Chapter XII: The Northern Regions of Aïr: Part I

On 6th June I received a letter from the commandant at Agades suggesting that I proceed at once on my contemplated journey to the northern regions of Aïr, proposing that I push forward under conditions that would restrict the time that I remain beyond communication with Agades to a period of 15 days. This was short time indeed for the journey, and would entail constant travelling, but I had no wish to question the desire of the French authorities, who, with kindness and courtesy, assisted me in every way in their power to make the expedition a success; therefore, to this proposal I at once concurred, and sent back a message to say that if all went well, news of me might be expected at Agades not later than 23rd June.

At the same time I was advised that six goumiers, to join me at Timia, would be despatched from Agades on the following day, which, with Atagoom and Saidi (the goumiers already with me) and myself, would make up a party of nine rifles for the journey. Atagoom and Saidi, who had now been with me for more than a month, had become very friendly, and had grown familiar with the white man’s ways, so that I was particularly glad that they were available for the forthcoming journey. They were, like all Tuaregs, very lazy when about camp, but splendid camel-men and travellers when once out on the trail, Atagoom in particular being an exceptionally active and tireless individual.

At the last moment, when loading up the camels in preparation to depart from Baguezan, the Chief offered me a man to look after my camels on the way to Timia; a powerfully built fellow, bigger than the average native of Aïr, and appropriately named Dogo, which is Hausa for tall, though he was more often addressed as Buzu, the Tamāshack for slave—for such he was, free to all outward appearance, but bound to the service of the Chief in some mysterious way and dependent upon him. This man, like so many others, was not a pure-blooded Tuareg—probably not of Tuareg descent at all, for he was a descendant of slaves—although he spoke their language and dressed as they did. He was a remarkably reticent individual, and never spoke a word to me unless I first addressed him, when he would couch his answer in a few brief syllables, and then shut up like a clam. I give those few particulars of Dogo because, although he set out merely to accompany me to Timia, he came forward a couple of days later and voluntarily offered to go the journey north with me: which he did, and thenceforward this strange fellow, who never gave outward demonstration of human feeling, attached himself devotedly to my caravan (with the consent of the Chief), and looked after the camels during all subsequent travel in Aïr, and, in the end, accompanied me all the way back to Kano. Which was great good fortune for me, for he was a splendid worker, and soon grew familiar with the animals and their burdens, the way in which I liked to load up or off-load, his duties in camp, and in tending the camels when turned out to graze, so that in time I needed to pay little attention to him, feeling secure that no detail would be forgotten.

We left Tasessat about 2 p.m. on 7th June, and travelled over the plateau in a north-westerly direction, heading for the Pass that gave exit to Timia. Our route over the plateau was far from a direct one, since it was necessary to dodge in and out to evade the numerous hills, while it was over cruelly rough country almost altogether of stones and rocks, which punished the camels’ feet severely; so severely that, after an equally hard journey the following day, one of the animals had to be discarded when reaching Timia. We were still on the plateau at sundown, and camped about an hour’s journey from the head of the Pass.

Next day travel was resumed, and we soon came to the top of the pass, where a magnificent view from the mountain edge lay before us of the wide gradient of the rough hill-covered Baguezan mountain sides, and of the very broad valley which lay westwards between us and the Béla mountains, and is drained northward in time of rain by the Assada river and its numerous tributaries.

Throughout the day I was delighted and astonished by the wealth of everchanging scene of mountain and hill and valley, hardly finishing appreciation of one striking picture before it changed, as we moved onward, and another came into view to arrest attention. (To my mind, wild mountain scenery, second only to the magnificent views which surround Timia, is here seen at its best in Aïr—a region rich in mountain landscape.) In the Infinite Detail I found greatest attraction, detail of constant change of form and contour, and perspective of country full of rugged features. It is not scene that is rich in colour, being overclouded with the dominant dull greyness of the bare rock and stone, and therefore, perhaps, contains no great appeal to one who might appraise it with the eye of a painter; rather would I suggest that it holds appeal for the etcher, insomuch that there is such a wealth of detail, detail delicate or superbly masterful, in form and outline, in grotesque shapes, and in strength of shadow.

So far as travel underfoot was concerned, we put in a long arduous day, first descending the pass out of Baguezan, which is a more rugged and difficult one than that in the south, and then continuing among foothills that never offered a level course, so that we were constantly climbing or descending rocky, stony hill-ground or dipping into the numerous ravines that crossed our path; and we were still about a day’s journey from Timia when we camped at night.

Before dawn on the following day—9th June— we had risen from our hard beds on the open ground (I had left all camp equipment in Baguezan, so that this journey should not be unnecessarily hampered with baggage) and pushed on to Timia, which it was necessary we should reach this day, for we had been unable to find water at sundown yesterday, and had almost finished the store in our goat-skin bags.

Daylight found us slowly advancing northward, in towards Agalak mountains, which loomed massively in a long line before us; at first dimly, haze-softened, then growing to a frowning countenance, in which cliffs and clefts and precipitous ravines could be discerned. By which time we began to swing easterly, keeping the slopes of Agalak mountains, which appear to have a plateau summit, not far distant on our left, while Baguezan mountains lay almost out of sight on our right. About 11 o’clock, after toiling up and down dale, over stone-strewn ground and among rocks that presented difficulty to free travel as constantly as yesterday, we emerged on to a wide river-bed of loose sand which bore the name of Abarakan in the locality where we intersected it. Still heading east, we continued up the river course for a long time in the full heat of day and with the sun-glare rebounding off the sand, which was very loose and powdery, as in all river-beds in Aïr, and heavy underfoot for the camels, but vastly better than the terrible mountain trail we had left behind. About 1.30 p.m. we branched off the river, ascending the right bank on to a small level stony plain which lay beneath the western slopes of some low hills near to and S.E. of the Timia range. We crossed this plain in a northerly direction, into which course the river had also turned just about the time we parted from it, and even now the river channel was not far distant on our left, drawing a parallel line also to Timia, but not so directly as the one which Dogo, the local native, was following. However, at the head of the rocky plain, where it terminated at the foot of hills which shut it in completely, we again intercepted the river, about 2 miles from Timia, where precipitous slopes dipped to the very edge of the east bank and completely blocked passage on that side. Hence we entered the river-bed again, and travelled up it a little way, between steep banks, until we came to the mouth of Timia Gorge, and encountered the strange and formidable barrier that there shuts off further progress up the river. This obstacle was the sheer cliff of a dry waterfall of height of some 25 to 30 ft., and, in conjunction with the closely crowding hill-sides on either bank, it appeared to close the narrow neck between the hills altogether. But native wit, or necessity, had found a way to force a door in the barrier, to give passage to caravans into the rich gorge that lay beyond, for close examination of the west bank of the river reveals a winding, precipitous, cave-like staircase hewn out of the solid rock, which ascends to the top of the high bank, where there is space enough, and no more, between mountain base and river-bank, to allow camels to pass above the fall. One by one we led each camel into this stairway, which they had to strain and struggle to ascend, and humoured them slowly upwards, until all were safely at the top, when we proceeded up the broad river-bed into Timia without further hindrance.

Timia Gorge is, in my opinion, the most beautiful spot in Aïr and the most fertile. It has a length of some three or four miles, through which the wide shallow river-bed winds (I judge the river to be 75 to 100 yards wide), while the steep slopes of the majestic heights of Agalak and Timia mountains descend on either side to its very margin, leaving, in places, narrow little stretches of ground upon the banks, no wider than a mansion garden, which are irrigated by means of wells and cultivated by the natives to grow wheat and millet and maize, or bear thick groves of date palms.

We entered Timia village about 4 p.m., and were warmly welcomed by the fine old headman, who acted as deputy in absence of the Chief Fougda. I was amused to find that, as in many other instances, all the natives who gathered around while we off-loaded already knew of me and wanted to look on “the hunting white man,” while many of the women and children of the village, who did not travel to Agades like the men, had never seen a European before, and were vastly interested in a timid, furtive way.

I was greatly pleased with Timia village, which is built chiefly on the west bank of the river in a small open flat stony pocket at the eastern base of Agalak. The small dome dwellings are the same as those on Baguezan, but built with more care, while there is a decided appearance of neatness and tidiness in the whole village which I found lacking elsewhere in inhabited places in Aïr. Moreover, I found the people really industrious in working their riverside gardens, and, in fact, when I came to see more of them a week or two later, I judged them to be the most superior tribe I had encountered in Aïr.

The six goumiers from Agades joined me at Timia, heavily masked, like all Tuaregs, with yashmak, which leaves only the eyes uncovered, and picturesquely dressed in cotton robes of various colours; while the old headman brought forward a young fellow named Homa, who had been born in Iferouan and was to act as guide, and, in particular, point out where water was to be found. He and another man had been part of the way north about a month before trying to trap donkeys, which escaped from the natives at the time of the evacuations, or out of the hands of robbers, and are now running completely wild in Aïr. (Later I saw fresh tracks of one band, and many signs of them where they had been feeding.) Those men succeeded in trapping one donkey, but say the brutes are terribly wild and difficult to catch.

The altitude of the stream-bed at Timia village is 3,800 feet, while some of the splendid tops of Timia mountains, which are higher than Agalak (map alt.: 4,593 ft.), appear to be easily 2,000 to 3,000 ft. more, and it would not surprise me if the highest altitude in Aïr is contained in Timia mountains, and I regret I had not occasion or time to climb to the highest peak.

Next morning, 10th June, we left Timia and started on the long journey north in uninhabited regions. In the early part of the day we travelled over rough, broken, rocky country until Tiggeur was reached, the abandoned site of a village (alt. 3,700 ft.), where there are a few date palms and an old well which contains no water. To the east the country had appeared more open thus far, and contained a number of small hills, while on the west lay the high slopes of Agalak mountains. Thereafter we continued by Tiggeur and Teguednu river-beds, which had bare, almost treeless banks, and camped at the junction where the latter stream and the Asselar meet and become the broad Agoras river-bed, which trends away N.W. to the ancient town of Assodé. Altitude at this camping-place, 3,150 ft.

To-night and henceforth a sentry was posted and the camels made to lie down in a half-circle, while the goumiers slept beside them, so that we were prepared in the event of robbers stealing in upon us.

_11th June._—Slight rain in early part of night; otherwise no disturbance. Woke once or twice, hearing the sentry moving about in idle wakefulness, which recalled habits of active service.

Left our night camping-place about an hour before dawn and travelled to Igouloulof. To-day we passed through country more open in expanse, not in general so mountainous as hitherto, which contained in the rough lowlands some level stretches of sand and stone, while Goundaï mountains loomed large and very conspicuous at a distance to the east.

Igouloulof (altitude, 2,950 ft.), on the north bank of a sandy river-bed that trends east, proved to be a small deserted village among rocks composed of remarkably well-built, flat-roofed stone huts, which are whitish-grey in colour owing to the use of a natural cement in their construction, apparently obtained from open pits in the village. The huts bear a strange aspect against the black rocks, showing like little square pill-boxes inset here and there with pleasing irregularity. They are built without system in laying the stone—no rubble, no regular jointing, just a jumble of stones that are not very large, set in a liberal bed of mortar.

Such places, now deserted—and there are many in Aïr—fill me with sadness; they are often in pleasant situations, and picturesque even now, notwithstanding the strange bleakness and stillness of the land, but one cannot refrain from thinking how much more attractive Aïr would be if occupied by happy natives, and a wayfarer could see, instead of this melancholy desolation, smoke of wood-fires rising and hear homely sounds.

It is difficult to ascertain from the natives, with any certainty of accuracy, the period when Aïr first began to decline in population, though, of course, they all know of the final desertion which took place, about three years ago, in the forced evacuations following on the Rebellion of 1916, when the remnants of the Tuareg inhabitants were commanded by the French authorities to settle in the neighbourhood of Agades under direct protection of the Fort and within reach of surveillance. But this last was a comparatively small affair, and does not by any means account for the loss of the large population, which, if one is to judge by the numerous ruins of old villages and graveyards, once occupied the Aïr mountains. Apart from the question of the extent of oppression pursued by stronger tribes from outside territories, I am prone to wonder if Aïr has undergone any great geological change or climatic change which has made it less fertile than hitherto? For it seems to me that want and hunger are the most tangible causes that drive people to forsake dearthful country and seek a better elsewhere capable of supporting livelihood; more especially if the people happen to be, as in Aïr, naturally nomadic. I think it may be accepted that Aïr in the present age is a land of dearth not capable of supporting a great many people. If it was a rich land, and war was the great scourge that destroyed the people, would not the victors seize the country and settle in it? Such thoughts naturally occur to me, because I cannot believe that this dreadfully bare country, as it is to-day, ever offered any inducement to a large population to live in it; while if food for many people was carried from Damergou, Damagarim, and Kano in the south, it must have constituted a colossal and unending task that necessitated the upkeep of great herds of camels and an abundant growth of forage: viz. grass, ground plants, acacias, “Abisgee,” and other bushes.

Therefore the solution may lie in geological change or climatic change, such as may have altered the whole aspect of the land’s fertility. If sands have swept in from the desert seas that bound Aïr, to pile up gradually at the base of the range through centuries of time and smother forests of acacia and other plant life which may have been there, then the land has suffered a great loss (I have crossed the edge of the eastern plain below Baguezan mountains, where there are still considerable numbers of acacias close in to the margin where mountain rock terminates); while also the sand that is blown into the mountains from the desert is, during Rains, washed into the valleys and innumerable river-beds, causing, perhaps, the valleys to grow in depth of sand and the rivers, for lack of sufficient gradient, or by reason of an estuary out on the desert that may be slowly blocking up, to gradually fill up and choke, where once, perhaps, there were deep rocky channels which held pools of water all the year round.

If, on the other hand, or also, climatic conditions have changed, and much less rain falls now than in former years—natives declare some years in the present are practically rainless—the difference in the fertility of the country would be tremendous, for Aïr, with its countless river-courses, under conditions of bountiful lasting rainfall would be rich and beautiful indeed.

_12th June._—Bad weather set in last evening, beginning with rapidly rising gale; then developing to thunderstorm and rain. Heavy rain fell through the night, and we slept in water-soaked blankets.

We left Igouloulof at daybreak, and continued northward to Faodet. During the morning we passed through some broad valley country, where evergreen “Abisgee” bushes were fairly numerous, in locality the guide called “Tchyerus”; and the river of that name, draining westwards (which appears to be a local name for a section of the Zilalet river, which is an arm of the great Agoras), was forded, as it was in flood after the rain of last night. Thereafter, before coming to Agarageur, we passed over open country of pale sand, dotted with small cone-shaped hills, which opened up in wide expanse westward. Agarageur mountain was passed close on our right, and the stone-built village of Afis, which is S.W. of the range, the tiny dwellings, strikingly diminutive, tucked in at the great mountain base. Agarageur mountain (named Tamgak on Courtier’s French map, but called by the natives Agarageur) appears high and stately, rising in rugged slopes from massive boulder-strewn base. Altitude at foot of Agarageur, 2,600 ft.

Approaching Faodet, where we camped, we travelled among rough foothills, with the large magnificent range of the same name on the east. The village of Faodet is in a level sand-basin, which contains some “Abisgee” and acacia trees and an old deep well, which is in bad disrepair and long out of use. The deserted stone dwellings lie back among the foothills in a pleasant ravine. The altitude at Faodet is 2,900 ft.

Not long before reaching Faodet, a fierce thunderstorm burst, and we were suddenly caught on a bare hill-crest by onslaught of heavy driving torrential rain, and as camels will not face such weather, they at once turned their backs to the biting gale and slashing rain, and huddled together in little groups to stand motionless with their cowering, unprotected riders on their backs, while the rain beat down on them. It was a strange sight—groups drawn together for protection, patiently waiting, the rain, as if incensed, literally hurling itself angrily down upon us in torrents, while the ground at our feet grew to a flowing stream of water, and camels shifted their feet uneasily as the wet and discomfort and cold increased. But in the end, as always in this country, the brief mad storm ceased, and we shook out our bedraggled feathers, so to speak, and journeyed on our way.

We had barely restarted when a second unexpected incident surprised us this day; and this was when breasting a ridge we came right on top of three men ascending from the other side. Their appearance was extraordinary: they were clothed solely in skins of wild sheep and gazelle, and their whole colour, even to their pale light yellowish faces, was a remarkable blend with the sand. Had we not surprised them, it is certain that we should never have detected them hidden away among rocks and sand. They were absolutely wild men of the mountains, roaming those uninhabited ranges at will, and were amazed and visibly frightened when finding themselves completely at our mercy; which fear was partly dispelled when they were told I had no wish to make captives of them or harm them. They all carried short wooden-shafted spears, and bundles of skin bags containing their scant belongings, slung over their shoulders on a short stick; one also carried a small child perched on the top of his shoulder and clinging to the crown of his head. All were wearing yashmaks, which veiled their faces in the usual Tuareg fashion. When it was found that we were friendly, two women were revealed concealed fearfully among the rocks near by, and with them were four small naked children—two of them infants in arms. Those strange people had no goats and no grain, and were living on wild meat, which they trapped with snares, green barely ripe dates, and edible roots and leaves and berries of worth known to themselves. They had not been out of Tamgak mountains for a year, they declared, and were on their way to Igouloulof to gather “Abisgee” berries, now ripening in that district. I gave them half a gazelle, killed this day, and sent them gratefully on their way, letting them go, knowing they might never be seen again, with the same feelings as I might liberate snared animals, and watch them bound away into the wilderness, their dearly loved freedom regained.

I note to-day that thus far no mosquitoes, which had appeared further south in the wake of the first light Rains, have been seen north of Timia.

Shot three Dorcas Gazelles to-day to augment our food supplies; a number of those animals seen.

Each day I note down the few birds which I see, and remain watchful for new species which I may not have already collected in Aïr; but up to now have found nothing of that kind.

_13th June._—Leaving Faodet, a broad view of mountain range was sighted soon after daylight to the north and east, and the slopes and outline of the great Tamgak mountains, in the north of Aïr, lay before us, not in appearance of astonishing height (map alt. west side of range 5,569 ft.), but very rugged and of massive solidity, for they are of extensive area. But before the Tamgak range is reached, a very wide valley or flat sandy plain is crossed which lies between the Faodet mountains and Tamgak mountains. At this time we could see in the north a peculiar blunt-pointed isolated tower of rock projecting above the most distant mountains in sight along the Tamgak range, which the guide at once declared denoted the position of Iferouan; and once one has seen this unique rock spire from the south, or anywhere, one could never mistake the locality of Iferouan in the whole of Aïr. (It transpired later that this spire is nearer to Zeloufiet than Iferouan, for we swung out in a north-west direction from the mountains at Zeloufiet, to find Iferouan in a wide fertile valley at a considerable distance from Tamgak.) Thus, in the morning, we sighted a landmark of our destination, which we expected to reach about 4 p.m.

Crossing the flat sandy plain, referred to above, the village of Iberkom was found right in under mountain slopes of Tamgak, in a valley fertile in open bush growth, which was already pleasantly green from the fall of recent rain. There were some date palms at Iberkom and a few stone huts among the bare rocks.

Leaving Iberkom, we followed round the western base of Tamgak range, crossing over one or two bare rocky ridges, but generally following along the narrow level bush-grown sandy valley that circled round the base of the towering grey rocks. We next passed a small village named Tanetmolet, deserted like all others, with a well which contained no water. Altitude, 2,400 ft. Soon afterwards Tintaghoda was passed: a picturesque widely laid out village on a gravel ridge, the stone huts of which were more elaborate than any seen elsewhere, having roof parapets and craftless ornament in some cases, while all buildings were of peculiar colouring, since the stones were laid in a brick-red mortar. (I did not dismount and walk about the empty village, which I much regretted afterwards, when I learned, from the exiled Chief of Iferouan, that this place contains an important mosque. On the other hand I had been told that there was a mosque at Iferouan, and could find no trace of it there, and now know that the Tintaghoda mosque is the one of the territory.) A deep well south of the village held water in plenty, but it was sour and stagnant from lying long unused.

The bush-grown valley narrowed after we had breasted the stony rise of Tintaghoda, then opened out again before Zeloufiet is reached; another village that is first viewed on a bare stony ridge, and of some picturesqueness and variety when entered, except that it is sadly desolate like all the others. There is a fine belt of date palms to the west of the huts, and many old garden-patches which still bear the marks of irrigation, at one time laid out with the purpose of nursing cultivation. At Zeloufiet the great Tamgak mountains have died down, and the wide flat basin, wherein is the village, is surrounded by ranges of low black hills; while the strange rock spire, which we had seen from afar in the morning, lies due east of the village. Between Zeloufiet and Iferouan the shallow, bankless river we have been keeping in touch with in the bush-grown valley along the mountain base broadens out and becomes the extremely wide shallow Igheser river-bed, which on its banks carry some dum palms and date palms, besides some “Abisgee” and acacia bush; while the small villages of Afassat and Tassebet, which each contain some date palms, are passed on the east bank of the river before Iferouan is reached.

Nearing Iferouan, the goumiers were much interested in the tracks of a single camel in the sand of the river-bed. Expert in reading the minutest detail of any individual camel track, they spent some time following the signs, which led toward Iferouan, and conjecturing among themselves over them. They were not very fresh tracks, a week or ten days old, but the natives decided that they were certainly the marks of a camel from the north; no doubt the mount of a scout from some Hogar band of robbers sent to spy out the land: looking at the dates in Iferouan to judge, perhaps, when they would be ripe, so that they might, in season, be plundered or descent be planned upon the people who might be sent from Timia or Agades to gather them—a disaster which actually occurred last year. On the other hand, the outlaw might have gone into Iferouan for water, and thereafter proceeded south to spy about the borders of inhabited districts to seek out the grazing-places of camels, with a view to his band swooping in on them and bearing them off; as so often happens in Aïr in the present day.

It was a weary band of men, and camels, that off-loaded and camped in Iferouan, for we had travelled hard for the last few days over country that held many drawbacks to comfortable travel.

The dwellings of Iferouan are on the west bank of the Igheser river, among, and bordering, an extensive date-palm and dum-palm belt, where many wells are sunk which once served the wants of natives and irrigated the garden patches, that had evidently been cultivated on every available piece of ground within the palm grove. (Later the exiled Chief of Iferouan, by name Obidelkilli, informed me that it was principally wheat which was grown there in the past, a grain which in all probability came into the country from northern Africa.) The huts in the palm grove are of cane framework and grass thatched, and are chiefly in a state of ruin, while outside the grove, on the margin of stony ground to the west, there are both grass huts and stone huts. Also, on an island, quite apart from the village, out in the centre of the wide stream-bed, there is a small house of European aspect, apparently a small post or place of accommodation for resident or visiting French officer at one time.

From Iferouan one views the rugged western slopes of the great Tamgak range out to the northern extreme, and low hills beyond that tail away in the distance—the last of the hills of Aïr, broken hills that appear to grow more diminutive and scattered as they recede beyond the care of the wild mountain ranges of Aïr. . . . I had reached my goal, the north of Aïr, a goal which from the time I left England to this memorable day had never been promised with any measure of certainty; and perhaps I may be forgiven if at this hour I was filled with gladness.