The people here are mostly fishermen. They catch many kinds of fish in the Niger, some of which have an excellent flavour. The best fish I ever tasted was the “capitaine”; it runs up to ten or twelve pounds weight frequently, and is beautifully firm. Many of the Niger fish are difficult to eat on account of the numerous bones they contain, but this variety has few bones. Electric mud fish are fairly common when the river is low. They are flat, reminding one of dabs, and if you touch them you experience a decided electric shock. These fish make a peculiar “clucking” sort of noise, by which they can often be easily located. The native fisherman catches his fish with nets, or more frequently in traps. In some parts they even spear fish, but it is unusual on this portion of the Niger.
It is a usual sight in the early morning to see the father of the family, accompanied by his son, often quite a small urchin, setting out from his village in a dug-out canoe for the fishing-ground. He then casts his net into the water, dragging it while the little chap sits in the stern and cleverly manipulates the paddle. These fisherfolk are brought up, almost from the cradle, to paddle a canoe; it is wonderful with what energy and endurance the youngsters will propel the craft. On the Niger it is unusual to see the women paddling, but in other West African rivers this is a common sight.
The fish-traps are generally made of reed-canes, in the shape of a cone, with the base open and the apex tightly closed. A series of these are placed in some suitable spot, such as a backwater, the bases being turned up-stream. There are several devices for keeping the fish in once they have entered the base of the cone, but the principle is that of a trap door which closes on the victim as soon as it has entered.
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.