o f feathers with a porcupine tail in their midst, and he used'
always to squirt out of his mouth a little rum over it when he
was drinking.
As a rule the person who has a suhman keeps the fact
pretty quirt, for the possession of such an article would lead
kali the catastrophes in his district, from the decease of pigs
owls, and babies, to fires, &c., to be accredited to him, which
would lead to his neighbours making “ witch palaver ” over
him, and he would have to undergo poison-ordeal and other
unpleasantness to clear his character. He, however, always
keeps a special day in his suhman’s honour, and should he be
powerful, as a king or big chief, he will keep this day openly.
King Kwofifi Karri Kari, whom we fought with in 1874, used to
make a big day for his suhman, which was kept in a box
covered with gold plates, and he sacrificed a human victim to
it every Tuesday, with general festivities and dances in its
honour.
I should remark that Sasabonsum is married. His wife
or more properly speaking his female form, is called Shaman
tin. She is far less malignant than the male form. Her
name comes from Srahman— ghost or spirit; the termination
«tin ” is an abbreviation of tsintsin— tall. She is of immense
eight, and white ; perhaps this idea is derived from the white
stem of the silk-cotton trees wherein. she invariably abides.
Her method of dealing with the solitary wayfarer is no doubt
inconvenient to him, but it is kinder than her husband’s ways
for she does not kill and eat him, as Sasabonsum does, but .
merely detains him some months while she teaches him all about
the forest: what herbs are good to eat, or to cure disease ; where
the game come to drink, and what they say to each other and
so forth. I often wish- I knew this lady, for the grim, grand
African forests are like a great library, in which, so far, I can
do little more than look at the pictures, although I am now
busily learning the alphabet of their language, so that I may
some day read what these pictures mean.
Do not go away with the idea, I beg, that goddesses as a
general rule, are better than gods. They are not. There are
stories about them which I could— I mean I could not-^tell
you. There is. one belonging also to the Tschwi. She lives
at Moree, a village five miles from Cape Coast. She is, as is
usual with deities, human in shape and colossal in size, and as is
not usual with deities, she is covered with hair from head to
foot,— short white hair like a goat. Her abode is on the path
to surf-cursed Anamabu near the sea-beach, and her name is
Aynfwa; a worshipper of hers has only got to mention the
name of a person he wishes dead when passing her abode
and Aynfwa does the rest. She is the goddess of all albinoes,
who are said to be more frequent in occurrence round Moree
than elsewhere. Ellis says that in 1886, when he was there,
they were 1 per cent, of the entire population. These albinoes
are, ipso facto, her priests and priestesses, and in old days an
albino had only to name anywhere a person Aynfwa wished
for, and that person was forthwith killed. «
I think I may safely say that every dangerous place in
West Africa is regarded as the residence of a god-— rocks
and whirlpools in the rivers— swamps “ no man fit to pass ”—
and naturally, the surf. Along the Gold Coast, at every place
where you have to land through the surf, it fairly swarms
with gods. A little experience with the said surf inclines you
to think, as the dabblers in spiritualism say, “ that there is
something in it.” I will' back this West Coast surf—“ the
Calemma,” as we call it down South, against any other malevolent
abomination, barring only the English climate. Its ways
of dealing with human beings are cunning and deceitful. In its
most ferocious moods it seizes a boat, straightway swamps it,
and feeds its pet sharks with the boat’s occupants. I f the
surf is merely sky-larking it lets your boat’s nose just smell
the sand, and then says “ Thought you were all right this time,
did you though,” and drags the boat back again under the
incoming wave, or catches it under the stern and gaily
throws it upside down over you and yours on the beach.
Variety, they say, is charming. Let those who say it, and
those who believe it, just do a course of surf-work, and I’ll
warrant they will change their minds ; and above all let men
who have to do with the demon-possessed surf of the West
African sea-board take care not to get their minds entirely
filled with the terror of getting drowned or eaten by sharks,
for these are minor dangers in the affair, though they occur.
L L