CHAPTER VII
Katāgum and Hadeija, and Back
On December, 15 we actually left Kano. Trials and tribulations had already been our share in more than generous measure, over the collection of animals for transport, to replace the carriers who had brought our belongings so far. The donkeys were difficult to obtain and wretchedly small, and the problem of tying up miscellaneous luggage into ‘loads’ was the hardest we had yet encountered.
It sounds so simple, but I have never met any single traveller in this country who, having once endured the ordeal—I can call it nothing else—of ‘animal transport,’ ever willingly repeated the experience! And indeed it is, or should be, apparent to the least observant that the caravan transport is one thing, and an Englishman’s luggage is another. I have watched hundreds of times the arrival of caravans at their camp for the night: the weight of the loads (salt, potash, kolas, cloth, etc.) is regulated to an ounce, each one is packed in exact similarity to its fellow in size and shape, so that the two form a perfectly equally balanced burden, which never slips, falls, nor worries the donkey; moreover, once packed, so they remain, the tremendous web of string, knotted and turned, twisted and knotted again, holds good for the entire journey. On arrival, the two loads are simply lifted off the donkey’s back, deposited on the ground and the leferu on which they rest, laid beside them. In the morning, the pillow is replaced, and the same loads laid on it—the whole process taking less than five minutes.
Now observe the unfortunate European traveller! He will naturally look round, as far as he can, for loads of an equal size, and, with luck, will discover a couple of similar uniform cases. But who can guarantee that the contents of each weigh exactly the same amount? Indeed, are there any two boxes among his ‘kit’ that do? With muscular carriers, six or even ten pounds more or less make little difference; here, it means that the heavier box over-balances the other, drags the pillow, and incites the donkey to quietly scrape against the nearest tree, relieving himself of the whole thing—small blame to him!—and the crash of falling loads is a sound only too familiar to any one who has travelled in this way.
The wayfarer next hunts round among his possessions, and wonders how he is to unite any two of a folding bath, a camp chair, a Lord’s lantern, a tent and an open box of cooking pots, into equal-sized and shaped loads. The answer may, and should be, arrived at without any of the mental strain usually devoted to it, for it is quite simple—it cannot be done!
The wretched little animals are small and weakly at the best, and, since even in the caravans, with short marches and the ‘perfect’ load, they acquire terrible sore backs, the employment of them with ill-balanced odd-shaped burdens is simply gross cruelty. I shudder now when I remember our donkeys’ backs, washed, dressed and cared for as they were, with the utmost tenderness. Another serious drawback is that they travel far more slowly than carriers; indeed, the caravans hardly ever do more than eight or ten miles a day, and the ‘trek ox’ proceeds even more leisurely! Unless each animal has its own driver, the accidents are incessant, and the delay maddening, for what can be done by the driver of five, when one donkey casts its loads and skips off into the bush? Is he to leave the remainder of his charge, knowing as he does, for a certainty, that those he leaves will immediately do likewise? Having captured the runaway, how is he, unaided, to get two awkward sixty-pound loads into their former position? It means that the traveller, his servants, escort and staff are all compelled to crawl at the rate of two-and-a-half miles an hour, with probably twenty miles to cover before water can be reached. Many and many a grilling half-hour have we both spent in this agreeable occupation; personally I preferred catching the donkeys, in spite of the heat, to adjusting my battered belongings on their shrinking backs! I can safely say we had more of our possessions lost and destroyed during our journey to Katāgum and back, than we have lost in the whole of our five years out in Africa!
On the return journey the pack oxen were our greatest trial; they had an inveterate habit of lying down, loads and all, in any shallow river they crossed, and once a pack ox lies down ‘all the king’s horses and all the king’s men’ will not move him an inch until he has recovered from his fatigue. One of our largest and best defeated us in this fashion in a village, and no method we could devise, including the whole strength of the village, and even, in despair, a flicker of fire just under his nose, had the slightest effect, the latter device merely producing a faint smell of scorch, so horrible in its suggestion that we flew to stamp it out, and hurriedly sold the delinquent to the villagers, who, seeing us at a distinct disadvantage in the matter, made an uncommonly good bargain for themselves!
By ten o’clock on December 15 we had begun to get an inkling of what lay before us; the whole of the donkeys had straggled out of the compound, we said our last good-byes and followed them—only to find most of the loads scattered on the road, not fifty yards away, and the donkeys careering gladly back to their happy homes! Patience, patience, and yet more patience! There is really nothing else for it—fury only exhausts one, and does not catch the donkeys!
Eventually we got off, and were fairly started on the long white road, trending south-east, winding in and out on a dead level, among miles of farms and hamlets. Barth has remarked that ‘the Province of Kano may truly be called the garden of Central Africa,’ and to us it appeared marvellously fertile, especially at that season of the year, when every river-bed was dry, and the whole land waterless, save for an occasional well.