The governor, who spends a great deal of his time in a country house which he has recently built outside the town, about noon held a sort of review of several hundred horsemen, whose horses, in general, were in excellent condition. They were armed with a straight sword hanging on the left, a long heavy spear for thrusting, and a shield, either of the same description as that of the Tuarek, of oblong shape, made of the hide of the large antelope (Leucoryx), or else of bullock’s or elephant’s hide, and forming an immense circular disc of about five feet in diameter; some of them wore also the dagger at the left arm, while I counted not more than four or five muskets. Their dress was picturesque, and not too flowing for warlike purposes, the large shirt, or shirts (for they generally wear two), being fastened round the breast with an Egyptian shawl with a red border; and even those who were dressed in a bernús had it wound round their breasts. Most of them wore black “ráwani,” or shawls, round their faces, a custom which the Féllani of Háusa have adopted from the Tuarek merely on account of its looking warlike; for they have no superstitious reason for covering the mouth. The harness of the horses was all of Háusa manufacture, the saddles very different from those of the Tuarek (which seem to be identical with the old Arab saddles). The stirrups formed a very peculiar kind of medium between the large, unwieldy stirrups of the modern Arab and the small ones of the Tuarek and Europeans, the sole of the stirrup being long, but turned down at both ends, while it is so narrow that the rider can only thrust the naked foot into it. I could not understand the principle upon which this kind of stirrup is made. It appeared to me a most absurd specimen of workmanship.
The Féllani in Kátsena have good reason to be on their guard against the Kél-owí, who, in an underhand way, are always assisting the independent Háusa states of Góber and Marádi in their struggle, and might some day easily make common cause with them to drive out these arrogant intruders from the conquered provinces. In fact they have done all in their power to attain this object; and Ánnur’s policy is so well known to the Féllani that once when he came to Kátsena he received most shameful treatment at their hands. Afterwards I was visited by el Wákhshi, and paid him in return a visit at that part of the encampment where some of his merchandise was deposited, for he himself was living in the town. Here he introduced to me a person who was very soon to become one of my direst tormentors, the bare remembrance of whom is even now unpleasant; it was the háj Bel-Ghét, a man born in Tawát, but who had long been settled in Kátsena, and though not with the title, yet in reality holding the office of a “serkí-n-turáwa.”
A troop of eight mounted royal musicians (“masukídda-n-serkí”), who had been playing the whole day before the several divisions of the “aïri,” came likewise to my tent in the course of the afternoon, and gratified my ears with a performance on their various instruments. There was the drum, or “ganga,” very much like our own instrument of that kind, and of about the same size as the common regimental drum; the long wind instrument, or “pampámme;” a shorter one, a sort of flute, or “elgaita;”[15] a sort of double tambourine, or “kalángo;” a simple tympanum, or “koso;” a sort of double Egyptian darabúka, called “jójo;” and a small horn, or “kafó.” The most common among them is the “jójo,” which in Háusa is the chief instrument made use of in an expedition, and, if accompanied by the voice, is not disagreeable. With these various instruments the well-mounted horsemen made a pretty good noise; but it was neither harmonious nor characteristic: to all this pompous imitative music I prefer a few strains with natural feeling by a solitary maimólo. I was obliged to reward my entertainers with a large quantity of cloves, as I had scarcely anything else left.
I was rather astonished to hear that the Ásbenáwa do not pay passage-money to the governor according to the number of their camels, but that every freeman among them makes him a present of one kántu of salt. For every beast of burden, be it pack-ox or donkey, five hundred kurdí are generally paid.
Thursday, Jan. 23.—Having assorted such a present as I could afford, I protested once more to Elaíji that, my other luggage having gone on in advance to Kanó, I had but very little to offer the governor.
I went about noon with my protector and a great number of Ásbenáwa to offer the governor my compliments and my present. Sitting down under a tree at a considerable distance from the spot where he himself was seated, we waited a little, till we should be called into his presence, when his brother, who held the office of ghaladíma, came to us—a man of immense corpulency, resembling a eunuch. Indeed, nothing but the cut of his face, his aquiline nose and rather light colour, and the little goatlike beard which ornamented his chin could expose him to the suspicion of being a Púllo or Ba-Féllanchi.[16] He wanted to treat my business apart from that of Elaíji, who, however, declared that he had come only for my sake. While the fat ghaladíma was returning to inform his brother of what he had heard, a troop of well-mounted Kélesárar (who, as I was told, are settled at present in the province of Kátsena) came up at full speed. It was not long before a servant came from the serkí, inviting me alone into his presence.
Mohammed Béllo Yeríma, the eldest son of the former well-known governor, Mʿallem Ghomáro,[17] was seated under a widespreading and luxuriant tamarind-tree, dressed simply in a large white shirt with a black ráwani round his face. The Ásbenáwa, who formed a large semicircle around him, were dressed most gaudily. Stepping into the opening of the semicircle, I saluted the governor, telling him that as I and my companions had lost, on the border of Asben, almost all the valuable property we had brought with us, and as the few things left to me had gone on to Kanó, he ought to excuse me for being unable at the present moment to offer him a present worthy of his high position; that it was my desire to go on without delay to Kanó, in order to settle my affairs, and to proceed to Bórnu, where we expected to receive fresh supplies, after which one of our party certainly would go to Sókoto, in order to pay our respects to the Emír el Múmenín. The governor answered my address with much apparent kindness, telling me that I was now in his “imána,” or under his protection, and that he had no other purpose but to do what would be conducive to my advantage. He then asked the news of my companions, though he knew all about them, and did not appear to take the least offence at Mr. Overweg’s going to Marádi, although the people and the ruler of that place were his most inveterate enemies. But things must not be looked upon here as they would be in Europe; for here people are accustomed to see strangers from the north pay visits to all sorts of princes, whatever may be their policy. However, while he spoke in rather friendly terms to me, and while my presents were received thankfully by the servants, he declared to the people who were sitting near him that as the ruler of Bórnu had laid hold of one of my companions, and that of Marádi of the other, he should be a fool if he were to let me pass out of his hands. I therefore took leave of him with no very light heart.
My present consisted of two fine red caps, a piece of printed calico which I had bought in Múrzuk for four Spanish dollars, but which was of a pattern not much liked in Sudán, an English razor and scissors, one pound of cloves, another of frankincense, a piece of fine soap, and a packet of English needles. Though it certainly was not a very brilliant present, yet, considering that I did not want anything from him, it was quite enough; but the fact was that he wanted something more from me, and therefore it was not sufficient.
Early the following morning, while it was still dark, a servant of the governor came with Elaíji to my tent, requesting me to stay voluntarily behind the caravan. Though this would have been the best plan, had I known that the governor had set his heart upon keeping me back, yet I could not well assent to it, as I had nothing at all with me, not even sufficient to keep me and my people for a short time from starving. I therefore told him that it was impossible for me to stay behind, and prepared to go on with the caravan which was setting out. This, however, Elaíji would not allow me to do, but while all the divisions of the aïri started one after the other, he himself remained behind with several of the principal men of the caravan, till Háj Bel-Ghét came and announced that it was necessary for me to go to the town, there to await the decision of the governor. Seeing that nothing was to be done but to obey, and having in vain shown my letter of recommendation from the Sultan of Ágades, from which, as I had feared from the beginning, nothing was inferred but that I had been directly forwarded by him to the Governor of Kátsena in order to see me safe to Sókoto, I took leave of Elaíji, thanking him and his friends for their trouble, and followed Bel-Ghét and his companion Músa into the town.