As the writer of a book of travel I must complete the tale of the journey. I came to an end of my wanderings where I had begun them, in Northern Nigeria. My two friends and I had started from there on 27th April, 1922; I returned there alone on the 29th December of the same year. After my tour in Northern Air it became apparent that the time at my disposal must prove too short to achieve the object of crossing the Sahara to the Mediterranean with my companions. At Iferuan I regretfully decided to return home by way of Nigeria. At the commencement of December I turned south and marched to Agellal, a large village of stone houses under a singularly beautiful mountain. From there I went to Tefis to see the mosque, and camped at Anu Wisheran, which means “The Old Well.” There were small deserted settlements at both places. After another camp at Garet I descended into the basin of Central Air, over a barren slope intersected by numerous north and south rivulets between bare stony ridges. I halted in the Anu Maqaran valley near the boulder on which I discovered the chariot drawing. The site of my camp had been purely adventitious, but that obscure rock may well prove to be the most important observation of my whole journey. On the following day, Bila was reached at the spur of the Azamkoran mountains, and then we passed by the sugar-loaf hill of Sampfotchi into the Arwa Mellen and familiar Assada valleys. After a long march from the Tamenzaret wells I came again to Auderas, where I rejoined my companions, but only for a day or two, to sort our belongings and part company, I to return south, they to go on north and after many tedious delays to reach Algiers. The pleasant people of Auderas came to say good-bye. My companions walked a mile or so along my road, over the valley and hill, till we reached the plain sloping down to Taruaji. There they turned back. With me were only Sidi my guide, Amadu my servant, and one camel boy. Sidi had not been to Nigeria for many years and I was anxious for him to see modern Kano. We travelled fast, stopping only one day on the way in order to try to save a camel which had caught pneumonia during the bitterly cold nights in Azawagh. We went by Inwatza, the pool of Tizraet near Turayet, Akaraq, Eghalgawen, Milen, Hannekar and Tanut, and then straight into Nigeria without going to Zinder. On 29th December, the thirty-third day after leaving Iferuan, I reached Kano again after a journey of some 550 miles in twenty-nine marches. Even the Tuareg admitted that it was fast travelling. The camels arrived very fit indeed and were sold. A fortnight later I was embarking at Lagos for England.
PLATE 50
MT. BILA AT SUNSET
My guide, Sidi, was astonished at the prosperity and development of Kano. I gave him some small presents and a few things to take back to Ahodu of Auderas. He left Kano before I did, as he had found a caravan returning north and did not want to miss the opportunity of travelling with friends. He came to see me in the morning of the day he was due to leave, and we walked round the European quarter of Kano together. I happened to be with a French officer at the time. We met Sidi waiting where I had told him to be, under a certain tree in front of a well-known merchant’s store in the European town of Kano. Sidi got up and greeted me. His hand and mine brushed over one another’s, the fingers being withdrawn with a closing snap. I gave him the usual greeting: “Ma’-tt-uli,” and he replied very solemnly, “El Kheir ’Ras”; which mean, “How do you fare?” and “Naught but good.” When Tuareg meet these hand-clasps and greetings continue to punctuate their conversation for a long time. They are varied with the question, “Iselan?” meaning, “What news?” to which the right answer is, “Kalá, kalá,” “No, no!” since for them any news must be bad news. Then, as I have said, Sidi and I and the Frenchman walked together; the latter looked wonderingly at the demeanour of my friend, whom he did not know. At last it was time for Sidi to join the camels of his caravan. Their number had been increased by one camel which I had given to him. He turned to say good-bye, but did not speak at all. He took my hand and held it with both of his, and then bowed his forehead till his veil touched my fingers. I gave him the thanks of the Lord in Arabic, and he murmured something incomprehensible. My French friend looked on curiously. And then Sidi without glancing at him turned quickly and walked away like a Prince of the Earth striding over the land. He walked erect and swiftly till I lost him to sight. He never turned his head again.
He was in many ways rather a ruffian, but, like his folk, patient, long-suffering and unforgiving. He was a true specimen of the Tuareg race.
These people never become angry or speak loud: I have rarely seen them excited, but they have an indomitable spirit and for that reason will perhaps survive. They say, “Kiss the hand you cannot cut off,” and again, “The path, though it be winding, and the King, though he be old.” So they may have patience after all to wait for the fulfilment of their fate and not throw themselves fruitlessly again on rifles or machine-guns. I remember sitting at Gamram one evening on the ruins of the walls of the town where once their rulers lived as wardens of the marches of the desert on that great Saharan road. In my diary I wrote:
“Last night I sat on the old walls looking west towards the yellow sunset under a blue-black cloud of rain hanging low in the sky. A man had lit a fire which smoked very much, and the west wind was carrying the smoke away over the wall in a horizontal streak between me and the sunset. They have gone, the Tuareg, from history like that streak of smoke. Even the Almoravids are only a name. I wonder why. They have fought with a losing hand so long. They were driven down from the north by the Arabs and by Europe, and harried by everyone. They have also harried others well. Finally, the French have come and have occupied their country. For long it was thought that the Tuareg would be untamable. They fought well and hard. The fire of old remained. In Air it broke again into flame in 1917 with Kaossen’s revolt, but in the end the force of European arms prevailed. The French killed many and punished the people of Air very hardly, too hardly as some of their own officers think, in dealing with a people which is already so small and tending to die out. But though calm and peaceful to-day like the smoke carried away from the fire by the walls of Gamram, the point of flame remains. I could see the heart of the fire from which the smoke was coming. I wonder if the flame will burst forth again. You have fought well, you people. You would not bow your necks, so they have been broken, but perhaps your day may come again. It grew dark on the walls of Gamram and the sunset of rain faded away; the fire continued to burn, but my thoughts turned elsewhere, to my journey, to my riding camel (wondering whether it would survive: I gave it some millet that night as extra fodder), to England, and to what I should have to eat there. I had an omelette which I made myself, and some fresh milk for supper that evening. Thence my thoughts turned to other things as well. . . .”
And here it is better that I close. It is on the knees of the gods how they achieve their destiny. I hope that the gods will be good to them.
They were my very good friends, and I was very pleased to live with them, for they were very agreeable. Perhaps we shall meet again and travel together once more. And so their proverb, which has seemed to me very true, will be fulfilled for them and for me. They say that: