THE GOLD COAST c h a p .
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rest of it is a mass of rubbishy mud and palm-leaf huts, and
corrugated-iron dwellings for the Europeans.
Corrugated iron is my abomination. I quite understand it
has points, and I do not attack from an esthetic standpoint.
It really looks well enough when it is painted white. There
is, close to Christiansborg Castle, a patch of bungalows and
offices for officialdom and wife that from a distance in the
hard bright sunshine looks like an encampment of snow-white
tents among the coco palms, and pretty enough withal. I am
also aware that the corrugated-iron roof is an advantage m
enabling you to collect and store rain-water, which is the
safest kind of water you can get on the Coast, always
supposing you have not painted the aforesaid roo wi re
oxide an hour or two before so collecting, as a friend of mine
did once. But the heat inside those iron houses is far greater
than inside mud-walled, brick, or wooden ones, and the alternations
of temperature more sudden : mornings and evenings
they are cold and clammy; draughty they are always, thereby
giving you chill which means fever, and fever in West Atrica
means more than it does in most places.
Going on shore at Accra with Lady MacDonald gave me
opportunities and advantages I should not otherwise have
enjoyed, such as the hospitality of the Governor, luxurious
transport from the landing place to Christiansborg Castle, a
thorough inspection of the cathedral in course of erection,
and the strange and highly interesting function of going to a
tea-party at a police station to meet a king,— a real reigning
king— who kindly attended with his suite, and displayed an
intelligent interest in photographs. Tackie^that is His
Majesty’s name) is an old, spare man, with l j | | b W
manner. His sovereign rights are acknowledged by the
Government so far as to hold him more or less responsible for
any iniquity committed by his people ; and as the Government
do not allow him to execute or flagellate the said people,
earthly pomp is rather a hollow thing to Tackie. . •
On landing I was taken in charge by an Assistant.
Inspector of Police, and after a scrimmage fo rm y chiet s
baggage and my own, which reminded me of ay long ago
landing on the distant island of Guernsey, the in je c to r and
n ACCRA 3i
I got into a ’rickshaw, locally called a go-cart. It was pulled
in front by two government negroes and pushed behind by
another pair, all neatly attired in white jackets and knee
breeches, and crimson cummerbunds yards long, bound round
their middles. Now it is an ingrained characteristic of the
uneducated negro, that he cannot keep on a neat and
complete garment of any kind. It does not matter what
that garment may b e ; so long as it is whole, off it comes.
But as soon as that garment becomes a series of holes, held
together by filaments of rag, he keeps it upon him in a
manner that is marvellous, and you need have no further
anxiety on its behalf. Therefore it was but natural that the
governmental cummerbunds, being new,'should come off their
wearers several times in the course of our two mile trip, and
as they wound riskily round the legs of their running wearers,
we had to make halts while one end of the cummerbund was
affixed to a tree-trunk and the other end to the man, who
rapidly wound himself up in it again with a skill that spoke of
constant practice.
The road to Christiansborg from Accra, which runs parallel
to the sea and is broad and well-kept, is in places pleasantly
shaded with pepper trees, eucalyptus, and palms. The first
part of it, which forms the main street of Accra, is remarkable.
The untidy, poverty-stricken native houses or huts are no
credit to their owners, and a constant source of anxiety to a
conscientious sanitary inspector. Almost every one of them
is a shop, but this does not give rise to the animated commercial
life one might imagine, owing, I presume, to the fact
that every native inhabitant of Accra who has any money to
get rid of is able recklessly to spend it in his own emporium.
For these shops are of the store nature, each after his kind,
and seem homogeneously stocked with tin pans, loud-
patterned basins, iron pots, a few rolls of cloth and bottles of
American rum. After passing these there are the Haussa
lines, a few European houses, and the cathedral; and when
nearly into Christiansborg, a cemetery on either side of the
road. That to the right is the old cemetery, now closed, and
when I was there, in a disgracefully neglected s tate : a mere
jungle of grass infested with snakes. Opposite to it is the