Among the Ibos of Nigeria/Chapter 1

Probably there is no part of the world which has been more anathematised than the West Coast of Africa, and yet it has never ceased to cast its spell over men and to attract them to its surf-washed shores. Perhaps also no other country has been shrouded in so much mystery, or held in thrall by such powers of darkness.

More particularly the Niger has dominated the minds of men with a fascination well-nigh incomprehensible, except to those who have felt its influence. From the days of Pliny downwards no river has given rise to so many and varied speculations as to its course and ultimate discharge. Not until 1830 was the problem solved, when the brothers Lander passed down the river and, after many adventures, found themselves gazing after the sea at Brass. For thirty-five years intrepid explorers had been baffled in the task of tracing the course of the great river. Mungo Park and many of his successors in the quest had indeed fallen in the fight.

The discovery of the embouchure of the Niger by the Landers settled for ever all speculative theories as to its course, and cleared up a mystery which had been for years a subject of discussion amongst interested enthusiasts. Their success, however, had come too late. The toll of lives already exacted, and the disastrous endings of ​previous expeditions, had bred such hopeless despair that few were the seers whose vision could penetrate the dark clouds and foresee the possibilities of the Niger.

Government was not inclined to move any further in this matter of exploration, and probably those who advocated the decision felt that their action had been justified when the disasters of the ill-fated expedition of 1882-4 became known. Lander dead, together with thirty-eight others of the forty-eight who had set sail from Liverpool. Misfortune and death had pressed heavily upon them, yet those brave hearts, who went forth chiefly at the instigation of Macgregor Laird, laid the foundation of that prosperity which eventually, in the Providence of God, resulted in Nigeria being added to the British Empire.

The expedition of 1841 was practically due to the per­sistent efforts of Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, whose name will ever be held in honoured remembrance in West Africa. Equipped with every necessary that thought could suggest and money supply, the expedition started on the great adventure, cheered by the good wishes of all, from Prince Albert (who had presided at the inauguration meeting at Exeter Hall, June 1, 1840) downwards. No expedition had ever gone forth under brighter auspices or with greater eclat. But alas! all too quickly enthusiasm changed to despair. The narrative of that ill-fated voyage up the Niger depicts an almost unparalleled series of disasters. Its failure killed Fowell Buxton,”^[1] and caused such pro­found depression that for years all further effort to open up the river was abandoned.

Thirteen years later the indefatigable Macgregor Laird, with dauntless energy and perseverence, succeeded in despatching the Pleiad under the command of Dr. Baikie. This venture was unique, and inaugurated a new era of Niger exploration, inasmuch as Dr. Baikie and his companions navigated hundreds of miles of the Niger, and they traced the course of the River Benue to within a short distance of Yola and, most wonderful to relate, returned without the loss of a single life.

​This unprecedented success stirred up Laird to yet greater exertions, and after many struggles and rebuffs he succeeded in launching the expedition of 1857.

The two ships engaged, the Dayspring and the George, arrived at Aboh on the Niger on July 20 of that year, and five days later they reached Onitsha. The latter place was destined to become an important centre for the development of the country. The expedition laid the foundation of commercial and missionary enterprise amongst the Ibo people, and in the following pages an attempt is made to set forth some of the main facts con­ cerning their lives and customs.

It was characteristic of the times, and of the English, that so much had been left to the persevering exertions of a private individual. In the enthusiastic days, just prior to the departure of the expedition of 1841, the Committee of the Church Missionary Society had expressed the hope that the Niger would be “ a highway for the Gospel,” but the honour of making such a prospect possible falls to Macgregor Laird. It was the humblest of beginnings, alike from a mercantile and a missionary point of view, and yet of such importance that within six years, Burton writes: “ We shall never drop the Niger; the main artery of Western Africa north of the line must not be neglected.”¹ Only those acquainted with the history of Nigeria since those adventurous days can adequately comprehend the marvellous strides taken in the opening up of the country. Writing with reference to the trad­ ing affairs of the Niger, Lieut.-Col. Mockler-Ferryman says:

“As an instance of the rapid development of a new land there is, perhaps, nothing more interesting in the commercial history of England than the opening up of the River Niger to trade. Fifty years ago there was not a single store-shed north of the Delta; to-day the banks of the main river and its branches, to a distance of nine hundred miles from the sea, are lined with British trailing stations.”² ​The progress to be recorded since the above words were penned is astounding, and it undoubtedly surpasses every expectation of the pioneers of British interests in Nigeria. Since the assumption of the administration of the country by our Government (Jan. 1, 1900) even greater progress can be recorded. The result is a complete upheaval of the political, economical and social affairs of the country. Every native institution has been shaken in its founda­ tions and, at the present rate of progress, a great many of the most interesting facts concerning the primitive customs of the people will soon be matters of history and tradition only, hence this attempt to record some of these facts ere the period of transition be passed, when the old shall have been overwhelmed by the new.

The days of the “ Palm-oil Ruffians ” are over. For years the men who laid the foundations of the great com­mercial houses were dubbed with this sobriquet, and yet it is to their endurance, and often dare-devil pluck, that we owe much of our present prosperity. In them we see repeated the instinct for adventure, the blood and bone and the initiative of the Elizabethan mariners who started the Empire movement. Seldom now is the epithet applied to the coasters. On the other hand the West African steamer, as she rests alongside Prince’s Landing Stage, Liverpool, is still occasionally irreverently addressed as the “ monkey ship ” by that indescribable product, the quayside labourer, who earns a more or less precarious livelihood by handling passengers’ baggage.

From England to Sierra Leone the voyage is similar to any ordinary journey by sea. From that point there is a little more variation, chiefly arising from the fact that the transhipment of passengers and baggage is accom­ plished whilst the ship lies at anchor in the open road­ steads. The heavy rolling seas, as a rule, prohibit the use of companion-ladders, and recourse must be had to derricks and mammy-chairs. Native crews bring surf-boats along­side, and into these the traveller and his goods are dumped. The operation is very unpleasant at any time, and when the sea is rough it is decidedly uncomfortable. The native paddlers are very expert in handling their craft, and they ​need to be to avoid catastrophe. In the earlier days European passengers climbed down the vessel’s side by the rope ladder, or were hoisted over in a barrel adapted for the purpose by the removal of a quarter section to allow for easy entrance and exit. Nowadays baskets or mammy-chairs are used.

Highly entertaining—to the onlookers—is the method of transhipping native passengers, of whom considerable crowds are carried between the coast ports. It had at least the merit of being very expeditious. A piece of stout canvas, some twelve feet square, was spread on the fore­ deck, and upon this were huddled six or eight men. At once the four corners of the sail were gathered up and hitched to the derrick hook, and the bag of humanity was slung overboard without further ceremony. For a time it dangled at the end of the swaying rope, the poor im­ prisoned wretches being enveloped in darkness and, help­ less to protect themselves as they were, bumped against the vessel’s side. They remained suspended thus until the word was given to “ let go,” when the bundle was dropped with a run into the bottom of the surf-boat alongside. By that time arms and legs had become almost inextricably mixed up, but the unravelling was a marvel of speedy ingenuity. Three corners of the canvas were slipped off the hook, and then it was hauled up by the fourth corner, and the long-suffering beings shaken out and left to sort themselves at leisure.

It was astonishing how quickly a number of natives could be transferred by this rough-and-ready method, and, except for an occasional ducking, accidents appear to have been rare events.

Immense quantities of kola nuts, in charge of Moham­ medan traders, are carried between the coast ports. They are bound up in huge round bundles containing some 3000 to 4000 nuts apiece, most carefully packed between fresh leaves and salt to prevent contact with the air; if exposed they soon harden and lose their value. The bundles are very heavy, and are carefully protected with stout coverings, the whole being enclosed in a network of strong cordage. Sometimes the foredeck is piled up with ​hundreds of bales of nuts, and they form one of the most valuable items of cargo.¹

Passengers for the Niger proceed to the Forcados River and are there transferred to a launch or stern-wheel steamer, the latter being far preferable to the former. My first acquaintance with the Niger was whilst making the up-river passage in the old Rattler, a launch, most appropriately named, some thirty feet in length by about eight feet beam, driven by a small and noisy engine. In 1900 the number of passengers was so insignificant that the business of transport had scarcely been considered. The few who did travel up river were granted passages more or less as acts of courtesy, upon payment of a sum rather substantial in proportion to the facilities conferred. In the case of the Rattler, judging by appearances, most of the woodwork originally supplied for cabin fittings and other purposes had been appropriated by the enterprising engineer for firewood. The native has no compunction whatever in using the first thing that serves his end, and one has seen a neighbour’s roof stripped of all the thatch within reach of the hand, it having been commandeered in order to start the kitchen fire.

On the occasion of my first passage the Niger was in full flood. At such a time it becomes an immense and imposing volume of w'ater, or, more correctly, a saturated solution of mud. Navigation during the time of full river, i.e. whilst heavy rains are falling, still has its discomforts, but that season is more expeditious than the dry for travelling, inasmuch that when the water is low it fre­ quently becomes a wearisome task to proceed either up or down stream. When nine days are occupied by a good steamer in traversing eighty miles, travelling is apt to become tedious ; it may be restful but is not very enter­ taining, although unexpected adventures occasionally en­ liven the proceedings. To the new'-comer there is much that is novel and he, moreover, early discovers his own shortcomings and suffers from his lack of experience in the management of affairs. We had not proceeded many miles in the Rattler when we became aware of the fact ​that no cooking utensils were on board, and we were forced to accept the loan of a small begrimed pot, the property of one of the native crew. This had to serve as teapot and to cook—in turn—every course comprising our menu. There was no special hardship in this until the other pur­ poses for which it was used became known to us. It was not appetising to discover that the same little pot was used for stewing palm-oil chop—some of the ingredients of which were questionable—and later that it served as the wash-up basin for plates and dishes, and finally for some of the boys themselves !

In order to avoid the powerful current, small launches, when proceeding up stream, keep well in under the banks for the sake of the shelter afforded, but as the river is studded with islands, and deviates in its course, this entails frequent crossings from one side to the other. There is a certain amount of compensation in this, inas­ much as it permits close observation of the country through which one is travelling.

In the Delta districts the route is through a seemingly interminable mangrove swamp.1 In every direction nothing meets the eye but water and dense banks of vege­ tation. In the dry season hundreds of high-and-dry sand­ banks add another colour to the picture. On the sky-line there is one dead level of tree-tops, a prospect which is extremely monotonous.

Much credit is due to those Englishmen who endure life in these watery wastes, some in the interests of com­ merce, others in the administration of political affairs. ​How little the dividend-drawing public know of the dreary circumstances in which the toilers in these depressing regions live.

The traveller finds a subject of fascinating interest in watching the native pilot as he threads his course through an amazing labyrinth of waterways. In the Delta, channels open out in all directions, but the pilot is never in doubt; he presses steadily onward, not only by day but often far into the night.

On the lower reaches of the Niger no villages are visible from the steamer, and the only indications of human life are the men and women paddling their “ dug-outs ” under the shelter of the banks. These inhabitants of the swamps are scantily clothed, and their huge umbrella-hats of plaited palm leaves give them a quaint appearance. The villages are hidden in the back-bush wherever an acre or two of less swampy land affords an anchorage for a tiny cluster of huts. Little lanes of water, often invisible to the unobservant eye, connect the villages with the main stream. Sometimes the entrance is indicated by a “ Ju-ju ” house, or a primitive flag-staff, from which a fragment of white cloth flutters. The latter has also a religious signifi­ cance but is not original, the custom being an innovation adopted in recent years by certain of the Delta tribes.

As we proceed up river the swamp gives place to higher ground and the banks become defined. Clearings in the forest are to be seen where plantains and bananas thrive. The increasing number and size of the villages, now built directly on the river banks, point to the fact that the country is well populated. One is struck with the lack of forethought exhibited by the natives when building these riverside villages. They are situated close to the water’s edge, and, consequently, many huts are swept away during the annual flood. The swollen river, swirling along at a great pace, undermines the bank, causing large sec­ tions to fall into the water, carrying away at the same time huts and trees. The lesson of the year’s disaster leaves no impression, and the native continues to build on precarious sites—as near the river as he can, presumably in order to be near his canoe, the river being the great (and often the ​only) highway to the markets. The huts are small and oblong in shape, the poorest in style and material in the whole country. They are constructed of mud and wattle, and thatched with palm leaves. Sometimes they are built on the ground, in other eases they are raised on piles to protect them from the floods. The local clay is of inferior quality, with poor building properties, and is unsuitable for building substantial walls similar to those erected by the people in the districts higher up the river.

The most important piece of property to the Delta native—as indeed to all natives dwelling in close proximity to the river—is the “ dug-out ” canoe. It is indispensable, providing, as it does, the only means of intercourse with the outside world. In the wet season no other mode of travelling is possible, and at times the native would be confined to the four walls of his hut were he deprived of his canoe. For the fashioning of a “ dug-out,” a tree is selected, by preference a mahogany (for cheap canoes bamboo or silk cotton trees are suitable), as near the water’s edge as possible. From the main stem a log of the length required is taken, and this is roughly hewn to shape and hollowed out ■with native axes. The axe-work being completed, slow fire is applied to the hull, inside and out, and the rough parts made smooth. The canoes are of all dimensions, from those designed for a single paddler to those capable of carrying a dozen or more, with passengers and merchan­ dise in addition. They are heavier and more cumbersome even than they look, and, from personal experience, I can affirm that they do not compare favourably with a rowing skiff.

Near Aboh the waters of the Delta converge into one main stream, and the river assumes an aspect worthy of its title, the “ Lordly Niger.” At the close of the wet season it is truly a mighty mass of water. Immediately the rains cease, however, it subsides at a remarkably rapid rate, and very soon sandbanks appear, and navigation becomes an intricate business.

As far as Aboh the inhabitants of the districts traversed consist chiefly of the Jekri and Ijaw tribes, but from this point the Ibo people predominate. The scenery has ​changed also. No more mangrove swamp is met with, and the country is higher altogether, though still con­ tinuing uniformly and monotonously flat. Magnificent trees lift their heads above the dense undergrowth, those particularly noticeable being the bombax (silk cotton), uroko (commonly called African oak), mahogany, cocoanut and oil-palms. Viewed from the launch, the country is extremely picturesque and often beautiful, but at close quarters its attractiveness quickly diminishes. The luxuriant living foliage springs forth from a tangled mass of dead and decaying vegetation, rank and reeking in the humid atmosphere; the home of myriads of creatures that creep and crawl. The “ bush,” as it is familiarly termed, is not the place to select for comfort and enjoyment.

A day’s run north from Aboh brings the traveller to Onitsha, in the neighbourhood of which are seen the first signs of hilly country, a welcome relief from the depressing low levels hitherto encountered. Here it was that the present writer landed in September, 1900. The Rattler dropped her anchor just before midnight. The darkness was intense, and the pitch-black cloud-banks of an ap­ proaching tornado provided an appropriate setting for his introduction to “ darkest Africa.”