There is no need here to describe the events which led to the British occupation, or to narrate the circumstances attending it. We have replaced the Fulani in supreme control of the destinies of Northern Nigeria. We are there to stay. How are we carrying out our self-imposed mission? What are the problems with which we have to grapple? These are the questions to examine. But before doing so, let us first see what manner of people they are over whom we rule henceforth as over-lords. What is their mode of life, their principal occupation, their character, and the material and spiritual influences which direct their outlook and mould their existence?
CHAPTER III
THE INDIGENOUS CIVILIZATION OF THE NORTH
An attempted reconstruction of the prehistoric period—considered locally—of that portion of Western Central Africa, now known as Northern Nigeria, would take up many chapters, and would be largely founded upon conjecture. It suffices to say that in the course of ages, through the influences of Moorish, Semitic, and probably pre-Semitic Egyptian culture, fused in later times with Mohammedan law, learning and religion, there has been evolved in this region a civilization combining a curious mixture of Africa and the East, to which no other part of the tropical or sub-tropical continent offers even a remote parallel. And this is the more remarkable since these territories have been separated from the east by inhospitable, mainly waterless stretches, and from the north by vast and desolate sandy wastes; while southwards the forest and the swamp cut them off from all communication with the outer world by sea. The peoples responsible for the creation of this civilization did not acquire the art of building in stone, but, at a cost of labour and of time which must have been gigantic (slave-labour, of course, such as built the pyramids) they raised great cities of sun-dried clay, encompassing them and a considerable area around, for purposes of cultivation and food-supply, with mighty walls. These walls, from twenty to fifty feet high and from twenty to forty feet thick at the base, in the case of the larger cities, they furnished with ponderous and deep towered entrances, protecting the gates with crenellated loop-holes and digging deep moats outside. They learned to smelt iron and tin; to tan and fabricate many leather articles durable and tasteful in design; to grow cotton and fashion it into cloth unrivalled for excellence and beauty in all Africa; to work in silver and in brass; to dye in indigo and the colouring juice of other plants; to develop a system of agriculture including (in certain provinces) irrigated farming, which, in its highest forms, has surprised even experts from Europe; to build up a great trade whose ramifications extend throughout the whole western portion of the continent; to accumulate libraries of Arabic literature, to compile local histories and poems, and, in a measure, to become centres for the propagation of intellectual thought.
That is the condition in which Leo Africanus found them in the sixteenth century, when he first revealed their existence to an incredulous and largely unlettered Western world; in which the pioneer explorers of the nineteenth century found them; in which the political agents of Great Britain found them ten years ago when destiny drove her to establish her supremacy in the country. That is the condition in which they are to-day in this difficult transition stage when the mechanical engines of modern progress, the feverish economic activity of the Western world, the invading rattle of another civilization made up of widely differing ideals, modes of thought, and aims, assailed them.
Will the irresistible might wielded by the new forces be wisely exercised in the future? Will those who, in the ultimate resort, direct it, abide by the experience and the advice of the small but splendid band of men whose herculean and whole-hearted labours have inscribed on the roll of British history an achievement, not of conquest, but of constructive statesmanship of just and sober guidance nowhere exceeded in our management of tropical dependencies? Will they be brought to understand all that is excellent and of good repute in this indigenous civilization; to realize the necessity of preserving its structural foundations, of honouring its organic institutions, of protecting and strengthening its spiritual agencies? Will they have the patience to move slowly; the sympathy to appreciate the period of strain and stress which these revolutionary influences must bring with them; the perception to recognize what elements of greatness and of far-reaching promise this indigenous civilization contains? Or will they, pushed by other counsellors, incline to go too fast both politically and economically, impatiently brushing aside immemorial ceremonies and customs, or permitting them to be assaulted by selfish interests on the one hand and short-sighted zeal on the other? Will they forget, amid the clamorous calls of “progress” and “enlightenment” that their own proclaimed high purpose (nobly accomplished by their representatives) of staying the ravages of internal warfare and healing open wounds will be shamed in the result if, through their instrumentality, the seeds of deeper, deadlier ills are sown which would eat away this fine material, destroy the lofty courtesies, the culture and the healthy industrial life of this land, converting its peoples into a troubled, shiftless mass, hirelings, bereft of economic independence and having lost all sense of national vitality? Thoughts such as these must needs crowd upon the traveller through these vast spaces and populous centres as he watches the iron horse pursue its irrevocable advance towards the great Hausa cities of the plains, as he hears the increasing calls from the newly opened tin mines for labour, from the Lancashire cotton-spinner for cotton and markets; as he takes cognisance of the suggestions already being made to break the spirit of the new and admirable land-law, and of the efforts to introduce a militant Christian propaganda; as he listens in certain quarters to the loose talk about the “shibboleths” and “absurdities” of indigenous forms and ceremonies, the cumbrousness of native laws and etiquette.
CHAPTER IV
THE LIFE OF THE PEOPLE—THE LONG-DISTANCE TRADER
A broad, sandy road, piercing a belt of shea trees, gnarled and twisted, their bark figured like the markings of a crocodile’s back, from which peculiarity you can distinguish the true shea from the so-called “false” shea, or African oak. From the burnt grasses, golden flowers destitute of leaf companionship peep timidly forth as though fearful of such uncongenial surroundings. The heat rays quiver over the thirsty soil, for it is Christmas time and no rain has fallen for nigh upon four months. On the summit of a blackened sapling, exquisite in its panoply of azure blue and pinkey-buff, a bird of the size of our English jay but afflicted with a name so commonplace that to mention it in connection with so glorious a visitant would be cruel, perches motionless, its long graceful tail feathers waving ever so slightly in the still air. The sun beats downward shrewdly, and combined with the gentle amble of the patient beast beneath you, induces drowsiness. You find yourself nodding in the saddle until the loosening grip of thighs jerks the rider once more into sentiency. It is hot, dreamily, lethargically hot. All the world seems comatose, the unfolding panorama unreal as if seen through a fog of visionary reverie. But there is nothing fanciful about the rapidly approaching cloud of dust ahead, which emits a swelling murmur of confused sound. It takes shape and substance, and for the next half-hour or so, drowsiness and heat are alike forgotten in the contemplation of a strange medley of men and animals. Droves of cattle, among them the monstrous horned oxen from the borders of Lake Chad, magnificent beasts, white or black for the most part. Flocks of Roman-nosed, short-haired, vacant-eyed sheep—white with black patches. Tiny, active, bright brown goats skipping along in joyful ignorance of impending fate. Pack-bullocks, loaded with potash, cloth, hides and dried tobacco leaves, culinary utensils, and all manner of articles wrapped in skins or in octagon-shaped baskets made of parchment, tight drawn in a wicker framework, which later—on the return journey—will be packed with kolas carefully covered with leaves. A few camels, skinny and patchy, and much out at elbows so to speak, similarly burdened. The drivers move among their beasts. Keeping in the rear, with lengthy staves outstretched over the animal’s back, they control any tendency to straggle across the road. Tall spare men, for the most part, these drivers, small-boned, tough and sinewy. Hausas mainly, good-featured, not unfrequently bearded men, often possessed of strikingly handsome profiles, with clean-shaven heads and keen cheerful looks. But many Tuaregs are here also from the far-distant north, even beyond the Nigerian border; their fierce eyes gleaming above the black veil drawn across the face, covering the head and falling upon the robe beneath, once white, now stained and rent by many weeks of travel. From the shoulders of these hang formidable, cross-handled swords in red-leather tasselled scabbards. Nor are the Hausas always innocent of arms, generally a sword. But here is a professional hunter who has joined the party. You can tell him from his bow held in the right hand and the quiver of reed-arrows barbed—and, maybe, poisoned—slung across his back. The legs of the men are bare to the knees, and much-worn sandals cover their feet. Some carry loads of merchandise, food and water-gourds; others have their belongings securely fastened on bullock or donkey. Women, too, numbers of them, splendid of form and carriage, one or both arms uplifted, balancing upon the carrying pad (gammo) a towering load of multitudinous contents neatly held together in a string bag. Their raiment is the raiment of antiquity, save that it has fewer folds, the outer gown, commonly blue in colour, reaching to just below the knees, the bosom not generally exposed, at least in youth, and where not so intended, gravely covered as the alien rides by; neck, wrists and ankles frequently garnished with silver ornaments. Many women bear in addition to the load upon the head, a baby on the back, its body hidden in the outer robe, its shiny shaven head emerging above, sometimes resting against the soft and ample maternal shoulders, sometimes wobbling from side to side in slumber, at the imminent risk, but for inherited robustness in that region, of spinal dislocation. Children of all ages, the elders doing their share in porterage, younger ones held by the hand (nothing can be more charming than the sight of a youthful Nigerian mother gladsome of face and form teaching the young idea the mysteries of head-carriage!). Two tired mites are mounted upon a patient ox, the father walking behind. A sturdy middle-aged Hausa carries one child on his shoulders, grasps another by the wrist, supporting his load with his free hand. A gay, dusty crowd, weary and footsore, no doubt, tramping twenty miles in a day carrying anything from forty to one hundred pounds; but, with such consciousness of freedom, such independence of gait and bearing! The mind flies back to those staggering lines of broken humanity, flotsam and jetsam of our great cities, products of our “superior” civilization, dragging themselves along the Herefordshire lanes in the hop-picking season! What a contrast! And so the trading caravan, bound for the markets of the south, for Lokoja or Bida—it may well be, for some of its units, Ibadan or Lagos—passes onwards, wrapped in its own dust, which, presently, closes in and hides it from sight.
