El Wordee and I having advanced before the cavalcade were waiting for it under a tree, near a town called Zangeia, when a man from Katagum went, of his own accord, and told the governor of Zangeia that a friend of the governor of Katagum was close at hand. The governor of Zangeia sent the man to tell us he would come and meet us on horseback, and show us a proper place to pitch our tents. We mounted our horses, and, led by the Katagumite who was so anxious for the honour of the friend of his master, we met the governor, about a quarter of a mile from the tree under which we had reposed ourselves. He was mounted on a very fine white horse, gaily caparisoned, and had seven attendants behind him, also on horseback, besides being accompanied by several men on foot, armed with bows and arrows. He advanced to us at full gallop, and, after many courteous welcomes, placed himself at our head, and rode before us into the town. On reaching his own house, he desired us to pitch our tents before his door, observing, “Here is a place of great safety.” The camels arriving with the baggage, I presented him with a razor, a knife, a pair of scissors, and some spices. He sent me, in return, some milk and bazeen, with grass and gussub for the horses. Although a governor, I found out he was only a eunuch, belonging to the governor of Kano. He was in person fat, coarse, and ugly, with a shrill squeaking voice, and kept me awake half the night, laughing and talking among his people.
Zangeia is situate near the extremity of the Dooshee range of hills, and must have been once a very large town, from the extensive walls which still remain. The inhabitants were slaughtered or sold by the Felatahs, and plantations of cotton, tobacco, and indigo now occupy the place where houses formerly stood. Indeed the town may be said to consist of a number of thinly scattered villages. Within the walls there is a ridge of loose blocks of stone, connected with the range of hills in the neighbourhood. These masses of rock may be about two hundred feet high, and give a romantic appearance to the neat huts clustering round the base, and to the fine plantations of cotton, tobacco, and indigo, which are separated from one another by rows of date trees, and are shaded by other large umbrageous trees, of whose names I am ignorant. The prospect to the south was bounded by high blue mountains. It was market day; plenty of beef, yams, sweet potatoes, &c. for sale.
| Drawn by Captn. Clapperton. | Engraved by E. Finden. |
VIEW INSIDE THE TOWN OF SANGIA.
IN HOUSSA.
Published Feb. 1826, by John Murray, London.
Jan. 17.—The country still highly cultivated, and now diversified by hill and dale. We passed a remarkable range of little hillocks of grey granite; they were naked rocks, flattened or rounded at top, and appeared like detached masses of stone rising singly out of the earth. We also passed several walled towns quite deserted, the inhabitants having been sold by their conquerors, the Felatahs. Women sat spinning cotton by the road side, offering for sale, to the passing caravans, gussub water, roast meat, sweet potatoes, cashew nuts, &c. In the afternoon, we halted in a hollow, to the west of a town, or rather a collection of villages, called Nansarina, where it was also market day. The governor, when he heard of my arrival, sent me milk and bazeen. I sent him, in return, a pair of scissors and a snuff-box.
Jan. 18.—When I ascended the high ground this morning, I saw a range of hills to the south-west, which, I was told, were called Dul, from a large town at their base. They appeared to be 600 or 700 feet high, not peaked, but oval topped, and running in a direction nearly north and south. I could not learn how far southward they extended. We crossed a little stream, flowing to the north. The country continued beautiful, with numerous plantations, as neatly fenced as in England. The road was thronged with travellers, and the shady trees by the road side served, as yesterday, to shelter female hucksters. The women not engaged in the retail of their wares were busy spinning cotton, and from time to time surveyed themselves, with whimsical complacency, in a little pocket mirror. The soil is a strong red clay, large blocks of granite frequently appearing above the surface.
At eleven in the morning we halted at a walled town called Girkwa, through which I rode with El Wordee. The houses were in groups, with large intervening vacancies, the former inhabitants having also been sold; the walls are in good repair, and are surrounded by a dry ditch. It was market day, and we found a much finer market here than at Tripoli. I had an attack of ague,—the disease that chiefly prevails in these parts,—and was obliged to rest all day under the shade of a tree. A pretty Felatah girl, going to market with milk and butter, neat and spruce in her attire as a Cheshire dairy-maid, here accosted me with infinite archness and grace. She said I was of her own nation; and, after much amusing small talk, I pressed her, in jest, to accompany me on my journey, while she parried my solicitations with roguish glee, by referring me to her father and mother. I don’t know how it happened, but her presence seemed to dispel the effects of the ague. To this trifling and innocent memorial of a face and form, seen that day for the first and last time, but which I shall not readily forget, I may add the more interesting information to the good housewives of my own country, that the making of butter such as ours is confined to the nation of the Felatahs, and that it is both clean and excellent. So much is this domestic art cultivated, that from a useful prejudice or superstition, it is deemed unlucky to sell new milk; it may, however, be bestowed as a gift. Butter is also made in other parts of central Africa, but sold in an oily fluid state something like honey.