Through unknown Nigeria

by John R. Raphael

He stayed near for the remainder of the day, sometimes sitting on the ground at the side of the bungalow, always looking wistfully when I went outside. Once, as I sat writing, he came into the room and commenced to make the bed ready for the night, as he had done for so many months, but I ordered him out and declared he was never to think of doing anything for me again, though I almost broke down before the sentence was finished. He went out with tears trickling. That night he slept in one of the outhouses and directly I opened my door at 5.30 next morning he was waiting and commenced “I beg, sir-r.”

I told him to come back at 10 o’clock. He elected to remain on the spot. Another boy was engaged as steward and then poor little Oje was reinstalled a step lower, as cook.

The horse difficulty remained. On Tuesday the one that had been growing weaker died. I must not overlook the attention it received all through from doki boy Kolo, not the one originally in my service but a Beri-Beri. Kolo is not handsome to gaze upon—he has one eye, a phenomenally long mouth and wears a short pig-tail falling from the crown to the side of his head—but I liked him from the first meeting.

It was clear I must obtain horses if my stay was not to be prolonged to a length driving me to lunacy. But no Glendower can conjure them up at Naraguta within a fortnight of the great Hausa festival known as the Salah. However, if I did not try I certainly would not succeed, and, making efforts and my wants known in all directions, at last a Hausa dealer brought a strong-looking pony he had purchased from Pagans. It stood about 12 hands and, all being well, was just the kind of beast for trekking. The dealer rode him a short distance, and, although not taking kindly to bit or saddle, he seemed all right. I then walked, trotted and cantered him, and a friend having done likewise and pronounced him passable except for a defect in the shape of his legs, I bought the animal for £5.

The same evening the pony broke his tether and wildly tore about the compound seeking who of his kind he might fight and bite. For 20 minutes he was pursued by half-a-dozen doki boys, whom he repeatedly evaded by sharp turns and wheels to the left or right. Eventually wary tactics were adopted. The pony was quietly allowed to approach another horse and, as the Pagan beast stood for a moment, one of the doki boys threw his arms over the neck and the others closing in, the runaway was held captive, in spite of frantic plunging, backing and kicking.

Kolo held him whilst ropes were being sought, and maintained the charge when the pony recommenced the contest by biting a gash in Kolo’s leg, from which the blood came freely. At last the beast was put in a doki house, both fore and hind legs hobbled, a stout rope round his neck and tied to the roof, but of sufficient length to allow lying down. The entrance was crossed with heavy beams and the barricade made complete by a large iron wheelbarrow against it. A peace-offering, in the form of a heap of cut grass, was placed on the ground to keep the rioter quiet during the night. He rejected all these overtures and frequently signified his protest at the restraint imposed by attempting to break away, but that had been too carefully provided against.

I had thought during the performance that I would give him as much galloping as he wished for, and more, next morning.

At 10 a.m. the little brute was led to the bungalow. He was in anything but an angelic mood. Ears set back, a spiteful look in his eyes, seemingly spoiling for a fight, he seemed generally typical of the wild people who had bred him. I calculated that all this vicious energy would be fully expended in the couple of miles’ gallop to and up the hill on which the post office stands. The pony had other plans.

It was a long business getting him to take the bit, which was only done after the beast had been tied to a post by a halter round his neck. The two doki boys had all they could do before the bridle was in position. The saddle was then put on and the halter taken off.

But the pony by no means entered into the spirit of what was intended. He jumped about and swung round, never giving chance of a foot being placed in the stirrup. At last the doki boys had to hold his head firmly, and a moment afterwards I was up and they let go to give a clear course. Instead of starting off like a flash, as I expected, he not merely reared but threw himself backward, his full length on the ground.