At a pinch (when touring in forest country) we have found young Indian corn, or maize, well boiled, not at all a bad substitute for other vegetables, and, when the corns are boiled, then lightly browned over the fire, they are excellent, eaten with butter, pepper and salt.
In the way of fruit, there are usually bananas to be had, pineapples in the spring and summer, and occasionally oranges. In Lokoja the mangoes are quite good, and I have had guavas and custard apples. The country abounds in tiny limes, which are sold in great quantities, very cheap, and make most delicious lemon squashes.
The Steward and his Duties
The head steward, or ‘boy,’ must be carefully chosen, and is worth training, for in his hands lies the greater part of your daily comfort, and to his shortcomings can be traced most of the irritability which is recognized as a natural weakness of the dweller in West Africa.
He will require endless patience, and daily insistence on small details of cleanliness and order, for he has a happy knack of carrying out an order for five or six days, then quietly discontinuing it, and trusting to his mistress’ preoccupation not to observe the omission. Never flatter yourself that any system you have introduced, with apparent success, will continue to work for a week without some supervision and inspection. The genus ‘head boy’ is a light-hearted, easy-going, tractable sort of creature; some are masterful and quarrelsome, some are placid and lazy, but all of them like to have one or two small boys about the house, to whom they can relegate most of their work, while they are swaggering in the market, in spotless raiment, with redundant watch-chain and a sun umbrella. Some, I am sorry to say, are bad, very, very bad, and I cannot help feeling most strongly that more than one vigorous, valuable young life has succumbed out here to sickness and death, mainly for the want of proper attendance—better cooking and the small comforts and niceties that every man requires, but is, usually, helpless to obtain and insist upon for himself. I have seen unspeakable habits of dirt and slovenliness prevailing amongst bachelors’ boys—yes, and dangerous ones too, tinned food kept for days in open tins, and served up again to the unfortunate master, cups and plates washed and wiped—well, it serves no purpose of mine to recount these horrors, and it is only fair to add that I have known boys whose skilful care, devotion and unselfishness towards sick masters could hardly be excelled. I only hope that every Englishwoman who spends even a few months in Nigeria will leave behind her two or three servants inoculated with habits of scrupulous cleanliness, thoughtfulness and common sense, to lighten the lot of some lonely man who now feels uncomfortably that in his mother’s house at home the table-cloth is not hideously grubby and crooked, the milk and jam served in messy tins, the glasses cloudy, and the forks and spoons more than doubtful, but vaguely supposes all this is necessary in West Africa—it isn’t!
As a rule, I suppose the Coast boy makes the best head steward: he speaks English, and has usually served a white master before. He acts as housemaid and parlourmaid in one, starts his day with energetic sweeping and some sketchy dusting, waits at table, cuts his master’s hair, acts as valet generally, and is the spokesman and middle man between his mistress and the rest of the household. He is responsible for the existence and condition, good or otherwise, of nearly all of your possessions; therefore, it really answers best to have the actual work of laying tables, cleaning knives, lamps, etc., performed by the under steward, so as to leave your major-domo free to superintend and investigate the working of the whole establishment, down to the stable, and report on it to his mistress; he should be taught to do this without fear or prejudice, or any suspicion of sneaking or mischief-making: obviously he cannot, with any show of dignity, rebuke the misdeeds of the cook or orderly; if he has to wash plates and scrub out the pantry, equally obviously he must be honest and, as far as possible, superior to bribery. Not being embarrassed with caste prejudices, he will concern himself with the feeding and washing of the dogs, the care of the poultry-yard, and our faithful head boy has, more than once, been employed to shoot a hopelessly sick pony.
There is little more to add on the subject of the household staff. The cook’s mate is but an embryo cook, who presently emerges from his modest position and blossoms into a cook, with a satellite of his own. I believe that, as a matter of fact, the cook’s mate does a fair share of the cooking: this will be readily ascertained when the cook gets helplessly drunk and dinner is forthcoming all the same!
The small house boys are equally budding stewards, and, if well looked after, it is amazing how they sprout, physically and mentally, and how soon they find out that a rise in pay is merited.
One word of advice to housekeepers, masculine and feminine—don’t beat the boys. There is still a prevailing idea that the master who wields the bulala (whip) with most vigour gets best served. But this I beg leave to doubt. For the time being, fear may make them move faster and remember longer, but there is, deeply implanted under every woolly, black scalp, the sacred duty of reprisals, and the boy who is frequently flogged will take it out somehow, sooner or later—be sure of that. Moreover, the servant who really needs constant hitting is not worth keeping; and, indeed, were he, through such a process, to be evolved into a perfect treasure, he would be bought too dear, at the cost of so much irritation and mental stress. For, it must be admitted, that for one occasion when a boy really deserves a flogging he gets bulala ten times, because Master is feverish or worried, or ‘jumpy’; and poor Master seldom thinks, till afterwards, of the spectacle he presents, pursuing a fleeing boy, and vociferating—because he cannot find his shirt-stud. Alas, for ‘British prestige’!
I was told, a short time ago, by one such master, whose naturally sweet disposition had doubtless been tried by time and circumstances, that he had had his boy severely flogged (‘six dozen’), because the salt on his dinner table was damp. As a rule, a little mild sarcasm, or a ridiculous nick-name bestowed is far more efficacious than a scolding, and if a severe reminder is necessary, judicious fining has the greatest effect, for the most sensitive bit of a house boy’s soul lives just underneath his belt: when this is done, the culprit must see the fine, in money, thrown into the river, or placed in the kitchen fire, and know that it is gone beyond recall, or else he merely credits you with making money out of him, and is rather shocked at your meanness.