CHAPTER XVII

IN A MOUNTAIN COUNTRY

I forgot to say that owing to the forethought of the chief of Banjeli, in making all arrangements beforehand for us to film the iron industry there, we were enabled to get away one day earlier than we anticipated. According to the itinerary which we had drawn up, we should have left there on February the 12th, whereas we got away early on the morning of the 11th.

Up to now, from at all events as far north as Nambiri, my journey had been one long triumphal progress, of a kind somewhat different from anything of the kind I had experienced previously. All through the thickly populated Konkombwa country, the roads--they are mere native trails--are punctuated throughout their entire length with little villages, strung out like beads on a string with intervals between them, and from the very first one past a station there used to issue in my direction crowds of women and children to welcome me. On meeting me, they would separate on either side to let me pass, ul-ul-ulling and waving their hands, then close in behind me, and follow me through their own village, and on to the next, a mile or so distant, where the welcome would be repeated by the women and children living at that place, the others returning to their homes; and so on to the end, the result being that I used to have a continuous bodyguard, perpetually renewed, all the way from one station to the other.

Now all this came to an end. We are entering a wilder and more mountainous country, where villages are few and far between, and the inhabitants correspondingly sparse. From Banjeli to Bassari, for instance, a distance of twenty-two miles, we did not pass a single settlement that could properly be called a village. The road is a narrow winding native path, just wide enough to allow of two people riding abreast. Nothing more pleasant and exhilarating can be conceived than to ride thus in the cool of the African morn along a road where every turn reveals new beauties. It was nowhere level, but all up hill and down dale, some of the steep ascents making us rather pity Hodgson, who had gone on ahead, as usual, on his beloved "bike." Presently we reached the Katscha River, which flows hereabouts at the bottom of a deep gully, cut by the raging torrents that, during the rainy season, hurl themselves down from the adjacent mountains. It is crossed by a native wooden bridge, which, however, looked so frail and insecure, and was moreover in so wretched a state of repair, that we preferred to go through the river, now nearly dry.

The descent to the river bed was as nearly perpendicular as a steeply sloping bank can be; nevertheless, our horses slithered down without mishap, as only African ponies can. By the way, when I first came to Togoland, I rather fancied myself as a fearless and accomplished horsewoman. But I very quickly discovered that a morning canter in the "Row," or even a stiff cross-country gallop to hounds, constituted but a poor preparation for African bush-riding. Practically I had to begin and learn equitation all over again. But I proved an apt pupil--or at least so I was informed--and now even a deep and steep gully like this possesses for me no terror, whatever it might have done at the beginning of the trip.

The usual riverine belt of vegetation that is a feature of all the Togoland streams had broadened, in the case of the Katscha, into a beautiful shady forest, and here it had been our intention to halt and partake of an open-air breakfast, but we had made such good time on this, the early stage of our journey, that we decided to put on a few more miles. Nearing Bassari, we came to a big native town, called Beapabe, which reminded me very much of Bafilo, on account of the number of houses, and the many fine baobab trees scattered about. Here we struck the northern end of a fine, well-kept Government road, which has been built out from Bassari, and which will ultimately extend upward as far as Mangu, following approximately the route along which we have come. We did not keep to this road, however, but left it to our left, and rode through the native market-place, to emerge presently into a perfectly straight and most beautifully kept avenue of mango trees. These grew so thickly overhead as to form a complete arched roof of solid greenery, altogether shutting out the burning rays of the sun; the only disadvantage being that the fruit sometimes hung so low down that, in riding along, it was liable, unless one was very careful, to catch one in the face, with results the reverse of pleasant. Following this avenue for about half a mile we arrived at Bassari.

The station is built very much on the lines of an old Norman castle, with a castellated tower, and a broad raised verandah fronting a level, well-kept parade ground shaded by fine trees, the whole backed by forest-clad mountains. Here we were welcomed by Mr. Muckè, the Sub-District Commissioner, one of the oldest officials of Togoland, and one of Dr. Kersting's most able assistants. He has been in the Government service ever since 1898, and has taken part in practically every piece of Togo history that has been made during the intervening years.

Schomburgk knew him through meeting him here during his previous trip, and the worthy gentleman's only regret was that we had been unable to be with him for the Christmas festivities, of which he gave us a glowing description. We soon convinced him, however, that we could not possibly have managed it; and he then led us, talking all the while, to where he had prepared for us a most substantial and appetising breakfast, to which, needless to say, we did full justice. He had also very kindly got ready for us, and placed at our disposal, the "Massow House," so called, I was informed, after a certain Lieutenant Massow, a pioneer of empire who died in northern Togo in the early days, while engaged in opening up that part of the territory. It is a square house, standing ninety feet above the station, with baobab and other trees all round it, affording a welcome shade. The view from it is one of the finest I had yet seen in Togoland, with picturesque wooded mountains in front and rear, and all around. Here we stayed five days, and were very comfortable; what made it seem more than ordinarily homelike, being the fact that it was provided with windows. This may not sound much to untravelled Europeans, but it was the first windowed house I had slept in since leaving Lome, six months previously, for although at Mangu Captain von Hirschfeld's house had windows, ours had none.

There were, however, some slight drawbacks to residence here. One was that there were no stables for our horses, these being down at the station. We therefore had to tether them under some of the biggest of the trees, for we were afraid that our horse boys would not look after them properly, or at least not to our liking, once they were freed from our constant personal supervision. Another drawback was the scarcity of water. We had to buy every single drop we used, paying at the rate of a halfpenny a calabash for it, from the natives, who brought it on their heads all the way from the Kamaa River, a good two hours distant. It was not good water either, being brown and nasty looking; but it had to serve us for all purposes until Mr. Muckè detailed some prisoners to fetch us water for our personal use from a spring situated some distance up in the mountains that towered at the back of our house. We still, however, had to purchase water for our horses, and for washing purposes, &c. This came rather expensive at a halfpenny a small calabash full, for we had seven horses, and they needed, of course, to be watered regularly twice a day. However, there was no help for it, and Mr. Muckè did his best to atone for the dearth of water by sending us daily plentiful supplies of the most delicious, thirst-quenching fruits--limes, oranges, paw-paws, bananas, &c.--and beautiful flowers from his own garden.

We went out riding a good deal during our stay at Bassari. All round the station--another legacy from Dr. Kersting's days--there are beautiful tree plantations, similar to those at Mangu, and these are kept in apple-pie order by Mr. Muckè, who is as proud of Bassari almost as Bassari is of him. In the evening, after dinner, he used to hold us spellbound by the hour together, telling us stories of the olden days, when all the country round about was unsafe, and almost unknown, and when warfare with the wild natives was practically endemic. Muckè and Bassari! Bassari and Muckè! The two terms are identical--interchangeable. He has been christened the "King of Bassari," and with reason, for he rules his sub-district with a rod of iron, and yet with a fine sense of justice that makes the natives respect, and at the same time fear, him. Schomburgk, who has the greatest respect and liking for him, remarked one day that he was of the class that helps build up colonial empires without talking about it, and I fancy that that very aptly describes him. If he has a fault it is that he is rather too fond of his Bassari. A story is told of him, which may or may not be true, but which at all events fits him to a nicety. It concerns a visit he paid to Germany's capital during one of his infrequent leaves of absence. He was asked what he thought of it. "Ah--Berlin!" he is reported to have remarked, drawing out his words in his slow, thoughtful, methodical way. "Well--yes! Berlin is all very well, of course. But"--with a sudden brightening of the eyes and a quick acceleration of speech--"give me Bassari." The yarn is not new of course; it is merely one of the many variants of _Punch's_ old-time joke anent the Peeblesshire Scotsman who declared, after his first trip to France, that Paris was "a graun' city, mon, but gie me Peebles for playsur." But, as I have already intimated, it exactly hits off Muckè, and Muckè's attitude towards that little unregarded strip of West African soil whereon he reigns an uncrowned monarch. A curious attribute of Muckè's is that, although the soul of hospitality, his fondness for a practical joke will sometimes go to the length of permitting a white stranger to pass his domicile; and this, in a land where peripatetic white men are as rare as butterflies on an iceberg--a more apt simile would be ice in Hades--is a sufficiently strange trait to merit mention, the more especially as it was the cause of Hodgson going without his breakfast for ten minutes longer than he otherwise need have done. And for Hodgson to go without his breakfast for even five minutes beyond the appointed time, was an eventuality that Hodgson did not greatly appreciate. I need not say more.

Well, Hodgson had gone on ahead of us from Banjeli, as I have already said, on his "bike," and when he cycled level with Muckè's house he just gave it a sidelong, passing glance, and went on, never dreaming but that if it were the residence of a fellow white man he would step outside and give him a hail. Muckè, however, did nothing of the kind, but sat tight, and when his boy rushed in crying, "Master! Master! There's a white man gone past!" Muckè simply replied, "Is there? Well, don't bother about that; he'll come back again." And he did, after having over-shot his destination some little distance; whereupon Muckè remarked, "You must be fond of cycling, but come inside now and have some breakfast." Two more facts about Mr. Muckè. He owns the finest and handsomest horse I saw in all my journeyings through Togoland. It is a perfectly black stallion of Arab breed, and came from the far interior of the French Sudan, whence it was brought by a Hausa trader, a journey of many months' duration. Such horses are difficult to acquire, and Schomburgk badly wanted to buy this one on his first trip, but Muckè would not sell. Another great pet of Muckè's--he simply idolises his horse--is a tame bush buck, which he keeps in a wire enclosure outside his house.

Bassari is the principal market for the raw iron, which is mined and smelted at Banjeli. Here it comes to be made up into the finished articles, as mentioned in the previous chapter, and our reason for staying here so long was that we wanted to film these finishing processes, the native smiths at work, and so on. When we were not taking pictures, we put in our time exploring the surrounding country, which is exceedingly picturesque and pretty, and also densely populated. The climate, too, is healthier and less enervating than most other parts of Togo; the great drawback being the terrific thunderstorms and the heavy moist heat of the rainy season.

We also paid a few visits to local notables, chief amongst whom is the Mallam Mohammed. Everybody in Bassari, and for miles around, knows the Mallam, who is a sort of local Pooh-Bah. For one thing, he is the richest native in these parts. For another, his interests are practically unlimited, so that he has a finger in every local pie. He is, for instance, a great dealer in horses, trading as far north as the French Sudan, and with Dahomey on the one side, and the Gold Coast Colony on the other. He also occupies the important and responsible post--as regards a big place like Bassari--of _sery-chi-songu_, or head-keeper of the native rest-house and compound, known together as the songu, and this carries with it the further responsible--and lucrative--position of tax-collector to the Government. Besides all these things he is head schoolmaster at an open-air school for natives which he has established, and where the little children, sitting cross-legged on mats under a shady tree, are taught the Mohammedan religion, and to read and write. He is very proud of this unique school, and with reason, for the scholars seemed to me to be a wonderfully intelligent lot of laddies. I was especially struck with their painstaking writing of the neat and pretty Arabic characters, which is done on soft slabs of wood, with a pointed stick and native made ink. It was really astonishing to see the beautiful results they obtain with these primitive writing materials.

Of course he invited us to his house, where I was introduced, collectively and separately, to his eight wives. These ladies possess a certain degree of culture, and most of them are good-looking; one, a Fulani girl of light, almost white complexion, being really pretty. The chief wife showed me, with evident pride, all their household treasures, their European crockery, brass dishes and cooking utensils, and so forth. I was greatly struck by the contrast these afforded to much of the native furnishings. For instance, her bed was made of mud, baked hard, a mere raised platform, similar to that used by the Sumbu women for grinding corn on, and on top of this was a mattress and rug of native manufacture, surmounted by a European mosquito-curtain, of which she was exceedingly proud. There were numbers of children about the place, some quite pretty, and ranging in hue from jet black to light chocolate colour.

Afterwards all the eight paid me a return visit at our house. I had invited them to afternoon tea, but found out on their arrival that they did not drink tea, preferring cocoa, which, to suit their palates, I had to make inordinately sweet. They put in an appearance arrayed in their smartest lavelaps, each one heavily be-jewelled, and with faces rouged and powdered, and eyes and lashes and eyebrows painted black, after the fashion of a stage actress's make-up. They chewed kola-nuts incessantly, and their nails were dyed red with henna. But what struck me most about my visitors was the inordinate quantities of scent they used. What particular kind of scent it was, I do not know. I have never smelt anything exactly like it before or since. But I do know that it was so heavy and overpowering that I felt a difficulty in breathing the same atmosphere. The slightest movements of their wraps sent invisible clouds of it wafting and rolling about the room, and when once five of them stirred suddenly and quickly in unison, they set going an aromatic hurricane that made me gasp, and cough, and choke. However, the wild bees, who swarmed in countless numbers in the big baobab trees near our house, seemed to like it, for they buzzed round my visitors in clouds incommoding them so greatly that, after two or three ineffectual attempts to drive them off, they had to sit, during the remainder of their stay, with their heads and shoulders shrouded in their lavelaps.

After they had been with me for some time an infant started to cry lustily, to my great surprise, for I had seen no signs of a baby up till then, nor had any mention been made of one. I suppose I looked the astonishment I felt, for they all began to laugh, and the chief wife rose, unrolled her outer lavelap, and after a further unwrapping of shawls, produced a fine, healthy child of six weeks, or thereabouts, from a sort of sling in which she had been carrying it between her shoulders at the back. She then handed it to another of the wives, who suckled it, so I suppose she was the mother. Then, when it had had its fill, it was passed on to yet a third woman--not the chief wife--who wrapped it up as before, and slung it behind her back under her lavelap.

In order to amuse and entertain them, I showed them my European clothes and jewellery. The former interested them greatly, but my rings and bracelets did not appear to impress them. They seemed to consider them too small and trivial to be of any particular value. They themselves wore numbers of very large and heavy silver bangles and finger and thumb rings, together with massive gold brooches of native workmanship and design. That evening, on their return, they sent me food of their own cooking. It was, however, so terribly peppered that a single spoonful brought the tears to my eyes and nearly choked me; so I gave it to my boys, who devoured it greedily, smacking their lips over it with many grunts and gurgles of ecstatic approval.

During our stay at Bassari, Herr von Parpart, District Commissioner of Sokode, arrived with his escort. They had ridden the whole distance from Sokode to Bassari, about forty miles, in the one day, a truly wonderful performance considering the roads they had to traverse, of which more anon. As a result of their journey, Parpart was somewhat tired, so I did not see him that night, and the following morning very early he was up and away to Banjeli before I rose. I was rather disappointed at being unable to make his acquaintance, but as it turned out, it was only a pleasure deferred, for we were destined to see a good deal of him later on during our stay at Sokode.

It was at Bassari one evening, on returning from our ride, that I first heard close up, and was able to observe, the curious death wailing and other ceremonious celebrations precedent to a native funeral, concerning which I shall have more to say presently. I had frequently, when on my travels, heard these same weird sounds afar off, but on this occasion I was brought into actual contact with them, and the result was an almost painful shock to my nervous system. The wailing and lamentation emanated from the compound occupied by the native soldiers attached to the station, and, on inquiring, I found that they were mourning for a little child who had died that day, a baby of about two weeks.