Through Timbuctu and across the great Sahara /

by A. H. W. Haywood

The ground slopes gradually here down to the river, and was some of the prettiest scenery I had seen since my entry into French Guinea. Large stretches of open grass-land alternated with park-like country, and occasionally one came on a more thickly wooded part, through which ran sylvan glades, carpeted with emerald-green grass, by the side of which flowed a tiny stream of crystal water. The spot seemed a paradise for game of all sorts, judging by the numerous tracks. My time was too limited, unfortunately, to allow of other game than eland to be pursued. I must own I felt sorry now that I had not come straight to this place instead of spending those last few days in Wasulu on a fruitless expedition after the elephant. I simply could not afford to spend more than the single day in this pleasant game-haunted locality. My plan was to devote all my time till four o’clock to the joys of the chase, by which hour, if luck favoured me, I hoped to have bagged an eland; in any case, I would have to wend my steps campward by that time, as I should probably have three or four hours of walking in front of me.

My cherished hopes were, however, doomed to disappointment, for although we searched all the most likely places, not a sign of the beasts could we discover. There were, it was true, a good many old tracks, but that was poor consolation. It seemed that I was out of luck just now; first there was my disappointment about the elephant in Wasulu, and now the evasive eland was having a laugh at my expense. Cheering myself up with the thought that there must be a good time in store for me in the near future, at four o’clock I directed my shikari to show me the homeward path. It was dark by the time we got out of the bush on to the track, and I was not sorry at last to see the cheerful glow of a fire in the distance which indicated the position of my hut. I had been on my legs for a good many hours that day, and that, with the natural feeling of disappointment, made me feel really tired. A hot bath, dinner and a pipe by the fireside made me feel a new man again. It was my invariable custom to have a fire of logs at night. This was useful more especially to keep off the mosquitoes, which are always most assiduous in their onslaughts after sunset.

Sand-flies, too, were bad in many places, and the ordinary mosquito-net was of no use against these tiny, venomous creatures. The meshes, close enough to protect you from the attacks of the “anopheles,” were by no means impermeable to the minute sand-fly. Fortunately for me, I had previous experience of these wicked insects, and had prepared myself with a net of close meshes to guard me against their unwelcome attentions. To travellers in the bush I would always recommend a net with fine meshes, for sand-flies are not uncommon in any part of West Africa. The chief drawback is that one naturally feels hotter in this pattern of net, but to my mind this is infinitely preferable to being tortured by sand-flies all night, thereby making sleep a physical impossibility.

On my arrival I was told by Mamadu that the chief had refused to provide “chop” for the carriers, saying he had none in the place. I at once sent for the old man to ask for some explanation, as I was well aware that rice or millet was fairly abundant at this time of year, and my party was a small one to cater for.

After a good deal of palaver and threats on my part of reporting him to the Commissioner at Siguiri, in which district I was now travelling, he was reduced to a more sensible frame of mind, and hurried off to carry out my orders with considerable alacrity. This was the first occasion on which I had had any trouble about rationing my followers.

The French have an excellent custom in Guinea, and one which I had previously never found to fail me. When a white man arrives in a village it is the duty of the chief or headman, without any order from the traveller, to at once provide and cook sufficient food for the whole party of carriers and “boys.” The ration is about one and a half pounds of rice or millet per head. The meal is brought to the European for inspection about sundown, and payment is then made at the tariff rates. In some places the headman or chief will bring presents of fowls, or perhaps some eggs. When the native is a rich man he will often even produce a sheep or cow. These presents, of course, cannot be accepted without payment, or a return present in kind of about equal value. Some people give a return present of much greater value in money or kind, but this system seems to me to be a bad one, as it encourages these natives to make a sort of trade, most profitable to themselves, in so-called “presents.”

The French deprecate the habit of paying more than the actual value to the individual concerned. I have frequently found this custom of “presents” such a nuisance that I now inform the chief on my arrival in a town of exactly what I require in the way of food, at the same time telling him that “presents” are not wanted. There is no doubt that this saves a good deal of annoyance and unnecessary expense. It would, for instance, be most inconvenient and rather expensive to be “dashed” a bullock, when one’s following only consisted of eight persons, and to have to expend four or five pounds in payment therefor. To encumber oneself with a live bullock until one had a chance to dispose of it would be an impossibility, and the only alternative is to slaughter it at once. It will be realized that this sort of entertainment, if repeated three or four times, would soon lead to bankruptcy! I recollect seeing a curious and amusing kind of “dash” made on one occasion.

A friend of mine, who was a distinguished official, had been to a country which had only lately come under control of the Government, and in which the natives were unaccustomed to the usual method of showing their appreciation of a white man’s visit. They evidently thought that this was a moment when a great effort must be made to display their generosity. A solemn cortège arrived, headed by the chief, with the “dash.” I shall never forget the horror-stricken look on my friend’s face when, with due ceremony, a young girl was produced and handed over to him. As the official in question was a particularly shy and modest man, the full humour of the situation will be thoroughly appreciated.

The following day the country began to take on a more populated appearance. Large expanses of land planted with crops of millet and cassada were to be seen, while villages became more frequent and natives passed us from time to time on the road. About eight o’clock in the morning we arrived at the top of a big hill, upon the summit of which there was perched a small hamlet. The headman brought out a calabash of delicious fresh milk, rich and frothy, just drawn from the cow. I gladly took a cup of the refreshing beverage while we were waiting for the last carriers to come in. These people were Jomongonas, a section of the widely distributed Malinké tribe. They are purely agriculturists, as was indeed evidenced by the wide farms of waving crops through which we had passed.

The view from the top of this hill was magnificent. We were now well down the western slope of the Sankarani-Fie watershed, and from here I got my first glimpse of the latter river. To the north there ran a mass of isolated peaks, like a series of broken links in the chain of hills along which we had been marching for the last two days. The reddish-brown hue of the laterite rocks of which they were formed made a pleasing contrast to the golden fields of ripe millet scattered chequerwise over their steep sides. Far away in the south could be seen the River Fie, a tiny shimmering streak of water, gradually widening, as it flowed westward to join the Niger, into an imposing expanse. The valley through which it flowed was a wide, fruitful plain, where cassada and millet crops jostled against each other, and in the centre of which could be discerned a thin line of rich, dark green foliage, marking the course of the winding stream.