Through Timbuctu and across the great Sahara /

by A. H. W. Haywood

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.