MY JOURNEY PROM LOKO TO DORRORO 195 



rests beneath the trees in the market-pkce during the hottest 

 time of the day, when all labour is drowsing and the little 



.^ ■' ^'^.^-^.S'-^^m 



FULANI AKCHITECTURE 



children have been freed by their parents from their task of 

 carrying water or working in the corn patches, it is a familiar 

 sound to hear the sing-song of little treble voices in the 

 compound of the priest droning out verses of the Koran 

 through the sun-struck hours, and one's thoughts go back at 

 once to an English village, to the school by the church ; for 

 one remembers the sound, it was just the same sound. 



The Fulani are at heart no friends of the white man, who 

 has robbed them of their slaves, and so destroyed their 

 chief source of wealth. And this hostile feeling is fostered by 

 the influence of their religion, which keeps their patriotism 

 alive. Some years ago their smouldering impatience of the 



