Tefuga (10 page)

I asked Ted when he came back for lunch.

“Nobody knows what the African really thinks,” he said.

“'Specially when you don't know the language,” I said.

“I hope you're not going to put on side about that, Rabbit. It's no use. When they tell you it'll still only be what they think you want to think they think. Anyway, a fair number of the men speak Hausa this close to the river. They're a contented lot, compared with the tribes up on Jos Plateau, for instance.”

“You just mean they don't make much trouble, but I don't think that's 'cos they're contented. I think it's 'cos they're frightened.”

“What do you mean?”

I explained what I'd been doing, and what had happened when we heard the trumpet.

“Peasants always detest being counted,” he said. “They know it means taxes. That's all we're really up to, checking the census and the tax assessment. These ones probably still associate the whole process with Bestermann's Patrol.”

“I'll ask, next time I'm doctoring. I'll have to think how to say it.”

“Better not. Seriously, Rabbit. You don't want to go putting ideas into the African's head. You never know what shape they're going to come out.”

We talked a bit more, then just rested in the shade to let the worst of the heat go by. I got out my kit and did a good sketch of Zarafio's people lounging around under a group of knobbly trees. Five of them—Z., his Bangwa Wangwa, and three spearmen. I'm afraid there may not be a lot to paint.

Tues March 11

Had to stop there 'cos I heard Ted coming back. I'd got ready for him before I started writing. All a bit difficult in the tent to start with, but lovely in the end—rather thrilling, really, with mad Africa so close outside in the dark. Ted's my fetish, and I'm his. We can beat that lot between us.

What I'd been going to say was there won't be much of KB's kingdom to do pictures of, with it all so samey and no proper distances. Sometimes I feel a bit frightened about us getting lost when we go off alone for a canter. Even Ted says he'd have precious little idea where he is if he didn't have local guides. Sometimes if you can find a hill and get a view you can spot where there might be a village by the greener bush near the water-holes, but not always. This morning we went ten whole miles without seeing one hut! There's great empty patches on Ted's map, specially down south where the bush is thicker and the tsetse gets worse.

Glad to say Z. has become a bit less hostile. We'd done the first two hours in the dark again, and while we were having a stop for breakfast I did a quick sketch of his horse. You don't put horses into the shade, 'cos of tsetse, poor things, but they don't seem to mind provided they get plenty of water. So there it was, alone in the middle of empty Africa, with a rather splendid saddle and cloth, and the rising sun on them. I should've guessed it was Z.'s from the saddle, but when I found out I gave him the sketch and Ted says he was pleased, tho' I couldn't see any difference. It was a present, you see, and that's something the Hausa understand. So at the next village I went and sat with Ted while they were doing the tour-work, talking to the villagers and checking the census and assessment so as to work out how much tax the village ought to pay. (I'd kept out of the way for the two they did yesterday afternoon.) It's the Bangwa Wangwa who does most of the talking. He knows more words than I do but I don't think he's so good at the tones. Sometimes the Bakiti he was talking to looked decidedly puzzled—difficult to tell, 'cos they all look puzzled all the time with those scars. It's quite obvious all the Hausa think they're absolutely stupid. It's all only counting, over and over, getting it right, how many men, how much of the different crops. Lots of muddles, 'cos of the Kitawa thinking in twenties and us and the Hausa thinking in tens. I don't believe Lukar and the Bangwa Wangwa really understand this. I haven't told Ted yet. I'm learning to be careful, not saying things like that till I'm sure, or he'll decide I'm just saying it because I'm so against KB and his people. From his point of view women who meddle in the administration aren't much better than Africans in shiny blue suits coming up from Lagos.

Anyway, I'm really not sure, 'cos I didn't stay long enough. I slipped away and looked for the women so I could do a bit of doctoring and practise my Kiti. Same this afternoon. Much more fun. They're getting quite friendly. I can't help thinking someone must have run on from Ofafe and got here first to tell them we're coming and that the White Woman doesn't bite! They think I'm funny 'cos I talk men's language, which is what dear Elongo uses, so they're not quite sure I'm really a woman—specially wearing clothes so they can't see! If only we stop somewhere for more than a couple of hours I'll find a girl to teach me women's language. Two villages this morning. Long rest middle of the day. One this afternoon. Rest house now—not as nice as our tent but Ted says if we don't use it no one will look after it. Ted out trying to shoot something for supper. We'll have an evening together. No gramophone, tho'. Pity.

Wed March 12

Very unhappy. I've had a row with Ted and he's gone out with his gun, tho' it was far too late, to try and cool off. Really to let me cool off, 'cos he was terribly calm and patient, which only made it worse, of course! But it isn't my fault, really it's not. I haven't done anything wrong.

I'll write it down to see if that helps. Day started just as usual. Bit stiff from sleeping two in one bed, but comfy inside—T. swore he wasn't leaving me and I swore I wasn't getting out in the dark 'cos of the rats! Riding under the stars, good moon, slight dewy smells, then dawn. (Wonder if I could paint that, but we're always moving then to take advantage of the cool—I'm trying to write this like it felt before the row.) Breakfast. Move on, dusty and hot already. First village, quite a big one. I sat in on the counting, pretending to sketch. Z. didn't seem to mind. It's always the same. The headman comes up and grovels (I
hate
that) and Z. questions him in Hausa for a bit—just how-d'ye-dos really, and then the Bangwa Wangwa takes over 'cos now we're away from the river the headman's Hausa isn't v. good and Lukar tells Ted what they're saying and Ted and the Bangwa Wangwa write it down in their account books and when it's all over they check with each other and then they have to question the headman again to settle the differences. 'Cos I had a pencil in my hand I could make notes without anyone seeing, and I was right. Lukar and the Bangwa Wangwa are in a complete muddle about tens and twenties. They don't always get it wrong, but they did four times I made notes of. Lukar's too lazy to listen properly. He just agrees to anything the Bangwa Wangwa says, so we had twenty-three chickens when it should have been forty-three, and seventy baskets of beans when it should have been a hundred and thirty. Things like that.

I told Ted while we were riding on to the next village—quite close, so there wasn't much time—and I don't think he really believed me, so I said I'd stay and keep my ears open again, which I did and the same sort of thing happened, and luckily one of the times they got it wrong was where there was a disagreement between Ted's accounts and the Bangwa Wangwa's. I showed him my notes while we were having the long mid-day rest, and we worked out that one of the muddles in the first village had been the same thing. Then Ted sent for Lukar and questioned him. I pretended to be reading
Henry Esmond
and Ted made out that he'd worked out himself something was wrong. Of course Lukar said no, the counts were right, and all Ted could do in the circumstances was tell him to be more careful in future. But he made it quite obvious he didn't believe him, and showed him the places in the book where the accounts were wrong.

I spent the rest of the rest-time trying to teach Ted to count in Kiti—I can't imagine how he ever passed his Hausa exams, tho' he's pretty good now. I wrote the numbers down for him, best I could, with lines and dots to show the tones. I think he must have guessed already how Z. might react to all this 'cos he told me not to come to the accounting at the next village, which I didn't mind—it's much more fun doctoring the women and trying to chat to them.

That's just what I did. We were having a lovely gossip, just like a hen party at the vicarage only more interesting. The boss woman at that village—that's something we've got wrong, by the by, only dealing with the men. The women are just as important and their old women sit with the village elders, only there's usually one who speaks for them. That's who I mean by calling her the boss woman. Anyway she was telling me about her nephew having a pain in his stomach, but she saw I hadn't quite understood something so she explained he wasn't really her nephew. She said all Kitawa boys, before they can have their face-scars made, are sent to the hut of a young married woman and she tells them the things poor blushing Matron tried to explain to us, and shows them how and helps them do it the first few times. With her. She wasn't at all shy about it, and I wasn't shocked either. I just thought how terribly sensible. I mean, it's worked out all right in the end with me and Ted, but it easily mightn't have. Oh dear. I don't like to think about that. But this nice old woman was worried about one of her “nephews”, tho' he's got his own wives and children now, but they stay important to each other. While they're in her hut the lads have to do exactly what their “aunt” says, and work like billy-oh in her garden, or they don't get their prize that night!

We were all giggling away about this when suddenly they stopped as if I'd just said something awful and I looked up from the dressing I was doing and there was one of the Hausa spearmen staring at us. I told him to go away, which he did, but the women didn't want to talk any more after that.

Naturally I felt a bit miffed but I came back out here to the rest house to wait for Ted and to see what Kimjiri was doing about supper and to try and make up my mind whether I could stand the bat-smell or would I insist on using the tent tonight and after a bit Ted showed up and I knew at once something was wrong. It's the way he scrapes his pipe, when he's just done it anyway, so I asked what was up.

“Nothing, really,” he said. “Zarafio's got it into his head you ought to have one of his spearmen with you while you're doing your doctoring.”

“Well, he can jolly well get it out again!”

“It's not an unreasonable suggestion, Rabbit.”

“Yes, it is. They won't utter a word if there's a spearman there.”

“He won't understand what you're saying.”

“That doesn't make any difference. One showed up just now while we were gossiping away and they closed up like clams. They wouldn't say a word even after he'd gone. And we'd been having such a jolly gossip.”

“What about?”

“Darling, I couldn't possibly tell you!”

“Not Bestermann's Patrol?”

“Course not. You said I wasn't to.”

“Good girl. I've had quite an encouraging time. Lukar's pulled his socks up and is keeping a proper check on the Bangwa Wangwa. Figures clean as a whistle, almost. They've had a very good season here, some crops up getting on fifty per cent.”

He wanted to change the subject and he's not very good at that sort of thing. There was something he hadn't quite told me. Not difficult to guess.

“You've told him alright, haven't you?”

“Eh?”

“You've said a spearman can come and spy on me while I'm doctoring.”

“I don't know what you mean, spy. It's most unlikely he'll know a word of Kiti.”

“Well, you can jolly well go and tell him it's off!”

Long pause. Awful feeling. I've never talked to him like that, and never imagined the day would come. And about something like that! Why's it so important? I don't know. But it is.

“I don't think I can, Rabbit.”

(Tender, patient voice, like when you've got to break a promise to a child. But not ashamed, not him in the wrong—me, and too silly to see!)

“Course you can. He's only a native. He's got to do what you tell him.”

“That's not what I meant. Of course I could tell him I'd changed my mind, but I'm not going to. This is a man's world. Our authority here is based on respect.”

“Piffle! It's based on them knowing that if they don't do what you say you'll send for the soldiers!”

“That may be its origin, and it may still appear to be the case, but it is largely a bluff. We cannot afford any disrespect of our authority because that will lead to disobedience and eventually revolt, and no British government these days would countenance the large-scale use of force to suppress revolt. And even if they were prepared to, think of the misery, Rabbit. The shootings and hangings, the ruined harvests, the starving villages. Even in so trivial a matter as this I am not prepared to lose the natives' respect and diminish our authority by being seen to go back on my word to please my wife.”

“I'm your wife, Ted, but I'm not your dog or your horse. I'm a person. You aren't allowed to make promises for me!”

“Yes, I am. In fact I have absolute authority in my district to say what any European, other than my superiors in the Political Service, may or may not do.”

“Oh.”

“I'm sorry, Rabbit. I agreed to Zarafio's suggestion for what seemed to me the adequate reason that he is perfectly capable of complaining about your being a disruptive influence, and de Lancey and Kaduna are then equally capable of suggesting that you should not accompany me on tour. Is that what you want? Kaduna are extremely sensitive to anything affecting the relationship between the N.A. and pagan subjects, and de Lancey would be happy to put any kind of spoke in my wheel. If I had realized you were going to object so vehemently I would not, of course, have agreed. But since I have I must ask you to go through with it.”