Six hundred horsemen or thereabouts accompanied this almost daily ride, all rushing, galloping, saluting, waving arms and shouting, horses rearing and flinging bloodstained foam around, maddened by the cruel iron bit, sharp spurs, and metal, shovel-shaped stirrups, dashing off into the great cloud of dust which followed them, enveloping the throng streaming after on foot, banging drums, blowing shrill blasts on trumpets six or eight feet long, and firing off fusilades from ancient flint-locks and muzzle-loaders! It was a curious spectacle, widely apart from the world of to-day, and one that might have stepped out of the Arabian Nights or the stirring days of Shah Jehan.
A Kano Caravan Donkey Driver. ([p. 88])
We watched them on their way, and rode slowly about the city, finding something new and fascinating at every turn, till the scarlet sun dropped behind the far-off wall, and the rugged side of Kazauri and Dala turned rosy-red, indeed the whole city glowed suddenly pink, and the heavy smoke wreaths twined in sapphire blue curves in the rapidly cooling atmosphere. It was obviously time to go home; the Emir was back in his palace, and only a few straggling horsemen and a cloud of dust marked where he had passed; the mu’ezzins were already calling in all directions from the summit of the Mosques, ‘Allahu akbar! Allahu akbar!’ and the faithful were wending their way to evening prayer. Reluctantly we turned our horses’ heads, passed through the Nassarawa Gate, gloomy and dark in the fading light, cantered up the wide sandy road to the Residency, in the swiftly falling darkness of the African night, and were suddenly jerked back into civilization and modernity, to the dusty parade-ground, English voices, and joyful leaping fox-terriers!
The Residency itself, our home for the time being, consisted of a very large compound, surrounded by a high wall and entered by the usual recessed gatehouse. Inside the courtyard were several massive buildings, one the first two-storeyed native houses I had seen. They were great vaulted apartments, cool and dim, eminently suited to African royalty, but as dwellings for English folk, more than a trifle gloomy. However, we found our spacious mansion (extremely like a crypt!) was speedily and easily brightened by the introduction of clean matting, a few cheerful-tinted cloths, and quantities of sketches and pictures on the sombre brown walls. The upper storey was reached by a solid staircase of clay, and comprised a fine large room with plenty of light and air, commanding a splendid view over the imprisoning compound wall.
Outside were the hospital buildings, the barracks where the detachment of the N.N.R. was quartered, and, beyond, the Mounted Infantry Lines and officers’ quarters, all forming a sort of semicircle round the parade-ground, where I used to sit and watch many an exciting game of polo, rendered more eventful by sundry rather alarming obstacles on the ground itself, in the shape of holes and tree-stumps. There was, in particular, a cotton tree, in the buttresses of which the ball lodged itself with malignant and unerring precision; the process of hooking it out looked so extraordinary to an observer, that one might almost wonder ‘what the game was!’
I tried, as usual, to make a garden, but it was up-hill work—every scrap of earth had to be carried in from outside the compound, sheep and donkeys from the caravans regularly smashed the frail fence, and trampled on the beds, hordes of lizards nipped the head off each seedling as it appeared, and, the month being December, the middle of the dry season, my efforts were utterly defeated.
I suppose there was not ‘much to do’ as a matter of fact, but the daily stream of caravans, pausing to pay their toll, were an unfailing interest; we were a fairly large community, amongst whom were some old friends of Indian days, the cool hours were filled with polo, and the horses of the Mounted Infantry proved a continual point of attraction for an evening stroll, every one was sociably inclined, and we all gave dinner-parties according to our several abilities. We had even a patient in hospital to concern ourselves about—he gave us plenty of food for thought for a time, but, I am glad to say, recovered absolutely, and has probably completely forgotten the many evenings when he lay, weak and helpless, in the dropping twilight, watching the flying figures in the dust outside, and listening to the cheerful shouts as the last ‘chukker’ came to an end. I hope he has, for they must have been long weary hours.
We were very happy at Kano, and sincerely sorry when the time came for us to pack up again and start on the last stage of our journey North.