Chapter III: From Timbuktu to Tosaye (2)

It soon became pretty evident that we should see no more of Sakhib than we had of Sakhaui. If he had wished ever so much to pay us a visit, his dignity would have compelled him to act exactly as his brother had done. His envoys, however, duly arrived, charged with friendly messages, and accompanied, or rather preceded, by Mohamed.

By right of birth Sakhib is the true chief of the Igwadaren. His brother turned against him, and seduced a part of the tribe from their allegiance, on account of a love affair which was related to me as follows: a belle of the neighbourhood had been the mistress of Sakhaui when still quite a young girl. Knowing nothing of this, Sakhib, enamoured of her charms, married her with an ingenuous haste by no means peculiar to Africa, and discovering too late that he had been forestalled, he repudiated her. This modern Helen then returned to form a new union with her former lover Sakhaui. _Inde iræ_.

The story may or may not be true, but my private opinion is that the real reason for the enmity between the brothers is to be sought in the Igwadaren character, which is also the cause of the state of perpetual anarchy in which the natives live, resulting in the absolute ruin of the Niger districts from Rhergo to Tosaye.

I shall have more to say later of the peculiarities of the Tuaregs, but I prefer to relate my experiences amongst them before I presume to pass judgment on them. I think very highly of them in many respects, but for all that I do not shut my eyes to their defects. In the interests of truth, however, I wish to remark here, that from the very first I saw reason to draw a broad line of demarcation between what I may call the large confederations, ruled by laws sanctioned by long tradition, and the small tribes altogether inferior to them in morality, which may be said to form a kind of scum on the borders of the more important societies.

There are, in fact, certain hordes of mere brigands, who obey no chief, and depend entirely for their livelihood on robbery and pillage, and there is also amongst the Tuaregs, with whom we have now especially to deal, one important tribe which has gradually, partly from the ambition to be independent and to obey no laws but its own, and partly from contact with the foreigner, has lost all the virtues of the Tuaregs and retained all their defects.

The tribe to which I allude is that known as the Igwadaren, from which sprang the Ioraghen, who form so large an element in French Algeria, and for a long time they were the allies, or rather were subject to the Awellimiden. Just at the time of Barth’s voyage they had tried to separate from the rest of their tribe, and relying upon the aid of the Fulahs, who had invaded Massina, to get the upper hand. From Barth’s narrative we know that the great desire of his protector El Beckay was to prevent the division, and his greatest grief the fact that he failed to do so.

The Awellimiden repulsed the Fulahs, and since then the Igwadaren, traitors to their fellow-countrymen, have been looked upon by them as enemies whom they were justified in raiding whenever they got the chance, and really I cannot blame them, for it serves the Igwadaren right.

When for the second time El Hadj Omar and his Toucouleurs tried by force of arms to restore the supremacy of an intolerant and barbarous Islamism, El Beckay, as we have already said, rose up against him in the cause of tolerance and a more humane interpretation of the doctrines of Mahomet. The Awellimiden, with the Iregnaten of the right bank of the Niger, were his auxiliaries. The great leader, as we have seen, died before his work was done, but he had broken the shock of the storm. A last wave of the tempest of revolt which had arisen in the west surged up to the walls of Timbuktu, which had been reached by an army of Toucouleurs, but they were surprised and massacred near Gundam. Once more the Tuaregs were saved, and all the prudent measures of Tidiani, the politic successor of El Hadj, could not advance the invasion by so much as a single step. It taxed to the uttermost all the resources of his astute and supple genius to maintain the territory already conquered in a state of servitude. It was reserved to the French to drive from it his cousin and successor Amadu.

In all the struggles which followed, however, and peace was not restored for thirty years, the Igwadaren always, if it were anyhow possible, sided with the foreigner against their fellow-countrymen.

The state of anarchy which began with the chiefs of course spread downwards amongst the mere warriors, and whilst amongst the larger confederations of tribes there are certain traditions checking the unrestrained use of brute force, there is nothing of the kind with the Igwadaren, with whom might is right. Sakhaui and Sakhib, brothers though they were, came to open blows. Each warrior of the tribe joined the leader he preferred, but this very fact reduced the power of both to next to nothing. The negro villages passed into the possession first of one side and then of the other, according to the varying fortunes of war, and the traders had their goods stolen with no hope of redress. The result in the ruin of the country was only too patent to every one’s observation.

The arrival at Timbuktu of the French was a very lucky thing for the Igwadaren. As they could no longer count upon the support of the Toucouleurs, who were at loggerheads with us, they might easily have been reduced to servitude by the Awellimiden, and no doubt but for our presence they would in their turn have become, as had so many others, mere _imrads_ or serfs.

Acting on the wise advice of Mohamed, Sakhaui sent some messengers to Timbuktu. He had signed, or was supposed to have signed—for no Tuareg can read or write Arabic—all the treaties he was asked to, and that all the more readily that he did not understand a single word of their contents. Whilst expressing all the good feeling towards us of which he had just given our party such a striking proof, he sheltered himself under our moral protection against his powerful neighbours on the east. Having thus turned the presence of the French to the best possible advantage, and that really very cleverly, Sakhaui and his people were free to continue their evil doings unchecked, whilst Sakhib, at war with his brother, also knew as well as he did how to play his cards in the diplomatic game.

The one thing then which the Igwadaren dreaded was, that the French should make an alliance with the Awellimiden, for that would upset all their plans. Though they did not dare oppose our passage by force, they painted us in the very blackest colours to their nearest neighbours, and we had to thank them for the bad reception we got from their relations the Tademeket Kel Burrum at Tosaye, and also for the difficulties we had had to contend with at the beginning of our negotiations with the Awellimiden.

I was told that Sakhib was more just in his dealings and less of a robber than his brother, with whom he had hastened to patch up a temporary truce when he heard of our approach. Moreover, just then the Igwadaren Aussa under Sakhaui had no intention of fighting. There was a rumour that the Awellimiden were about to make a raid upon them, and from our boat we could see oxen, sheep, and women hurrying to the banks on the opposite side of the river, in the hope of finding a refuge on the islands dotting its course. I did not put much faith in the rumour myself. If, however, it be well founded, we shall no doubt be able to turn it to account.

The whole of the 19th was occupied in receiving visits from all the brothers, cousins, uncles, and big and little nephews of the petty chief. At one time our camp really presented a most imposing and picturesque appearance. I had had a cord stretched all round it, and this cord formed a kind of moral protection—for of course it could easily have been passed—against the curiosity of our visitors, whilst at the same time it prevented our coolies from mixing too freely and getting involved in quarrels with them.

Baudry mounted our bicycle Suzanne, and to the intense astonishment of the Tuaregs spun round the flat ground separating our camp from a low line of dunes. The iron horse, as she was dubbed, very soon became celebrated far and near, and crowds came daily to stare at her.

Our visitors were really many of them very fine-looking fellows in their long Tuareg _bubus_ or mantles, with the red pocket on the breast. Their naturally picturesque attitudes lent them a really regal appearance, and they might very well have passed for proud, highly-born nobles, when, leaning on their spears, they looked about them, their great black eyes gleaming from the voluminous folds of their veils. But when the distribution of presents began the glamour disappeared, the haughty noble was gone, to be replaced by a greedy, rapacious savage, until, his big pocket as full as it would hold, he resumed his disdainful attitude.

All this is really very excusable. Imagine the effect in any European country place, of the arrival of a wealthy nabob distributing diamonds and other precious stones wherever he goes. I wager that our own fellow-countrymen would not comport themselves in a more worthy way than did these Tuaregs, and it must be borne in mind that though our presents, such as pipes, small knives, bracelets and rings, or white and coloured stuffs were of little intrinsic value, the natives set as much store by them as we should by jewels.

Numerous as was the crowd, however, Sakhib was conspicuous by his absence; neither did the women put in an appearance, a proof that the Tuaregs were not quite sure of our good intentions. Only one of the fair sex did we see, and she was a female blacksmith, who said she was ill, and wanted the doctor to prescribe for her. Taburet tried in vain to find out what was the matter with her, and my private opinion is that her illness was only an excuse, that her motives in visiting our camp were none of the best, and that she would be ready to accept our hospitality for a night in return for a good fee.

We, however, with thoroughly British bashfulness, resisted the blandishments of the siren, and when darkness fell all our visitors, who had been less extortionate in their demands than Sakhaui’s people, decided to withdraw.

Mohamed Uld Mbirikat alone remained on the beach with us, and we talked together till far into the night. He really was a good fellow, and it was no fault of his that we had not succeeded in seeing Sakhib and Sakhaui, for he had put forth all his eloquence on our behalf. His interests, moreover, are closely bound up with those of the Igwadaren, amongst whom he lives without protection, buying grain of them to sell it again in Timbuktu, so that any help he gave us beyond a certain point would seriously compromise him. I gave him a valuable present, and he in his turn presented me with a stock of rice he owned at the village of Gungi on the islet of Autel Makhoren, where we should be the next day.

After a quiet night we resumed our voyage, but the never-ceasing enervating wind forced us to anchor soon, and we were presently joined by a canoe in which was an unfortunate man in chains, a brother of Sakhib, who had been out of his mind for five years. He is quiet enough, they told me, when he is rendered powerless for harm by being bound, but directly he is released he becomes furious, and strikes and abuses every one about him. Taburet prescribed for him as best he could, shower-baths and strait waistcoats being out of the question in these parts. We passed the village of Agata, where lives Hameit, a sheriff to whom we had a letter from Abiddin, and where we saw some fifty canoes drawn up high and dry on the banks. In the evening we halted near a little village on an islet, the chief of which had had his arm broken by a blow from the spear of an Igwadaren, whom he had refused to allow to carry off his store of rice. There is no doubt that the natives on the right bank of the river behave better than those on the left, and—which it is rather difficult to understand—it is the negroes, that is to say the Songhay, who, though more numerous and as well armed as their oppressors, allow themselves to be ill-treated in this way without making any attempt at defence. Their cowardice prevents me from feeling as much sympathy as I otherwise should for their miserable condition.

We started very early the next morning, but our guide got confused, and did not know the way to Gungi. Some men in a canoe, however, directed us, and we had to go up-stream again beyond Agata, and get into another arm which we had passed on the left. We then, though not without some difficulty, succeeded in reaching the village, passing several artificial dykes, beyond which stretched rice-fields now inundated. Gunga, a wretched little place, is peopled by slaves taken in war by the sheriffs of Agata. Mohamed’s rice was handed over to us, but it was all still in the husk, and it would take us the whole of the next day to get it shelled.

During the night a Kel es Suk arrived, who, in a very important manner, informed me that he had very serious news to communicate. The whole of the tribes of the Sahara, he said, had combined against the French, and were advancing upon Timbuktu. Awellimiden, Hoggars and all the rest of them were up, and Madidu himself was at Bamba at the head of his column. This was really too big an invention, and the narrator overreached himself by going so far. Without losing my _sang-froid_ for a moment, I thanked my informant, Father Hacquart acting as interpreter, for my visitor spoke Arabic well, and begged him to take my best compliments to Madidu. The old rogue then turned to the subject he really had most at heart, and tried to make me give him a garment of some kind as a present, but I was too deep for that, and sent him off empty-handed.

Directly we stopped we were inundated by visitors, all nearly as worrying as the rain, which had been falling without ceasing since the evening before. To begin with, on the morning of the 22nd came messengers from Sakhaui to ask in his name for advice. The Commandant of Timbuktu had sent him a letter announcing the approaching arrival of Colonel de Trentinian, Governor of the French Sudan. The Commandant ordered Sakhaui to go to Timbuktu, and he was very much frightened. I did my best to reassure the messenger, but I am very certain that Sakhaui does not mean to budge. The message would, however, do us no end of harm, and from my journal that day I perceive that I felt very indignant at the policy pursued by our authorities in the Sudan. I find written there—“We really are an extraordinary people, we seem to expect that the Tuaregs will come and throw themselves into our arms of their own accord, without our having employed any conciliatory or coercive means to induce them to do so. But, good Heavens! if they could send us to the Devil, from whom their marabouts tell them we come, they would gladly do it. And really I don’t blame them, for I see well enough what they have to lose by our presence in their land, though I don’t quite see what they are to gain. Taking into account the apathy with which commercial questions are treated, I do not yet foresee the day when amends will be made for the imposts now levied by force, by the granting of new rights of way, and the supplying of new means of transport.”

Nor have I seen reason since to change my opinion, for to talk of colonial questions in France is to preach in the desert. Nevertheless, I am firmly convinced that then as now I wrote only the exact literal truth.

It was now R’alli’s turn again. We had not seen the fellow for some time, but I am willing to swear three times by Allah, that since we treated him as we did at Zarhoi he had been our most faithful and devoted adherent. He would never let us go anywhere without preparing the way before us, so he had gone on in advance of our barges now, and spread our fame amongst the sheriffs and other idiots, who did not know us as he did, and who received his reports by beating the tabala or war-drum; or, to speak with more strict accuracy, he found the drum being beaten, and fearing that the sound of that one instrument would lead to the beating of others, he confiscated it at once. Then he, R’alli, having inquired what all the noise meant, the owner of the drum replied that he was afraid the white men were coming to take away his goods, his oxen, his sheep, and so on. “Then,” added R’alli, with an air of extreme amiability, “to show him he had nothing to fear, I took everything away from him.” I began to shout at him—“And that is the way you make friends for us!” “To give everything back when you have passed,” he went on with a smile. If the story he told me is true, and I shouldn’t like to swear that it was, I wouldn’t mind taking my oath that the poor sheriff will not get all his property back. However, the unabashed R’alli continued, “You ought to dress me now as you do your other soldiers, for am not I now one of your troops?”

I observed that I had already given him stuff enough to clothe his whole family.

“But my bubu and breeches are dirty now!” he replied. “Well, go and wash them, you wretch!” was the angry rejoinder. “What!” he cried, “would you like a soldier under such a chief as you to demean himself by such work as that?”

Sheriff Hameit, to whom I had sent Abiddin’s letter the evening before, answered us very impolitely, declaring that his religion forbade him to have anything to do with infidels.

I consoled myself for this fresh failure by having a chat with the little Kunta Tahar, Mohamed’s companion, who had come on to Gungi to see that the rice was duly handed over to us.

He told me of the death in 1890 near Saredina of Abiddin, the son of Hamet Beckay, of whom he had been a faithful retainer when at Gardio near Lake Debo.

This Abiddin and his followers had come to make a pilgrimage to the tomb of the great marabout, and also to try to win recruits against the Toucouleurs of Massina, with whom Abiddin carried on the struggle begun by his father. Two columns had marched forth against them, one from Mopti, the other from Jenné, and surrounded them. Abiddin was wounded and taken prisoner, but his faithful Bambaras of Jenné, who had always followed his fortunes, rescued him from the hands of the enemy. But, alas! no less than three bullets hit the doomed man after this first escape, killing him on the spot, and a great storm then arose which put an end to the battle, only a few of those engaged in it escaping to tell the tale.

The wind, which was very violent and dry, whirled up such quantities of sand that the corpse of Abiddin was buried beneath it, and no one was ever able to discover the place where he lay, as if Nature herself wished to protect his body from desecration and insult.

Tornadoes play a great part in the histories of Kunta wars. Hamet Beckay is supposed to have had the power of calling them up when he liked, and to have by their means several times overwhelmed armies sent to attack him, but that of Saredina came too late to save his son.

Can it have been the story told to me by my friend the Kunta which caused a tremendous tornado to sweep down upon us that very evening, with thunder and lightning and torrents of rain all complete, soaking everything and everybody on board?

Our rice shelled, put into bags, and stowed away in the hold, we went on and anchored the next morning opposite Baruba to breakfast there. The ancient town, the Kaaba of the Tuaregs, which was still standing in the time of Barth, has since been destroyed, but its site is marked by piles of rubbish such as are still characteristic of the environs of Timbuktu, and from their vast extent prove that it was a city of considerable importance.

The country round about is extremely picturesque. The descendants of those who dwelt in the old city have moved a little further down stream to a dune which is so completely surrounded with water during inundations as to form an island. They bury their dead beneath the shade of the thorny bush beyond their settlement. At Baruba we saw some date trees which had reverted to the wild state, and were very majestic looking. We visited the site of the old town, and then anchored opposite its successor. Now that the waters of the Niger were beginning to subside, and the island was becoming a peninsula only, the inhabitants were losing their sense of security, and talking of migrating to an islet in the river itself opposite their present home. A few huts had already been put up on it, making white spots amongst the dense green verdure.

There we received envoys from the chief named Abder Rhaman, who brought us a letter in which we were informed that the reason the writer did not come to see us was, that he was afraid we should not understand each other, and bad results might ensue.

Then came a band of Kel-Owi, serfs of the Igwadaren, bringing ten, twenty, or thirty sheep, which they informed us they meant to give us. The number of animals seemed increasing at every moment, and I at once feared there was some sinister intention behind this unusual generosity. But no, I was wrong. They were really good fellows these Kel-Owi, though the merit of their munificence rather melts away when you examine closely into motives. It was present for present, as of course they knew I should not take their beasts without giving them something in exchange. I had the greatest difficulty in making our visitors understand that our boats were not sheep-pens, and that all I could do was to choose out the five finest animals.

All the _imrads_ or serfs with whom I came in contact seemed to me quiet, inoffensive folk, when one does not pick a quarrel with them, in which they differ entirely from the Tuaregs of Algeria. They are of much paler complexion than the nobles or Ihaggaren.

In spite of what Abder Rhaman said in his letter, he decided to come and see us. He was an Arma, or descendant of the old conquerors from Morocco, with a proud, dignified bearing, and seemed to be a good and energetic ruler.

We had a very friendly conversation with him, during which the halt and lame, with all the sick people of the village, came to ask for medical advice. The doctor really multiplied himself in an extraordinary way, working miracles of healing.

During the night of the 23rd to the 24th of May we were roused by a great commotion in the village, and prepared for every contingency, but in the morning Abder Rhaman came to explain the mystery, telling us that the Hoggars had made a raid on the Igwadaren settlements. Sakhaui had sent ten men to reconnoitre, one of whom was his brother. They had met the enemy, whose force was superior to theirs, and had had to beat a retreat, with two of their number wounded. Sakhaui’s brother had had his horse killed under him.

On the rumour of the approach of the Hoggars, which had reached Baruba, during the night, the village was deserted, every one carrying off all the property he could, and the noise we had heard was that made by the canoes taking over the wretched goods and chattels of the poor people and the materials of their huts to the point called Ansel Makkoren. They had not dared to warn us for fear of being fired on by our sentry.

I greatly regret that I was not at Zarhoi when the news came of the arrival of the Hoggars. We might have given Sakhaui timely aid in repulsing them, and thus have aided to avenge the murder of Flatters, whilst the danger he was in would very likely have driven the Igwadaren chief into our arms.

Later, however, I had the satisfaction of hearing that the column of Hoggars who had advanced towards Timbuktu had been surprised and partly destroyed by the spahis of Captain Laperrine.

A short march in the afternoon brought us to Eguedeche, where we cast anchor opposite a little slave village on the very edge of the river. At first the negroes all ran away, and when we landed we found nothing but empty huts. Presently, however, a wail went up from amongst the fugitives, for Father Hacquart made a sudden dash at them, and emerged carrying a little boy of about a year old in his arms, who screamed in terror, but was soon reassured by the caresses of the father, and began playing with his long beard.

The little fellow’s parents were not far off, and they watched what was going on from behind some dwarf palms, where they had taken refuge with the rest of the villagers, and, their fears allayed, they now came out followed by their comrades.

The large village of Eguedeche is some little distance from the river, and is hidden behind a dune. The inhabitants, who are the masters of the slaves in the little village near which we had anchored, are Kuntas. They showed us the ruins of an earthen hut which had belonged to Sidi el Amin, one of Hamet Beckay’s brothers. The chief of Eguedeche came to meet us in person, accompanied by one of his relations, who belonged to that part of the tribe which was under the rule of Baba Hamet, a son of El Beckay. I persuaded him to go back and tell his chief of our approach, that I was the nephew of Abdul Kerim, and anxious to see Baba Hamet and his brother Baye.

The news of the Hoggar raid was confirmed by the people here.

Though we were able to remain on pretty good terms with the inhabitants of the left bank of the Niger, we felt that an obstinate hostility to us was growing on the other side, and during the day of the 25th an adventure occurred which proved that we were right.

We had to halt about 8 o’clock. The _Aube_ was already anchored at the base of a dune, and the _Davoust_ was amongst the grass near a village, the inhabitants of which had come to barter their eggs and poultry for our glass beads. The wind had fallen, and I had already given the signal to start, when from amongst a group of Tuaregs who had been posted on the dune watching our boats without approaching, a negro was sent to say they wished to speak to us.

In his hand the envoy held a red woollen coverlet which I had sent from Rhergo to Mohamed Uld Mbirikat, and which he told me had been taken from him partly by persuasion and partly by force by Abu, a brother of Sakhib.

This coverlet, the messenger explained, was sent to prove that he came from Abu, who exhorted us to keep away from the right bank of the river, to go down stream if we liked, but to refrain from landing.

The _Aube_ had already started, and on account of the tiresome wind, which made us lose the best hours every day, we had very little time to push on, so I resisted my desire to remain where I was and see what Abu would do. I sent him an answer, however, to the effect that I was going on, not because he ordered me to, but because I wished to do so, as I had already made an arrangement with his elder brother. I added, I had nothing at all to do with Abu, and did not recognize him as having any authority whatever in the country.

In the evening we tried in vain to anchor near the village of Moyadikoira, the weeds quite prevented our getting in, and we had to content ourselves by stopping near a little island opposite to it. We tried without success to attract the natives. They came, it is true, in their canoes as far as the boundary of weeds and rushes, but they would not land on our island. I was very anxious, however, to find out what was in the wind among the Tuaregs, and also to buy some wood for burning. In these parts, where weeds and grass often make it impossible to land, the question of how to get fuel for cooking purposes is often a very serious one, and we had to be very economical with what we did succeed in obtaining. It is not that there is not plenty of wood to be had, if there were not steam navigation would be indeed difficult here; but in order to procure it, it is necessary to go to the first line of dunes beyond the highest point of the great inundations. There are plenty of gum trees there, and all we have to do is to get the natives to cut them down, and carry the wood to the boats. It throws out a great heat when burning.

On the 26th a canoe passed us in which were some people from Bamba, who told us that the Tademeket Kel Burrum had met at Dongoe with the intention of attacking us.

On hearing these tidings Sidi Hamet burst into tears, and in the end he entreated me to let him leave us at Tosaye to go back to Timbuktu.

Since we had passed through the Igwadaren districts, the character of our guide had undergone a complete transformation, which was anything but an improvement. I knew he had had a letter from Timbuktu, but I did not know what was in it. I do know, however, that the silly fellow is a great fool, and very jealous about his wife. “She is such a beautiful woman,” he informed us one day, “and so beautifully dressed. She carries the value of at least four bars of salt on her back.” Is he afraid of the fate of the husband described by Molière? Is his fear real or feigned? Anyhow he is, or pretends to be, a constant prey to the greatest terrors. He who, till we reached Kardieba, was always so gay and so bold, ready to carry out every enterprise I entrusted to him, he, who had always expressed such immovable confidence in the success of all our schemes of alliance with the Awellimiden, could now only dwell on the melancholy fate which awaited him and us: we should be murdered, he too of course, and he should never see his dear wife again who has the value of four bars of salt on her back, etc. I had tried by kindness and by scolding to restore his moral tone, but it was no good, and feeling how foolish it would be to place confidence in such a coward, who was quite ready to deceive us if he could thus prevent us from going further, I gave him the permission he asked for, seasoning my compliance, however, with a few pretty severe remarks. This quieted him for a bit, but he very soon recommenced his jeremiads on the dangers he would incur on his way back to Timbuktu. To cut the matter short, however, I at last forbid him ever to mention the matter to me.

There was, however, some truth in all that Sidi Hamet said. The natives we met grew more and more hostile. On the morning of the 27th we crossed the rocky pass known as Tinalschiden, and then Dongoe, where rumour said we were to be attacked. We were, in fact, followed on either bank by troops of mounted Tuaregs, some thirty altogether, I should say, but this was not a very formidable force, and after all they abstained from any hostile manifestation. The wind compelled us to halt for a few minutes opposite Dongoe on the left bank, and a horseman rode forward and hailed the _Davoust_. I exchanged greetings with him, a necessary prelude to every conversation, even if that conversation is to lead to a quarrel. I asked him to give me the news of the country, and he told me I should get them at Tosaye from Sala Uld Kara.

At about two o’clock we perceived in front of us two great masses of rock. These were the Baror and Chalor mentioned by Barth, which form land, or rather water-marks at the defile of Tosaye. A canoe at once put out from the left bank, in which was a relation of Sala, who came to offer his services as guide. The numbers of the Tuaregs on the right bank now increased, and I wished to parley with them, but our pilot prevented it. A few strokes of the oar soon brought us opposite Sala’s town, known as Sala Koira or Tosaye. We landed.