Kano, like most native towns, has grown upon no preconceived lines, with the result that it is to-day a happy-go-lucky jumble of dwellings that in many cases appear to just save themselves from complete imprisonment by the number of lanes that provide, by the genius of necessity, a way of escape to the encompassed dwellers. Throughout the whole city runs an amazing network of street-lanes, zigzagging and turning and twisting in every conceivable direction and holding to no true course for any appreciable distance, which is the outcome of the numerous den-builders having built their little dwellings wherever an open space or a corner was available, without preconceived attempt to form the whole in any kind of symmetrical plan.
From the outside the openings in the severe lane walls—which are 8 to 10 ft. high—do not invite a stranger to enter freely into the privacy of these native dwellings, but, not wishing to miss anything, I one day plucked up courage and asked of an aged woman, who was squatted on the ground at a doorway in a lane, if she would show me the interior of her house?
But before making my request I tactfully gave her the long formula of Hausa greeting:
Self:—Sanu sanu! (good day!)
Aged woman:—Sanu kaddai! (thank you!)
Self:—Sanu da aiki! (blessings in your work!)
Aged woman:—Sanu kaddai! (thank you!)
Self:—Enna lafia? (how are you?)
Aged woman:—Lafia lau! (very well!)
Self;—Enna gajia? (how is weariness?)