While ‘the Sahib,’ with his unerring memory for faces, that most precious gift, recognized and saluted the various officials of the Emir’s Court, I noticed unmistakable surprise mixed with the cordiality of the greeting offered to me. I suppose the dear souls had expected me to have been divorced or sold long ago!
After a few minutes’ chat with the European officers who had so kindly come out to welcome us, we all remounted and commenced the hot dusty ride to Bida, drums banging, horns braying, ‘praises’ shouted in hoarse stentorian tones, the usual dashing about of horsemen, and breathless rushing to and fro of the crowd on foot, a curious kaleidoscope of varied colours appearing and disappearing in the glittering haze of dust.
Though we both felt the sincerest pleasure and contentment with all things, it was a relief to all of us when the police guard of honour had been inspected, we had passed through the Residency Gateway and the gay crowd was wending light-heartedly towards the city, and we six white folks sat down in the cool bungalow, and gaily drank to ‘Bida and the New Year’ in cool and delicious champagne cup which our hosts had provided in honour of our arrival and the festive season.
We settled down at once in our new and comfortable quarters, which seemed actually luxurious after the mud houses of Borgu, and, when we had time to inspect the compound, found a great interest in noting the changes and improvements since our last visit. It was charmingly laid out and thoroughly well planted with orange, lime, and mango trees, showing every sign of care and interest, a thing extremely comforting to a gardener who had always struggled against ‘fearful odds’; an excellent lawn tennis court had been made of ‘native cement,’ formed in the first instance of mud patted and beaten to the solidity almost of stone, then washed over with a solution of locust beans, soaked in water for forty-eight hours, a dark-coloured evil-smelling mixture which served to bind all the loose particles on the court and gave it a black metallic shine. I, of course, found endless occupations in a field so desirable as my new home, while my husband bent all his energies to studying the different conditions of a new Province; in this work he had the most loyal help from every one, and I fancy that we shall always look back on our four months at Bida as a time instinct with warm friendship and good feeling.
The Residency stood considerably higher than the surrounding country, and I never tired of the picture from our verandah, where the city lay, about a mile distant, in a gentle hollow outlined by the pink wall, and crowded inside with dense and luxuriant trees and clusters of closely-set thatched roofs with, here and there, the more imposing buildings rising rosy-red among the humbler grass roofs.
We made close acquaintance with the market, which, in its way, interested me even more than that of Kano, being less extensive and so more accessible. It was always a pretty and animated scene, the open squares and spaces crowded at sunset with a dense throng of happy folks, selling, buying, chattering, shouting, and laughing, moving in a haze of dust, all apparently giving far greater heed to the social aspect of the gathering than any serious commercial enterprise. The market continued until long after dark, and the flares and native lamps made a weird and fascinating effect. The goods offered were of the most varied description, articles of brass and leather work, grass mats, fishing nets, cloth, beads, sugar-cane, and food-stuffs of all kinds—even wooden doors were for sale, ready to be fitted to any clay hut, in fact a highly representative collection of the heterogeneous miscellany presented in any West African market.
On January 25 occurred the ‘Great Sallah,’ a Mahomedan festival which appears to commemorate the Sacrifice of Isaac—a sheep being killed ceremonially on the occasion. We assembled ourselves outside the city wall, and, sitting under an improvised shelter, watching the seated thousands waiting patiently in the sunshine, it would not have seemed strange to me to see the Disciples passing down the irregular lines, distributing the loaves and fishes to the hungry listeners.
Presently the Limam’s voice rose clear and shrill, away in the distance, under the shade of a mighty tree where the Emir and his court had their places; the thousands rose to their feet, and as the sonorous Arabic pealed out on the hot still air, the prayers began. It was a wonderful and moving spectacle; the reverent responses rose from the assemblage like a muffled roar, but perhaps the most astonishing feature of all was the prostration when the huge throng fell on their faces as one man, reminding us of a vast field of corn swept by a sudden gust.
The prayers finished, we were conducted to the Emir’s seat, where special prayers were offered for us all, each being named in turn, strictly in order of precedence, not forgetting the High Commissioner and the two former Residents of the Province, Major Burdon and Mr. Goldsmith, both dearly loved and remembered.
