He is not wearing a helmet, or a cap of some kind, as might be supposed, but his own hair, into which is woven a number of little rings of copper and brass.
Camping Out in the Bush
The authoress is sitting outside her tent, busy at needlework. Note the double awning, the bed with mosquito curtain, the portable washstand on the right, and the chairs and tables all made to fold up into a small compass. This photo was taken at Kugnau.
We camped here under a big tree, the roosting place of innumerable tame guinea-fowl, who greatly annoyed us by their incessant cackling. The heat in the middle of the day was very excessive, and in order to get the maximum of fresh air and the minimum of sunshine, we adopted the expedient of detaching the outer canvas roofs over our tents, and using them as awnings. It was surprising what a difference it made. Beneath this awning, and still further sheltered from the sun's glare by the thick branches of a big tree, I enjoyed my siesta in perfect comfort and comparative coolness, whereas when I remained cooped up in the tent, I found it usually impossible to obtain any sleep whatever during the daytime. The fact of the matter is that a tent in the tropics is not at all a desirable kind of dwelling-place. It looks cool, and it sounds cool, but it isn't anything of the kind. On the contrary, its interior is almost always stiflingly hot.
Whilst we were waiting here for our carriers to come up, I was greatly amused by the antics of two travelling coast natives who unexpectedly put in an appearance. They were "beautifully" dressed in what they, no doubt, considered the latest European styles; broad-brimmed straw hats, short tight trousers, and cut-away coats. As soon as they saw us they came swaggering over to where we were seated. Said Schomburgk: "Where do you come from?" "From the coast," they replied. Said Schomburgk: "You look it." That was all. But it was enough. The two "culled gentlemen" beat a quick retreat, and for the rest of their stay they left us severely alone; which was precisely what we wanted. They had two carriers for their belongings, and later on we saw them seated back to back on their boxes in the middle of the village street, each reading a book, while a crowd of gaping bush negroes stood round, evidently greatly impressed, and very much amazed at so marvellous a display of erudition on the part of men of their own race and colour. Of course it was all done for effect.
Although the days in this part of the Togoland Sudan are frequently fearfully sultry, the heat radiates quickly in the thin dry air at this season of the year, and the nights, consequently, are apt to be chilly. On the morning when we left Bapure, for instance, at 5 A.M., it was quite cold, so that my teeth chattered as I dressed myself. A quick short canter, however, soon put the blood into circulation. The first part of our journey was along a picturesque native path, just wide enough to allow two people to ride abreast, and bordered on either side by open bush country. About half-way between Bapure and our next halting-place at Gerin-Kuka, however, we crossed a river, the Dakpe, which forms the boundary between the Sokode and the Mangu districts, and immediately found ourselves on a broad, well-kept Government road. I didn't like it at all. The tortuous native tracks, winding in and out, may not be so good for quick or easy travelling, but they possess the charm of the unknown. When riding along them, one is always wondering what new scenery the next turn will disclose. But this wide straight highway where one could see miles ahead. Bah! There was no more romance or element of uncertainty about it, than there is about Rotten Row.
However, I was soon to be reminded that, road or no road, I was not anywhere in Europe, but in the heart of savage Africa. We had arrived within a mile or two of Gerin-Kuka, when there suddenly sounded ahead of us a most terrific din, and presently there came in sight an immense crowd of Konkombwa people, who advanced towards us leaping and yelling, and brandishing in the air long bows and barbed arrows—the latter, I was informed, poisoned. It was a most imposing, barbaric sight. The savages, all nude, or nearly so, kept up a chorus of yells, a series of long-drawn and sonorous "ha-ha-has," threw their bows into the air, and dexterously caught them again. And all the while they were dancing and capering, and making swift, short darts forward, as if bent on attacking us.
I confess to having been a wee bit frightened at first, until Schomburgk assured me that this was merely their way of saluting an honoured guest, and that the honoured guest on this occasion was myself, the first white woman who had ever adventured herself within the confines of their country. I can quite understand, however, what a welcome of this description might easily be misunderstood, and possibly lead to complications, as it has, in point of fact, upon occasions, and this not only amongst the Konkombwa, but amongst other more or less kindred people, whose customs in this respect are practically identical. In this connection Schomburgk mentioned an incident that came within his own personal knowledge. It happened some years ago, in what is now the north-western corner of Rhodesia, in the bend of the Kafue River. Here a traveller, who shall be nameless, first came into contact with the Mashukulumbwe. This traveller had heard a lot about the fighting prowess of the Mashukulumbwe, in just the same way as I had heard a lot about the fighting prowess of the Konkombwa, and when they came out to greet him, as the Konkombwa came out to greet us, he, like me, grew frightened, and fired and killed one of them. The poor savages, utterly at a loss to understand in what way they had offended, went in a body to the District Commissioner to complain of the outrage, and to ask for redress and compensation. They got what they asked, the money payment they received being afterwards recovered from the traveller, who was severely called over the coals for his share in the matter.
