CHAPTER IV
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.