From North Pole to Equator: Studies of Wild Life and Scenes in Many Lands

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.

Rich as the African steppe really is, incomparably rich as it seems when compared with the desert, it nowhere exhibits the full luxuriance of tropical vegetation. It indeed receives everywhere the blessing of life-giving water; but this lasts too short a time to have a permanent influence. With the cessation of the rains the power of growth comes to an end, and heat and drought destroy what the rains have produced. Therefore only those plants can flourish in the steppe the course of whose life is run within a few weeks; those which are capable of outlasting centuries never attain to full development. Only in the low grounds, traversed by streams which never dry up, and watered by these as well as by the rains, where sunlight and water, warmth and moisture, work together, does the magic wealth of tropical lands develop and endure. Here have arisen forests which, in magnificence and beauty, grandeur and luxuriance, are scarce inferior to those of the most favoured lands of lower latitudes. They are primeval forests in the true sense of the word, for they grow and disappear, become old and renew their youth without help of man; even to this day they are sufficient unto themselves, and they support an extraordinary wealth of animal life.

The storms of spring carry the rain-laden clouds from the south over the African countries lying north of the equator. Accordingly, these forests do not burst suddenly on the eye of the traveller journeying from the north, but become gradually more characteristic the farther south he penetrates. The nearer he approaches to the equator the more brilliantly the lightning flashes, the louder and more continuously the thunder rolls, the more noisily the rain-torrents fall, so much the more luxuriantly do all plants thrive, so much the richer in forms does the fauna become; the earlier the rainy season sets in the longer it lasts, and so much the greater is the charm it works. In exact proportion to the increase of moisture, the forest becomes denser, loftier, and more extensive. From the banks of the streams the plant-growth spreads into the interior, and takes possession of every available space, from the thickly-covered ground to the tops of the highest trees. Trees which are only dwarfs elsewhere, become giants here; known species become the hosts of still unknown parasites, and between them a plant-world hitherto unseen struggles towards the light. Even here, however, at least in the northern belt of the forest, the heat and drought of winter have still so strong an influence that they periodically destroy the foliage of the trees and condemn at least most of them to some weeks of complete inactivity. But the awakening call of spring rings the more clearly through the sleeping wood; the life which the first rains of the fertilizing season call forth stirs the more powerfully after the rest of winter.

I shall select spring-time in these countries to depict the primeval forest as best I can. The south wind, herald and bearer of the rain-clouds, must still be in contest with the cooling breezes from the north if the forest is to reveal all its possible magnificence, and one must penetrate to its heart by one of its arteries, the rivers, if one wishes to see the fulness of its life. Let us take the Azrek or “Blue Nile”, rising in the mountains of Habesh, as our highway; for with it are linked the most exquisite pictures which a long life of travel have won for me, and I may prove a better guide on it than on another. I very much doubt, however, whether I shall prove such an interpreter of the forest as I should like to be. For the primeval forest is a world full of splendour, and brilliance, and fairy-like beauty; a land of marvels whose wealth no man has been able fully to know, much less to carry away; a treasure-house which scatters infinitely more than one can gather; a paradise in which the creation seems to take shape anew day by day; an enchanted circle which unfolds before him who enters it pictures, grand and lovely, grave and gay, bright as daylight and sombre as night; a thousand integral parts making up a whole infinitely complex, yet unified and harmonious, which baffles all description.

One of the light little craft which one sees at Khartoum (the capital of the Eastern Soudan, lying at the junction of the two Nile streams) is transformed into a travelling boat, and bears us against the waves of the much-swollen Azrek. The gardens of the last houses of the capital disappear, and the steppe reaches down to the very bank of the river. Here and there we still see a village, or isolated huts lying prettily under mimosas and often surrounded by creeping and climbing plants which hang from the trees; nothing else is visible save the waving grass-forest and the few steppe trees and shrubs which rise from its midst. But after a short journey the forest takes possession of the bank, and spreads out its thorny or spine-covered branches even beyond it. Thenceforward our progress is slow. The wind blowing against us prevents sailing, the forest renders towing impossible. With the boat-hook the crew pull the little craft foot by foot, yard by yard, farther up the stream, till one of their number espies a gap where he can gain a foothold in the thick hedge-wall of the bank, and, committing his mortal body to the care of Muhsa, the patron-saint of all sailors, and praying for protection from the crocodiles which are here abundant, he takes the towing-rope between his teeth, plunges into the water, swims to the desired spot, fastens the rope round the trunk of a tree, and lets his companions pull the boat up to it. Thus the boatmen toil from early morning till late in the evening, yet they only speed the traveller perhaps five, or at most ten miles on his way. Nevertheless the days fly past, and none who have learned to see and hear need suffer from weariness there. To the naturalist, as to every thoughtful observer, every day offers something new; to the collector, a wealth of material of every kind.

Every now and again one comes upon traces of human beings. If one follows them from the bank, along narrow paths hemmed in on either side by the dense undergrowth, one arrives at the abodes of a remarkable little tribe. They are the Hassanie who dwell there. Where the forest is less dense, and where the trees do not form a three-or four-fold roof with their crowns, but consist of tall, shady mimosas, Kigelias, tamarinds, and baobabs, these folk erect their most delightful tent- or booth-like huts, so different from all the other dwellings one sees in the Soudan. “Hassanie” means the descendants of Hassan, and Hassan means the Beautiful; and not without reason does this tribe bear this name. For the Hassanie are indisputably the handsomest people who dwell in the lower and middle regions of the river-basin, and the women in particular surpass almost all other Soudanese in beauty of form, regularity of feature, and clearness of skin. Both men and women faithfully observe certain exceedingly singular customs, which among other people are, with reason, considered immoral. The Hassanie are therefore at once famous and notorious, sought out and avoided, praised and scoffed at, extolled and abused. To the unprejudiced traveller, eager to study manners and customs, they afford much delight, if not by their beauty at least by their desire for approbation, which must please even the least susceptible of men. This trait is much more conspicuous in them than even the self-consciousness which beauty gives: they must and will please. The preservation of their beauty is their highest aim, and counts for more than any other gain. To avoid sunburning, which would darken their clear brown skins, they live in the shade of the forest, contenting themselves with a few goats, their only domestic animals except dogs, and foregoing the wealth that numerous herds of cattle and camels afford their nomadic relatives. That their charms may be in no way spoiled, they strive above all to become possessed of female slaves, who relieve them of all hard work; to decorate face and cheeks they endure heroically, even as little girls, the pain inflicted by the mother as she cuts with a knife three deep, parallel, vertical wounds in the cheeks, that as many thick, swollen scars may be formed, or as she pricks forehead, temples, and chin with a needle and rubs indigo powder into the wounds, so producing blue spirals or other devices; to avoid injury to their dazzling white, almost sparkling teeth, they eat only lukewarm food; to preserve as long as possible their most elaborate coiffure, which consists of hundreds of fine braids, stiffened with gum arabic and richly oiled, they use no pillow save a narrow, crescent-shaped, wooden stand, on which they rest their heads while sleeping. To satisfy their sense of beauty, or perhaps in order that they may be seen and admired by every inhabitant or visitor, they have thought out the singular construction of their huts.

These huts may be perhaps best compared to the booths to be seen at fairs. The floor, which consists of rods as thick as one’s thumb bound closely together, rests upon a framework of stakes rising about a yard from the ground, thus making the dwelling difficult of access to creeping pests, and raising it from the damp ground. The walls consist of mats; the roof, overhanging on the north side, which is left open, is made of a waterproof stuff woven from goat’s hair. Neatly plaited mats of palm-leaf strips cover the floor; prettily-wrought wicker-work, festoons of shells, water-tight plaited baskets, earthen vessels, drinking-cups made from half a bottle-gourd, gaily-coloured utensils also plaited, lids, and other such things decorate the walls. Each vessel is daintily wrought and cleanly kept; the order and cleanliness of the whole hut impress one the more that both are so uncommon.

In such a hut the Hassanie dreams away the day. Dressed in her best, her hair and skin oiled with perfumed ointment, a long, lightly-woven, and therefore translucent piece of cloth enveloping the upper part of her body, a piece of stuff hanging petticoat-like from the waist, her feet adorned with daintily-worked sandals, neck and bosom hung with chains and amulets, arms with bracelets of amber, her nose possibly decorated with a silver, or even a gold ring, she sits hidden in the shade and rejoices in her beauty. Her little hand is busy with a piece of plaiting, some house utensil or article of dress, or perhaps it holds only her tooth-brush, a root teased out at both ends, and admirably adapted to its purpose. All the work of the house is done by her slave, all the labour of looking after the little flock by her obliging husband. The carefully thought-out and remarkable marriage-relations customary in the tribe, and adhered to in defiance of all the decrees and interference of the ruler of the land, guarantee her unheard-of rights. She is mistress in the most unlimited sense of the word, mistress also of her husband, at least as long as her charms remain; only when she is old and withered does she also learn the transitoriness of all earthly pleasure. Till then, she does what seems good in her eyes, her freedom bounded only by the limits which she has herself laid down. As long as the crowns of the trees do not afford complete shade around her hut she does not go out of doors, but offers every passer-by, particularly any stranger who calls upon her, a hearty welcome, and with or without her husband’s aid, does the honours of the tribe with almost boundless hospitality. Yet it is only when the evening sets in that her real life begins. Even before the sun has set, there is a stir and bustle in the settlement. One friend visits her neighbour, others join them; drum and zither entice the rest, and soon slender, lithe, supple figures arrange themselves for a merry dance. Delicate hands dip the drinking-cups into the big-bellied urn, filled with Merieza or dhurra beer, that the hearts of the men also may be glad. Old and young are assembled, and they celebrate the evening festival the more joyfully that it is honoured by the presence of strangers. The hospitality of all the Soudanese is extraordinary, but in no other race is it so remarkable as among the Hassanie.

In the course of our journey we come upon other settlements of these forest-shepherds, sometimes also on the villages of other Soudanese, and at length, after travelling nearly a month, we reach the desired region. The dense forest on both banks of the river prevents our searching gaze from seeing farther into the country. In this region there are no settlements of men, neither fields nor villages, not even temporarily inhabited camps; the ring of the axe has not yet echoed through these forests, for man has not yet attempted to exploit them; in them there dwell, still almost unmolested, only wild beasts. Impenetrable hedges shut off the forests, and resist any attempt to force a way from the stream to the interior. Every shade of green combines to form an enchanting picture, which now reminds one of home, and again appears entirely foreign. Bright green mimosas form the groundwork, and with them contrast vividly the silver glittering palm-leaves, the dark green tamarinds, and the bright green Christ-thorn bushes; leaves of endless variety wave and tremble in the wind, exposing first one side and then the other, shimmering and glittering before the surfeited and dazzled eye, which seeks in vain to analyse the leafy maze, to distinguish any part from the whole. For miles both banks present the same appearance, the same denseness of forest, the same grandeur, everywhere equally uninterrupted and impenetrable.

At last we come upon a path, perhaps even on a broad road, which seems to lead into the depths of the forest. But we search in vain for any traces of human footprints. Man did not make this path; the beasts of the forest have cleared it. A herd of elephants tramped through the matted thicket from the dry heights of the bank to the stream. One after another in long procession the mighty beasts broke through the undergrowth, intertwined a thousand-fold, letting nought save the strongest trees divert them from their course. If branches or stems as thick as a man’s leg stood in the way they were snapped across, stripped of twigs and leaves, all that was eatable devoured, and the remainder thrown aside, the bushes which covered the ground so luxuriantly were torn up by the roots, and used or thrown aside in the same manner, grass and plants were trodden under foot. What the first comers left fell to those behind, and thus arose a passable road often stretching deep into the heart of the forest. Other animals have taken advantage of it, treading it down more thoroughly, and keeping it in passable condition. By it the hippopotamus makes his way at night when he tramps from the river to feed in the woods; the rhinoceros uses it as he comes from the forest to drink; by it the raging buffalo descends to the valley and returns to the heights; along it the lion strides through his territory; and there one may meet the leopard, the hyæna, and other wild beasts of the forest. We set foot on it, and press forwards.