he waged unrelenting but
unsuccessful war against the bloody-minded enemies of the religious as
well as political independence of his country. Once, indeed, the Fúlbe
were driven out of Kátsena; but they soon returned with renewed zeal and
with a fresh army, and the Háusa prince was expelled from his ancient
capital for ever. After several battles Dánkama, whither all the
nobility and wealth of Kátsena had retired, was taken, ransacked, and
burnt.
A solitary colossal kúka[6] (baobab), representing in its huge,
leafless, and gloomy frame the sad recollections connected with the
spot, shoots out from the prickly underwood which thickly overgrows the
locality[7], and points out the market-place once teeming with life. It
was a most affecting moment; for, as if afraid of the evil spirits
dwelling in this wild and deserted spot, all the people of the caravan,
while we were thronging along the narrow paths opening between the thick
prickly underwood, shouted with wild cries, cursing and execrating the
Féllani, the authors of so much mischief, all the drums were beating,
and every one pushed on in order to get out of this melancholy
neighbourhood as soon as possible.
Having passed a little after sunset a large granitic mass projecting
from the ground, called Korremátse, and once a place of worship, we saw
in the distance in front the fires of those parties of the aïri which
had preceded us; and greeting them with a wild cry, we encamped on the
uneven ground in great disorder, as it had become quite dark. After a
long march I felt very glad when the tent was at length pitched. While
the fire was lighted, and the supper preparing, Gajére informed me that,
besides Dánkama, Bello destroyed also the towns of Jankúki and Madáwa in
this district, which now presents such a frightful wilderness.[8]