There was a general air of disturbance, quite contrary to custom no one had come to welcome us, the markets were deserted, hardly an individual was to be seen—obviously there was trouble in the air! Presently a string of most forlorn-looking, decrepit old men limped, crawled and hobbled up, and, when they had, with immense difficulty, doubled up their rheumatic limbs into a sitting posture before us, they poured forth their tale of woe. A misfortune unprecedented, unheard-of, beyond the experience of even the most aged of them, had occurred in the night—the old Sariki had died! ‘Full of years’ he must have been—our toothless, palsied visitors mumbled that he was much older than any of them, and one amongst them was actually the heir!
Repairing the Bussa Residency. ([p. 170])
Balu. ([p. 180])
(SERVAL CAT.)
Their sorrow and dismay was truly pathetic, as they lamented that ‘all the people were bewildered ... they could do nothing ... they knew not what to think....’ We offered our condolences and sympathy, and when they had asked and received permission to carry out the funeral ceremonies exactly as if we were not there, they departed somewhat cheered and comforted.
The three next days were rather a trial—the drumming day and night, the incessant wailing and shrieking of the women, the entire cessation of business of all kinds, and the consequent difficulty of obtaining supplies, made me watch the digging of the huge grave with rather a personal interest. It was done in a manner exactly similar to the Kabba custom which I have already described in detail. By the evening of the third day all the people from the surrounding villages had arrived, the last comer being the special person entrusted with the duty of actually laying the dead man in his grave, a duty which might be performed only by one who had never seen the Sariki’s face in life. The funeral was accompanied by much firing of Dane guns, a terribly noisy performance, and we felt sincerely thankful to hear before long that the ammunition had given out. But the drums and horns lasted all night, and were used with untiring vigour!
The curious custom ordains that the women of the establishment must ‘wail’ in idleness for three months, and, further, that no head of a household may sleep inside his own house for the same period. Therefore, immediately the burying was accomplished, a large camp of little grass huts sprang up all round the grave, outside the ‘royal’ compound. It seemed to me very touching, the absolutely conscientious way these simple souls obeyed the ‘custom’ at what must have been the greatest inconvenience and discomfort to themselves, many of them infirm old men, bent and crippled with rheumatism, sleeping for many weeks in miserable little grass shelters, in the torrential rains just then commencing.
Some days were spent in endeavouring to get light upon the robbery of money from the toll-clerk’s house, but with little or no success. It was rather defeating, at the outset, to be gravely assured by the clerk himself, an intelligent, educated native, that ‘the robbery was undoubtedly effected through the wicked machinations of these evil-minded Borgus—they having placed ju-ju or medicine in his dwelling, so that he—and the police guard!—should so soundly sleep that the unprincipled thieves were enabled to pass over his prostrate body, and remove the box!’ This perfectly lucid and apparently satisfactory explanation was borne out by the production of the said ju-ju, consisting of little balls of grass containing horrible mixtures of various ingredients, which had been found stuffed into the thatch of his house. Such overwhelming reasons for successful burglary had, in every one’s opinion, rendered all inquiry useless, and the thief had had plenty of time to carry his prize out of Northern Nigeria altogether, which made the investigation rather a hopeless task. Not a clue of any kind could be obtained, and all examination produced nothing but the wearying reiteration of the bewitchment story.