There is thorough segregation. Lokoja proper may be described not even as oblong but in the form of a narrow strip—nail-like—parallel with the Niger. At one end of the strip is the native quarter, forming a kind of oval head to the nail-shaped town. A wide thoroughfare—Camp Road—stretches about a mile. At each side and sometimes a little way back are the European stores, and at the further end—the point—the Government offices and residential bungalows, the barracks, and the hospital.
On the excellent principle of keeping European commercial development separate from the purely native administration of the country—so that the former does not disorganise the latter—that is fixed at Kabba. At Lokoja the political officer has the rank only of Cantonment Magistrate, but the heavy duties he performs, the hours I have seen him at his tasks, their multifarious nature, and the way he has of “getting on” with all kinds of people, all mark Mr Bertram Byfield as among the best type of official to be found in British colonies.
He is the Baron Haussman of Lokoja. He takes as much pride in it as did the famous improver of Paris in his own city or as a man might in the garden to his house. Mr Byfield walks along Camp Road and into the native quarter always alert to detect in the course of his peregrinations what may be necessary for public health or convenience. He seems to regard himself as always on duty. In the course of each of my walks with him he noted half-a-dozen things to be done.
He has completely rearranged the market on the plan of Sir Hesketh Bell’s model town-planning. The streets are in straight lines and run sideways and at right-angles to one another. To an eminence high enough to be approached by a zigzag path he has removed the Court house of the Alkali, in order that cases may be heard clear of the turmoil of the market-place. Cheaply-made bridges he has placed across dykes, and so given a short and direct cut between parts of the native quarter formerly connected only by a long detour. Another phase of his daily life is holding his Court for the trial of offences which do not go on the “list” of the Alkali.
The first occasion I called on Mr Byfield he was doing none of these more or less dignified acts, but (also in pursuance of his duties), of all things in the world, haggling over the price of old, disused kerosene cans from the military people! Such is the variety to which the qualities of capable officials in Northern Nigeria have to be turned.
What has the Cantonment Magistrate—he really should be a Resident—to do with cast-off kerosene cans? you ask. This. Although there is a sort of native Mayor and municipality—all appointed by the C.M.—for the native quarter of the town, the C.M. must see that they carry out his directions, for he would be held answerable if a serious outbreak of illness occurred. They needed the tins for hygienic use. But, again, why haggle over 3d. more or 3d. less per can? Because the strictest economy is the order of the day in Nigeria, and if when the accounts came to be overlooked the Governor saw that the C.M. of Lokoja had paid more than somebody elsewhere, His Excellency would demand the reason why.
You may remark that the procedure is straining a principle to pedantry, as the expenditure merely transfers money from one public department to another. Your assumption would be incorrect—at all events, incomplete. The outlay on military needs comes out of the general funds, raised by Customs, and by further revenue on all classes of the population, European as well as other; whereas such local requirements as the cans are discharged by direct native taxation. British administration says that whilst it is fair and proper that indigenous dwellers should pay taxes for increased advantages to themselves, every care must be exercised that the money of these people is laid out with scrupulous economy.
A historic figure is Abigah, King of Lokoja, with whose son I had the illuminating conversation on domestic felicity detailed in Chapter XIV. Mr Byfield kindly sent for the old man to meet me in the market. I had, of course, known that the King had been brought by Dr Barth to Europe and that he had visited England and seen Woolwich Arsenal. He told me that Dr Barth also took him to Berlin, and introduced him to the Emperor William I. (then simply King of Prussia), who, noticing Abigah’s strong and healthy appearance, tapped him on the chest and declared he was “a piece of black mahogany.” Although more than 50 years have passed, Abigah is still as active in walking as a young fellow. He speaks English quite well, not in the pidgeon manner.
I omitted to ask what the King’s means are. As he must be over 70 years of age and has been useful to England since Barth visited Lokoja, I hope the Government of Nigeria will take care that the old man’s latter days are not embittered by poverty. This remark is made as I had heard up-country he was badly off. I am sorry the matter slipped my memory when speaking to Mr Byfield. In maintaining our rule in Northern Nigeria we depend so much on the cordial co-operation of the native, natural leaders of the people that it would be a great pity to jeopardise our good name for fair-dealing towards those whose supreme functions we have taken over by failing to be not only strictly just but somewhat generous in a case where that would be no more than discharging an obligation of honour, for Abigah has always been a staunch friend of the British.
At the other end of the town is the hospital, which fills an exceptional place in a mental survey of Nigeria. There are two routes from the Coast to the interior. One is by the railway from Lagos, the other the river route from Forcados. Along the former line, besides the large hospital at Lagos, there is a similar establishment at Zungeru, as well as a smaller one at Ibadan, and, all being on the railway, a patient living near the line is within easy reach of any of them.