Aiede is a straggling, rather dilapidated Yoruba town; it looked pretty, as there is any amount of vegetation, bright sunshine and cool shade, but the prevailing smells are atrocious, and the people most unattractive. They are Yorubas, but appear to be exceptionally lazy and idle, ignorant and fetish-ridden. Strictly ‘on the quiet,’ I was taken to see the Ju-ju stone, hidden away inside a circular enclosure: a large rock against which was propped a roughly carved wooden image, very ugly, smeared all over with blood, feathers, etc., as was also the ground. I was told that a sacrifice (of a goat or a fowl) is made there every morning, so that the image may be ‘watered with blood’; there were indications of special oblations having been made—possibly on our account!
A compound was pointed out to me as the dwelling of their ‘Ju-ju woman,’ described as ‘white,’ held by the Aiede folks in great reverence; many sacrifices of dogs are made to her, as she has a particular fancy for eating them! My Irish terrier ran fearlessly in, and, lest he should get his throat cut, I rushed in after him, and came face to face with the old lady. She was a loathsome object, an albino negress, with snow-white hair, skin of a horrible blanched colour, and a terrible pair of red eyes. Her astonishment at the sight of me was quite ludicrous; she may have considered me as a possible rival, about to set up in her line of business! The Lagos Travelling Commissioner, who we met at Aiede, seemed to have grave suspicions of the people there in the matter of twin-murder and human sacrifices—they certainly looked capable of both.
Part of the road from Aiede to Alashigidi was declared impassable for the ponies, so we sent them round by a longer road and did the eight miles on foot. It was rather a pleasant variety, and included some rough climbing, after which I was made acquainted with palm wine; it was icy cold and quite fresh, and seemed to us delicious, but I suppose we were very thirsty, for it has never seemed so good, to me, since.
After leaving Alashigidi, the country was dense forest, damp, gloomy and utterly monotonous, only compensated for by the magnificent butterflies. We succeeded in capturing a good many, especially of a kind that was, at that time, new to me—a truly beautiful person, with glorious colouring, the wings quite iridescent, appearing in one light, pale green, in another deep glowing purple, in another shimmering white, with a general effect of mother-of-pearl. Along the banks of the Osé River a rough path was blazed, to mark the boundary line, and we made an expedition along it on foot. It was a very interesting experience, penetrating this silent forest, where no human being had passed before, and delightful to notice how utterly fearless were the birds and butterflies, scarcely moving at our approach. The men who hacked out the path for us had immense difficulty in inducing a large python to ‘move on’—he had to be actually burnt out before he would remove himself! The river itself was very lovely, cool and silent in deepest shade, winding noiselessly through the forest. Our objective was Iporo, a little standing camp, composed of much dilapidated grass huts in a clearing, on the banks of a stream, really tinkling and purling exactly like a Scotch burn, and which I flew to sketch on the spot!
The following morning we started back on our long return journey, passing from Alashigidi to Erun, where we spent what should have been Coronation Day. On the strength of this, we decided to hold a durbar of our own, congratulating ourselves on being far from the crowded streets of London, and all unconscious of the tragic shadow then hanging over England, while the King lay dangerously ill.
A number of Chiefs came in from the surrounding villages, to pay their respects, all arrayed in their bravest attire, and a very gaudy crowd they were! Erun himself was arrayed in a garment composed of stripes of crimson and gold plush, embroidered on the breast with gold and sequins; over this was worn a long mantle of silver grey plush—it made my heart ache to see its delicate folds trailing in the dust! On his head was a comical high hat, shaped like a Bishop’s mitre, made entirely of white and coloured beads; from it, all round, hung a long, thick fringe of beads, thoroughly concealing his face. This original costume was completed by a necklace of coral, huge slippers, also of bead-work, and a staff completely covered with beads in intricate patterns, surmounted by a bead dicky-bird!
He sat, with immense dignity, under a crimson and gold State umbrella, with the other Chiefs arranged in a semicircle, strictly according to precedence, making a brilliant splash of colour with their robes of blue, purple and green velvet and brocade.
While my husband explained carefully to them why the day had a special significance for us all, and described what we imagined to be going on at Westminster, I whiled away the time by making a sketch of the old Chief, and took some photographs, but found our guests most fidgety folks to get into a group—at the critical moment some one was sure to get up and stroll away, or lean across to make a remark to his neighbour!
In the evening, rather to our dismay, they all turned up again, singly this time, and gave us a good deal of useful information. Before each other they would say nothing, this being a matter of etiquette, but, in private, were brimful of troubles, complaints and general talk.
From Erun we made our way back to Kabba, coming in for quantities of rain, but usually at night, so we had little real inconvenience from it, except in the matter of fording swollen streams. On one of these occasions, crawling cautiously into the river, the ponies suddenly dropped out of their depth, and were obliged to swim for it. It was decidedly uncomfortable for ponies and riders, but the good little souls made a valiant struggle against the rushing current, and landed us safe, though wet, on the far side. The worst part of that business was the struggle to get off my dripping boots!