The morning had been rather dull, but before noon the sun shone forth, and our situation on the sloping ground of the high country, overlooking a great extent of land in the rich dress of vegetable life, was very pleasant. There was scarcely a bare spot: all was green, except that the ears of the millet and sorghum were almost ripe, and began to assume a yellowish-brown tint; but how different is the height of the stalks, the very largest of which scarcely exceeds fifteen feet, from those I saw afterwards on my return from Timbúktu, in the rich valleys of Kébbi. Several Kánembú were passing by, and enlivened the scenery. When the heat of the sun began to abate, I set my little caravan once more in motion, and passed on through the level country, which in the simplicity of my mind I thought beautiful, and which I greatly enjoyed. After about an hour’s march, we passed a large pond or pool, situated to the left of the road, and formed by the rains, bordered by a set of trees of the acacia tribe, and enlivened by a large herd of fine cattle. Towards evening, after some trouble, we found a path leading through the fields into the interior of a little village, called Alairúk, almost hidden behind the high stalks of millet. Our reception was rather cold, such as a stranger may expect to find in all the villages situated near a capital, the inhabitants of which are continually pestered by calls upon their hospitality. But, carrying my little residence and all the comforts I wanted with me, I cared little about their treatment; and my tent was soon pitched in a separate courtyard. But all my enjoyment was destroyed by a quarrel which arose between my horseman and the master of the dwelling, who would not allow him to put his horse where he wished: my horseman had even the insolence to beat the man who had received us into his house. This is the way in which affairs are managed in these countries.
Sunday, Sept. 14.—After a refreshing night I started a little later than on the day previous, winding along a narrow path through the fields, where, besides sorghum, karás (Hibiscus esculentus) is cultivated, which is an essential thing for preparing the soups of the natives, in districts where the leaves of the kúka, or monkey-bread-tree, and of the hajilíj, or Balanites, are wanting; for though the town of Kúkawa has received its name from the circumstance that a young tree of this species was found on the spot where the Sheikh Mohammed el Kánemi, the father of the ruling sultan, laid the first foundation of the present town, nevertheless scarcely any kúka is seen for several miles round Kúkawa.
The sky was cloudy, and the country became less interesting than the day before. We met a small troop of native traders, with dried fish, which forms a great article of commerce throughout Bórnu; for, though the Kanúri people at present are almost deprived of the dominion, and even the use, of the fine sheet of water which spreads out in the midst of their territories, the fish, to which their forefathers have given the name of food (bú-ni, from bú, to eat), has remained a necessary article for making their soups. The fields in this part of the country were not so well looked after, and were in a more neglected state; but there was a tolerable variety of trees, though rather scanty. Besides prickly underwood of talhas, there were principally the hajilíj or bíto (Balanites Ægyptiaca), the selím, the kórna, the serrákh, and the gerredh or Mimosa Nilotica. Further on, a short time before we came to the village Kalíkágorí, I observed a woman collecting the seeds of an eatable Poa, called “kréb” or “kashá,” of which there are several species, by swinging a sort of basket through the rich meadow-ground. These species of grasses afford a great deal of food to the inhabitants of Bórnu, Bagírmi, and Wadáÿ, but more especially to the Arab settlers in these countries, or the Shúwa; in Bórnu, at least, I have never seen the black natives make use of this kind of food, while in Bagírmi it seems to constitute a sort of luxury even with the wealthier classes. The reader will see, in the course of my narrative, that in Máseñá I lived principally on this kind of Poa. It makes a light palatable dish, but requires a great deal of butter.
After having entered the forest and passed several small waterpools, we encamped near one of these, when the heat of the sun began to make itself felt. This district abounded in mimosas of the species called gerredh, úm-el-barka, or “kingar,” which affords a very excellent wood for saddles and other purposes, while the coals prepared from it are used for making powder. My old talkative, but not very energetic companion Bu-Zéd, was busy in making new pegs for my tent, the very hard black ground of Bórnu destroying pegs very soon, and in the meantime, assisted by Hosén ben Hár, gave me a first insight into the numerous tribes living in Kánem and round the Bahar el Ghazál. The fruits of the gerredh, which in their general appearance are very like those of the tamarind-tree, are a very important native medicine, especially in cases of dysentery; and it is, most probably, to them that I owed my recovery when attacked by that destructive disease during my second stay in Sókoto in September 1854. The same tree is essential for preparing the water-skins, that most necessary article for crossing the desert. The kajíji was plentiful in this neighbourhood. The root of this little plant, which is about the size of a nut, the natives use in the most extensive way for perfuming themselves with.
Late in the afternoon we continued our journey through the forest, which was often interrupted by open patches. After having pursued the path for some miles, we quitted it, and travelled in a more easterly direction through a pleasant hilly country, full of verdure, and affording pasturage to a great many cattle; for the Kánembú, like the Fúlbe, go with their herds to a great distance during certain seasons of the year, and all the cattle from the places about Ngórnu northwards is to be found in these quarters during the cold season. But not being able to find water here, we were obliged to try the opposite direction, in order to look for this element so essential for passing a comfortable night. At length, late in the evening, traversing a very rugged tract of country, we reached the temporary encampment, or berí, of a party of Kánembú with their herds, whilst a larger berí was moving eastward. Here also we were unable to find water, and even milk was to be got but sparingly.
Monday, Sept. 15.—Before we were ready to move, the whole nomadic encampment broke up, the cattle going in front, and the men, women, and children following with their little households on asses. The most essential or only apparatus of these wandering neatherds are the tall sticks for hanging up the milk to secure it; the “sákti” or skins for milk and water, the calabashes, and the kórió. The men are always armed with their long wooden shields, the “ngáwa fógobe,” and their spears, and some are most fantastically dressed, as I have described on a former occasion. After having loaded our camels, and proceeded some distance, we came to the temporary abode of another large herd, whose guardians at first behaved unfriendly, forbidding our tasting a drop of their delicious stuff; but they soon exchanged their haughty manners for the utmost cordiality when Mʿadi, an elder brother of Fúgo ʿAlí, our friend in Maduwári, recognized me. He even insisted on my encamping on the spot, and staying the day with him; and it was with difficulty that he allowed me to pursue my march, after having swallowed as much delicious milk as my stomach would bear. Further on we joined the main road, and found to the left of it a handsome pool of muddy water, and filled two skins with it. Certainly there is nothing worse for a European than this stagnant dirty water; but during the rainy season, and for a short time afterwards, he is rarely able to get any other.
Soon after, I had another specimen of the treatment to which the natives are continually exposed from the king’s servants in these countries; for, meeting a large herd of fine sheep, my horseguard managed to lay hold of the fattest specimen of the whole herd, notwithstanding the cries of the shepherd, whom I in vain endeavoured to console by offering him the price of the animal. During the heat of the day, when we were encamped under the scanty shade of a few gáwo, my people slaughtered the sheep; but, as in general, I only tasted a little of the liver. The shade was so scanty, and the sun so hot, that I felt very weak in the afternoon when we went on a little.
Tuesday, Sept. 16.—I felt tolerably strong. Soon after we had started, we met a great many horses which had been sent here for pasturage, and then encountered another fish kafla. My horseman wanted me all at once to proceed to the town of Yó, from whence he was to return; and he continued on without stopping, although I very soon felt tired, and wanted to make a halt. The country, at the distance of some miles south from the komádugu, is rather monotonous and barren, and the large tamarind-tree behind the town of Yó is seen from such a distance that the traveller, having the same conspicuous object before his eyes for such a length of time, becomes tired out before he reaches it. The dúm-palm is the principal tree in this flat region, forming detached clusters, while the ground in general is extremely barren.
Proceeding with my guardian in advance, we at length reached the town, in front of which there is a little suburb; and being uncertain whether we should take quarters inside or outside, we entered it. It consisted of closely packed streets, was extremely hot, and exhaled such an offensive smell of dried fish, that it appeared to me a very disagreeable and intolerable abode. Nevertheless we rode to the house of the shitíma, or rather, in the full form, Shitíma Yóma (which is the title the governor bears), a large building of clay. He was just about taking another wife; and large quantities of corn, intended as provision for his new household, were heaped up in front of it.[81] Having applied to his men for quarters, a small courtyard with a large hut was assigned to us in another part of the town, and we went there; but it was impossible for me to make myself in any way comfortable in this narrow space, where a small gáwo afforded very scanty shade. Being almost suffocated, and feeling very unwell, I mounted my horse again and hastened out of the gate, and was very glad to have regained the fresh air. We then encamped about six hundred yards from the town, near a shady tamarind tree; and I stretched my feeble limbs on the ground, and fell into a sort of lethargy for some hours, enjoying a luxurious tranquillity; I was so fatigued with my morning’s ride, that I thought with apprehension on what would become of me after my companions had joined me, when I should be obliged to bear fatigue of a quite different description.
As soon as I felt strong enough to rise from my couch, I walked a few paces in order to get a sight of the river or “komádugu.” It was at present a fine sheet of water, the bed entirely full, “tsimbúllena,” and the stream running towards the Tsád with a strong current; indeed, I then scarcely suspected that on another occasion I should encamp for several days in the dry bed of this river, which, notwithstanding the clear and undoubted statements of the members of the former expedition with regard to its real character, had been made by Captain W. Allen to carry the superfluous waters of the Tsád into the Kwára. The shores of the komádugu near this place are quite picturesque, being bordered by splendid tamarind-trees, and “kínzim,” or dúm-palms, besides fine specimens of the acacia tribe on the northern shore. At the foot of the tamarind-trees a very good kind of cotton is grown, while lower down, just at this season of the year, wheat is produced by irrigating regularly laid out grounds by way of the shadúf or “lámbuna.” Cotton and small quantities of wheat are the only produce of this region, besides fish and the fruit of the Cucifera or dúm-palm, which forms an essential condiment for the “kunú,” a kind of soup made of Negro millet; for the place is entirely destitute of any other Cerealia, and millet and sorghum are grown only to a small extent. Cattle also are very scarce in Yó; and very little milk is to be procured. Fish is the principal food of the inhabitants, of which there are several very palatable species in the river, especially one of considerable size, from eighteen to twenty inches long, with a very small mouth, resembling the mullet.