The city of Bida lies rather in a hollow, surrounded by low hills; its wall extends for about nine miles, and is pierced by a number of large gateways, most cunningly set, with dark recesses in their depths—probably with a view to dealing effectually with unexpected or undesired visitors! Inside, the streets are lined with shady trees, which give a delightfully cool appearance to the thatched huts and market places. The Emir’s palace is a great pile of clay buildings enclosed within a high wall, and on the occasion when, accompanied by Mr. Goldsmith, we went to visit him, we had an opportunity of inspecting the Nupe style of building and decoration. The inner apartments were more or less like great vaults, unlighted save by the doorways, and appeared to us, at first, to be in pitch-darkness; but, after a time, when our eyes became accustomed to the gloom, we could follow the outline of the high vaulted roof and the massive pillars, the surface of which is plastered and beautifully polished (I believe with special clay, obtained from the inside of ant-heaps), resembling black marble.
It was an odd experience, sitting in the warm scented darkness, our host and his people more guessed at than seen, great fans softly waving behind him, and every rustle of every gown wafting out the heavy perfume of musk, an interpreter conveyed in a hushed, monotonous murmur endless salutations, compliments and pious aspirations between us, the atmosphere was highly soporific, and we were all relieved when the Emir proposed a move to the verandah.
I requested, and obtained permission to pay a visit to the ladies of the harem, and, escorted by an aged—and presumably privileged—dotard, I passed through the heavy door and found as great a contrast to the dim quiet scene I had just left as could well be imagined! A crowd of women, some mere girls, others middle-aged, nearly all carrying babies, and a swarm of brown toddlers, all laughing, clapping their hands, calling greetings and salutations incessantly. To them it was indeed a ‘bolt from the blue,’ and, in their placid lives of seclusion, a marvellous and startling occurrence; but, though they were frank enough in their expressions of astonishment and pleasure, their perfect courtesy, that fine characteristic of the African people, prevailed to restrain them. There was no mobbing, no pushing, or crowding. I was invited to seat myself on a large carved black stool, while the Emir’s mother, a very aged sweet-faced woman, evidently set in authority above the rest, crouched on the ground beside me, gently patting and smoothing my skirts and feet, while she poured forth greetings and salutations, thanking Allah fervently that ‘in her old age, she had been spared to see this wonderful sight.’
The Emir escorting us in to Bida. ([p. 27])
Details of Gown Embroidery. ([p. 31])
It was very touching, and, at that time, I little thought I should ever see her again, though, afterwards, I had frequent messages from her to say that she still lived and still remembered, and when would I come back and visit her again?
The Emir presented us with an enormous and almost embarrassing ‘dash’ or present—oxen, sheep, fowls and various special Bida products. Fortunately, the custom (which hurts no one’s feelings) is to dispose of the live stock in the market and present to the donor, in money or cloth, the full value of his present, so I ‘bought in’ eagerly some of the really beautiful coloured grass mats—there were seventy-five to choose from!—and handsome brass-work, and bore them off with me when, on the following day, we took leave of our kind host, and cantered down to the Wonangi Creek, where our steel canoe was waiting, and slowly dropped down stream to Lokoja.
I afterwards sent the Emir of Bida, as a token of friendship, a Hausa gown, made for me locally, of white material, much pleated, and heavily embroidered in white in the customary patterns, and this embroidery I outlined and embellished with gold thread, producing a very fine rich effect, which was highly appreciated by my friend.