It is well perhaps that things should not go too smoothly. It is well, probably, that though matters are thought out and plans made in advance they should crumble by no fault of the maker. It is as well, no doubt, that suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune should befall one who until arriving in Kano had had a pleasure trip, not made less pleasurable by unremitting work, the joy of the journey enhanced rather than lessened by a few minor discomforts.
I had imagined that the previous enjoyment would be multiplied many fold at Kano, famous Kano. Everything possible had been done to prevent mishaps. The house had been engaged. It was one of those the Government has put up for travellers passing through. True it was a circular hut of mud and straw, but, I was told, two French officers were occupying a similar dwelling, so it was as good as I had any warrant to expect. The train by which I was to arrive had been notified to the quarter that had a right to know. Nothing seemed omitted from the preliminary arrangements.
No more forlorn figure landed on a foreign shore than the writer of these lines presented, to himself at least, as he stood on the ground known as Kano Station. He knew only a single person in Kano, and, for what appeared justifiable cause, he would not humble himself by sending a message to that individual. No porters are at Kano, and there the fresh arrival stood, helpless to move, with a couple of dozen heavy boxes. He had not the slightest idea of the situation of the hut in which he was to live, and nobody present could inform him. It was a pretty predicament. Of course, there was a cause for the embarrassing situation, but it need not be explained.
An hour passed, and then someone saw who had a heart. As on several occasions in the course of this journey aid came from a Baro-Kano Railway man. Mr A. W. Brayscher, Traffic Assistant, the officer in charge of Kano terminus, came up and asked if he could be of service. Having told him, minus details, how badly stranded I was, he offered a mud and straw hut similar to the adjacent one in which he lived, belonging to the railway and used by engine-drivers. It was eagerly accepted and the impedimenta promptly transferred under its roof. Here I thought to settle down for a week, and, at all events, to be conscious of a spirit of independence.
But my troubles were not ended. Food now became a consideration. For that water was necessary. Where was it to be obtained? I learned, at a well “over there,” the locality indicated being a field half-a-mile away. If, my reader, you desire to be satisfied with, if not thankful for, the high charges of your British Municipality or Metropolitan Water Board, come to a place like Kano and prove what it is to be compelled to go out and find a well sunk in a spot unrevealed until you are actually at it. The humour (?) of the situation is the richer by your being conscious that you have been warned that the quality of the liquid is suspect.
Be the water whatever it might, it must be had. One has not necessarily to get desperate in order to have that frame of mind. One has only to be hungry and very thirsty, the thirst accompanied by a headache which produces a positive craving for a cup of tea.
It had become dark. Still, the blessed water must be got. I could not send Oje half-a-mile across strange grass country, with no sign of a path. The hurricane lamp had been lit, and I was about to start off with the faithful lad in search of the well when up walked Mr Brayscher holding out two pint bottles of water which had been boiled and filtered. Heaven knows whether I should have found the well, for the moon was not up, and there appeared to be nobody to act as guide. The search could now be deferred to morning.
I never had to attempt the task. Another dweller in a hut near by was Mr W. J. Marsh, who was a passenger on the ship by which I came out, but with whom I did not come into contact on board and who was practically a stranger, though he was in the saloon at a little entertainment on the voyage in which I took part. Hearing I had arrived in Kano, and knowing the water trouble, he very thoughtfully sent four pint bottles of the precious liquid, boiled and filtered. Mr Marsh, like Mr Brayscher, is on the Baro-Kano Railway. He is a First Grade Foreman of Works, and is rated as a Second-Class Officer. Be his class what it may, I am proud to mention W. J. Marsh as a friend indeed.
As a matter of fact my indebtedness did not end with the indispensable water for breakfast. A week or so later the exceedingly intricate and delicate mechanism working the shutter of an expensive camera got out of order. After long and unsuccessful efforts to make it work the thing was given into the hands of Mr Marsh. I admit I had small hopes of his being able to accomplish anything. Had the matter been one of drawing an iron bolt or straightening the axle of a locomotive I would have been more trustful, but the elaborate springs of a photographic shutter resemble the interior of a Geneva watch.
However, the handy man at Kano Station, after a wrestle lasting not quite an hour with the fragile springs, sent the camera back in perfect working order. It was also the most natural thing in the world, when my Browning automatic pistol jammed, to call in Mr Marsh, who put it right in the proverbial jiffy.