With this character of the dwellings, that of the inhabitants themselves is in entire harmony, its most constant element being a cheerful temperament, bent upon enjoying life, rather given to women, dance, and song, but without any disgusting excess. Everybody here finds his greatest happiness in a comely lass, and as soon as he makes a little profit he adds a young wife to his elder companion in life, yet a man has rarely more than two wives at a time. Drinking fermented liquor cannot be strictly reckoned a sin in a place where a great many of the inhabitants are Pagans; but a drunken person, nevertheless, is scarcely ever seen; those who are not Mohammedans only indulge in their “gíya,” made of sorghum, just enough to make them merry and enjoy life with more light-heartedness. There was at that time a renegade Jew in the place, called Músa, who made spirits of dates and tamarinds for his own use. Their dress is very simple, consisting, for the man, of a wide shirt and trousers, mostly of a dark colour, while the head is generally covered with a light cap of cotton cloth, which is negligently worn, in all sorts of fashions. Others wear a rather closely fitting cap of green cloth, called báki-n-záki. Only the wealthier amongst them can afford the “zénne,” or shawl, thrown over the shoulder like the plaid of the Highlanders. On their feet the richer class wear very neat sandals, such as we shall describe among the manufactures of Kanó.
As for the women, their dress consists almost entirely of a large cotton cloth, also of dark colour—the “túrkedi,” fastened under or above the breast—the only ornament of the latter in general consisting of some strings of glass beads worn round the neck. The women are tolerably handsome, and have pleasant features; but they are worn out by excessive domestic labour, and their growth never attains full and vigorous proportions. They do not bestow so much care upon their hair as the Féllani or some of the Bagírmi people.
There are in the town a good many “Búzawe,” or Tuarek half-castes, who distinguish themselves in their dress principally by the “ráwani,” or tesílgemíst (the lithám), of white or black colour, which they wind round their head in the same way as the Kél-owí; but their mode of managing the tuft of hair left on the top of the head is not always the same, some wearing their curled hair all over the crown of the head, while others leave only a long tuft, which was the old fashion of the Zenágha. The Pagan inhabitants of this district wear, in general, only a leathern apron (“wuélki”); but, with the exception of young children, none are seen here quite naked. The town was so busy, and seemed so well inhabited, that on the spot I estimated its population at fifteen thousand; but this estimate is probably too high.
Thursday, Jan. 16.—We still remained near Gozenákko, and I was busy studying Temáshight, after which I once more went over the letter of the Sheríf el Fási, Háj Beshír’s agent in Zínder; and having become fully aware of the dictatorial manner in which he had requested Elaíji to forward me and Mr. Overweg to him (just as a piece of merchandise), without asking our consent, I sat down to write him a suitable answer, assuring him that, as I was desirous of paying my respects to the son of Mohammed el Kánemi and his enlightened vizier, I would set out for their residence as soon as I had settled my affairs in Kanó, and that I was sure of attaining my ends without his intervention, as I had not the least desire to visit him.
This letter, as subsequent events proved, grew into importance, for the sheríf, being perplexed by its tone, sent it straight on to Kúkawa, where it served to introduce me at once to the sheikh and his vizier. But the difficulty was to send it off with the warlike messengers who had brought the sheríf’s letters, as they would not go without us, and swore that their orders, from the sheríf as well as from Serk’ Ibrám, were so peremptory that they should be utterly disgraced if they returned empty-handed. At length, after a violent dispute with Fárráji and these warlike-looking horsemen, the old chief, who took my part very fairly, finished the matter by plainly stating that if we ourselves, of our own free will, wanted to go, we might do so, but if we did not wish to go, instead of forcing us, he would defend us against anybody who should dare to offer us violence. Nevertheless the messengers would not depart, and it seemed impossible to get rid of them till I made each of them a present of two mithkáls, when they mounted their horses with a very bad grace, and went off with my letter. The energetic and straightforward but penurious old chief left us in the afternoon, and rode to Kálgo, a village at no great distance.
Friday, Jan. 17.—Still another day of halt, in order, as I was told, to allow Háj ʿAbdúwa’s salt caravan to come up and join us. Being tired of the camp, I once more went into the town to spend my day usefully and pleasantly; leaving all my people behind, I was accompanied by some of my fellow-travellers of the caravan. Arriving at Overweg’s quarters, what was my surprise to find Fárráji not yet gone, but endeavouring to persuade my companion, with all the arts of his barbarous eloquence, that though I should not go, he at least might, in which case he would be amply rewarded with the many fine things which had been prepared in Zínder for our reception. The poor fellow was greatly cast down when he saw me, and soon made off in very bad humour, while I went with Overweg to el Wákhshi, who was just occupied in that most tedious of all commercial transactions in these countries, namely, the counting of shells; for in all these inland countries of Central Africa the cowries, or kurdí (Cypræa moneta), are not, as is customary in some regions near the coast, fastened together in strings of one hundred each, but are separate, and must be counted one by one. Even those “tákrufa” (or sacks made of rushes), containing twenty thousand kurdí each, as the governors of the towns are in the habit of packing them up, no private individual will receive without counting them out. The general custom in so doing is to count them by fives, in which operation some are very expert, and then, according to the amount of the sum, to form heaps of two hundred (or ten háwiyas[13]) or a thousand each. Having at length succeeded, with the help of some five or six other people, in the really heroic work of counting five hundred thousand shells, our friend went with us to the sick Sultan Mazáwaji; I say Sultan, as it is well for a traveller to employ these sounding titles of petty chiefs, which have become naturalized in the country from very ancient times, although it is very likely that foreign governments would be unwilling to acknowledge them. The poor fellow, who was living in a hut built half of mud, half of reeds, was suffering under a dreadful attack of dysentery, and looked like a spectre; fortunately my friend succeeded in bringing on perspiration with some hot tea and a good dose of peppermint, in the absence of stronger medicines. We then went to the house of Amánkay, that useful fellow so often mentioned in the Journal of the late Mr. Richardson, and by myself. He was a “búzu” of this place, and had many relatives here, all living near him. His house was built in the general style, but the interior of the courtyard was screened from profane eyes. Fortunately I had taken with me some small things, such as mirrors, English darning-needles, and some knives, so that I was able to give a small present to each of his kinsmen and relatives, while he treated us with a calabash of fura.
In the afternoon we strolled a long time about the market, which, not being so crowded as the day before yesterday, was on that account far more favourable for observation. Here I first saw and tasted the bread made of the fruit of the magária-tree, and called “túwo-n-magária,” which I have mentioned before, and was not a little astonished to see whole calabashes filled with roasted locusts (“fará”), which occasionally form a considerable part of the food of the natives, particularly if their grain has been destroyed by this plague, as they can then enjoy not only the agreeable flavour of the dish, but also take a pleasant revenge on the ravagers of their fields. Every open space in the midst of the market-place was occupied by a fireplace (“maidéffa”) on a raised platform, on which diminutive morsels of meat, attached to a small stick, were roasting, or rather stewing, in such a way that the fat, trickling down from the richer pieces attached to the top of the stick, basted the lower ones. These dainty bits were sold for a single shell, or “urí,”[14] each. I was much pleased at recognizing the red cloth which had been stolen from my bales in the valley of Afís, and which was exposed here for sale. But the most interesting thing in the town was the “máriná” (the dyeing-place), near the wall, consisting of a raised platform of clay with fourteen holes or pits, in which the mixture of indigo is prepared, and the cloths remain for a certain length of time, from one to seven days, according to the colour which they are to attain. It is principally this dyeing, I think, which gives to many parts of Negroland a certain tincture of civilization, a civilization which it would be highly interesting to trace, if it were possible, through all the stages of its development.
While rambling about, Overweg and I for a while were greatly annoyed by a tall fellow, very respectably and most picturesquely dressed, who professed himself to be a messenger from the governor of Kátsena, sent to offer us his compliments and to invite us to go to him. Though the thing was not altogether impossible, it looked rather improbable; and having thanked him profusely for his civility, we at length succeeded in getting rid of him. In the evening I returned to our camping ground with Ídder, the Emgédesi man mentioned in a preceding part of my narrative, and was very glad to receive reliable information that we were to start the following day.
CHAPTER XXIII.
GAZÁWA.—RESIDENCE IN KÁTSENA.
Saturday, Jan. 18.—We made a good start with our camels, which, having been treated to a considerable allowance of salt on the first day of our halt, had made the best possible use of these four days’ rest to recruit their strength. At the considerable village of Kálgo, which we passed at a little less than five miles beyond our encampment, the country became rather hilly, but only for a short distance. Tamarinds constituted the greatest ornament of the landscape. A solitary traveller attracted our notice on account of his odd attire, mounted as he was on a bullock with three large pitchers on each side. Four miles beyond Kálgo the character of the country became suddenly changed, and dense groups of dúm-palms covered the ground. But what pleased me more than the sight of these slender forked trees was when, half an hour after mid-day, I recognized my splendid old friend the bóre-tree, of the valley Bóghel, which had excited my surprise in so high a degree, and the magnificence of which at its first appearance was not at all eclipsed by this second specimen in the fertile regions of Negroland. Soon afterwards we reached the fáddama of Gazáwa; and, leaving the town on our right hidden in the thick forest, we encamped a little further on in an open place, which was soon crowded with hucksters and retailers. I was also pestered with a visit from some half-caste Arabs settled in the town; but fortunately, seeing that they were likely to wait in vain for a present, they went off, and were soon succeeded by a native mʿallem from the town, whose visit was most agreeable to me.