Through unknown Nigeria

by John R. Raphael

Hanza considered the best course would be to send the horses across and to instruct one of the doki boys to ride to a village a few miles distant and bring a man who had a boat. The “boat” I subsequently found out was a large calabash ball with a stake through it, the upper part grasped by a passenger who sat on the calabash. This floated whilst the voyager was carried along by the stream; if he were able, paddling with feet until he was across, and if he had not confidence to do that then carried by the current until a turn of the bank on the other side intercepted him. Such a “boat” was lying near. When discovered, the question of conveying boxes over remained a difficulty.

The horses were unsaddled; taken to a point where it was calculated the current would not bear them past the part on the opposite bank where they could get out of the water, and swum across. We saw one of the doki boys mount and ride away. There was nothing for it but to sit down and wait.

We had arrived at 10.20, and after an hour’s delay and no sign of the doki boy, Hanza told me that one of the carriers thought he knew where the bed of the river rose somewhat, and had volunteered, if I would consent, to try and carry the loads across one by one. Glancing at the strongly-running stream, I said I would first prefer to see the man go over unencumbered. Hanza answered that the test was whether the man could keep on his feet bearing a load against the pressure of water. I appreciated the argument and looked along the line of packages for something easy. In order to cover the ground as quickly as possible I travel lightly. It seemed rather hard to decide what, if a sacrifice had to be made, should go. The photographic equipment was the lightest, but that was the most precious, more precious than the food. Scanning the boxes, I selected a case containing a tin of kerosene as being the article the loss of which would cause least inconvenience. Hoisting it on his head, Amadu—for he was the volunteer—went down the bank and entered the water.

Gingerly he stepped out, for the current went hard and the ridge along which he walked was not too broad. Fortunately it curved leftwards, so he was able to give ground to some degree to the pressure of water on his right. But as he went deeper his efforts, it was distinctly visible, were more severe, and by the time he was in the middle of the stream—at its widest point—I had become very anxious. The river was up to his shoulders and beating across him ominously.

He went on, with the eyes of all his fellows following him intently. My gaze fixed intently on the now slowly-moving figure, which seemed to be struggling to maintain its upright position. I saw he was treading into deeper water. It was washing round his ears, and in a moment more had reached to the top of them. Still he pushed forward, and as the level of his eyes was reached and he painfully struggled on, his arms stiffened in the endeavour to raise the heavy load pressing on his head, and to bring his face above water to breathe. I could stand the sight no longer, and, breaking the spell of silence, shouted “Adja kasa! Adja kasa!” (“Throw it down! Throw it down!”)

Amadu either could not hear or would not heed. He stopped, and not once but thrice or more he tried to bring his face above the water. No, it could not be done there. Would he wear out his remaining strength and drop? A score of pairs of arms must have involuntarily twitched in the desire to help the brave carrier whose endurance was at breaking-point. His feet felt their way by inches, and whilst I stood, both sick and fascinated, more of his head seemed to show, and, sure enough, he was on the upward slope, and in a few moments again stood still, now his mouth and nostrils above water, and drew several long breaths.

Lifting the load two or three times in playful manner, as a signal to his comrades that he was all right, he strode on into the shallower flow and putting the box down on the bank scrambled up. I gave a volley of hand-clapping as vigorous and hearty as I ever rendered to actor or singer, and the carriers also broke out into loud “Ah’s” in token of admiration. Without waiting for a question from Hanza, I told him that I would not think of consenting to any further experiment of the sort. The risk was far too much for the man, without a thought of the safety of the things he was willing to carry over.

Amadu swam back, and all stretched themselves at ease to await the boat. Ground-nuts bought at a small village earlier in the morning were roasted and eaten by the happy, light-hearted carriers. A fire was easily made by gathering leaves. Notwithstanding the downpour of the night, the sun had dried them to tinder.

So powerful were the sun’s rays that my chest, exposed for the coolness, was as though a strong mustard plaster had been administered. When the blistering and peeling process ensued I had some bad five minutes. My arms, the skin now quite dark and hardened by three months’ daily exposure on horseback to wind and sun, also blistered. The camera, of polished teak and with brass binding, specially made for the tropics, gave a tendency to stiffness of the joints due to warping, but the excellence of the wood and workmanship stood the test without impairing the apparatus for usefulness. A closed tin of butter, protected in a thick wooden box, melted and percolated through. I afterwards learnt that the temperature had been 139 degrees. So fresh is the atmosphere on the Bauchi Plateau that although I had given up my horse to another at half-past eight, and had, therefore, tramped with the carriers for two hours, I was not in the least fatigued, in spite of the heat.