Gabonese Folktales
The Elephant and the Rabbit – folklure central Africa
There was once an elephant, and he made a brew of beer and said, “I should like to have a dance for my friends, but at my drinking-bout I will have none who have not horns. I want all who have horns, but no one else.”
So one day he collected together all his friends who had horns, but no one else. And they all assembled. And he asked his friends, “Whom shall we appoint policeman to keep the door for us?”
They all said, “Perhaps the hyena would do.”
Someone was sent to go and find the hyena. The hyena was soon found, he and a very little cub of his, and they were brought to the elephant. And the elephant said, “I want you to be our policeman and just keep the door for us.”
“Oh, certainly,” said the hyena. “Very well. Agreed.”
The arrangements were made for the dance. It was a dance called “Njipa.” First they conversed, and presently beer was brought, a jar and a half full, and they drank. When they had done drinking, they fell to dancing, and the song to which they danced was this — “Njipa, mwiwale zale? Uwanywo hatupiyakao mwanyi pwanabwa ngoo” — which means, “This dance, where did you hear of it? And we are by no means at home yet, oh, no!” That is what it meant.
Well, while they were dancing away and highly delighted because the dance was a very good one, suddenly they saw a very handsome young person coming with antlers like a stag. They called the stag and asked him, “Is this a relation of yours or not?”
The stag replied, “I do not know. Possibly it is a relation of mine.”
The elephant said at once, “Give this young person a place and let him dance. It is alright; he has horns.” A place in the dance was given him at once. But he would not dance in the sun, as he was afraid his horns would come off — for he was only a rabbit really and had no horns at all, just horns of wax.
So they danced till they began to be tired. Presently they went to have another pull at the beer, just by way of refreshment. When they had refreshed themselves, then at once they fell to dancing again. And then the rabbit got in a sunny place, and in a moment both his horns melted off, and one horn flew off and hit the elephant near the nose. “Collar that fellow there!” exclaimed the elephant to the hyena.
“Where?” answered the hyena. “I have not got sight of him yet.” The rabbit had not got out; he had hidden himself near where the hyena was. The very moment the hyena went out of the door, the rabbit bolted out too.
When the hyena saw him, he went after him at full speed. Suddenly the rabbit dived into a hole. The hyena and his young cub dug away with a will but could not get at him. Presently the hyena said, “Wait here and don’t let him out. Stuff grass into the hole; I will go and get fire.”
“Very well.” said the cub.
As soon as the hyena was well on his way to fetch fire, the rabbit rose up from inside, and while the cub was gathering grass, the rabbit came out. As soon as he was safe outside, he came up from behind and asked the cub who was gathering grass, “Where has your father gone?”
“He has gone to get fire,” answered the cub.
“What is the fire for?” the rabbit inquired.
“To smoke the rabbit out,” said he. “He’s there inside the hole. I will stuff grass in the hole.”
“Oh!” said the rabbit. “It is no good stuffing grass in. He will get out. Don’t use grass! Put your paw in, and keep singing like this: Too-oo tee-ay-lar, too-oo tee-ay-lar.” After the cub put his paw in the hole, the rabbit said, “Now then, begin singing. And go on till you see your father coming with the fire; then stuff the grass in. Do you understand, you little cub?”
“Oh, yes!” said the cub. The rabbit was off in a moment, and the cub never saw where the rabbit went to.
And the cub attended to what the rabbit had said to him and did exactly as he was told: he put his paw in the hole and kept singing, “Too-oo tee-ay-lar, too-oo tee-ay-lar.” And as soon as the cub saw his father coming, he stuffed the grass into the hole.
Presently his father came up and asked his cub, “Is the rabbit in there?”
“Yes, father, he is there.”
So they lighted a fire and put it in the hole and puffed away at it till the hole was quite full of smoke. Then they fell to digging again. They dug and dug till they came to the end, and not a thing did they find inside it after all.
The father promptly asked his child, “Why is the rabbit not in there inside the hole? Where has he gone to? I know you have let him out.”
The young one answered at once and said, “Well, I did see a rabbit. He came up behind me, and he said to me, ‘What are you waiting for here?’ And I replied, ‘I am waiting for a rabbit. He is here in this hole.’ And he said to me, ‘If you are waiting for a rabbit, it is no good stuffing grass in the hole; he will be out and away in a moment.’ And I answered, ‘Well, what am I to stop the hole with?’ ‘With your paw,’ said he, ‘and besides, keep singing like this: Too-oo, tee-ay-lar, too-oo tee-ay-lar‘” — which means “stopping up and letting out,” that is its meaning.
When the cub’s father heard this, he was very angry, for he was afraid the elephant would kill him.
Well, the hyena hunted for the rabbit but could not find him, as the rabbit had gotten clean away. Then the hyena and his cub went back to the elephant and found them all dancing away just as before. And the dance was in full swing, too. The hyena went up to the elephant and said to him, “I have not caught the rabbit.”
“What rabbit?” said the elephant hastily.
“The one you told me to collar,” said the hyena.
“I never told you any such thing,” said the elephant. The fact was, the elephant denied it because the dance was quite delightful; the dancing and the singing were quite exquisite. So the hyena went back to his post and kept the door again as before, he and his cub with him.
The company continued to dance and drank up the beer. The beer was not quite so good at first, but now there were the dregs at the bottom, and they were particularly nice — nicer than all the rest together. Then they made up another dance, and presently they saw a young person with the horns of a buffalo, and very fine horns indeed they were. They welcomed him at once in high good-humour, and the rabbit (for it was the rabbit again) joined in the dance without more ado.
At first, he took great care not to get into the sun for he was afraid his horns would melt off at once. So he danced in the shade. Presently the elephant called out, “Stop dancing. Now let us finish off what is left of our beer.” They lost no time in gathering together, and very soon the beer was brought, and they drank till they had finished it all up, and the rabbit with them.
When they had done drinking, they stood up to dance, and they danced away vigorously, and the dance got into a famous swing. And the rabbit got into the sun, because he was so taken up with the dancing. And in a moment, while the rabbit was dancing, both his horns melted right off and flew up and hit the buffalo. And the rabbit made a rush for the hyena, who was keeping guard at the door, and the hyena entirely failed to collar the rabbit. And the rabbit bolted into a cemetery, and the hyena tried to hunt him down but could not catch him, for in the cemetery there were a great many footmarks, so he did not know which was the track of the rabbit.
And the hyena went back and said to the elephant, “I could not catch him for he ran into the cemetery, and I do not know the track which he made for there are a great many footmarks there.”
“Well,” said the elephant, “what are we to do? He has contrived to drink our beer, and he has joined in our dance, and he has got off scot-free. And he has hurt us, too, with those beastly horns of his.”
But the company danced and enjoyed themselves, and then they took leave of each other, and everyone went away highly delighted. So the dance came to an end.
As for the rabbit, he took care not to appear a third time.
The Frog and the Chameleon
One day a frog spoke to his fellow frogs and said, “I have heard that there is a chameleon about. The day I see him, he shall be my friend.”
Well, one day they met, the frog and the chameleon, and they at once wished each other good morning, and after wishing each other good morning, they made mutual inquiries. First the frog asked the chameleon, “How are you getting on?”
“Capitally,” replied the chameleon. “And how are you — well or badly?”
“Excellently,” said the frog, “and how have you been this long time past?”
“In peace and quietness,” answered the chameleon, “passing all understanding.”
“My friend,” said the frog, “you have given me an answer, but it has a fatal flaw. Peace cannot pass all understanding, unless you ascribe it to Almighty God, who created us, me and you. You, my friend, speak to me of a peace passing all understanding without naming your Creator, yours and mine, the Creator of all things, Almighty God.”
“Quite true,” answered the chameleon. “You have a very fine sense of propriety.”
Well, the frog and the chameleon clung to each other as the ring to the finger, and so remained for many a day, the frog and the chameleon.
At last the frog got up and said to the chameleon, “My friend, we are still unmarried. Let us go and look for wives, and so marry.”
“By all means, my friend,” said the chameleon, “let us go in search of wives.”
So off they went to search for wives, and they traveled for many a day without finding what they were in search of. However, one day they saw a town and said, “Suppose we enter this town. It is possible we shall get them here.”
So they entered the town and were at once made welcome — “Welcome, welcome, strangers.” They sat down, and food was brought in abundance, and they made a meal on the spot. In the morning they were asked, “How are things going in your parts — well or badly?”
“As well as could be,” answered they. ” But there is just one thing to mention: we are in want of wives.”
“What do you say?” rejoined the people of the town.
“Wives,” said they, “simply wives.”
Now in that town there was a certain man who had two children, both girls, and just at that time the two daughters of this man appeared and passed in front of the frog and the chameleon, who noticed that they were fine girls, and they asked the people of the town, “Where is their father?”
The people answered and said, “He is the man you were just now talking to here. They are his daughters.”
“We should like,” they said, “to marry his daughters.” Their father and their mother were at once called. The frog and the chameleon said, “We should like to marry your daughters.”
The man had a little conversation with his wife. “Well, what do you think, my dear? Our daughters are asked in marriage by the frog and the chameleon. Now what do you think, my dear? Are they to marry or not marry?” “Just as you like, my dear,” replied his wife. “Well,” said he, “for my part, I should think they had better marry. These are gentlemen of quality, and I really cannot say no to them.” Then the wife remarked, “I won’t have my children live in want. I won’t have my children find life all worry and trouble.”
So the husband replied to the frog and the chameleon, “Is it really the case that you have the means to provide well for your wives?”
The frog and the chameleon answered and said to the father, “We have, sir, never fear. We have, we have indeed, sir.”
Then the mother put in her word, “I want sons-in-law who know how to dig.”
“We will try,” replied they, but the frog added a boast on his own account and said, “I have no doubt, madam, I can dig, no doubt at all.” But the chameleon only said, “I will try, but I do not think I can.”
So the wedding of the frog and chameleon was celebrated, and it was as grand as could possibly be, the wedding of the chameleon and the frog. Fifty days lasted the wedding festivities of the frog and the chameleon, with slaughter of oxen and slaughter of sheep and goats. As to chickens, they were beyond counting. So a very grand affair was the wedding of the frog and the chameleon.
Well, when the wedding festivities were over, the father-in-law said to them, “Well, sons-in-law, what line of life will you take up now?”
“In this country,” said they, “we are strangers,” and they added, “We want spades and axes and sickles. We will do field-work.” They said further, “Of course we are going to dig. Should we take your daughters and do nothing for it?”
Their father-in-law bought spades, axes, and sickles — everything required for field-work their father-in-law bought. He gave them the things and said, “I want you to farm. Only support your wives, and I won’t take a single sixpence from you.”
“By all means,” they replied, and the frog said, “For my part, one spade and one axe are by no means enough for me. I require twelve spades and ten axes and nine sickles. Then I shall do rare work.”
“Gently, gently,” interrupted his friend the chameleon. “Are you speaking the truth, my friend? How do you propose to work with twelve spades?”
“Oh! Oh!” cried the frog. “Just because the chameleon is a rare stick-in-the-mud — he’s a whole year getting anywhere; he just crawls one foot at a time — I won’t have you make me out a do-nothing, Mr. Chameleon! I want twelve spades. None of your nonsense for me. Out of the road there!” The chameleon moved off, and then the frog was given his twelve spades, and he said, “Now I shall do rare work” — and he was given spaces, and axes too, and sickles, just as he had requested.
But the chameleon was given one spade and one axe and one sickle. And his father-in-law said, “The frog has told me you are a thorough idler. That’s why I gave you one spade and one axe and one sickle, because you are lazy.”
“Very good, father-in-law,” said the chameleon, “you will see if I am lazy. Thank you, thank you; one spade and one axe and one sickle will do for me, father-in-law. Thank you. Let the frog there have your spades.”
So the matter ended, and they went off to work.
Well, whenever the frog went out to work, he used to cover himself with sand and cover himself with mud, and when he came home to his father-in-law’s house, he bragged, “I have done a fine stroke of work today; I want a good pile of food on my plate today.” His mother-in-law cooked for him, and he took his meals by himself, and the frog was very greedy and would go presently to his mother-in-law and say, “I have worked hard today, mother-in-law, but as to the chameleon, he does not do a single stroke of work — he goes off a ramble without you seeing him; he carries off his spade in the morning, but don’t you believe that he is at work. He is a liar and a do-nothing.” Then the mother-in-law got to hate the chameleon heartily, because he was lazy. The frog had made mischief, and he said to her, “Keep your love for me, I who work like a man, while the chameleon does nothing.” When the frog came from his fields it was always the same thing: he covered himself with mud so as to get a name for hard work and be praised by everybody.
When the chameleon came from the fields, he would oil himself and bathe himself and go back to his house, and when he goes indoors, his wife sees him, and flies into a passion, and demands of her husband, “How much digging have you done today?” and the chameleon answers his wife, “I have fine games. I don’t dig. The frog is the great digger; he has it all to himself — no one else has a chance with him in digging.” His wife would answer and say, “You are an idle do-nothing, you! Everyone tells me you are. Is there a man in the world who comes from the fields and all to oil himself? Where did you ever see one? Tell me.”
“No, I never did,” said the chameleon. “But still, suppose it is a way a man has; what are you to do?” His wife made no reply. At last she said to him, “Just try to dig a bit. Don’t be lazy, my dear. Look at your friend the frog; when he comes from his fields, does he oil himself or not?”
The chameleon said to his wife, “No, he does not.”
“Well,” said his wife, “then you are an idler; you do not dig.”
“Just so, an idler,” was his answer to his wife.
So the chameleon went off to his fields. The fact is, the chameleon was uncommonly industrious at digging, while the frog never put spade to the ground. The frog was the regular do-nothing. Every day it was just the same. The frog would go to his field and stay a long time, doing nothing but amuse himself; then he would spatter himself with mud and come home, bragging to his wife, “Ah, my dear! I have done a fine day’s work. I trust Almighty God may send down rain tonight, and then tomorrow I will go and sow my field. A very large field it is, too.” So bragged the frog.
Well, that night there was a heavy fall of rain. In the morning, the frog said to his wife, “Go to your mother and say I want seed.” She went and cried, “Mother, mother, may I come in? My husband wants seed to sow.” “Oh! By all means,” said her mother. Then the daughter asked, “What sort of seed do you want baskets of, my husband — maize or millet?” The frog replied, “I want eighteen baskets of maize, and ten of millet, and nineteen of rice.” And the frog got all his seed of all kinds together.
Then the chameleon was asked, “How many baskets do you want?”
“Just what you can supply me with,” said he. “I shall make no fuss, mother-in-law.”
“Quite right,” said his mother-in-law, and she produced some baskets of maize, and of millet, and of rice. And of each kind of seed his mother-in-law gave him two baskets only, because, thought she, “The chameleon knows nothing about digging.” The chameleon went off to sow his seed.
What did the frog do but carry off his baskets of seed, and go and dig a hole and put all his seed in the hole — that was all the field the frog had. But the chameleon went to his field and sowed the seed which his mother-in-law had given him — the chameleon sowed his seed until his seed was all gone. As to the frog, his seed, too, was all gone, of course — the frog’s seed being simply put in a hole.
Then the frog lodged another request for seed with his mother-in-law. “I want,” said he, “nineteen more baskets of maize, and the same of millet and the same of rice, nineteen baskets — of each kind of seed nineteen baskets.” His mother-in-law did not like to be outdone, so she procured the seed and conveyed the seed to her son-in-law the frog, and oh! oh! oh! — the frog was overjoyed, and he went again to dig a hole and put in it the whole lot of seed which his mother-in-law had given him. Then the frog said, “No, that is enough now; I don’t want any more seed. What you gave me is sufficient. Now I have only got to keep the ground clear of weeds.”
Then the chameleon was asked, “Do you want any seed?”
“I am a mere do-nothing,” said he. “I want none of your seed, mother-in-law. I will get seed myself.”
“Very good,” said his mother-in-law. So the chameleon sowed his field and kept his eye on it till the seed sprouted and came up, and he kept the ground clear of weeds, and in the chameleon’s field things were uncommonly flourishing. In his field there were bananas, in his field the maize was past all reckoning, and so was the sugar-cane in his field, the chameleon’s.
Harvest-time came, and the frog was summoned by his mother-in-law, who said to him, “I want to go and see your fields, son-in-law. It is harvest-time, you know.”
“Indeed it is, mother-in-law,” he said. “It is harvest-time.” But the frog quaked with terror at deceiving his mother-in-law. However, he said, “Certainly. Suppose we go tomorrow morning early?” And his mother-in-law said, “By all means.” They slept till morning, and then his mother-in-law went to the frog’s house and said, “Well, what say you? Are we to go to your field, son-in-law?”
“But,” replied the frog to his mother-in-law, “are you sure you are equal to a very long walk? It is a very long way to the place where I have worked, mother-in-law.”
“Never mind,” said his mother-in-law. “Let us start and take it quietly, and we shall get there at last.” The frog was at his wits’ end, and his mother-in-law said, “Alright, come along.” His mother-in-law carried a basket with her, thinking she would take some of the maize.
Well, they went on, and on, and on, and his mother-in-law kept asking, “Son-in-law frog, son-in-law frog, where are you going to?” The frog uttered an ejaculation, which meant, “Come along, mother-in-law; come along, mother-in-law.” So they went on till it was mid-day, and the frog said to his mother-in-law, “We have left the field behind us. Let us go back, mother-in-law.” His mother-in-law was fatigued, and so were the people who were with her, and she said, “What have you given us all this trouble for nothing for?”
The frog quaked at the voice of his mother-in-law. The frog was at his wits’ end for an idea. “I had better say the seed was devoured by swarms of vermin. Yes, rats in swarms. I had better say that, and my mother-in-law will let me off.” The frog racked his brains. “I had better say it.” So he said to his mother-in-law, almost beside himself with terror, “That seed you gave me was eaten by rats and vermin. They came in swarms and devoured it wholesale, and the rats routed up all the seed I planted, and here’s the rats’ hole.” Well, his mother-in-law simply could not bear the sight of this wicked waste of seed. She could not call him her son-in-law, but said to him, “Frog, you are no friend of mine. You have given me all the trouble of a laborious hunt after seed, and now you have spoiled it all in this way. And then you have worried me with a hunt after spades and axes — everything, indeed, I had to hunt up, and now I should like to know, where are your fields?”
“I couldn’t dig,” whimpered the frog, “because I was all by myself.” And the frog was terribly ashamed; he could not look his mother-in-law in the face. Then his mother-in-law said, “Frog, you are no longer my son-in-law. You have done very wrong.” So they went back to the town in a ferment, the frog not having a word to say for himself and only expecting to be summarily expelled.
The next day the chameleon was summoned. “Well, chameleon, how are you? Have you not been digging either?” The chameleon answered his mother-in-law, “Come to my field and see. But I am a sad idler, I am, just as you said yourselves, just like the frog said. However, come along and see the results of my idling.” So they went to the chameleon’s field, they went on and on, and at last they reached it. When she set eyes on the chameleon’s field — and that field was something enormous — then his mother-in-law gave a cry of surprise and said, “Well, I never! Son-in-law chameleon, who has dug here? All this field, you by yourself?”
“Oh! I’m a lazy dog,” said the chameleon. “You see how lazy I am.” His mother-in-law was quite astounded. Then in a moment the chameleon gave orders for a house seven stories high, and there it stood in a moment. Then in a moment he gave orders to his maid-servants to convey his mother-in-law upstairs, and she was carried up. The news spread to the town, and a man was sent off to bring the father-in-law from the town. Very soon he was brought to the chameleon’s residence. The father-in-law was astounded too, and said, “How have you managed to dig all this ground by yourself?” The chameleon gave orders to his men-servants to convey his father-in-law upstairs to a room, and people began to come into the chameleon’s house, and he received them in state. The chameleon went to his field, and plucked some half-ripe maize, and gave it to his servants. “Make haste and cook this for my guests to eat.” His father-in-law was in the seven-storied house, and he was in raptures and said, “I have got a fine son-in-law.” And he added, “Now I will not have another son-in-law, only the chameleon now, and no one else. As to the frog, I will have nothing to do with him whatever.”
So he sent people, saying, “Tell the frog to take himself off. Don’t let me see him when I come to the town. Don’t let me see him a single moment.” The people went to the town, and the frog was told, “Your father-in-law is at the chameleon’s house, and he says, ‘Take yourself off this very day! Don’t stay here today; go away.’ Now then, you are a do-nothing, you frog, you! Hit him! Hit him!”
Off the frog ran into the forest, and he was never seen again.
When the father-in-law came back to the town, he asked, “Has the frog gone?” The people of the town replied, “Yes, he has run off into the woods. We were going to kill him, but he ran away.”
Well, the frog’s wife was given to the chameleon, and so the chameleon had two wives. And the chameleon said to his father-in-law, “Come now, let us walk about my fields.” So they walked about till the father-in-law was tired, and then he rested. When he was ready, he got up and went away. The father-in-law told everyone, “I have got a fine son-in-law indeed.”
So the chameleon lived with his two wives in the house of seven stories, and they lived in peace and quietness. His father-in-law died, and the mother-in-law only was left, and presently she died too. Then the chameleon was left and his two wives and a number of servants, male and female. They had nothing to do but eat and drink.
This is the story of the chameleon and the frog. And the frog ran away into the woods — that was what became of the frog. As to digging, the chameleon handed that all over to his servants.
The Man and the Sheep
There was a man named Msamya, and he was a rich man, and he went to the market and saw a sheep for sale, bought it, and went home with it to his house. This man, Msamya, who bought the sheep, was by trade a tailor, and he had a son named Magala.
Early in the morning he said to his son Magala, “I am going to my work. At eight o’clock take out this sheep to graze in the pasture.”
When the hour came, the lad was late — he did not know that it had struck eight o’clock. The sheep spoke and called to him, “Magala, Magala, Magala.”
“Here I am,” he replied.
The sheep spoke and said to him, “When Msamya went to his work, what did he say to you?”
Magala answered and said, “He told me, ‘When it strikes eight o’clock, take the sheep to graze in the pasture.’”
“Why did you not take me?” said the sheep.
The boy took it to the pasture. When he had done taking it there, the boy ran off and went after his father to the place where he worked, and he said to his father, “That sheep can speak.”
Msamya caught up a bit of wood which he used in his work, and struck him with it, and said, “Oh! Oh! My boy, where have you found a sheep that can speak?” The boy ran away.
The next day Msamya said to his son, “When you see it is ten o’clock, take this sheep here to yonder baobab tree.”
The hour came, but the boy did not know it. So the sheep called him, “Magala, Magala, Magala.”
“Here I am,” he replied.
The sheep spoke and said to him, “When Msamya went to work, what did he say to you?”
The boy answered and said, “He said to me, ‘When you hear the clock strike ten, take this sheep and lead it to the baobab tree.’”
So the boy took the sheep and led it to where the baobab tree stood. When he had done taking it, the boy ran off and went after his father to the place where he was working, and the boy said to him, “Father, you will not believe when I tell you, but the sheep speaks, really and truly.”
“Very well, my boy, if it speaks, I will come myself and see if it does speak, really and truly.”
The day following, Msamya gave his son the same directions, but he came himself and kept watch at the door to hear if the sheep would speak. And he said to his son, “Be late on purpose so that I may hear if it speaks.”
And so it all happened. Msamya stood outside the door, and Magala played about outside. Presently the sheep called, “Magala!” and Magala said to his father, “Do you hear, father? You thought I was telling a lie.”
His father replied, “I have heard, my child. It is a marvelous thing. Come, set off and take it to the pasture yonder.”
Well, Msamya went off to consult the medicine-men, and the medicine-men said to him, “Take your son, and go and cut two heavy logs, one for you and one for your son. When you find the sheep asleep, first do you throw your log down on it, and then let your son come and do the same. You will kill it in a moment.”
Msamya followed this advice. They went together, the man and his son, and cut two very large logs, one for each of them. They came and found the sheep asleep out of doors, the sun being hot. Msamya threw down his log upon it, but the sheep slipped aside and said, “Msamya, look, you nearly killed me. But of course you did not see me, and it’s very hot, and you must be tired.” As the sheep was saying this, Magala came up and threw down his log upon him, but the sheep avoided this too, and said, “Ah! Do you want to kill me? Look! Your father threw down his log and almost killed me. And you, look! You have thrown down yours and almost killed me.”
Magala answered and said, “It was not on purpose. Why, you see yourself how hot it is, and we have come a very long way with these logs, and in all this heat. That’s why we threw them down on you. We did not see you clearly, because we were so tired.”
The sheep answered and said, “It is of no consequence, and I saw myself that you were tired.”
Then Msamya went to another medicine-man, and this medicine-man said to him, “Go and dig a large pit. In it put spears and all kinds of dangerous things; put them inside it, and at the top cover it over with grass. When it is finished, go and say to your sheep, ‘Come, let us go for a stroll.’ Go in front yourself, and let the sheep follow behind you. When you arrive at the pit, cross over the corner of it, and stand on the further side, straight in front, and call your sheep, ‘Come, make haste and come along.’ Then, if it comes, it will fall into the pit. When it has fallen in, fill in the earth as fast as you can, and it will die in a moment.”
So Msamya went and dug the pit and put all kinds of dangerous things in it, and at the top he finished it off cleverly with grass. When the pit was ready, he went and called his sheep and said to it, “Let us go a walk together today, I and my sheep.”
Msamya went in front, his sheep followed behind, and he arrived at the pit. Msamya himself crossed over the corner, and stood on the further side just opposite, and said to his sheep, “Come, make haste and come along.”
When the sheep came to the pit, it saw that there was danger and took a jump across to the other side where Msamya was standing. And the sheep said to Msamya, “Oh! Msamya, come and look. Some villain has laid a trap for us.”
“Who can it be,” said Msamya, “who laid the trap for us? And we are not people of wealth; we are only poor people.”
“I do not know either,” answered the sheep. “Possibly people are envious because you have got possession of me, and they want to kill us both at one blow.”
“Very likely,” replied Msamya. And then he said to the sheep, “Let us go home again, or we may have some more adventures.” So Msamya returned home to his house, utterly speechless with grief at having been outdone by the sheep.
Next he went to a third medicine-man. This man said to Msamya, “Go and build a hut of coconut leaves, and sleep in it four days. The fifth day remove all your things; do not forget a single thing inside, but do not bar the door. Then take your sheep, and fasten it inside, and set fire to the hut, only not forgetting to leave nothing in it. Then the sheep will die.”
Msamya went and built the hut, and when that was done, he slept in it four nights. On the fifth he removed all his things from the hut and fastened the sheep inside, but his son Magala forgot his spear and left it and a piece of cloth in the hut. Then they set fire to the hut.
When the sheep saw the hut was burning, it cut the cord with which it was tied, took the spear and piece of cloth, and brought them to Msamya. “Look! Your son has forgotten his spear and cloth. If it were not for me, they would have been burnt.”
But when Msamya saw the sheep coming out from inside, he got very angry.
The sheep said, “Why are you angry? Tell me.”
“Why I am angry,” said Msamya, “is that somebody has burnt my hut.”
“Who has burnt your hut?” said the sheep.
“I don’t know,” answered Msamya, “who it is that burnt it.” But really Msamya was very angry because of his hut and because he was outdone by the sheep.
Then Msamya went to a fourth medicine-man. This medicine-man gave him straightforward advice and said, “Go and kill a goat; take the flesh and put it somewhere to get a little putrid, say for three days. Then take and cook it, and make a very full meal on it, and drink the gravy at the same time. When you wake up in the morning, call your sheep and take it for a ramble along a cliff. Go in front yourself, and let the sheep follow behind you. When you come to the cliff, see that the sheep is following close behind you. Then, give a burp. The sheep will die in a moment.”
Msamya went home, killed his goat, and did as he was told, made a full meal on it, and drank the gravy till he was ready to burst, and then went to sleep. In the morning he woke up and said, “Today, I will go a ramble with my sheep.” So he called out, “Come, my sheep! Let us go for a ramble.”
The sheep came and followed him. Msamya went before, and the sheep followed behind him, and they went till they arrived at a very high cliff. Msamya gave a burp.
The sheep listened and thought, “No! It’s nothing!” Then it spoke and said, “Oh! Msamya, why did you do that?”
“It is just a sort of relief,” replied Msamya, “to us men — just a relief to me.”
“Well now,” replied the sheep, “don’t you do it again. I cannot stand it a second time.”
“Very well,” said Msamya.
They went a little farther, and Msamya burped the same again. “Msamya! Msamya!” said the sheep. “What did I say to you just now?”
“Just a relief to me,” answered Msamya, “but I forgot.”
Then the sheep said, “Msamya! Msamya! If you do that a third time, you lose a sheep for good. True, the mutton may just be worth eating.”
“I am penitent now,” said Msamya.
Again they went on a little farther, and Msamya burped the same again. Well, this was too much for the sheep. It tried to stop its ears, but in a moment was seized with giddiness, and fell over the cliff, and died then and there.
When Msamya turned round, he saw its legs twitching, and he took to his heels and did not stop till he got to his house. He was in a terrible fright.
When he reached his house his wife asked him, “Well? What news?” but he was quite speechless.
Then all the people came and questioned him, but not a word did he say. They brought him food, but he could not eat, but he went to his house and sat there all by himself, for he was dreadfully afraid, thinking, “Perhaps that sheep will come to life again and come after me.”
However, early next morning, he woke up and went to the cliff, and looked over the rock, and saw that the sheep was dead beyond a doubt — one side had been eaten by hyenas. And every hyena which ate a piece of that sheep was sick on the spot.
Well, when Msamya saw that the sheep was really and truly dead, he went home in a transport of delight and sounded his horn and his drum, and all his relations assembled together, and he made them a feast, which it took four happy days to eat.
Neither he nor his relations ever let a sheep enter their house again to this day. That day was enough to convert them all.
The Snake with Five Heads
At the foot of a high mountain there dwelt a man who had two daughters, the elder of whom was named Kazi and the younger Zanyani. Kazi was a tall, beautiful girl, but she was selfish and bad-tempered and always quarreling with her father and Zanyani. She was lazy, too, and never took her share of the work, but left Zanyani to gather the firewood, draw the water, and mend the thatch of the hut. If she could help it, she would never grind the corn, and when she baked the bread, it was always burnt to cinders.
In fact, Kazi was so disagreeable and troublesome that as soon as she was grown up, her father determined to find her a husband so he and Zanyani might be able to live in peace.
One day he set out upon a journey, leaving the girls to take care of themselves. When he came to the village to which he was bound, he got through his business as quickly as he could and then went to drink beer and talk with his friends.
They told him all the news of the village — how there had been a swarm of locusts which had eaten half the crops, how a leopard had come down from the hills and killed three sheep, and, most exciting of all, that the chief wanted a wife. The chief of this village was a great and powerful ruler, but he had never been seen by his people. Some said that he had five heads, each with cruel jaws and a pointed tongue, and that he ate all who angered him.
When Kazi’s father heard that the chief was looking for a wife, he said to himself that his elder daughter would be just the right bride for him since she was so proud and so self-willed that she would never allow him to bully her, while she was so haughty that he knew she would never consent to marry anyone less than a chief.
When he reached home again, he said to his daughters, “Which of you would like a chief for a husband?”
“I would,” said Kazi, not giving Zanyani a chance to speak.
“Let it be so,” answered the father. “Tomorrow I will call together my friends, and we will escort you to a great chief who is seeking a wife.”
“I do not want you or your friends,” answered Kazi rudely. “I will go by myself.”
At this her father was angry, for it was not fitting that a daughter of his should go unattended to her bridegroom, or without an ox for the wedding feast. Knowing, however, that it were easier to check the wind in its course than to tame the will of his daughter, he bade her do as she pleased.
Early next morning Kazi rose and adorned herself with her anklets and armlets of brass, hanging round her throat a necklace of bright-coloured beads. When she looked at her image in the clear pool beside the hut, she laughed with pleasure, for in truth she was fair enough to win the heart of any man, even if she came to him empty-handed.
Then she ran back to the hut and, having filled a basket with bread and wild fruit, she set out on her journey. The sun was rising over the edge of the veld, touching the hill-tops with golden light; the air was frosty, and Kazi ran as quickly as her feet could carry her till the blood tingled in her veins, and she began to sing for gladness. She cared nothing for her father’s displeasure. Why should not she, the beautiful Kazi, go unattended to the village of her bridegroom? Let girls less fair than she take gifts of oxen; let these, if they chose, go escorted by their fathers and the village folk!
When she was a league or so from home, Kazi sat down beside a tall aloe to eat her morning meal and to bask in the warm sunshine.
By and by, something touched her foot and, glancing down, she saw a mouse which looked up at her as if it had something to say.
“What is it, little sister?” she asked, and the mouse replied, “Shall I show you the way to the chief?”
Kazi laughed scornfully and said, “Go away, you foolish little creature. Do you think I cannot find my way to him without the help of a little brown mouse like you?” And she pushed it roughly from her.
“If you go alone, you will meet with trouble,” said the mouse, but Kazi only laughed, and the small creature ran away.
When she was rested, Kazi rose and continued her journey till she came to a brook which was overhung by trees. Sitting down on the bank, she put her feet into the cool running water. It was now noon, and the warm silence was unbroken save for the croaking of the frogs. Feeling much refreshed, Kazi again went on her way.
By and by, she saw an old woman sitting on a stone by the wayside. The old woman greeted her and said, “I know who you are and where you are going, and therefore I give you warning. Toward sunset you will come to a wood where the trees grow thick as the blades of grass. When you enter this wood, they will mock you with their laughter, but heed them not, for they cannot hurt you unless you laugh back. If you do, then beware, for harm will befall you. On the edge of the wood you will see a calabash of amasi lying on the ground, but no matter even if you are faint with hunger, touch it not. When you have gone farther, you will meet a man carrying a pot of water, and he will offer you a draught, but though your tongue cleave to the roof of your mouth, beware of letting a drop pass your lips.”
“First a mouse, and now an old woman,” said Kazi, tossing her head. “What wise counselors! Thank you for your good advice, but I shall do just as I please!”
The old woman made no answer, and Kazi went her way, singing defiantly. By and by, she came to the wood of which she had been told, and in the gathering darkness she heard the sound of mocking laughter. She entered boldly, but soon her anger rose, for it seemed as if the trees were pointing their branches like long fingers and making fun of her.
The mocking laughter grew louder as she went deeper into the wood, and the trees bent and shook with merriment. Kazi grew still more angry. How dare they laugh at her expense! Were not all who knew her proud spirit afraid of her, and was she to be jeered at by trees? The wood was dark and thickly grown, and from its secret places came the cruel sound in rising notes. It was too much; Kazi stamped her foot in anger and then laughed back — a laugh as cruel and mocking as that of the trees.
For a moment there was silence, and so still was the air that the girl’s heart stopped beating. Thick darkness gathered round her, and there was a deep roll of thunder. Then from the depths of the wood came a peal of laughter, louder and more pitiless than before.
Kazi was so terrified that she began to run and never stopped till she reached the edge of the wood and found herself out on the open veld. Panting with fear, she lay down on the grass to rest and to regain her courage, and by and by, when she was refreshed, she sat up and looked about her. A few yards away lay a calabash of amasi, just as the old woman had foretold, but though Kazi remembered the warning, she did not heed it and eagerly drank the milk.
It was now almost dark, but Kazi had no mind to lie down to rest so near the wood of mocking laughter. So she continued her journey, and after she had gone some little distance, she saw coming toward her the strange figure of whom the old woman had spoken.
It was a sight to make anyone shake with fear, for as he drew near, Kazi saw that under one arm the man carried his head, and a water-pot under the other. He was bent almost double and walked with a strange, shuffling gait.
Kazi was a bold girl, but if she had not been determined to set at naught the old woman’s warning, she would have run away from him. Conquering her fears, she walked boldly up to him and asked him for a drink of water.
Without a word he handed her the calabash, and the girl drank, trembling the while, for the black eyes of the head which he carried under his arm rolled without ceasing, and its teeth chattered noisily.
When the man was out of sight, Kazi lay down and slept, and early next morning she made ready to enter the village where lived the chief whose bride she intended to be.
When the people saw the tall, beautiful stranger, they gathered round her, asking who she was and why she had come.
“I have come to be the wife of your chief,” she answered haughtily.
“But where is your escort, and where are your oxen? Who ever knew a bride come to her husband without a retinue? The chief is away and will not return till nightfall, but you had best go yonder into his hut and prepare his food.”
The women of the kraal then led the stranger to the empty hut and gave her corn to grind.
Now Kazi had always left the grinding of the corn to her sister, and because she was unaccustomed to the task, the flour was full of hard lumps. The next thing was to make the flour into cakes and put them to bake, but so careless was Kazi that she let them burn black.
“I can’t grind corn, and I can’t cook,” said she, “but what does it matter? For when I am the wife of the great chief, I shall do no work.”
It was now growing late, and Kazi went to the door of the hut to watch for the coming of her bridegroom. The moon had risen and was flooding the veld with light, but there was no sign of an approaching figure, and long did Kazi wait, wondering whence he would come.
All at once the sky was darkened, and the hut was suddenly filled with a rushing wind. In a moment the storm ceased, and Kazi saw that a great snake with five heads was close beside her. In each of the five heads gleamed a pair of fiery eyes, which were fixed upon her.
“So you are my wife,” said the terrible being. The proud Kazi meekly bent her head and waited the pleasure of this horrible bridegroom.
“You are fair to look upon,” he said, “but bring me the cakes you have made ready for my supper. I am hungry.”
Kazi looked at the blackened cakes, and for the first time in her life she felt sorry that she was so poor a cook. Trembling, she laid them before the snake, who glanced at them with scorn.
“True,” he said, “you are fair to look upon, but you are a careless, idle woman,” and he struck her a blow which killed her.
About a year after Kazi’s death, news went round that the chief was again seeking a wife, and Zanyani’s father asked her whether she would like to be the bride. The girl consented, and her father chose from his herd a fat ox for slaughter at the wedding feast. Then he summoned his companions to escort the bride, and Zanyani, like a well-mannered maiden, raised no objection.
When all was ready, she set out, attended by her father and a procession of warriors in their bravery of waving plumes and brightly polished spears. As they went upon their way, they sang and rejoiced.
On the first part of the journey, they met with no adventures. They passed through the mocking wood, hearing no sound but the rustle of leaves, and no headless monster met them, but when they neared the village the little mouse ran out and stopped in front of the bride, saying, “Shall I show you the way?”
“If it please you, little sister, ” answered she, and the mouse guided them to a place where two roads met, and then it vanished into the bush.
At the crossroads the old woman was waiting, and she bade them follow the road to the left.
About half a mile from the village to which they were bound, the procession halted to rest, and Zanyani strayed a little from the path. Presently a girl carrying a water-pot came toward her and stopped to ask her who she was and why she thus wandered by herself.
“I have come to be the bride of the chief of yonder village,” she answered.
“He is my brother,” said the stranger. “Since you are to be my sister, let me tell you that, strange and fierce as he seems, he is gentle and good to those whom he loves, and you need not fear. Go to his hut with your father and the bridal escort,” she continued. “There my mother will give you corn to grind. When you have ground it, bake it into cakes, and if these are good, my brother will treat you well.”
Zanyani thanked the girl and took leave of her; then, returning to her father, she told him what had happened.
The journey was now resumed, and the procession escorted Zanyani to her husband’s hut. As the friendly stranger had said, the chief’s mother was waiting to receive her new daughter-in-law. She gave the bride corn to grind and then left her alone in the hut.
By and by, there lay ready a row of cakes made of fine flour, baked as only a skilled cook could bake them, and Zanyani sat down to wait the coming of the bridegroom.
Night fell, and presently there came the sound of a rushing wind, and the snake with five heads came forth. He glanced first at the bride and then at the cakes, and into his fierce eyes came a gentler light.
Having swallowed the cakes and finding them good, he turned to Zanyani, saying, “Are these of your baking?”
Zanyani bent her head in assent, and the horrible form began to change. From the scaly slough of skin that fell from him there rose a tall and handsome warrior. He looked tenderly upon the girl.
“You have freed me from the spell which has lain upon me this many a year,” he told her. “It could only be broken by the willing service of a gentle wife. ”
Then the chief came forth among his people, and the wedding was celebrated with feasting and joy.
The Sparrow and the Parrot: Ancient Wisdom on Value and Contribution
Once upon a time, in a small village surrounded by lush forests and flowing streams, lived a man who was neither wealthy nor poor. His modest home sat at the edge of the settlement, where the bustling sounds of village life gradually gave way to the whispers of nature.
This man had two constant companions in his life – a tiny Sparrow and a vibrant Parrot. The Sparrow had been with him since he first built his home. Small and unassuming with its brown feathers, the Sparrow made its nest in the eaves of the man’s roof. Each morning, it would chirp a greeting as the man stepped outside, and each evening, it would flutter nearby as he returned home. When seasons changed and the man occasionally moved to follow work, the faithful Sparrow would always find him, rebuilding its simple nest wherever the man settled.
The Parrot came into the man’s life differently. During a journey through the dense forest, the man spotted an unusual flash of brilliant colors among the trees. With patience and skill, he managed to capture a young Parrot with feathers of emerald, ruby, and sapphire hues. The man carefully brought the exotic bird home and tended to it as it grew.
As the Parrot matured, its plumage became increasingly magnificent. The man, who had some skill as a craftsman, carefully collected the Parrot’s molted feathers over time. With these vibrant treasures, he created an elaborate headdress of such remarkable beauty that it caught the attention of a wealthy merchant passing through the village.
The merchant offered a substantial sum for the feathered creation. With this unexpected windfall, the man’s circumstances changed dramatically. He was able to build a better home and, most importantly, pay the bride price for a woman he had long admired from the neighboring village. They married and established a warm household together. In time, the couple was blessed with daughters who grew into capable young women. These daughters eventually married kind and hardworking men, who joined the growing family. Before long, the patter of grandchildren’s feet filled the man’s home, and his final years were spent surrounded by three generations of a loving family.
Throughout all these changes, both birds remained part of the household. The Sparrow, ever constant, continued its quiet presence, moving wherever the man moved, adapting to each new circumstance without complaint. The Parrot, with its brilliant colors and clever mimicry, became something of a family treasure, entertaining the grandchildren with its antics and inspiring more beautiful creations from its continuously renewing feathers.
Then one day, after a long and fulfilled life, the man passed away peacefully in his sleep. As was the custom in the village, all his possessions needed to be distributed among those who had rightful claims to them.
To everyone’s surprise, the matter became complicated when both the Sparrow and the Parrot came forward claiming the right to inherit the man’s property.
Before the village elders, the humble Sparrow spoke first. “I lived my whole life with the man,” it said in a soft, melodious voice. “Where he moved, I moved. Through winter storms and summer heat, through times of plenty and times of want, I always stayed with him. My loyalty never wavered, not once in all these years. Surely this devotion should be recognized.”
The Parrot, with a flash of brilliant feathers, stepped forward indignantly. “That’s nothing!” it squawked, its voice carrying across the gathering. “The man took me from the tree-tops when I was young. When my feathers grew, he made a headdress of such beauty that it brought him fortune. He sold it for money that bought him a wife, who had daughters, who got husbands, who gave them children. I am the cause of the wealth of this family; therefore, I should inherit everything he owned.”
The village elders listened carefully to both claims. They conferred among themselves, weighing the value of constant companionship against transformative impact. After much deliberation, they faced the two birds and the assembled family.
“Both birds have contributed to this man’s life,” announced the eldest among them. “But we must consider the source of what we see before us today.” He gestured to the large family and comfortable home. “Without the Parrot, none of this would exist. He is the source; he must inherit.”
And so it was decided. The Parrot was granted the man’s property, while the Sparrow flew back to the eaves, where it would continue to build its simple nest, watching silently as life in the household carried on below.
Some say that on quiet evenings, you can still hear the Sparrow’s soft song at twilight – a gentle reminder that not all contributions are recognized equally, though each shapes the story in its own way.