I asked him why the Ju-Ju man had not altered him, so that when he sold him it would be impossible for any one who had known him in his own country ever to recognise him if they saw him in another. His reply was: "Ju-Ju man savey them man what believe in Ju-Ju no will believe me dem time I go tell dem I be dem Osūkū of Young Town come back from Long Ju-Ju. He savey all man go run away from me in my own country." "Well," I said, "how about the people amongst whom you now are? they believe in very nearly the same Ju-Jus that your own people do, what do they say about you?" "Oh! they say I be silly fellow and no savey I done die one time, and been born again in some other country." I then asked him how they accounted for his knowing about the people who were still alive in his own country and to be able to talk about matters which had taken place there within the previous five or six years. Then I got the word the inquirer in this part of the world generally gets when he wishes to dive into the inner circles of native occultism, viz., "Anemia," which means "I don't know."
The chiefs in New Calabar in the days of the last king's father were an extremely fine body of men, both physically and commercially; the latter quality they owed to the strong hand the king kept over them, and the excellent law he inaugurated when he became the king with regard to trade, viz., that no New Calabar chief or other native was allowed to take any goods on credit from the Europeans. His power was absolute, and considering that he inherited his father's place at a time when the country was in the throes of war with Bonny—his father being the king captured by the king of Bonny
