Through Timbuctu and across the great Sahara /

by A. H. W. Haywood

We marched for some miles up the Fie valley before striking the right bank of the stream.

This was the last river of any size to be crossed before meeting the Niger. Here I noticed a peculiar thing connected with native superstition, and one I had likewise remarked at the crossing of the Sankarani. The Fie was the natural geographical boundary of the Jomongona tribe. A belief existed among the people that any man who should cross this “Rubicon” would bring misfortune to his family. It seems curious that a tribe should be afraid of passing the boundary into the next country, when the two tribes were at peace, but so it was. On account of this superstition the Jomongonas have not spread westward, nor have they had any intercourse with the people over their border. Intermarriage between the two races seemed to be unknown. I was unaware that this strange belief existed until I reached the river and noticed the hesitation of my carriers to cross it.

My difficulties now appeared to be on the verge of recommencing. What was the use of chiefs who promised by all they held sacred to ensure the loyalty of the porters, when there remained strong superstitions of this kind to be overcome? Having placed their loads on the ground they stoutly refused to move a yard farther. My situation was comical if it had not been so tragic. Here was I, with my worldly possessions, stuck on the bank of this river in the middle of the bush, while my carriers refused to advance a step and might at any moment run away, leaving us in the lurch without any prospect of replacing them. I tried in turn gentle persuasion and threats of chastisement. The former had the effect such methods generally produce on natives of making them think I was “soft,” while the latter had the equally disastrous effect of making them so frightened that, if I had not stopped the ringleaders myself, they would have all run away. There seemed to be only one way out of the predicament. I called Mamadu, telling him to make all haste and return to the chief of Jilingé with a message from me that he must come to the Fie at once and palaver. The carriers were informed of my intentions, and told to remain till his arrival. Mamadu went off, and I took up a position on the bank above the men, where I could watch any attempt at desertion, at the same time taking the precaution to place my rifle by my side—an act of which they realized the significance.

I had now to possess my soul in patience, for Mamadu and the chief could not possibly arrive for a couple of hours, it being quite three miles to the town. The porters did not give any trouble, but sat silently and sullenly below me. Never had two hours seemed so long! Eventually, to my joy, I espied my servant, heading a small procession, moving across the plain towards me. The chief and his followers seated themselves around me, and, to cut a long story short, after a long discussion, in which he was made to understand that if he did not compel his men to cross with my loads, he would be made to come with me to the nearest Commissioner, he did what I required.

When the last load had been despatched to the other bank I let him depart, made happy with a present of a small packet of tea and sugar, and vowing that the carriers would give me no further cause for annoyance. On this point I had my doubts, but told him I sincerely hoped for his sake that they would not, as I should certainly report the whole occurrence to the Commissioner.

These vexatious delays had caused me to lose many precious hours, and I now pushed on as rapidly as possible to the Niger, which we reached on the 17th of February, at a place called Balandougou-Somno-Bara, not far from the large village of Nafadié. For the time being, at any rate, I had no more carrier troubles, and was quite as glad as they were to see the big river once more.

At this village with the very long name there is a canoe ferry. The river was about 300 yards wide at this point, but divided into two streams of equal width by a long, narrow sandbank. While watching my loads being transported I noticed a river barge, under full sail, going up-stream towards Bamako. It was the property of a French trading firm, the name of which was inscribed in large letters on the sails. These barges are made of wood, and will carry two or three tons of merchandise. The usual period of transit from Kouroussa or Kankan to Bamako occupies seven days. During the rainy season, when there is plenty of water, barges of twenty-five tons burden can navigate this portion of the stream.

I calculated I must be about 100 miles south of Bamako, and determined to push on that night to Tombola, on the other bank, which was on the main Siguiri-Bamako road.

While the transport operations were going on Mamadu, whose duty it was to see the loads safely shipped, disappeared. On looking up the river I observed him in the distance, stealthily approaching a group of waterfowl of all sizes and descriptions, which were sunning themselves on the sandy bank of the stream. The ground was as flat as at pancake, without any sort of cover, and it was obvious that his painful endeavours to advance unperceived were doomed to failure. Sure enough, the birds soon rose in a cloud, flying off out of sight round a bend of the river. Mamadu went forward, however, to the spot where they had been, where he stooped to pick up something. I took no further notice of his movements, until I heard his familiar voice close by. He then appeared, staggering under the weight of a big fish, which must have weighed at least twenty pounds, and had the look of an Indian mahseer. The fish was beginning to rot, and had such an unpleasant smell that I bade him remove it at once. This he did with a look of reproach, as much as to say that this was an ungrateful way of showing my appreciation of his labours.

For the benefit of the uninitiated I may state that the native prefers rotten fish to the fresh article, probably and justly thinking there is more flavour about it. Mamadu’s version of his adventure was highly amusing. He said that seeing a bird near the water, which was “très bon manger,” he had intended to try to catch it with a small fishing-net which he had found close by. His idea was to approach within a few yards and then lasso it! Several of the birds were pelicans, and had evidently been discussing their morning meal when he frightened them and they flew off, dropping the dainty morsel.