A Resident's wife in Nigeria

by Constance Belcher Larymore

CHAPTER VI
Kano

I suppose no one can approach Kano, even to-day, without a certain thrill of excitement and interest. One’s thoughts involuntarily turn back to the days when it was all but inaccessible to white men, and yet the mere name of it was a kind of lodestar, irresistibly attracting travellers in the face of almost insuperable difficulties. One thinks of Clapperton, Lander and Barth journeying hither, and rather specially, perhaps, of Richard Oudney, who died within a few days’ march of the goal.

I believe that every member of our party, down to the most irresponsible ‘small boy,’ had something to express in the way of satisfaction and excitement when the long red wall began to appear above the horizon, and we approached the very place of all others which we too had so longed to reach and see for ourselves.

Outside the gate, the Resident, Dr. Cargill, met us and escorted us through the city. Our way did not lie through the markets and busiest thoroughfares, and, looking back, I think my first impression was the surprising area of open ground inside the walls, the vast stretches of cultivation and flourishing farms. This is intentional, and has been done for all time, so that in the event of a long siege, the inhabitants would be well supplied with food-stuffs, and practically independent of the farms outside the walls.

It took us an hour to pass through the city, and I fear I carried away only a misty impression of my first ride through Kano—blurred through my very eagerness to see, to absorb, to miss nothing, added to my delight at being there, and anxiety to make the most of my very special privilege in being the first white woman to enter there! I can only recall breathless heat, glaring sunshine on pink walls and white dusty ground, in sudden contrast to the warm, dark purple shadows, an endless stream of passers-by thronging to and from the various markets—hundreds of different types, diversely clothed, speaking different languages, but all ready with courteous salutations and friendly greetings—it made one’s eyes ache and brain whirl, and it was something of a relief to pass through the gloomy depths of the Nassarawa Gate, and ride up the grassy mile leading to the Residency, formerly the Emir’s summer palace. Later on I had opportunities of learning to know the great city better, but, living as we did, outside the city, and quite four miles from the markets and busy streets, each visit was somewhat of an expedition, and it was hard to get more than cursory glimpses of the life that was lived there, and the immense volume of trade going on daily.

In the year 1824 Clapperton recorded, in the simple, naïve fashion that characterizes the whole of his narrative, how, on approaching Kano, he attired himself in all the bravery of his naval uniform and rode into the town, and not a soul in the crowded markets turned a head to look at him, but, ‘all, intent on their own business, allowed me to pass without remark!’

So is Kano to-day; to the casual sight-seer or the curio-hunter it has little or nothing to offer, no beauties of architecture, no minarets, no palaces—the smallest Indian bazaar displays more gay colours, more material for the globe-trotter’s satisfaction. Kano is a centre of strenuous trade, there is no dallying and chattering and laughter, no sign of the ubiquitous hawker of trifling curios, who haunts an Indian bungalow, and even squats below the verandah of a Lokoja house to-day. The wares that have been brought across the Great Desert amid perils and hazards innumerable are not to be lightly disposed of, and the fierce-eyed swaggering Arabs do most of their bartering privately within the square, dark, low buildings, over much coffee and many cigarettes.

The great pulse of commerce, here, is as well concealed as is the throbbing heart in a motionless body, and gives as little sign of its presence to the casual passer-by, unless he looks keenly enough at the silent hurrying throng all intent on trading for a livelihood, not sauntering, idling, gossiping, like the denizens of an Eastern city. The sternness of the Desert influences the whole place and the people of it. Patient seeking in the various markets reveals an almost incredible collection and variety of wares: Turkish coffee, green tea, French sugar, delicious rare tobacco, silks and cloth, all can be bought at a price—an enormous price, too, be it said!