CHAPTER IX
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.
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.
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.