A Resident's wife in Nigeria

by Constance Belcher Larymore

My first step towards keeping cows—and that a veritable step in the dark—was the selection of a churn. At this point, the eternal difficulty of transport loomed into view as uncompromisingly as usual, and I decided on a small tin, plunge churn. It consisted of a tin cylinder about eighteen inches long, and four inches in diameter, with a cover, through which passed a tin plunger, with flanges at the lower end. This churn has the advantage of being very light and portable, and we found it a complete success; it was perfectly easy to clean, and did its work most rapidly, turning out a pound of butter in fifteen minutes.

The next necessary point is to possess your own cows; the usual plan of receiving a daily dole of a bottle full of milk, Heaven knows how or where obtained, cannot be sufficiently condemned. Out of my own experience I have known the simple Fulani cow-keeper to half fill the basin before milking with extremely dirty water, and this I only discovered by the merest accident. One would hardly expect to find such up-to-date practices as ‘watering the milk’ in Nigeria, but it is done!

I know that milch cows are not at all easy to come by out here; the Fulani, the only herdsman in the country, knows the value of his stock, and will not sell, for there is a tremendous trade done in the markets in sour milk and rancid butter.

I started with a stock of five cows, each with a small calf, and in full milk: I then, with a lamentable want of foresight and proper humility, decided on, and attempted to carry out all kinds of innovations and dairy principles, such as separating the calves from the cows, endeavouring to pacify the former with milk mixed with dusa (bran)—which I could never induce them to touch—and treating in a high-handed manner the remonstrances of the mai-sanu (cowman or head dairymaid). I may say at once it was a dead failure; the cows went off their milk immediately, and from all of them I did not get more than a quart twice daily, and the mai-sanu ran away, appalled at my wicked violation of immemorial customs! My courage, born of ignorance, ran into the soles of my shoes, I obtained a new mai-sanu, and, bowing my head in chastened submission, I resigned into his hands the whole outside arrangements of the ‘dairy,’ only stipulating that his hands should be scrupulously clean before milking, and the udders wiped with a damp clean cloth—also that he should produce a large basin full of milk morning and evening. This was done; how and when the calves were tied or separated, I did not inquire. I am quite sure that, one day, a more strong-minded and conscientious fellow-country-woman will know all about it, and reform things magnificently; meantime—cleanliness and purity assured—I was content to leave ‘pretty well’ alone, and let the mai-sanu make his own arrangements.

The cows of Northern Nigeria are splendid animals, of great size, with enormous branching horns, but their udders are very small, and English dairy folks would doubtless smile at the idea of extracting milk at the rate of one quart only, daily, per cow! But so it was, and when due allowance is made for inferior grazing and the dry season, perhaps it was not so astonishing. At any rate, the supply proved ample for our requirements, so I felt it would be both ungracious and foolish to grumble. I found the milk very rich and delicious, and from the special pan set aside each evening for cream to set, a good pint and a half of thick cream was forthcoming the next morning, yielding roughly a pound of excellent butter. There was always cream for the porridge at breakfast, plenty for puddings and mayonnaises, and even for cream cheeses, which I made every few days.

Our energetic D.S.C. (Captain Burnside) training bullocks. ([p. 236])

Giant Sunflowers at Bussa. ([p. 243])

We marched our cows down country from Katāgum on our return, and they gave us a capital supply of milk on the road; but, once established in Lokoja, they fell off in appearance and milk. The calves sickened and died, as well as the cows, and, much to our sorrow, we had to recognize that, obviously, the only thing to do was to dispose of the remainder, alas! to become tough beef in the market. It was, I suppose, inevitable, owing to the total change of diet to green, luxurious grass, which the cows devoured eagerly, to their own undoing; but I parted very sadly from my philanthropic dream of providing the English community in Lokoja with a regular supply of fresh milk, etc. It was a plan I had very much at heart, and I have not altogether forsaken it, but I quite recognize that it cannot be done with the Hausa cow.