French enterprise in Africa

by Hourst

On the other hand, our native escort was reduced. One of our coolies, Matar Samba, had been out of sorts ever since we left Sansanding. During the last few days he had become worse, and both Dr. Taburet and a medical man at Timbuktu were of opinion that he was suffering from tubercular disease, and would only hamper, not help me, in the further journey. I decided therefore to leave him at Timbuktu, and when I came back from Dakar on our return I had the pleasure of finding him much better, if not completely cured.

Aided by Father Hacquart, I at once opened relations with Hamadi, the Kunta of whom I have already spoken, and he promised to do all he could to persuade his relation Aluatta to go with us. It was significant that when I begged Hamadi to join us himself, he replied, “No; I might merely arouse opposition, and you might suffer through my being with you. I would rather write to Aluatta; he will be more likely to say yes then, for, like a dutiful relation, I shall only urge him to come and share the windfall of all your beautiful presents.”

The next thing I did was to try and meet at Timbuktu with some natives who were on friendly relations with the Awellimiden, the important Tuareg tribe to which I shall so often have to refer later, but whether they spoke the truth or were deceiving me, one and all declared that they knew absolutely nothing about them.

To make up for this, however, a native of Tuat, a certain Bechir Uld Mbirikat, who had long lived at Timbuktu, and whom I had met before, gave me some letters for his cousin Mohammed, who was living amongst the Igwadaren Tuaregs, and for Sheriff Salla Uld Kara, chief of the village of Tosaye, who had once been the pupil of Hamet Beckay, and the friend of Barth.

Moreover, Bechir gave me a valuable bit of advice, which I immediately followed, without, however, fully realizing its importance at the time. This counsel, perhaps, contributed more than anything we did to the success of our expedition. “Tell them,” said Bechir, “that you are the son of Abdul Kerim.” Now Abdul Kerim was the Arab name assumed by Dr. Barth during his journey. This custom of taking an Arab name seemed almost comic, and reminded me of a little play I once saw acted at the Châtelet Theatre in Paris. I forget the name of it, but a traveller figured in it, who took his servant with him to the heart of Africa. The latter, who was passionately fond of travelling, and took an eager interest in all the doings and adventures of explorers, made but one request, and that was to be allowed to change his name of Joseph to that of Mohammed Ben Abdullah. “It was more euphonious,” he said, and the audience roared with laughter.

Well, Joseph was quite right, and if Barth had not done as he did, the negroes and Tuaregs would never have remembered his European name, it would never have become engraved on their memories, it would never have been transmitted to their descendants, and I should not have been able to solve all difficulties, however great, and emerge safely from every situation, however embarrassing, by the simple words “I am the son, or rather the nephew of Abdul Kerim.”

It is impossible to admire too much the lofty, upright character of Barth, which so impressed all with whom he came in contact on his journey, that nearly half a century after his death the mere fact of his having traversed a district—poor as he was, and exposed to all manner of dangers, the friendship of Beckay his only safeguard—should be enough to open the way for a pretended relation of his.

How few travellers could boast of having done as much, even in modern times. Too many explorers have indeed, after forcing their way through a country against the will of the natives, left behind them a legacy of increased difficulty and danger to their successors.

I was very anxious to secure the services of a political agent with a thorough knowledge of the country, and the language of the Tuaregs. I wished to send him, if I could find him, in advance of our party to take letters to the chiefs, or to plead our cause with them.

Acting on the advice of Hamadi, I chose a certain Sidi Hamet, distantly connected with the Kuntas, and then employed in the Custom House at Timbuktu, under one Said, the interpreter of the Post-Office.