By permission of
Maj. H. Schomburgk, F.R.G.S.
An Unfortified Tschokossi Village
The semi-wild Tschokossi of the extreme north of Togo are great believers in fetishism and fetishes. In the above photograph a field fetish, in the form of two calabashes joined together, is seen in the tree on the left; this is supposed to make the corn grow plentifully. In the centre is a pedestal-like arrangement of hard clay; this is for the sacrifice of fowls. Other fetish emblems are seen on the huts, and elsewhere.
Schomburgk wanted to camp at a village, but I was greatly taken with a very pretty spot, lying fifteen feet or so up on a bluff in a bend of the river, and from which a beautiful view could be had over the surrounding country. To this Schomburgk objected, saying that the wind was likely to prove troublesome by day, and that at night we were pretty certain to be eaten up by mosquitoes. I persisted, however, and in the end he allowed me to have my way. Afterwards, I wished he hadn't. His prediction was verified. Very much so, in fact. As the day advanced, a hot wind swept across the Oti plains in fierce eddying gusts, bringing with it more clouds of black dust from the burnt veldt; and at night the mosquitoes were so bad that we couldn't sleep, exactly as he had foretold. I never encountered anything quite so bad in the way of insect pests as were these mosquitoes on the banks of the Oti. The boys had to light fires of green boughs to drive them away, and while they were crouching over them, half-suffocated by the smoke, Schomburgk started to tell me about some mosquitoes he once encountered in the Congo forest region. "Why," he remarked, "we used to shoot them like game with our revolvers as they sat perched on the boughs of the trees above our heads, and so big were they that several of them weighed a pound." "Get out," I retorted indignantly, "there are no such insects anywhere in the world." "It is the literal truth I am telling you," he replied, gravely, "several of those Congo mosquitoes weighed a pound." "Yes," put in Hodgson slyly, with a laugh and a wink at me, "several of them. Several thousands—or millions if you like." Then, of course, I saw the joke, such as it was, and we all laughed.
The place near to which our camp was pitched was a small Tschokossi village called Bwete. The people were very wild in appearance. The Tschokossi living in and about Mangu were comparatively civilised, but these were just savages pure and simple. The men wore only small loin slips of undressed bark, the women bunches of green branches before and behind. These they renewed daily when they went down to the river to wash in the early morning. Each woman or girl plucked a few branches, thereby possessing herself of a new dress. In this respect these children of nature go one better than ourselves. No civilised woman, I take it, be she ever so wealthy, has a new dress every day. Schomburgk considered these umbrageous costumes hideous, but I thought them very pretty, modest, and becoming. Certainly, on hygienic grounds, the custom has much to recommend it.
In the afternoon all our boys went down to the river to bathe in a big deep pool, in which I had previously observed several crocodiles disporting themselves. I was horrified when I saw them, and called to them to come out, telling them what I had seen; but they only laughed at my fears, and went on swimming, skylarking, and splashing about. The natives assert, and probably with truth, that whereas for one man to venture alone by himself into a crocodile-infested pool would be for him to court almost certain death, a number of them can go in together with impunity. Doubtless the reptiles are frightened at the noise and the splashing, and lie low instead of attacking, fearing for their own safety.
On the road to this village a pet monkey we had bought earlier in the trip got loose, and bolted across the veldt. It was being carried shut up in a hen-coop, and probably resented the indignity. We were greatly perturbed, for we had all of us become more or less attached to the "comical little cuss," as Artemus Ward would doubtless have called him, and we did not want to lose him. The boys tried their hardest to catch him, and failed; but directly Schomburgk called him, he came to him, and rode coiled up on the front of his saddle for the rest of the day.
Shortly after this episode we came upon a very picturesque little lake, a really pretty sheet of water, long and narrow. We had been on the look-out for this, because before we left Mangu one of the officials there told us that he had recently shot a big bull hippopotamus here, and Schomburgk was anxious to film one or more of these creatures. So we circled the entire lake, going up one side and down the other, examining it carefully. There were lots of water-fowl, but no hippos, big or little, male or female. When we reached camp, our boys told us that they had seen a big herd of antelope. This was tantalising, for we wanted meat for the pot, and we had seen nothing of them. The natives are still busy at their favourite pastime—at this season of the year—of burning the grass on the Oti flats, and the wind, as usual, blew the calcined debris into our eyes and noses. Anything but pleasant!