The Bafut Beagles

Masa, he said, having cleared his throat several times, dis medicine you done get na fine one. We savvay dis ting. We don see dis beef bite Masa time no dere, and Masa no die.

well?

Dis medicine, Masa, na juju for white man. No be juju for black man. For Masa na good ting dis medicine, but for we no be good ting.

For half an hour I argued, pleaded, and cajoled them. They were polite but firm; the medicine was fine for whites, but it would not work with black people. That was their belief and they were sticking to it. I tried every argument I could think of to make them change their minds, but it was no use. At last, thoroughly irritated by the failure of my little scheme, I dismissed the Beagles and stalked off to have my meal.

Later that evening the Fon turned up, accompanied by five council members and a bottle of gin. We sat on the moonlit veranda for half an hour or so, discussing various subjects in a desultory fashion, and then the Fon hitched his chair closer to mine and leant forward, giving me his wide and engaging grin that lit up his whole face.

Some man done tell me dat you done catch Que-fong-goo, he said. Dis man speak true?

na so, I nodded, na fine beef dat.

Dis man done say you catch dis beef with your hand, said the Fon. I tink sometime dis man tell me lie, eh? Dis na bad beef, dis Que-fong-goo; you no fit catch um with you hand, eh ? e go kill you one time, no be so ?

no, I said firmly, dis man no tell lie. I done catch dis beef with my hand.

The council members let out their breath with a hiss at this information, and the Fon sat back and regarded me wide-eyed.

an when you done catch um what e done do? asked the Fon at last.

he done bite me.

Whaaaaa! said the Fon and the council members in unison.

he done bite me here, I said, holding out my hand, and the Fon shied away as though I had pointed a gun at him. He and the council members examined my finger from a safe distance, chattering eagerly to each other.

why you no die? asked the Fon presently.

Die? I asked, frowning. why I go die?

na bad beef dis ting, said the Fon excitedly. "E de bite too much. If black man go hold him e go die one time. Why you never die, my friend?

Oh, I get special medicine for dis ting, I said airily.

A chorus of cAhhs! came from my audience.

na European medicine dis? asked the Fon.

yes. You like I go show you?

yes, yes, na foine! he said eagerly.

They sat there silent and expectant while I went and fetched my small medicine chest; from it I extracted a packet of boracic powder, and spread a little on the palm of my hand. They all craned eagerly forward to see it. I filled a glass of water, mixed in the powder and then rubbed the result on my hands.

There! I said, spreading my hands out like a conjurer.

now Que-fong-goo no fit kill me.

I walked over to the skink box, opened it, and turned round holding the beast in my hands. There was a fluttering of robes and the council members fled to the other end of the veranda in a disorderly stampede. The Fon remained rooted to his chair, a look of disgust and fright on his face as I walked towards him. I stopped in front of him and held out the reptile, who was busily trying to amputate my finger.

Look ... you see? I said; dis beef no fit kill me.

The Fon's breath escaped in a prolonged aieeeeeeel of astonishment as he watched the lizard. Presently he tore his fascinated eyes away from it and looked up at me.

Dis medicine, he said hoarsely, "e good for black man?

na fine for black man.

black man no go die?

atall, my friend.

The Fon sat back and gazed at me in wonder. *

wha! he said at last, na fine ting dis.

you like you go try dis medicine? I asked casually.

er ... er ... yes, yes, na foine, said the Fon nervously.

Before he could change his mind, I put the skink back in the box, and then prepared some more of the boracic mixture. I showed the Fon how to rub it on his enormous hands, and he massaged away for a long time. Then I brought the box, pulled out the skink, and held it out for him.

It was a tense moment; the ring of council members watched with bated breath and screwed-up countenances while the Fon licked his lips, put out his hand towards the skink, drew it back nervously, and then reached out again. There was a moment's suspense as his hand lowered over the highly-coloured reptile, then he drew a deep breath and grabbed the beast firmly round the waist. , ahhh! hissed the council members.

wheeel I done hold um, yelped the Fon, clutching the unfortunate skink so tightly that I feared for its life.

hold um softly, I begged. you go kill um if you hold um tight.

But the Fon, paralysed by a mixture of fright and pleasure at his own daring, could only sit there glaring at the skink in his hand and muttering, I done hold um ... I done hold um ... until I was forced to prise the unfortunate skink loose and return it to its box.