At that time the path on leaving Zungeru, was simply villainous, beset with huge stones which even the one wheel could not avoid with the cleverest of steering, and this increased the local prejudice immensely. I really think that, had Fate decreed for us an ordinary, fairly level and well-patted down bush path, some nine inches wide, miles of which are to be found in some districts, and had our men been able to get accustomed to the novelty under such circumstances, the invention would certainly have proved a success and a great convenience at distant stations, where, at present, a tin of kerosene oil, for example, adds ten shillings or more to its original cost by the time it arrives, on account of the carrier’s pay. Later on, while we were detained at Kano, we tried to make a single cart out of the two, using both wheels, but with a very narrow track, about two feet wide, and this worked excellently until the dry wind of the Harmattan and the fierce sun heat through the day so ruined the wood-work that the wheels came to pieces, all the spokes falling out. Upon this we sorrowfully resigned the idea until a more favourable opportunity, and endured the daily irritation of seeing loads damaged by being rubbed off at each convenient tree by pack animals!
But this digression has taken me far ahead of my story, which must be resumed at Zungeru, where, one hot afternoon, on the 29th of October, we said good-bye to Mr. Wallace, and finally departed, while the bull-terrier pup shrieked aloud at being immured in a basket and treated as a ‘load’; we walked down to the river crossing, and were ferried over in a crazy canoe half full of water, which started my new riding-boots on their downward path! We afterwards discovered that one box had been planted comfortably in the same water, and, on opening it some days later, a sad scene of literal ‘blue ruin’ greeted our eyes—books, writing-paper, photographs, clothing, all hopelessly destroyed and mildewed—such is African travel!
We slept at Ganan Gabbas, a dirty stuffy little hamlet, and a sharp contrast to our quarters of the night before, but, happily, we were not in the least disposed to feel depressed over the absence of armchairs and soft carpets!
I was interested in watching the young wife of one of the native police among the escort, bathing her tiny baby (three months old) in the chill morning air before sunrise, the cold water being well smeared all over the little brown body, while the poor mite—naturally—yelled lustily! The bath finished, no drying operations being included, the mother scooped up a handful of water, closed her hand with the thumb pointing downwards, and, using the latter as a kind of spout, directed a stream of water into the baby’s mouth, slowly and steadily, totally disregarding loud gurgles, chokes and struggles of protest: meantime she was feeling and pressing the rapidly expanding little stomach, until convinced, I suppose, that its limit of capacity was reached. This treatment is meted out to all the babies, and is considered to be a great strengthening agent! This Spartan parent, having strapped the baby tightly to her back, and made ready for the start, stooped to lift a towering load of calabashes and other household goods, and doing so, put her shoulder out. She appeared to suffer a good deal of pain, but took it quite quietly, turning meekly to her husband, who, with one bare foot planted under the injured arm, gave a mighty pull, and with a snap the joint returned to its place. She thanked him prettily, adjusted the load on her head, and started off happily on her day’s march!
The march proved an interesting one, though very hot; the autumn is almost the best time of the year to ‘see the country’; in the farms the guinea-corn was just beginning to ripen and droop its massive plumes of grain, underfoot was a terribly stony path, but much of the road lay over hills, and we got magnificent views of miles upon miles of wooded hill and plain, unrolling themselves into the dim blue distance.
At Zaria we pitched our tent on the wide plain outside the great pile of mud buildings then used as the Residency. Every one was most kind to us, giving us every sort of assistance. Major Hasler, then commanding the Mounted Infantry at Zaria, specially delighted me by a present of a huge bunch of the most splendid zinnias I have ever seen—grown in the tiny garden round his quarters. He and a brother officer, I remember, ‘spread a banquet’ for us, as they expressed it, and a very merry party it was. Some anxiety was experienced during the afternoon as to the probable behaviour of a very special feature of the feast—a claret jelly—and diligent search was made for the coolest and breeziest spot in which to ‘set’ it. Our minds were relieved, however, by the triumphant announcement that it had ‘jelled’ admirably in plenty of time for dinner. We had quite beautiful table decorations of a lovely rose-coloured shrub, cunningly set in discarded cigarette tins, and one of our hosts, in his determination to do honour to the very first ‘Ladies’ dinner’ in Zaria, decided on most daring flights in his costume. But, alas! difficulties intervened, and after a little delay, he appeared—full of apologies—magnificent in regulation English evening dress, with a peerless glossy shirt-front, a tie tied to perfection—but no collar! This item was ‘lost, stolen or strayed,’ but our intrepid soldier friend did not for a moment allow such an obstacle to defeat his original plan, I am glad to say!
The road northward from Zaria was interesting, a regular market garden, miles upon miles of cultivation and farms; the grass was quite fine and short, utterly unlike the luxuriant growth down south, and tinged with a warm brownish red shade, which made a delicious ‘colour scheme,’ stretching away under great spreading trees into the far pearly blue haze.
We found Bebeji most interesting. On approaching it, the scene seemed familiar, and we felt convinced that we had seen it before, until we recollected the delicately executed pencil drawings illustrating Barth’s travels: here were the very same isolated tall palm trees, the flat-roofed massive buildings, high clay walls, and only the shortest and most meagre of herbage. We were given quarters in a couple of excellent cool lofty rooms, with a vaulted roof, beamed with wood and decorated high up with gaudy coloured earthenware plates of the commonest description, but much appreciated for this kind of mural decoration. We were destined to see them very often afterwards, and in any dwelling which has been hastily quitted by the occupants during war or under the influence of panic, almost invariably the plates are torn from the walls and carried off.