Traditional Ashanti Folktales PROMPTS FOR STORY GENERATION You are tasked with rewriting the following folktale text into a unique, polished version while preserving all original details and meanings. Do not invent, alter, or add events, characters, or cultural elements that are not present in the source. Your goal is to enhance clarity, flow, and engagement while keeping the story faithful to its origin. Instructions: Rewrite the story in a natural storytelling tone, aiming for about 900 words. Keep all characters, events, and cultural context intact — no hallucinations or new details. Expand descriptions of scenes, settings, and emotions for vividness, but do not change the storyline. Use a title and subtitle that are SEO-friendly (include the main character/element + cultural origin). At the end of the story, add a short paragraph highlighting the moral lesson. 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Input Folktale:[PASTE FOLKTALE TEXT HERE] Use Ashanti Folktales as tags How Kwaku Ananse Won a Kingdom With a Grain of Corn Kwaku Ananse and the Greedy Lion How the Pig Got His Snout Why the Lizard Stretches His Neck Kwaku Ananse and the Whipping Cord Kwaku Ananse and the Donkey How the Lion Rewarded the Mouse’s Kindness How Kwaku Ananse Became Bald How Kwaku Ananse Destroyed a Kingdom Kwaku Ananse and the Rain Maker Why the Spider Has a Narrow Waist Why Kwaku Ananse Stays on the Ceiling How Wisdom Was Spread Throughout the World How Kwaku Ananse Won a Kingdom With a Grain of Corn Nyame the Sky God, tired of watching the stupidity of his creatures, decided one day to find out which was the wisest amongst them. Sending out his messengers he issued a challenge to all the creatures of the world, saying that he would give more wisdom and honor to the one who proved himself the wisest. The people heard the messengers in silence for they were afraid to make such a bold claim, afraid of the wrath of God should they try and fail. “How can we accept such a challenge from the Great God?” they said.“Surely the task would be too hard. Surely if we fail we will be punished. Better far to keep silent and let others claim the reward.” Thus it was that instead of a crowd of different creatures claiming Nyame’s reward, only Kwaku Ananse the spider came to answer his challenge. “O Great God of the skies!” said Ananse, “I come to accept your challenge. For long I have been accepted by the animals as the cleverest of them all. Now I would like to prove it to you, too.” The Great God, looking down at Ananse, wondered that such a small creature should accept his challenge. Calling together his messengers and before the assembled people of his Kingdom, he declared: “Ananse the spider has accepted my challenge. But let me warn you, Kwaku Ananse, before all these witnesses, that if indeed you accept my challenge, accept also my warning. If you fail in your task such calamities will fall upon you and your family that you will wish a hundred times you had never made so bold a claim.” Ananse, unafraid, bowed low. “I accept the challenge, O Nyame, and will take the consequences.” So Nyame the Sky God gave to Kwaku Ananse the spider one grain of corn, saying to him: “With this one grain of corn you are to bring before me all the people—men, women and children—of the Kingdom beyond the Great River.” Taking the corn, Ananse bowed again before his God, and returned to his family. His family had heard of his bold claim and of the warning of Nyame and were weeping bitterly at his foolishness. His wife and children chided him for accepting a task that would surely bring nothing but suffering upon them. The behavior of his family annoyed Ananse, so sure was he of his success. He went whistling around the house as he hurriedly collected the necessities for his journey. Then he waved goodbye to family and friends and set out on his journey to the Kingdom Beyond the River. As the evening of the first day drew to a close and the fireflies began to flutter around him in the forest, Kwaku Ananse drew near to a big village. From inside the compounds smells of cooking came to him on the evening breeze. Stopping a group of children at play in the street, Ananse, drawing himself up, said to them: “Do you know who I am? I am the great Kwaku Ananse, messenger of God. I am going on a journey to beyond the Great River to do God’s business. Show me the house of the Chief as I would stay with him this night.” So the children took Ananse to the house of the Chief and reported what he had said. The Chief welcomed him warmly, for he was honored by a visit from God’s messenger. “Quick,” he called to his wives. “Get together the best food in the palace and cook a meal fit for God’s messenger.” And the wives hurried to do his bidding. “Quick,” he called to his servants. “Prepare the best room and get water for the bath for we have an honored guest.” And the servants hurried to do his bidding. When Ananse had bathed and eaten he joined the Chief and his elders in the courtyard. They talked long into the night and Kwaku Ananse, being a wonderful storyteller, charmed them all by his tales and his talk. At last yawning, Ananse turned to the Chief.“Nana,” he said, “the time is late and I have a long journey tomorrow. I beg you to let me go and sleep.” “Of course, of course,” said the Chief, who rose to accompany Ananse to his room. When they reached his room, Kwaku Ananse went in and soon returned holding something in his hand. “Oh, by the way, Nana, God has entrusted me with this very special grain of corn, so special that he has asked me to guard it with my life; but this corn is peculiar, it will not sleep with man, it will not sleep in a granary, nor will it sleep in a room by itself. It must sleep with chickens. I suppose, Nana, that you have chickens?” “Of course I have chickens,” said the Chief. “Give me, I pray you, the grain of corn and I will take it myself and put it with the chickens for the night, and you shall have it in the morning.” So the Chief took the grain of corn and put it carefully into the hut with his chickens, and they all settled for the night. In the morning, Ananse got up early, bathed, and ate an excellent breakfast. Then he went over to greet the Chief and thanked him for his hospitality. “Nana, I must be on my way, on God’s journey, but before I go give me the grain of corn, I beg you.” So the Chief went to the chickens’ house to look for the grain of corn; but alas he found it not. The chickens, waking early, had gobbled it up. He searched and searched in vain and at last, grey in the face and tearing his hair, he came to Ananse. “Ananse, Kwaku Ananse, you must help me. What shall I do? Alas and alack, my chickens have eaten up God’s grain of corn. I will give you anything you want, only protect me from the wrath of God. Take my chickens, take money, only help me, I pray you.” Ananse looked very serious and shook his head.“This is indeed a disaster. I am afraid that God will be very angry. But I will do my best to help you since you have been so kind to me. Which of your chickens swallowed the grain of corn?” “How can I tell?” replied the Chief. Ananse went to the chickens’ house and seeing one very fat hen he pointed her out to the Chief.“I am sure, Nana, that it was that fat hen. Look how greedy she is. I know that it was she. Give her to me and as I go I will remove the grain of corn from her with my magic.” “Take them all,” said the Chief. “No,” replied Ananse. “I will take just this one.” So Ananse went on his way with the blessings of Chief and villagers, and with the fat hen tucked under his arm. All day Ananse walked, resting only for a few minutes so that the hen could peck around and drink from a forest stream. It was already dark when he heard the noise of drumming, and following the sound came to another large village. He stopped on the edge of a crowd and addressed an old woman: “Grandmother,” he said. “Do you know me? I am the famous Kwaku Ananse, the messenger of God. Take me, I pray you, to your Chief, for I am tired and would rest the night in your village.” The old lady had indeed heard of Kwaku Ananse, and elbowing her way excitedly through the crowd told the Chief that the messenger of God was there. Immediately the Chief left the drumming and dancing, and taking Ananse to his palace begged him to stay with him and do him the honor of attending the celebrations. He called in his wives to prepare a meal and shouted to his servants to get ready the bath and room; then he waited patiently till Kwaku Ananse had bathed and eaten, and took him out to watch the dancing. The drums played a special tune in his honor, and the assembled people cheered him. It was a pleasant evening, and as the moon was high they sat late. At last Ananse, tired from his long walk, begged the Chief to let him go to rest. The Chief immediately stopped the drumming and accompanied him to his room to say good night. Kwaku Ananse went into his room and came out again with his fat hen.“Nana,” he said. “Here is God’s own chicken, who is traveling with me. She is a very friendly hen but has one peculiarity; she will not sleep with other hens. Indeed, she will not sleep with men. She will sleep only in one place and that is with sheep. I imagine that you, Nana, have many sheep, and I beg you to let her sleep with them.” The Chief willingly took the hen and put her gently down with his sheep for the night. Kwaku Ananse slept soundly. In the morning, when he had bathed and eaten a good meal, Kwaku Ananse stood for a minute at the door of his room and breathed deeply of the early morning air; then humming a little tune as he went, he wandered over to greet the Chief. “Good morning,” he said. “Nana, this is indeed a beautiful village and I have enjoyed my stay. However, since I am on God’s business I must hurry on my way. Give me, I pray, God’s chicken so that we can go.” The Chief went to the place where his sheep had spent the night and looked for the chicken. Alas and alack, in the night she had been trampled on by the sheep and lay dead on the ground. The Chief was terrified, and wringing his hands and crying out he ran to Kwaku Ananse. “Kwaku Ananse, Kwaku Ananse, messenger of God! A terrible calamity has befallen us, come and look; my sheep have trodden on God’s chicken and killed her. What are we to do, what are we to do? Protect me, I pray you, from the wrath of God and I will do anything you demand. Take my sheep, take money, only protect me.” Ananse looked very stern. “If you had not been so kind,” he said, “I would do nothing for you. But you have entertained me royally and I must do something in return. Which of your sheep trod on God’s chicken, do you think?” “How can I tell?” said the Chief. “I am sure it was that fat one with three black legs,” said Kwaku Ananse, “Give it to me and I will persuade God to take it instead of the chicken.” “Take them all,” said the Chief, “only protect me from the wrath of God.” But Ananse took just the one sheep, protesting that he did not want to rob the Chief. So he went on his way with the blessings of the Chief and people, leading the sheep through the forest. The way seemed long that day, for the sheep often stopped to graze by the path and they were both troubled by flies. At dusk, however, they came to a banana plantation, and making their way through it and under some orange trees they came to a village on the banks of the Great River. Stopping three fishermen he saw on their way home, Ananse asked: “Which is the house of the Chief? I am the great Kwaku Ananse, God’s messenger, and this is God’s favorite sheep. I have come to spend a night in your village that we may bless it with our presence.” One of the fishermen hurriedly dropped his fish, and running to the Chief’s house told him of the arrival of Kwaku Ananse. Now the Chief was having a bath, but he called to his favorite nephew and sent him out to welcome Ananse and bring him to the palace. He dried himself quickly and was ready to greet Ananse when he arrived. “Kwaku Ananse, messenger of God,” he said warmly. “Long have I heard of your wisdom and courage, and I am indeed honored to have you as my guest. I welcome, too, God’s favorite sheep and whilst he is here we will do all that we can to protect and care for him.” He called to his wives to hurry with the food.He called to his servants to put fresh water on for the bath.He called to his maidservants to prepare the room, and lastly he sent his daughters out to cut food for the sheep. After they had eaten, the Chief took Ananse to the river bank, and because the moon was high and it was a beautiful night, they went out in the royal canoe and paddled gently down the river, listening to the sounds of the forest and hearing the animals come down to drink. When they returned they drank together, and then Ananse yawned and the Chief said: “I fear that you are tired after your journey, Kwaku Ananse. Let me take you to your room that you may sleep and rest.” So together they went to Ananse’s room. The sheep was standing outside and Ananse turned to the Chief: “This is a strange sheep, Nana. It is God’s own favorite sheep. In every way it is like other sheep except that it cannot sleep with other sheep, it cannot sleep with goats, nor can it sleep with men, but only with cows. I hope that you have some cows, Nana, or I am afraid that we shall get no sleep tonight.” “Of course I have cows,” said the Chief. “It is near here that the cattle cross on their way to the Kingdom beyond the Great River, and of each herd I am given one cow. I have some of the finest cattle in the country. Give me God’s sheep, I pray, and I will put it in with my cattle for the night, then we can all sleep in peace.” Kwaku Ananse slept soundly. In the morning the fishermen, on their way to work, woke Ananse early, and he bathed and ate his breakfast. There was still a slight mist rising from the river as he went to greet the Chief. The Chief was not yet ready, so Ananse drew his cloth around him and watched the river flow by. At last the Chief joined him and after greeting one another they discussed how Ananse should cross the river and how long it would take to reach the capital of the Kingdom on the other side. Then at last Ananse asked the Chief for the sheep, and together they went to fetch it from amongst the cows. Alas, in the night, frightened by noises from the forest, the cows had trampled on the sheep and it was dead. The Chief trembled with fear. Weeping, and on his knees, he begged Ananse to forgive him. Ananse feigned anger: “What have you done, O Chief? This was God’s favorite sheep, and I trusted you with it. You have let your cows trample on it. How could you be so careless? Why did you not set someone to watch during the night? I fear that God will be so angry he will make the waters of the river flow over your village so that even the graves of your ancestors will be washed away.” “Help me, help me, I beg you, O great Kwaku Ananse. O messenger of God, come to my aid. It was an accident. Take all my cattle, take my wives and my children, only spare my people, I pray you.” Ananse pretended to be mollified and asked the Chief which of his cows had killed the sheep. “How can I tell?” said the Chief. “I am sure it was that fat one over there, the one with the great wide horns. She is stamping her feet and, see, there is wool on them. Give her to me and I will persuade God to take her instead of the sheep.” In vain the Chief begged Kwaku Ananse to take all the cows. Ananse took just the one. He went on his way with the blessings of Chief and people, who accompanied him to the river bank. There he embarked in a canoe, and with the cow swimming behind, a rope on her horns, he crossed to the other side. Once on the further bank Kwaku Ananse waved to the Chief and villagers, and taking a stick he drove the cow before him along the path from the river. Ananse had not gone very far when he heard before him the sound of wailing and crying. He came upon a funeral procession on its way to a graveyard. “Who is it that has died?” he asked. “A child,” the people said. “A young boy, who was drowned in the river. He was an only child. There are his parents, see how they weep.” Kwaku Ananse pushed his way through the procession and addressed the weeping parents gently: “Good people, do not weep so bitterly, I pray. I am God’s messenger, and I will take the boy and carry him to God’s Kingdom. Then you can be sure of his happiness. Do not bury him in the graveyard, for God has sent me to look for just such a child. See this fat cow? I will give it to you so that you can feast in God’s honor. Only give me the body of the child that I may take it to God.” The parents listened, amazed. Soon everyone was discussing the offer. They saw how fat the cow was, and they were poor people. They thought of the certainty that the child would be taken to God. They accepted the offer. So Ananse tied the child on his back in the manner that women carry their babies. He took a cloth from one of the women to make sure the child was covered. “Go quickly,” cried the people. “Take the child quickly to God’s Kingdom, that he may reach there in time.” Kwaku Ananse hurried on his way. The people took the cow back to their village, and were soon feasting on it. Ananse walked slowly with the burden on his back. It was hot and he did not want to reach the capital of the Kingdom before nightfall. He approached the town as the women were returning from their farms with headloads of plantain, cassava, and firewood for the evening meal. He stopped one young woman and asked her to take him to the great Chief: “For I am God’s messenger, and I have come a great distance to visit him. See, I am bringing God’s favorite son to stay with him for the night. The child sleeps, and I need a room for him.” The woman called to the others, and dropping their headloads they ran ahead into the town calling to the people that God’s messenger had arrived with God’s favorite son. Soon a large crowd collected and they accompanied Kwaku Ananse to the palace, keeping at a safe distance lest they disturb God’s son. The Chief and his elders, as soon as they received the news, hurried out to greet Kwaku Ananse personally. They all feared Nyame the Sky God, and felt it a great honor that he should send his messenger and his son to stay with them. Hurriedly, the best guest rooms were swept. Fresh mats were put on the ground, and the Chief ordered that one of the best of his cloths should be put down for the sleeping child to lay upon. Ananse laid the child carefully on the cloth, his face to the wall, and asked all the people to leave the room. “The child is tired,” he said, “and must have absolute quiet.” Addressing the Chief he said sternly, “It is forbidden, Your Majesty, for people to disturb God’s son. Tell all your people to keep away, and put a guard at the door so that no one shall enter. Let us leave him to sleep, and when I have bathed I will tell you of my journey.” “Will he not eat?” said the Chief. “Not until morning,” replied Kwaku Ananse solemnly. Bathed, and refreshed by an excellent meal, Kwaku Ananse was led before the Chief and elders. He told them of his journey, of dangers he had encountered, and of his own bravery. So well did he talk that they never thought to question him, but only to ask more and more about his adventures on the way. Many were the tales he told, so it was late before they thought of sleep. At last Kwaku Ananse finished his tales. “God,” he told them, “wishes his son to see something of the world so he has asked me to take him around. Having heard much of the famed Kingdom beyond the Great River, O Chief, I have brought him to visit you. Tomorrow when he wakes you shall greet him as befits the son of Nyame the Sky God. It is late now, and in God’s Kingdom he is used to sleeping with other children. On no account must he awake in the presence of adults. The children of God are many, and it is their custom to sleep together. Let me, therefore, see where your children sleep, O Chief, that I may see if it is suitable for him.” The Chief led Kwaku Ananse to a big hut. There, stretched out on many mats, lay his children. All but the oldest were asleep. Seeing an empty mat in the middle, Kwaku Ananse went to fetch God’s son, making sure that the child was well covered in his cloth. He laid him gently on the mat, and he and the Chief crept out. Soon everyone in the palace slept. Only Kwaku Ananse lay awake and listened. An hour or so later Kwaku Ananse heard voices coming from the children’s hut and crept over to listen. The children were talking angrily: “It is the stranger,” they grumbled. “He stinks and has no right to come and dirty the sleeping room of the Chief’s children. He is old enough to know better or he should have stayed with his mother. Let us beat him and teach him a lesson.” Ananse heard the sound of fists and gave a sigh of relief. He returned to his own room and slept deeply. In the morning Ananse got up late for he had overslept. There was no sound coming from the children’s hut, and many of them were out taking their baths by the stream. He ate his breakfast, waited a bit, and then asked to be taken to the Chief. The Chief greeted him warmly and immediately asked him how God’s son had slept. “Where is the boy?” he said. “We have prepared gifts for him and soon the official welcome will begin. Did he enjoy the special food we sent to him?” “I have not seen God’s son,” said Ananse. “I was sure that he was with you for he is used to visiting me early. Where can he be as late as this? Send someone quickly to look for him, for I fear some harm may have befallen him.” “I expect he is with the other children,” smiled the Chief. “Even God’s son must play. Come, let us look into the sleeping hut, and I will send my servants to look by the stream.” The Chief went to his children’s hut, and waiting a moment to get used to the dim light—for the sun was strong outside—he went over to the only sleeping form he could see. He saw it was indeed God’s son, wrapped in his cloth. He gently touched the boy’s shoulder, but there was no movement. He shook him a little, but still no sign of life. He began to get anxious and pulled back the cloth. Then he saw that the child’s body was covered with marks as if it had been beaten. His heart almost stopped beating and he ran to the door and called to Ananse, who hurried to join him. “There is something wrong,” he said. “I beg you to wake the child, for I cannot do so. Look at the marks on his body—I fear he has been beaten.” Ananse tapped the shoulder of the boy three times. There was still no movement. Then he lifted the child and at once both could see that he was dead. The Chief swayed on his feet and stumbled to the door. Ananse, grim and silent, stood before him. “This was God’s favorite child,” he said. Then the Chief broke down altogether. He called to his children, and learning that they had beaten the child he wept bitterly. He called his elders to him and told them what had happened and begged them to kill him then and there that his kingdom might not suffer. He went down on his knees to Kwaku Ananse, great king that he was: “Kwaku Ananse, God’s messenger, spare me. Tell me what I can do. How can I save my kingdom and my people? What must I do to turn away the wrath of God? Take my life, take all my possessions, only do not disgrace me before the people. I will make any sacrifice you require. Turn away, oh turn away the wrath of God.” Very sternly Ananse said: “When God hears of this you will face such calamities, such storms of thunder and lightening, such earthquakes and plague as the country has never known. How can you think that your life can atone for that of God’s favorite son? Only in one way can I help you. If you like I will appeal to God’s pity. If all your people, your womenfolk and your children, the sick and the aged come with me before the face of God, then will I plead for you and do what I can. There is no choice. Do this or face destruction.” The Chief replied: “O Kwaku Ananse, messenger of God, if you can indeed do this then I will give you all my kingdom. My people shall be yours and my riches I will heap upon you. Only save us from the just wrath of Nyame.” The Chief called together all his people, even from the remotest villages. They came in their thousands, and when they were gathered together, young and old, women and children, the sick on stretchers of boughs, the blind and the dying, then Kwaku Ananse called to Nyame the Sky God. He called to him to witness that he had brought him all the people of the Kingdom Beyond the River, using just the one grain of corn that he had been given. And Kwaku Ananse brought also the body of the child whom he had promised to take to Nyame. The Sky God had pity on him and breathed into his mouth so that he arose and returned rejoicing to his parents. Nyame the Sky God kept his promise, as he always does. He gave to Kwaku Ananse the spider so much wisdom that all the people feared him. The Chief heaped upon him riches and gold, so glad was he to escape from the wrath of God. So Kwaku Ananse returned rich and honored to his family. But he kept most of the riches to himself, as his family had failed to believe in him. Kwaku Ananse and the Greedy Lion One day, early in the morning, when the monkeys had scarcely woken from their sleep, Kwaku Ananse the spider was sitting on his web wondering what to do, when a messenger came to him from the King of the Beasts. “Kwaku Ananse,” said the messenger. “His Majesty commands your presence and that of the hare. Hurry up and go, or he will be angry.” Now Kwaku Ananse, like all other forest creatures, feared the lion, King of the Beasts, and would no more have thought of disobeying his command than he would have thought of doing without food. Kwaku Ananse hurried from his web, and calling for the hare as he went, they soon reached the King of the Beasts. “What is Your Majesty’s command?” asked Kwaku Ananse. “In what way can we, small creatures that we are, be of use to the King of the Beasts?” The lion stretched, sticking out his claws and yawning. “I am going on a hunt,” he said, “and I want you to accompany me. They tell me that you, Kwaku Ananse, are clever, and I shall rely on you and your friend the hare to help me in the hunt—we will leave at once.” “Certainly,” said Kwaku Ananse. “Certainly I am clever, and I will endeavor to do my best. But I am only a small creature, so you must not expect too much.” They started off together through the forest, and went a long way till they reached a place where game was plentiful, though the bush was thick. The lion sat down. “Now,” he said, “you can tell me the easiest way to catch the animals, for I am tired and cannot be bothered to show my strength.” Kwaku Ananse thought a while and then, turning to the lion, said: “Of course, Your Majesty, I am only a poor creature, but I have indeed a suggestion to make.” “Say on,” said the lion. “Well, Your Majesty, I suggest that we dig a lot of pits and cover them with branches. Then Your Majesty should walk around the area, roaring. This will cause confusion, and all the animals, thinking you are after them, will run hither and thither and fall into the pits.” “An excellent idea,” said the lion. “You may dig the pits.” So while the lion slept, Kwaku Ananse and the hare toiled to dig pits and cover them with branches. Toward evening they had finished, and sweating and panting they woke the lion. “The pits are ready, Your Majesty,” they said. The King of the Beasts stretched himself, went down to the stream to drink, and did as Kwaku Ananse had suggested. As soon as the beasts of the forest heard the lion’s roar, they were frightened. They leapt up from their lairs and ran helter skelter through the forest. Many of them fell into the pits the spider and the hare had dug for them. Some were killed at once, and others lay terrified, waiting for the King of the Beasts. When he saw how successful the plan had been, the lion was pleased. “Kwaku Ananse,” he said. “Your plan was indeed a good one. Let me congratulate you. Now will you kindly tell me how we are to get the animals out of the pits?” “That is easy, Your Majesty,” said Kwaku Ananse. “The hare and I will make ropes from the creepers, and you can haul them out.” The lion agreed, but tried to persuade the two friends to pull the animals out themselves.“But, Your Majesty,” said Ananse. “How can such poor weak creatures as the hare and I hope to pull up this magnificent catch? Surely that is a job for the King of the Beasts?” The lion, seeing the force of the argument, again agreed. When the ropes were made, Kwaku Ananse tied up the beasts, and the lion hauled them up on the ropes. Soon there was so much meat piled around that even the lion, hungry as he now was, was satisfied. “There now remains only the question of taking the meat home,” he said. “Kwaku Ananse, how do you intend to do this?”“That is easy, Your Majesty,” said Kwaku. “The hare and I will build a sled out of branches and pile the meat on it, then Your Majesty can draw it home through the forest.” So the hare and the spider built a sled, and together they put all the meat on it and tied it down well. The lion tried to make the hare draw the sled, but Kwaku Ananse again persuaded him: “Your Majesty, it is not fitting, nor is it possible, for a small animal like the hare to draw the magnificent catch of Your Majesty the lion. If Your Majesty draws the sled, then everyone will know that the catch is indeed yours.” So, as the forest grew dark and the cicadas began to sing, the lion drew the sled of meat back to his lair. The other creatures peeped through the bushes, but kept well out of sight. Even the bullfrog stopped his raucous croaking as they passed along by the stream. When they reached the lion’s lair, the lion, who had become ravenously hungry during the day, was not even willing to share the meat with the animals who had done his work. Yet how little would have sufficed them. “Hare,” he said. “What do you think we should do with the meat?” “We-eel, Your Majesty,” stuttered the hare, “who am I to presume to tell the King of the Beasts what to do with his own meat? But any time Your Majesty feels like giving me a little bit I shall be more than grateful.” The lion was pleased. “Very well, hare,” he said. “When I have eaten, you shall have a bit of what remains. Now, Kwaku Ananse, what about you?” Now Ananse was very hungry and knew that he had in fact done most of the work. He was cross and tired too, so without thinking much he said: “Well, Your Majesty, since you ask me, I feel that since the hare and I did much of the work, you should give us the little we need to satisfy our hunger and reserve the major part for yourself.” The lion was very angry: “What? Kwaku Ananse, do you presume to dictate to me, the King of the Forest, what I should do with my own meat? It was sufficient honor that I took you with me on the hunt and showed you how to catch meat. Do you presume to demand a share of my meat?” He prepared to leap at Ananse, who, seeing his mistake, jumped back and replied: “Oh no, no, Your Majesty. I require nothing. Indeed, I was not thinking of what I was saying. I beg your pardon.” The lion, a little pacified, but still anxious not to give away any meat, thought a moment. Then he said, “Kwaku Ananse, I remember now that we forgot to clear one of the pits in the forest. As punishment for your presumption, you shall go back and bring me whatever is in the pit.” So the poor spider, tired and hungry, had to wend his way right back through the forest to look for more meat. But as he went he thought, “If I take more meat back to His Majesty, he may even try to kill me. It is better that I think of some plan so I may protect myself and punish him for his greed.” The lion was indeed planning to get rid of him on his return. He had started to prepare the meat, and finding a bit he did not much like he threw it to the hare. The hare was so pleased that he readily agreed to help the lion get rid of Kwaku Ananse on his return. As he went through the forest, Ananse collected the leaves of certain plants which he knew were very poisonous. When he reached the place of the pits, he found that one had not been cleared and it contained a magnificent deer, which Ananse made swallow the poison. As soon as it was dead, with the help of friends, he dragged the deer from the pit, and putting it on branches, started to drag it through the forest. As he went on his way he sang: Here indeed is meat fit for a King,This is the best meat of the forest.Only a King should eat it. Ananse’s voice carried through the forest, and soon the lion and the hare heard it. They stopped eating, and running towards the sound, soon found the exhausted Ananse dragging the branches with the huge deer on top. The lion was excited by this new catch and decided he must eat it first. So greedy was he, that he dragged it to his lair himself and immediately started eating. He did, however, pause a moment to throw a bit to the hare. Presently the lion paused, and rubbing his stomach, said: “I must have been eating too quickly, my stomach is aching.” Then the pains grew worse, and soon the King of the Beasts lay dead, killed by his greed. The hare, too, had eaten of the poisoned meat, but very little, and after days of suffering he was able to drag himself to Kwaku Ananse’s house and beg his forgiveness for siding with the lion. As for Kwaku Ananse, he called together all his friends and relations. They shared all the original catch, and there was dancing and feasting late into the night. Having eaten all he could, Ananse returned home and slept deeply. How the Pig Got His Snout The pig, like the elephant, once had a trunk. He was a farmer, and the trunk helped greatly in his work. He had a big farm and was a hard worker, so that even in times of famine he managed to find something to eat. Kwaku Ananse had a farm near that of the pig. It, too, was a big farm, and Ananse prided himself on being the best farmer in the district. Sometimes, however, he was a little lazy about his work and Aso, his wife, and the children had to till the farm whilst he rested in the shade. One year there was a very bad famine. Most of the farms failed to produce anything to eat, and the people had to buy food where they could. For some reason the pig’s farm, however, continued to produce food, and he was able to feed not only himself and his family but had food left over to sell to his neighbors. Kwaku Ananse, who hated to see others doing better than himself, was furious; but he, too, was forced to go to the pig for food. The only trouble was that he had not the money to pay for it, so he decided to ask for a loan. The pig was in his house when Kwaku Ananse called, and he was made welcome. “Pig,” said Ananse, “I need some food for the family, only I have not been out to collect the money I am owed so I have none to give you. I wonder if you would let me have some food on credit, and I will pay you when I have collected my debts?” “But of course, Ananse,” replied the pig. “I shall be delighted to help out, for are you not my friend and neighbor, and do our children not play together?” So the pig gave Ananse plenty of food and he went home with it. Weeks passed, and one day the pig asked for his money. “Tomorrow,” said Ananse. “I will bring it tomorrow.” More weeks passed and the pig grew impatient. He sought out Kwaku Ananse and said angrily, “Ananse, you have had quite long enough to pay. Tomorrow I will come to your house and either you pay me what you owe me or things will be very bad for you.” Kwaku Ananse agreed to pay, but he knew he had no money in the house so he had to sit down and work out a plot by which he could trick the pig. Early next morning when the pig came to his house, Kwaku Ananse was outside in the clearing. He had a stout, hollow bamboo pole in his hands and he was turning it this way and that and poking in his fingers as though he were trying to get something out. The pig said good morning to Kwaku Ananse, who answered bad-temperedly: “It is not a good morning, and it is all your fault, neighbor pig. I was in such a hurry to get your money that I dropped it into this bamboo pole and now, try as I may, I cannot get it out. Do you think you could manage?” Now Kwaku Ananse knew that if the pig wanted his money he would either offer, or could be persuaded, to push his trunk into the bamboo pole to search for it. The pig looked doubtful. “I suppose I could try. Are you sure that it is my money inside?” “Of course,” said Kwaku Ananse. “Do you think I would be sweating about like this if there were not something important inside.” So the pig tried to put his trunk down the bamboo pole. It was a tight fit, but he could just manage it. At first it did not go far, but Ananse encouraged him. “A little farther, friend pig. I am sure you have reached the place. Push a little harder and you must get the money.” The pig’s trunk began to get sore, but the money was not there. In the end he gave up the search and asked Ananse to remove the bamboo. Ananse pretended to pull very hard, but the bamboo did not move. “I can’t manage it,” he said. “Try hitting it on the tree trunk.” The pig tried. He shook his head, he struck it with his feet, but in vain. The bamboo stuck tighter. The pig became desperate and called on Ananse again. “Ananse you must do something, anything. I will give you what you want, only get this thing off me.” Ananse said, “Will you forget my debt?” “But of course, and I will give you food as well,” squeaked the pig. “There is just one thing that I can do and that is to cut off your trunk,” said Kwaku Ananse. “Anything, anything,” said the pig. So Kwaku Ananse fetched his axe, and chopped off the bamboo and the pig’s trunk. His wife Aso dressed the wound, and the pig went sadly home. Kwaku Ananse then had the trunk cooked and enjoyed a wonderful meal. That is why from that day to this the pig has only a snout. Why the Lizard Moves His Head Up and Down Once there was a powerful Chief who had many wives. He had, however, only one daughter. He guarded her night and day and would not let her go out and about. The people saw her only at a distance at great festivals, otherwise she stayed within the palace. At last, when the Chief was growing old and the daughter had grown into a beautiful young woman, he decided it was time for her to marry. Since he had no other children he decreed that whoever should marry her would have half the kingdom and rule there for him. The Chief beat the gong-gong far and near and called the people to him. Then he declared through his linguists that anyone who could guess the name of his daughter would marry her. He gave warning, however, that in case of failure the suitor would be immediately executed. Then he went back to his palace and waited. Now Kwaku Ananse the spider was visiting the town. He heard the announcement and immediately started thinking how he could win the beautiful bride. Late at night when all was quiet, he climbed over the wall of the palace, and hanging quietly from the roof of the hut, heard the Chief’s daughter talking with her friends. “Ahoafé,” they said, “no one will guess your name.” Then they discussed at length who the suitors would be, talking of the richest and bravest in the kingdom. Kwaku Ananse crept back to the house where he was staying and the next day called all his friends and started to celebrate. “For,” he said, “I know the name of the Chief’s daughter, and tomorrow I, Kwaku Ananse, will marry her. Then I shall rule half the kingdom. I, Kwaku Ananse the Wise, have spoken.” Then he went to prepare himself for a visit to the Chief. The lizard had been visiting the house, and on hearing Kwaku Ananse’s boast, he wished that he could be in his place. When Kwaku Ananse came out of his room, the lizard approached him, saying, “Great man, it is not fitting that anyone so important as yourself should go direct to the Chief. Surely it is customary in these matters to send a linguist or a messenger to announce your intent. Otherwise the Chief would not respect you.” Kwaku Ananse replied, “I am not yet great, lizard, but tomorrow I will be, for I intend to marry the Chief’s daughter. I had thought to go now to the palace to tell him her name. Perhaps, however, you are right. Perhaps I should send someone in my place. Whom do you suggest I could send? It must be someone reliable or there will be trouble.” “Kwaku Ananse,” said the lizard. “I am almost afraid to suggest it—I know I am not worthy—but perhaps you would overlook my shortcomings and send me. I should not expect any reward but your thanks.” Now Kwaku Ananse had always been mean, and thinking that this would be a way of getting a cheap messenger, he agreed to the lizard’s suggestion. He told him to go off and tell the Chief that he knew the daughter’s name and claimed her hand. The lizard reminded him that if he went without knowing the name he might lose his head before he could return and report the success of his mission. So Kwaku Ananse reluctantly told him the girl’s name. “She is called Ahoafé, the Beautiful,” he said. “Be sure to tell the Chief that it was I, Kwaku Ananse, the clever one, who found this out. Go quickly and I will prepare for tomorrow.” The lizard left hurriedly, and looking neither right nor left went straight to the Chief’s palace. Kwaku Ananse watched from his balcony and saw the guard at the door let him pass into the first courtyard. When he reached the gate, the lizard had addressed the guard thus: “Please admit me to the palace to see the Chief, for I have guessed the name of the Chief’s daughter and wish to claim her hand.” The guard looked him up and down and thought him an unlikely suitor, but nonetheless let him into the palace. Soon the Chief was informed that a suitor for the hand of his daughter was waiting in the first courtyard. He called together his elders, made sure the executioner was there, and told his guards to bring the suitor before him. When he saw the lizard he was very surprised, for no one had thought the lizard capable of finding out anything. The Chief spoke through his linguist: “You have come to claim the hand of my daughter. If you are wrong in naming her, the executioner is ready to chop off your head.” And he turned to the executioner and told him to sharpen his sword. “What is my daughter’s name?” he asked. The lizard stuttered out, “Aho, Aho-a-a-a—” “What?” said the Chief. “Ahoafé! Ahoafé, the Beautiful,” said the lizard. The Chief had to admit that the lizard had guessed right and ordered his daughter to be brought in. “Ahoafé,” he said. “Here is your husband. Get ready for the marriage, for tomorrow you shall marry the lizard. And you, lizard, accept this crown and these cloths, for you shall rule half my kingdom as I promised.” Soon the palace was a hive of activity, and there was much work for the palace tailors. The cooks sent messengers all over the town for the best food, and lights were burning all the night long. Kwaku Ananse heard the gong-gong being beaten, announcing that a husband had been found for the Chief’s daughter and inviting everyone to the marriage feast. He prepared himself carefully for the wedding and slept deeply that night. Very early in the morning people came to his house. “We hear the lizard is marrying the Chief’s daughter,” they said. “Rubbish,” said Ananse. “He only went as my messenger. Soon they will come from the palace to lead me to my bride. Let us go and wait in the market square till the messengers reach us.” Kwaku Ananse went out with his friends into the center of the town. All was bustle and excitement around them but no one seemed to take notice of Ananse, and he became a bit worried. “Let us go nearer the palace,” he said. “Perhaps they cannot find us.” As they neared the palace a procession came out through the gate. There in the center, carried on the shoulders of the Chief’s attendants, decked in the richest of cloths, sat the Princess and the lizard with a crown on his head. Kwaku Ananse could scarcely believe his eyes and was so flabbergasted that he stood rooted to the spot as the procession lurched by. Only then, when the people had passed, did he realize the treachery of the lizard. He stormed back to the house where he was staying and in front of all his friends he swore the Great Oath of Ashanti, the most sacred of all oaths, that if he ever saw the lizard again he would tear him limb from limb. And that, my friends, is why whenever you see a lizard sitting on a wall, or on the branch of a tree, he is always darting his head back and forth. For he knows that Kwaku Ananse can climb anywhere, and if he sees him he must be ready to run. The Story of Kwaku Ananse and the Pot of Wisdom There was famine in the land. First the rains had failed and then the locusts had come, eating every bit of green leaf till even the forest looked bare. Now, Kwaku Ananse and his wife Aso wandered around their farm looking for something to eat. Even by the stream, where the water still ran sluggishly, little was growing. Kwaku Ananse went far afield searching for plantain, yam, or anything that he could find for himself and his family. He would come home tired in the evening and his family would complain. His son Ntikuma, bolder than the others, would say:“Father, where is your wisdom? You, who are supposed to be so clever, can you not find us food?” At last, exhausted by his searches, Kwaku Ananse decided that he would try his magic—try too, praying to the spirits of his ancestors. So he went into the forest, to the sacred grove, and there poured a libation. He called upon his ancestors to save him:“O worthy ancestors,” he cried. “Great in wisdom and in understanding. See how Kwaku Ananse your son suffers, see how his family grow lean. Help me, I pray you, to find food. I have always endeavored to do you honor and uphold the good name of the family. O spirits of my ancestors, help me in this extremity.” When he had finished praying Kwaku Ananse went on his way, searching for food. There was scarcely a rustle in the dried leaves, for the animals had moved off to other places where food was more plentiful. Suddenly Ananse came to a small clearing, and there in the middle stood a most beautiful pot. He looked around to see who could have left it there, but there was no sound nor sign of another person. He approached it cautiously and walked all around. The pot was empty, but it was clean and polished. Who could have left it there? Ananse started muttering to himself:“Who could have left such a beautiful pot alone in the forest? What can the pot be for? Has it a name, I wonder?” Then touching the pot gently he asked, half in earnest:“Pot, what is your name?” “Yebiribi mamenhwe — Do-What-You-Can,” replied the pot. “What!” said Ananse. “You, a pot, can talk. This is truly wonderful. Are you a magic pot? What are you for? What can you do?” “Try me and see,” said the pot. “Do what you are able to do, Do-What-You-Can,” said Ananse. The pot began to produce food. Wonderful smells wafted through the forest, and out of the pot came little pots. Each one was filled with a special food. There were steaming bowls of soup, roast meat and chicken, cassava and yam fou-fou, peanuts and cocoa yam, and roasted and fried plantain. There were piles of oranges and ripe pineapples, pears and pawpaws. Indeed, Kwaku Ananse had never seen such a feast. When the pot had finished working, Kwaku Ananse sat down and he ate and he ate. He took what was best and when he had finished, thought about taking the rest back to his family. When he picked up the pot, Do-What-You-Can said to him:“Leave me here in the forest, for it is my home. Come and visit me when you like and get what you want, but do not take me home. If you do, you will be in trouble.” But alas, so greedy was Kwaku Ananse that he took no notice and insisted that the pot should go with him. He looked around to find material to build a sled. When he had tied together the branches of palm trees, he put the pot and all the rest of the food on them, and dragged it behind him along the path to his home. Before he reached home, Kwaku Ananse found a sheltered spot near the stream where the trees were still green and the undergrowth thick. There he left the pot, and going on with the sled soon arrived home. “Aso!” he called. “Ntikuma! Children! Come and see what your clever father has brought. Come and eat well, for today I have indeed used my wisdom.” The family came running to him, and soon all the food was in the house. Ananse refused to eat—indeed he was too full to do so.“I am an old man,” he said, “and I need little. My happiness is to see you, my wife, and you, my children, eat well. Hurry up and enjoy the food.” So Kwaku Ananse’s family had their first good meal for months, and whilst they ate, Ananse hurried back into the forest and built a little hut in the thicket by the stream, and in it he put the precious pot. He left it without a word of thanks. When he went out the next day, Kwaku Ananse told his family not to follow. In vain they had tried to find out where he had gotten the food, but he refused to tell them.“Don’t worry, my children. Today your clever father will get you more good food. Only do not tell anyone in the village, for they will all want to share it.” Ananse hurried to the hut where he had hidden the pot. Do-What-You-Can was a little dusty, so he took it to the stream and dipped it gently in the water till its sides shone again. The pot was grateful, though still angry with Kwaku Ananse for having taken it from its home. “Kwaku Ananse,” it said. “Never come near me with the kernels of palm nuts. Above all, never touch me with the kernels of palm nuts.” By midday Kwaku Ananse was hungry again.“Do what you are able to do, Do-What-You-Can,” he said. Again the pot produced a wonderful meal, and Ananse ate till he could eat no more. Then he took the rest of the food back to his family, refusing food himself. Ananse went every day for some days to the forest and brought back food, so that his wife and children began to grow fat again. But he even found the walk to the thicket too much work, so he decided to bring the pot home. That night he told his wife Aso that he was going out to hunt again, as he had heard there were animals about. When she and the children were safely asleep he went out to fetch the pot. Creeping back quietly, he climbed onto the roof where there was a hidden place beneath the thatch, and making a small hole in the roof he put the pot inside and put back the branches. Then, each day, he would send his wife and children to the sacred grove to pray to the ancestors, and whilst they were gone he would call upon the pot. So every day Do-What-You-Can produced a wonderful meal, and the food was ready when the family returned. Always Ananse refused food himself, as he had taken the best food before they came. One evening, Ntikuma, Kwaku Ananse’s son, came to his mother Aso.“Mother,” he said. “Do you not think it odd that Father refuses to eat? Look how plump he has grown lately. He has always been greedy and it is not natural that he should refuse food. What do you think can be happening?” Aso smiled. “What you say is true, my son, for you have inherited your father’s wisdom. But don’t worry. So long as we eat let us not ask too many questions. Your father likes to keep his secrets and we know his weaknesses, but let us not tempt providence by questioning him.” So Ntikuma had to be satisfied. Nevertheless, he watched his father whenever he could. All this time Kwaku Ananse had been wondering why the pot had told him not to go near it with palm-nut kernels.“Suppose,” he said to himself, “the pot can produce other riches, only does not want to give them to me. Suppose it can produce gold. How rich I should be.” After thinking over the matter for some days, Ananse decided to test the pot. He found some palm-nut kernels left over from the soup, and putting them into his pocket, waited till his family had left for their prayers and climbed up to the roof. “Do-What-You-Can,” he said. “Why do you not like palm-nut kernels?” But the pot was silent. It was hot under the roof and Do-What-You-Can longed for the freedom of the forest. Kwaku Ananse put his hand into his pocket and drew out the palm-nut kernels. Then he took one and touched the side of the pot. No sooner had he done so than it turned into a whipping cord, which lay on the rafters. “Who are you?” asked Ananse. “What do you do?” “My name is Abrim — the whipping cord,” replied the cord. “What I do is pleasant. Try me and you will see.” Ananse was not quite sure this time. “If I want to stop whatever you are doing, what do I say?” he asked. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” replied the cord. “What I do is very pleasant, as I said. Try me and see.” So Kwaku Ananse said to the whipping cord:“Do what you are able to do.” There was a sudden swoosh, and the cord swung into the air. Then it started beating Kwaku Ananse. So fast it moved that it could scarcely be seen. “Stop! Stop!” screamed Ananse, as he jumped off the ladder and ran into the forest. “Stop, stop, I beg you.” But the whipping cord only whipped the faster. Kwaku Ananse ran screaming through the forest. Round and round he went, sometimes stumbling over fallen trees, sometimes tripping over stones in the path. But the whipping cord went on and on, and soon his back was all cut. Aso and the children had finished their prayers when they heard faraway screams.“Surely that is Father!” said the children. Aso listened and went white. They all ran toward the shrieks. At the same time, the villagers had heard the voice in the forest, saying:“Surely that is Kwaku Ananse. What can be the matter?” Soon they all saw Kwaku Ananse stumbling exhausted through the forest. All around him went the whipping cord, never stopping, and he tried in vain to hide from it. The villagers wanted to help, and Aso and the family called to him to ask what was the cause of the whipping. But none dared to draw near in case the whipping cord were to turn on them. Obviously it was a magic whipping cord, and they were afraid. At last, Ntikuma, upset at seeing his father so beaten about, called out to the cord:“Whipping cord, whipping cord,” he shouted above the sound of the lashes. “Tell me what I must do to stop you? I know that my father is greedy and must have offended you, but stop, I pray you, for he has indeed been punished. Hear the cries of his wife and children and take pity on them, for they will suffer too.” The whipping cord continued its work, but as Ntikuma drew near, it whined to him:“Say adwo bree — calm down. Say calm down, say calm down—” Ntikuma shouted out:“Calm down. Calm down.” The whipping cord dropped to the ground. Kwaku Ananse staggered and fell. His family ran to help him and carried him groaning to the house. He could not sit down, so bad were the cuts. Aso ran to get water, and washed and dressed the wounds. As she did so Ananse groaned and sobbed:“Aso, my dear wife, Ntikuma, and my children, forgive me, I pray. I have indeed been too greedy. Each day I have eaten the best food before you came home. Forgive me. You see how I have been punished. Learn from me, my children. Take just what you need, share with others. The pot that helped us has been destroyed. You see what greed has done to your father.” And that is how Kwaku Ananse was punished for his greed. May you all learn from this lesson, for greed always brings its own punishment. The Story of Kwaku Ananse and the Donkey A long time ago, when he was a young man, Kwaku Ananse made great friends with the donkey. Their farms were near to each other, and after a time they became inseparable companions. The donkey used to accompany Ananse to the farm, and as he was big and strong he would carry back the produce, help him to drag trees from the path, or go hunting with him and carry back the game they had caught when they were successful. In return, Kwaku Ananse would find food when it was scarce or when the rains failed. He was an amusing companion and had a fund of good stories. Often the villagers would hear the donkey going “He, he, he…” in the forest as he listened to Kwaku Ananse. If the donkey fell ill, Kwaku Ananse would visit him and soon cheer him up so he found it easier to get better. Indeed they were the best of friends. One evening, after work, Kwaku Ananse called around to see his friend as he usually did. But the house was empty and there was no sign of the donkey. “No doubt,” thought Ananse, “he has had some urgent call. I will come back in the morning and hear all about it.” So he went home to bed. In the morning, early, Kwaku Ananse went along to call on the donkey. When they had exchanged the time of day, Ananse asked him what he had been doing the night before. “He, he, he,” said the donkey. “I was doing something private.” Kwaku Ananse was very curious, as it was unusual for the donkey to have secrets. “Come,” he said, “this is not kind of you. You should tell your old friend everything. Maybe I can help you in some way. At any rate, give me the pleasure of sharing your secret—of course I won’t tell anyone else.” So the donkey decided to tell Kwaku Ananse his secret. “The truth is, I have seen a beautiful girl in a nearby village. She is so beautiful that I have decided to marry her. I have been talking to her and she says she is willing. He, he, he, I am so happy.” Kwaku Ananse was surprised that his friend, big and ugly as he was, could have persuaded a beautiful girl to marry him. He was curious to see the girl. So he asked the donkey to take him to the village and show her to him. “Wait a little while until it is all settled,” said the donkey. “I want to see her family first, then I can introduce you too.” But Kwaku Ananse was determined. “You know how wise I am,” he said. “Do you not think it would be a good idea if I were to see the girl and talk with her? Then I can find out if she is worthy of you and if she really loves you. I can plead your cause and tell her what a loyal friend and companion you are, and what a hard worker.” The donkey was persuaded, and together they set off in the evening to visit the girl in her village. It was the time of day when the young girls played ampe and other games at the edge of the village. When they drew near, Kwaku Ananse asked the donkey to wait. “Show me the girl,” he said, “and let me go to her alone. If you are there she will not be able to speak the truth if I ask her whether she really wants to marry you. If I go alone then she will speak the truth about you, and I can be reassured that she really loves you.” “Certainly,” said the donkey. “That is a good idea. I know that she loves me but it is always nice to hear it through someone else. Go quickly and talk with her so that I can pay her my usual visit.” When they reached the village and saw the young girls playing, the donkey pointed out his girl. Then he hid himself behind some bushes and waited whilst Kwaku Ananse went forward to speak with her. Kwaku Ananse was surprised. The girl was indeed beautiful. So beautiful was she, in fact, that Kwaku Ananse immediately wanted to marry her himself. The girls stopped playing, and Ananse spoke to one of them: “Are you not the girl whom the donkey loves and wishes to marry?” he asked. “Yes indeed I am,” she replied. “Do you really love him? Do you want to marry him?” asked Kwaku Ananse. “Certainly,” said the girl. “He is kind and strong, and I think he would make a good husband. He tells me he has a good farm and will work hard for me and any children we may have. I think he must be quite well off, as he often brings me presents and he looks very well fed.” “Are you quite, quite sure?” asked Ananse. The girl looked puzzled. “Are you not his friend?” she said. Kwaku Ananse laughed. “He has indeed tricked you. The donkey is my slave. He works for me on my farm and carries all my goods for me. He is neither free nor independent. Do you, such a beautiful girl, want to marry a slave? Do you want to see your husband working for others and not able to bring you back even enough to eat? He is, indeed, in good condition, for I look after my slaves properly. It would be better for you to marry someone, like me, who is rich and can give you all the things you need.” “I don’t believe you,” said the girl. “The donkey told me he was free and his own master. He is such a nice person and I love him. Why should I believe such idle tales?” She turned her back and started to walk away. “Stop!” called Ananse. “If you don’t believe me I will prove it to you.” “What proof can you show me?” she replied. “Tomorrow, in the middle of the day when the sun is high, I will bring donkey here, loaded with all manner of things, hot and sweating. I will sit on the top of the load so that you can see I am master. Then will you be satisfied?” “If you do that,” replied the girl, “I will believe you.” “And if I prove to you that the donkey is a slave and I am his master, will you do me the honor of being my wife instead?” he asked. “Yes,” said the girl, for she wanted to marry someone with authority, someone with wealth, who could look after her well. If Kwaku Ananse was indeed the master of the donkey then he must be rich and powerful and would make a good husband. When Ananse returned, the donkey was getting impatient. “You’ve been an awfully long time,” he complained. “What could have kept you so long? Come, let us both go and spend some time with the girl. But tell me first what she said to you. Does she indeed love me as much as I feel?” “Poor donkey,” said Ananse. “I have been as long as it took to plead for you. When I asked her if she would marry you she said: ‘What, that ugly creature, why should I marry him?’ She would hear nothing in your favor, until at last I said how strong you were and what heavy loads you could carry. I told her there was no stronger person in all the forest. In the end she agreed to marry you if you would prove your strength to her. So I have promised that tomorrow, at midday, you will come to the village with a huge load, and me riding on top. Then she will be convinced of your strength and will marry you.” At first the donkey looked crestfallen, but Kwaku Ananse soon cheered him up: “Come home,” he said, “for we must be rested for tomorrow. Young girls are often fickle, but when you are married you can prove your worth to her. She is indeed a beautiful girl, and you are lucky to be marrying her. Surely you can perform the task she has set?” “Oh, that is easy,” said the donkey. So they went home and early to bed, as they planned to be up early in the morning to collect the load the donkey had to carry to his girl’s village. Very early the next morning they went out into the forest. Kwaku Ananse loaded the donkey with all the heavy things he could find: firewood, plantain, some game that had been caught in the trap, and even two old grinding stones that he tied across the donkey’s back. When the donkey was so heavily loaded that he staggered a bit, Kwaku Ananse climbed on top and off they set for the village. Just in the middle of the day, as Kwaku Ananse had promised, he rode the donkey into the village. Perched on top of the load he bowed left and right to the villagers. The girl and her friends were waiting in a group and started giggling when they saw the sweating donkey and Kwaku Ananse. As he passed them, Ananse said to the girl: “Did I not tell you the truth?” “Yes, indeed you did,” she giggled. Then he whispered to the donkey to turn around and go back the way he came, to give added proof of the fact that he was the strongest animal in the forest. So the donkey turned around and soon they were on their way home. When they reached the house, Ananse unloaded his friend, who lay down exhausted. “Did you hear the girl say that I was right?” Ananse asked his friend. “That means she recognizes that you are the strongest person in the forest, and will marry you. But let us not hurry things. Rest for a day and I will bring you food and water. Then we can go and make arrangements at our leisure.” The donkey was very tired so he agreed, and indeed he slept most of the next day, only getting up to drink the water and eat the food that Ananse had left him. In the meantime, Kwaku Ananse went to the village, saw the parents of the girl, paid the customary fees, and made all arrangements to marry her. So charming was he to her that she scarcely regretted she was marrying him and not his friend the donkey. Now Kwaku Ananse realized that the donkey would be very angry when he discovered what had happened, so he had to think of a way to keep the donkey from the village. He thought and he thought and in the end he had an idea for a plan. When the donkey came to visit him the next day, he found Ananse ill in bed and looking very sad. “What on earth is the matter, friend Ananse?” asked the donkey, looking worried. “Oh, my dear friend, I have sad news for you. When I was a small child I had a terrible disease. My parents looked everywhere for a person who could heal me and in the end found one fetish priest many miles from here. He cured me, but said if ever the illness should return I must come at once to him for more medicine or I would die. Now, dear friend, I feel the illness is coming upon me again. My dear parents are dead, but I think I should be able to find the place, indeed I know I can. I must set out at once or I shall surely die.” The donkey was very upset and cried. Then he said, “Very well, Ananse, but of course I shall come with you, and you shall ride on my back.” “Oh no,” said Ananse. “I must go alone. I cannot take much with me and I must leave my house and my farm. Stay here, I pray you, and look after my things and pour libations to my ancestors that I may recover. If after a year I do not return, then you can take my farm and all my things. I wish I could do more for you, old fellow.” By now the donkey was weeping, but he had to agree to what Kwaku Ananse said. “Is there nothing else I can do for you?” he asked. “Well yes, there is something. Please stay away from the girl whilst you are praying for my safe delivery. Wait to get married until I return, and do not leave the farm more than necessary.” The donkey promised to do all that Ananse asked. Then he went off to get him food. No sooner had he left than Ananse hastily packed up all the money he had saved, all his best cloths and valuables, and took them some way along the path to the village and hid them in the bush. Then he lay down and waited for the donkey’s return. It was agreed that Kwaku Ananse should leave the next morning. The donkey helped him to pack a small bag with some food and enough money for the journey: “For I am too weak to carry much,” said Ananse. The following morning Kwaku Ananse left the donkey weeping at his door. He walked slowly along the path and turned to wave goodbye. Soon he was out of sight. A change came over him and he hurried gaily to the place where he had hidden his things, and heavily laden made for the village of his bride. He had already explained to the girl that as soon as they were married they would have to leave the district. “The donkey will be so angry,” he said, “that he may try to kill us. We must leave at once. I have much money and we will find another village far away and buy a farm and settle there.” As soon as they were married Ananse and his wife left the village and started out to a new life. In the meantime, the donkey stayed on the two farms. He worked so hard to keep them going that he had little time to think of pleasure. He sold the produce, and he kept careful accounts so that he could give his friend the money he had made on his return. Time passed. After one year the donkey still waited hopefully. “Something may have delayed my friend,” he thought. He waited and waited, though gradually hope died. In the end he decided that Kwaku Ananse must indeed be dead. He wept and performed the funeral custom. Then he thought to himself that he had better go and see his girl in the village. When the donkey reached the village he asked for the girl. People looked at him strangely. “Where have you been all this time?” they said. “The girl was married long ago, and later the husband sent for her family as well, as he has become a rich man. Not one of her relations has remained.” The donkey went sadly home. “I cannot blame her,” he thought. “Such a beautiful girl could not be expected to wait for so long.” He thought sadly of what he had missed, and was comforted only by the thought that he had remained faithful to his friend. “Surely God will reward me for that,” he said. The donkey started going out more and meeting people. One day, in a village market, he met someone who used to trade in the girl’s village. “Do you remember Kwaku Ananse?” the man asked. “He is a very big man now, and he and his wife have a fine family. I met them in a faraway place when I was trading. Why don’t you pay them a visit?” Then the man saw the donkey’s face. The donkey had suddenly realized what had happened. He saw how he had been tricked and how he had wasted his time. Now he was without friend or wife, and he swore that he would take vengeance on Kwaku Ananse, wherever he might be. The donkey asked the trader where Kwaku Ananse was living, but the man had seen his face and was afraid to tell him. The donkey asked in vain. At last, seeing he could get no reply, the donkey decided to go and look for himself. He sold his farms and started out on his long journey. From that time to this he has been looking for Kwaku Ananse, mostly in the towns for it is there that rich men live. But search as he may, he cannot find him. That is why you often see donkeys in the big villages and towns today. Formerly they lived only in the faraway places and little villages. At nighttime or sometimes during the day you will hear the harsh cry of the donkey as he remembers his friend’s treachery: “He, he, he has destroyed me.” Kwaku Ananse and the Magic Pot There was famine in the land. First the rains had failed and then the locusts had come, eating every bit of green leaf till even the forest looked bare. Now, Kwaku Ananse and his wife Aso wandered around their farm looking for something to eat. Even by the stream, where the water still ran sluggishly, little was growing. Kwaku Ananse went far afield searching for plantain, yam, or anything that he could find for himself and his family. He would come home tired in the evening and his family would complain. His son Ntikuma, bolder than the others, would say: “Father, where is your wisdom? You, who are supposed to be so clever, can you not find us food?” And Kwaku Ananse felt too tired even to beat his son. At last, exhausted by his searches, Kwaku Ananse decided that he would try his magic—try, too, praying to the spirits of his ancestors. So he went into the forest, to the sacred grove, and there poured a libation. He called upon his ancestors to save him: “O worthy ancestors,” he cried. “Great in wisdom and in understanding. See how Kwaku Ananse your son suffers, see how his family grow lean. Help me, I pray you, to find food. I have always endeavored to do you honor and uphold the good name of the family. O spirits of my ancestors, help me in this extremity.” When he had finished praying Kwaku Ananse went on his way, searching for food. There was scarcely a rustle in the dried leaves, for the animals had moved off to other places where food was more plentiful. Suddenly Ananse came to a small clearing, and there in the middle stood a most beautiful pot. He looked around to see who could have left it there, but there was no sound nor sign of another person. He approached it cautiously and walked all around. The pot was empty, but it was clean and polished. Who could have left it there? Ananse started muttering to himself: “Who could have left such a beautiful pot alone in the forest? What can the pot be for? Has it a name, I wonder?” Then touching the pot gently he asked, half in earnest: “Pot, what is your name?” “Yebiribi mamenhwe—Do-What-You-Can,” replied the pot. “What!” said Ananse. “You, a pot, can talk. This is truly wonderful. Are you a magic pot? What are you for? What can you do?” “Try me and see,” said the pot. “Do what you are able to do, Do-What-You-Can,” said Ananse. The pot began to produce food. Wonderful smells wafted through the forest, and out of the pot came little pots. Each one was filled with a special food. There were steaming bowls of soup, roast meat and chicken, cassava and yam fou-fou, peanuts and cocoa yam, and roasted and fried plantain. There were piles of oranges and ripe pineapples, pears and pawpaws. Indeed, Kwaku Ananse had never seen such a feast. When the pot had finished working, Kwaku Ananse sat down and he ate and he ate. He took what was best and when he had finished, thought about taking the rest back to his family. When he picked up the pot, Do-What-You-Can said to him: “Leave me here in the forest, for it is my home. Come and visit me when you like and get what you want, but do not take me home. If you do, you will be in trouble.” But alas, so greedy was Kwaku Ananse that he took no notice and insisted that the pot should go with him. He looked around to find material to build a sled. When he had tied together the branches of palm trees, he put the pot and all the rest of the food on them, and dragged it behind him along the path to his home. Before he reached home, Kwaku Ananse found a sheltered spot near the stream where the trees were still green and the undergrowth thick. There he left the pot, and going on with the sled soon arrived home. “Aso!” he called. “Ntikuma! Children! Come and see what your clever father has brought. Come and eat well, for today I have indeed used my wisdom.” The family came running to him, and soon all the food was in the house. Ananse refused to eat—indeed he was too full to do so. “I am an old man,” he said, “and I need little. My happiness is to see you, my wife, and you, my children, eat well. Hurry up and enjoy the food.” So Kwaku Ananse’s family had their first good meal for months, and whilst they ate Ananse hurried back into the forest and built a little hut in the thicket by the stream, and in it he put the precious pot. He left it without a word of thanks. When he went out the next day, Kwaku Ananse told his family not to follow. In vain they had tried to find out where he had gotten the food, but he refused to tell them. “Don’t worry, my children. Today your clever father will get you more good food. Only do not tell anyone in the village, for they will all want to share it.” Ananse hurried to the hut where he had hidden the pot, and since it was still early in the day he sat down to wait till he was hungry. Do-What-You-Can was a little dusty, so he took it to the stream and dipped it gently in the water till its sides shone again. The pot was grateful, though still angry with Kwaku Ananse for having taken it from its home. “Kwaku Ananse,” it said. “Never come near me with the kernels of palm nuts. Above all, never touch me with the kernels of palm nuts.” Ananse grunted and lay down to doze in the shadows. By midday Kwaku Ananse was hungry again. “Do what you are able to do, Do-What-You-Can,” he said. Again the pot produced a wonderful meal, and Ananse ate till he could eat no more. Then he took the rest of the food back to his family, refusing food himself. Ananse went every day for some days to the forest and brought back food, so that his wife and children began to grow fat again. But he even found the walk to the thicket too much work, so he decided to bring the pot home. That night he told his wife Aso that he was going out to hunt again, as he had heard there were animals about. When she and the children were safely asleep he went out to fetch the pot. Creeping back quietly, he climbed onto the roof where there was a hidden place beneath the thatch, and making a small hole in the roof he put the pot inside and put back the branches. Then, each day, he would send his wife and children to the sacred grove to pray to the ancestors, and whilst they were gone he would call upon the pot to do what it was able to do. So every day Do-What-You-Can produced a wonderful meal, and the food was ready when the family returned. Always Ananse refused food himself, as he had taken the best food before they came. One evening, Ntikuma, Kwaku Ananse’s son, came to his mother Aso. “Mother,” he said. “Do you not think it odd that Father refuses to eat? Look how plump he has grown lately. He has always been greedy and it is not natural that he should refuse food. What do you think can be happening?” Aso smiled. “What you say is true, my son, for you have inherited your father’s wisdom. But don’t worry. So long as we eat let us not ask too many questions. Your father likes to keep his secrets and we know his weaknesses, but let us not tempt providence by questioning him.” So Ntikuma had to be satisfied. Nevertheless, he watched his father whenever he could. All this time Kwaku Ananse had been wondering why the pot had told him not to go near it with palm-nut kernels. “Suppose,” he said to himself, “the pot can produce other riches, only does not want to give them to me. Suppose it can produce gold. How rich I should be.” After thinking over the matter for some days, Ananse decided to test the pot. He found some palm-nut kernels left over from the soup, and putting them into his pocket, waited till his family had left for their prayers and climbed up to the roof. “Do-What-You-Can,” he said. “Why do you not like palm-nut kernels?” But the pot was silent. It was hot under the roof and Do-What-You-Can longed for the freedom of the forest. Kwaku Ananse put his hand into his pocket and drew out the palm-nut kernels. Then he took one and touched the side of the pot. No sooner had he done so than it turned into a whipping cord, which lay on the rafters. “Who are you?” asked Ananse. “What do you do?” “My name is Abrim—the whipping cord,” replied the cord. “What I do is pleasant. Try me and you will see.” Ananse was not quite sure this time. “If I want to stop whatever you are doing, what do I say?” he asked. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” replied the cord. “What I do is very pleasant, as I said. Try me and see.” So Kwaku Ananse said to the whipping cord: “Do what you are able to do.” There was a sudden swoosh, and the cord swung into the air. Then it started beating Kwaku Ananse. So fast it moved that it could scarcely be seen. “Stop! Stop!” screamed Ananse, as he jumped off the ladder and ran into the forest. “Stop, stop, I beg you.” But the whipping cord only whipped the faster. Kwaku Ananse ran screaming through the forest. Round and round he went, sometimes stumbling over fallen trees, sometimes tripping over stones in the path. But the whipping cord went on and on, and soon his back was all cut. Aso and the children had finished their prayers when they heard faraway screams. “Surely that is Father!” said the children. Aso listened and went white. They all ran toward the shrieks. At the same time, the villagers had heard the voice in the forest, and they ran from the other direction, saying: “Surely that is Kwaku Ananse. What can be the matter?” Soon they all saw Kwaku Ananse stumbling exhausted through the forest. All around him went the whipping cord, never stopping, and he tried in vain to hide from it. The villagers wanted to help, and Aso and the family called to him to ask what was the cause of the whipping. But none dared to draw near in case the whipping cord were to turn on them. Obviously it was a magic whipping cord, and they were afraid. At last, Ntikuma, upset at seeing his father so beaten about, called out to the cord: “Whipping cord, whipping cord,” he shouted above the sound of the lashes. “Tell me what I must do to stop you? I know that my father is greedy and must have offended you, but stop, I pray you, for he has indeed been punished. Hear the cries of his wife and children and take pity on them, for they will suffer too.” The whipping cord continued its work, but as Ntikuma drew near, it whined to him: “Say adwo bree—calm down. Say calm down, say calm down—” Ntikuma shouted out: “Calm down. Calm down.” The whipping cord dropped to the ground. Kwaku Ananse staggered and fell. His family ran to help him and carried him groaning to the house. He could not sit down, so bad were the cuts. Aso ran to get water, and washed and dressed the wounds. As she did so Ananse groaned and sobbed: “Aso, my dear wife, Ntikuma, and my children, forgive me, I pray. I have indeed been too greedy. Each day I have eaten the best food before you came home. Forgive me. You see how I have been punished. Learn from me, my children. Take just what you need, share with others. The pot that helped us has been destroyed. You see what greed has done to your father.” And that is how Kwaku Ananse was punished for his greed. May you all learn from this lesson, for greed always brings its own punishment. Story 2: Kwaku Ananse, the Mouse, and the Lion One day Kwaku Ananse was wandering through the forest, “looking for trouble,” when he heard the sound of sobbing. Having nothing better to do, and being curious to know what was the matter, he hurried to the spot. He recognized the voice of his friend the mouse and the deeper growl of the King of the Beasts. There in a small clearing stood the lion with the tiny mouse between his paws. The mouse was sobbing and crying, and begging the lion not to eat him. Keeping at a safe distance, Kwaku Ananse addressed the lion: “Your Majesty,” he said. “In what way has the mouse been troubling you that you deign to bother with him?” It was the mouse who answered: “Indeed, Kwaku Ananse, I beg you to ask His Majesty to free me, for I have only tried to help him. I came along this morning and found him caught in a pit which the hunters had dug. He said he had been there for two days and begged me to help him out. At first I refused, for I told him that if I did I was sure he would eat me. But he promised and persuaded, and in the end I agreed. Now that he is out, he says he is so hungry that he must eat me.” And the mouse went on sobbing. Kwaku Ananse thought quickly. “Your Majesty,” he said. “Is it possible that the mouse is speaking the truth? I don’t believe that with all your power and intelligence you would need anything made by the mouse to help you climb from a pit.” The lion, perhaps a little ashamed of himself, answered the spider quite courteously: “Indeed, Kwaku Ananse, I climbed up the rope which mouse had cut and fixed to a tree for me. But now I am so hungry that it is necessary for my well-being that I eat the mouse. It should be an honor to him.” Again Ananse said: “I am sorry, I cannot believe it, Your Majesty. Perhaps, if the pit is near by, you would show me how you did it?” The lion was angry, and jumping up he went through the trees to the place where the pit had been dug. He jumped down into it, but as he did so Ananse quickly removed the rope which hung at the side. “Now,” said the lion, “you can let down the rope and I will show you.” But Ananse turned to the mouse and said: “Now, you little fool, don’t you ever do such a thing again. When you see the lion in any place, run from him and don’t listen to any of his arguments.” So the mouse scampered off and Ananse turned to the pit, and looking over the edge at the angry lion, said: “And as for you, Your Majesty, you should be ashamed of yourself, you ungrateful beast. Now enjoy your stay in the pit and don’t ask me to help you out.” The lion roared and blustered in vain and presently a hunter, hearing him, came along with a gun. The lion’s skin is now in the house of the Chief at our village, and you can see it if you want to check the truth of this story. How Kwaku Ananse Became Bald There was once a kingdom, ruled over by the leopard, whose citizens were almost all farmers. It was a small but happy kingdom, for the leopard was a wise ruler and the people were content to do as he ordered. For many years the farmers prospered and lived in honesty and friendship with each other. Then, suddenly, a sad thing happened. One after another the farmers complained that someone was coming in the night and stealing food from their farms. They wondered who on earth it could be, for were they not all farmers, and farmer does not steal from farmer. In the end they sent a delegation to see the King. The King listened seriously to their complaints, watching their faces as he did so. Then he asked them to make suggestions as to how they could catch the thief, and what they should do to him. The donkey suggested that he be made to work all his life for the farmers from whom he had stolen; some others suggested a whipping round the town; and Kwaku Ananse said he would recommend that the thief be made bald, so that all men would recognize him. He said he knew how this could be done. The King did not listen very hard to the suggestions, for he was wondering what course he should take. The little tortoise, however, sitting quietly in a corner, heard and remembered all. In the end it was decided that the farmers would wait to see if the meeting had acted as a warning to the thief, or if further thefts would occur. A few days later Kwaku Ananse came running to the King. “O King,” he cried. “Someone has stolen half the produce of my farm. What am I to do?” “What do you advise, Ananse?” asked the King. “I would beat the gong-gong and announce that if ever this happens again that he will meet with the most severe punishment. If we do that,” said Ananse, “I am sure there will be no more thefts for a week or so, as the thief will be too frightened. After three weeks let us start to watch out again.” “I agree,” said the King. “We will again wait and see.” Now the King was a very intelligent animal. For long he had been the best hunter in the forest—for who could hunt better than the leopard? He thought it odd that when Kwaku Ananse’s farm had been robbed no one else had suffered, whereas before that it was the other farmers, and not Ananse, who had lost things. He thought it strange, too, that Ananse should suggest that nothing be done for three weeks. So when he was sure that Kwaku Ananse had returned to his farm, he called his most trusted soldiers. To them he said: “Soldiers, I think that this night the thief will strike again. Pretend to be going early to bed and then come to me here and I will tell you what to do.” That night the soldiers came quietly to the palace of the King, and he told them to go around all the farms as silently as possible and see if they could catch anyone. The soldiers went into the forest. It was dark as the clouds scudded across the moon, doubly dark in the forest. But the soldiers were used to finding their way about, and they listened all the more carefully. In the middle of the night they paused for a moment in a forest clearing. Then from far off they heard the sound of heavy footsteps. They hid behind the trees, and into the clearing came a heavily-laden creature. A huge pile of cassava roots almost hid the bearer. The soldiers jumped out and caught the thief by the arms. The load toppled off his head and there stood Kwaku Ananse, trembling with fright. “Heh! Kwaku Ananse,” said the soldiers. “So you are the thief. You are in trouble. Just you wait till we take you to the King and then see what will become of you.” And they dragged him away with them. Ananse begged and beseeched them to let him go, to save him and his family from disgrace. He swore it was his first offense, and he offered them all his farm and his money—everything he could possibly think of—for his freedom. The soldiers only dragged him all the faster. “We are loyal to the King,” they said. “How dare you try and corrupt us.” When they reached the palace the soldiers woke up the King, and he ordered the gong-gong to be beaten immediately and the people to be called to the palace. So, in the light of early morning, all the people came trooping to the palace where Kwaku Ananse stood in chains in the courtyard. When the people had collected, the King addressed them: “Here is your thief, O people. What do you wish me to do to him?” “Kill him!” shouted some. “No,” said the King. “We have no capital punishment here, and I do not wish to shed blood.” Then everyone started shouting different suggestions till the King called for order. “One at a time,” he said. The little tortoise had made his way to the front of the crowd, and managed to catch the King’s eye. “Friend tortoise,” he said, “have you a suggestion to make?” “Yes, Your Majesty,” said the tortoise. “Do you remember that at our first meeting Kwaku Ananse himself made a suggestion as to how we should punish the culprit?” “I have forgotten,” said the King. “Tell me.” “He said that we should make the thief bald for life, so that all men could recognize him!” Kwaku Ananse, who had perhaps feared an even worse punishment, felt a little happier. “That is a good idea, friend tortoise,” said the King. “Do you not think so, Kwaku Ananse?” Ananse could hardly refuse to accept a punishment he himself had suggested. “I agree,” he whispered. “Tell us how it is done, Kwaku Ananse, and we will proceed with the punishment,” said the King. So Kwaku Ananse was forced to reveal his secret. He told them to boil some palm oil and brush it all over the head. “Then,” he said, “all the hair will fall out and never grow again.” So the King ordered that palm oil be boiled, and his soldiers brushed it into Kwaku Ananse’s hair. His screams reached the farthest ends of the village. It was as he said—all his hair fell out. From that day to this all spiders have been bald. Kwaku Ananse sorrowfully taught his children that: “A doctor should always be prepared to take his own medicine.” How Kwaku Ananse Destroyed a Kingdom There was once a kingdom ruled by the lion. Although Kwaku Ananse was one of the smallest of his subjects, because of his wisdom he was made judge and lawmaker, whilst the lion led a lazy life and hunted when he felt like it. Now Kwaku Ananse was as mean as he was clever and he hated the other animals. When anyone was brought before him for judgment, despite a show of wisdom and of justice, the sentence was always one of death. The animals feared and hated him, but they could do nothing as the lion would not hear a word against him. One day the lion fell ill and died. They gave him a grand funeral, and when it was all over they collected together to choose a new King. Ananse sent spies to see who would be chosen, for he suspected that he would be out of favor. Sure enough, the leopard was elected King, and his first act was to remove Kwaku Ananse from all his positions. When Ananse heard this he did not wait to hear more. He packed up his goods, and taking his family with him, fled to the nearby kingdom of the rat. The cat was the new adviser and judge appointed by the leopard, and immediately he preferred charges against Kwaku Ananse. Ananse was summoned before the court, but when the officers went to fetch him they found his house deserted, and search as they might they could find no trace of him in the kingdom. Kwaku Ananse settled down and prospered in the kingdom of the rat, who knew nothing of his past actions. One day, the rat was paying a state visit to the leopard, and in the course of conversation, the leopard mentioned the cruelty of Kwaku Ananse and the fact that he had disappeared before judgment. “Oh dear, brother leopard,” said the rat. “I had no idea he was a wanted man. He is living in my kingdom. You are welcome to send messengers to fetch him if it would please you.” When the rat returned home, Kwaku Ananse heard that he had been very friendly with the leopard and realized that he might be in for trouble. He did not want to leave the kingdom of the rat, as he had nowhere else to go. So he thought out a plan. Outside his front door, Kwaku Ananse started to dig a hole. It was very deep and very wide, and at the bottom he put stakes and thorny creepers. Then he covered it carefully with branches and made himself a small door at the back through which he could come and go. Sure enough, in a few days two animals arrived from the kingdom of the leopard in order to arrest him. He opened the door when he saw them coming and called to them to approach. They came forward eagerly to arrest him, and stepping on the branches in front of the door immediately fell into the deep pit where they perished. After a month, the leopard and the cat decided that the animals must have fled the country or must have been persuaded by Kwaku Ananse to settle elsewhere. They sent off two more of their most trusted subjects to fetch Ananse, and they warned them not to listen to his persuasions. These two animals, coming to Ananse’s house, perished in the same way. And so it went on. Every month more animals were sent, until the leopard and the cat found that there were no more people they could send. Angry at what had happened, and wondering what on earth had happened to all their subjects, they went off themselves to search for Kwaku Ananse. Kwaku Ananse saw the leopard and the cat from far off, and drawing his chair into the doorway so that they could see him, he pretended to be asleep. The cat and the leopard came up quietly, but so intent were they on watching Ananse that they failed to see the branches. As had all their subjects, they perished in the pit. Kwaku Ananse, seeing the end of all his enemies, filled in the pit and went to find the rat. “O rat,” he said. “I have destroyed the King of my old country and I wish to take possession of it for myself. You have, however, been very kind to me and I offer you a share in what we find there. I wish to live in peace with my neighbors.” So Kwaku Ananse and the rat went and took possession of the empty kingdom, and the rat gave Kwaku Ananse people to settle on the land and work it for him. And they ruled their kingdoms side by side for many years in peace and friendship. Kwaku Ananse and the Rain Maker Nyankopon the Almighty was tired of looking after mankind and all his creatures. He was tired of the small day-to-day requests, and decided that he would delegate some of his work to others. To Efu the hunchback fell the task of rain making. Anyone who needed rain could come and beat his hump and the rain would fall. At this time there lived in a kingdom in Ashanti two worthy and successful farmers, Kwaku Ananse the spider and his friend Kwaku Tsin. They both had big farms, and vied with each other for the title of the best farmer in the district. There was drought in the land, and the farms began to dry up. Both farmers feared they would lose their crops. Kwaku Tsin went into the forest to pray for rain. So sincere and fervent were his prayers that Nyankopon took pity on him and told him about Efu the hunchback, and suggested that he should find him and ask if he could beat his back for rain. Kwaku Tsin, therefore, went off to find the hunchback, and after looking everywhere came upon him in a clearing in the forest sitting on a log and eating a pawpaw. Kwaku Tsin spoke to him politely: “O Efu the hunchback, Nyankopon has revealed to me that it is in your power to make rain. I beg you to allow me to beat your back so that my farm shall not be spoiled by the drought.” Efu shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Since Nyankopon has given me the task of making rain, I cannot refuse you. But please do not beat me too hard, for the task is a heavy one and I have come here to rest.” So Kwaku Tsin found himself two small sticks and—thinking that if he beat the hunchback gently, he, and he alone, would get the rain—he hit Efu’s hump two or three times with the sticks, thanked him, and returned home. When he got back to his farm, Kwaku Tsin found that there had been a heavy shower and the ground was well soaked and the plants looked fresh and green. He thanked God for the favor and went home. Now Kwaku Ananse had to pass part of Kwaku Tsin’s farm on the way to his own. Early next morning when he went to work, he saw how green and fresh was the farm of his rival. Obviously there had been some rain, and he rejoiced. But when he reached his own farm he found that the rain had stopped at the boundary. He was surprised, and decided to go and ask his neighbor about it. At first Kwaku Tsin did not want to tell Kwaku Ananse what had happened, but being kindhearted he felt that he should share the secret. So in the end he told Ananse what Nyankopon had done. Ananse thanked him and said that he, too, would go and find Efu the hunchback and get rain. As everyone knows, Kwaku Ananse is a very greedy person. He went home to fetch some drumsticks, but as he went he thought, “If by using small drumsticks Kwaku Tsin produced a heavy shower, if I use really big sticks then I shall get two or three days of rain, and the crops will be heavier and better.” So he found two large clubs and went off to search for Efu the hunchback. Efu had left the clearing and was on his way back to the house when Kwaku Ananse met him. Ananse was in a hurry, and scarcely bothering to pass the time of day, he started to beat Efu on the back with his clubs. Efu cried out for mercy, but Ananse beat so hard that in the end the hunchback fell down dead at his feet. Then Kwaku Ananse realized what he had done. “Oh dear, oh dear,” he cried. “I have killed God’s rain maker. Whatever shall I do?” He thought of running off, but realized that Kwaku Tsin would know what had happened. So he had to think of a plan. As you know, Kwaku Ananse has a very tricky mind, and it was not long before he had thought out a solution to his problem. Kwaku Ananse carried the body of Efu to a nearby mango tree, which he knew to be full of ripe fruit. Then he carried the body up the tree and laid it between two branches, so that it could not be seen from below. Finally, he went to find Kwaku Tsin. “Kwaku Tsin,” he called. “I have found a tree full of ripe mangos, and I need your help to shake them down. Come with me, I pray, and we will each have as many as we need.” Kwaku Tsin knew that Ananse had a tricky mind and wondered what he was up to. No mention was made of the rain maker, and yet Ananse had been so interested in him in the morning. However, Kwaku Tsin decided to go with Kwaku Ananse, but would watch carefully to see that he did not get himself into trouble. When they reached the mango tree, Kwaku Ananse asked Kwaku Tsin to climb up and shake the branches. His friend looked around everywhere to see if there was a catch, but finding nothing suspicious he climbed up the tree and began to shake the branches. Suddenly, there was the sound of something heavy falling through the leaves. Then there was a crash, and looking down through the branches Kwaku Tsin saw a man’s body lying motionless on the ground. He went hurriedly down, and as he drew near he saw that it was the body of Efu the rain maker. Kwaku Ananse started wailing, “Kwaku Tsin, Kwaku Tsin, you have killed the hunchback. Alas, you have killed God’s rain maker. Why did you not watch what you were doing? Why did you shake the branches so hard? He must have been sitting up there to hide from people and get a rest. What will Nyankopon say?” Kwaku Tsin knew he had to think quickly and that Kwaku Ananse had planned to trick him. He was no fool like some of Ananse’s friends. He pretended to be very shocked, and joined in the crying. Then he said to Ananse: “Friend Ananse, stay a while with the body, for I must go and fetch help and tell the people what I have done. As it was an accident, I hope that Nyankopon will deal leniently with me.” And off he went through the forest. Kwaku Ananse sat down to wait, chuckling to himself at the success of the plan. After a bit, Kwaku Tsin came running back alone and looking very happy: “Ananse, friend Ananse,” he cried, “we are indeed in luck. As I went, I met one of God’s messengers, and he told me that Nyankopon was tired of Efu the hunchback and of his moods and his refusal to work at times. He had not known what to do about it. Now that he has heard Efu is dead, he has offered a big reward to the person that killed him. I wonder who it can be, for I am sure I was not really responsible?” Kwaku Ananse, not suspecting a trick, at once decided that he must claim the reward. “Well,” he said. “As a matter of fact, friend, I did plan to trick you over this. Please forgive me, but I was frightened, and after all it was you who told me about the hunchback. But you failed to warn me that he was weak. I must have beaten him rather hard, for he fell dead at my feet. It is a relief to know that Nyankopon is pleased.” Just then some other farmers came by, and Kwaku Ananse asked for help in carrying the body of Efu to his house: “For,” he said, “I have killed him to please God.” Kwaku Tsin laughed to himself, but when Nyankopon heard what had happened to Efu his rain maker, his anger knew no bounds. Kwaku Ananse was punished as he had never been punished before. No rain ever fell on his farm again, and if you go and look, you will find in the middle of the forest a dry and deserted area, up to this day. Why the Spider Has a Narrow Waist Kwaku Ananse always liked to make friends with creatures less lazy than himself. Fat from too much eating, he preferred mental to physical work. Hearing that the goat was a very hard worker and a good farmer, Ananse decided to make friends with him. Very soon they were inseparable, and the goat was flattered by the attention of such a wise and well-known person. One day Kwaku Ananse suggested to the goat that they should make a farm together so they could plant corn. The goat agreed at once and asked where they would get land and when they could start work.“There is no time like the present,” answered Ananse. “I have obtained a large piece of land from the Chief, and we can start felling the trees at once. Go and get your axe and your machete, and we will start work.” So the goat ran home and fetched his tools and very soon they were hard at work in the forest, felling trees to make way for the new farm. For every one tree that Kwaku Ananse felled the goat felled seven; but so hard did he work that he did not even look around to see what his friend was doing. Very soon the land was cleared, and they set fire to the undergrowth, keeping out of the way of the snakes as they fled from the burning ground. Then the two friends hoed the land well after removing the tree roots. Finally it was ready for planting. Kwaku Ananse had obtained some excellent seed corn from the Chief, and soon the job was finished. Ananse and the goat sat down on a log and looked with pride on their new farm. “Now that we have planted our corn, we have only to watch it grow,” said Ananse. “Let us in the meantime spend our time tapping the palm trees for palm wine. We can drink as much as we want and whatever is left we can sell in the village.” The goat agreed, and the next few months the two of them spent much time in the forest making palm wine. Kwaku Ananse drank a great deal of it, but there was still some left over to sell and they divided equally the money they earned. The corn grew well, for the soil was fresh and good. They kept it weeded and very soon it was in flower, then the grains swelled and it began to ripen. One evening Kwaku Ananse went with the goat to the farm and looking at the corn said: “Friend goat, I am a just man and I have been thinking that we had better divide the farm in two. I have a family and children, whilst you are a bachelor. If we do not divide the farm in two, my family will take an unfair share, for they eat much more than you. Let us, therefore, divide it equally, and there will be no injustice.” The goat was surprised and replied: “Friend Ananse, you really need not bother. After all, your wife and children are my friends too, and I am sure I don’t mind if they get a bit extra. Let us continue working together, for we have not quarreled so far.” But Kwaku Ananse insisted, and the goat was forced to agree. They carefully worked out the dividing line between the two farms. Then Ananse asked the goat to choose which farm he would like.“No,” replied the goat. “You choose, for the idea was yours and I really don’t mind which I have.”But again Kwaku Ananse insisted, making great show of his sense of justice. So the goat took the farm to the right and Kwaku Ananse was left with that on the left. From that time on, though they would walk to the farms together, when they arrived the goat would go to the right and Kwaku Ananse to the left. Both farms prospered equally, and soon they began to gather a harvest. Each day the goat collected a basketful of kernels for himself and took the rest of the corn cobs to sell in the village. But Kwaku Ananse had his wife and many children to feed, and when he had taken some four baskets home to eat they had little left to sell. Ananse saw that the goat was earning money and grew jealous. Soon Kwaku Ananse had persuaded himself that it was unjust that the goat should have so much. He forgot all the hard work the goat had put into the farm and began to feel as though he had no right to such a large share of the produce. It was then that a wicked plan came into his head. Early one morning Kwaku Ananse ran to the goat’s house, and knocking at the door shouted: “Friend goat, come quickly, I have something bad to tell you. Hurry or we shall be too late.”The goat, who was only just getting up, called out that he was coming, and wondering what on earth could be the matter he opened the door of his house. Kwaku Ananse tumbled in and said panting: “I have very serious news for you. We face a great calamity, but God has shown me the way to avoid it. Very soon a disease will lay waste all the corn and spoil the land. God has entrusted me with the secret of avoiding this disease altogether. But the cure is a drastic one, and I wonder if you have the courage to carry it out?” The goat was horrified and demanded at once to know what could be done to stave off the calamity. Kwaku Ananse replied sadly: “We must cut down all the corn. Come quickly to the farm and we will do what we must, though it will not be pleasant.” Now Kwaku Ananse knew that the goat often acted first and thought after. He hurried with Ananse to the farm and soon was busy cutting down all his corn, the ripe with the unripe. So hard did he work that he did not even look to see what Kwaku Ananse was doing. As he worked he heard grunts coming from Ananse’s farm, just as if he too were working very hard. Soon all the goat’s corn was cut. He stretched himself and mopped his brow and with a sigh, when he saw all the wasted corn, he went to see how Kwaku Ananse was getting on. Imagine his surprise when he found him going around his corn with a basket and taking a few kernels from each cob.“Have you not cut your corn?” he asked. “Shall I help you with it if you have not the courage to do it yourself?”“What are you talking about?” said Kwaku Ananse. “I am doing just what I told you to do only it takes longer than I thought. Surely you have not finished?”“But you told me to cut down all my corn,” said the goat, worried now at what he had done, but sure that was what he had been told to do. “Rubbish,” said Ananse. “You should listen properly when I talk with you. I have noticed this habit of yours of acting without listening properly. I told you no such thing. What I did say was that God had told me to take one kernel from each cob so the disease would not spread to our farm. As for cutting down the whole lot—why you are crazy.” The goat was furious, but there was little he could do at the moment. He knew that Kwaku Ananse had tricked him, but he had no evidence. He sadly collected what corn he could from the devastated field, and went home. As luck would have it, there was, indeed, a sudden corn shortage in that part of the land. Kwaku Ananse was one of the fortunate few to have a good crop. He was able to make a lot of money with surplus corn. The goat, no longer able to feed himself, was forced to buy Ananse’s corn at an enormous price and soon lost the money he had worked so long and hard to earn. The goat grew more and more angry, and in the evenings he would sit by himself and think of what he would like to do to Kwaku Ananse. One day his mother and sisters came to visit him and as they were roasting some meat over the charcoal fire an idea came to him. “Mother,” he said. “Get some good meat and roast it with oil and spices. You are such a wonderful cook that everyone enjoys what you prepare. Listen carefully to what I plan. When the meat is cooked, oil my shoulder carefully and fit a piece of the meat onto it; cut some hair from my other shoulder and stick it on top of the meat. I wish to trick Kwaku Ananse for the way he has treated me.” The goat’s mother had heard all about Kwaku Ananse’s behavior and was as angry as her son. When the meat was cooked the goat retired to bed with only the one shoulder showing. Then he sent one of his sisters for his erstwhile friend, Kwaku Ananse, who he knew would come to see him if he heard that he was ill. Sure enough Kwaku Ananse came hurrying along to sympathize with his friend.“What is the matter, friend goat?” he asked. “I have not seen you for a long time and now I hear that you are ill. I hope you will let bygones be bygones and let me help you if I can. Tell me, dear friend, what is the matter?” “It is very kind of you, Ananse, to show so much interest,” said the goat. “Yes I am a little ill, but in a way it is not such a calamity, for through my accident I have discovered something wonderful. When my mother was cooking I was dressing my skin with oil, and one of my sisters stumbled and pushed me into the fire. Of course the oil flared up for a minute—it did not hurt much—and my shoulder, as you see, was cooked. It smelled so good that I could not resist licking it, and I have never tasted anything so wonderful. I have invited you along to share a meal of it since I know how you love food.” Kwaku Ananse protested that he could not possibly eat his friend’s meat, but seeing that the mother and sisters were preparing to do so, he was in the end persuaded to try the meal. The goat had known how greedy he was and had not doubted that he would eat. The goat’s mother took the meat from his shoulder, carefully covering the place with a clean dressing, and they started to eat. The meat was wonderful, and Kwaku Ananse wished that there were more of it. He began to ask questions, and seeing how cheerful his friend now was, he thought that the burn would be a small price to pay for such a meal. “Why don’t you do the same?” said the goat. “Your meat could scarcely be less good than mine. You have only to cover part or all of yourself in grease—palm oil is best—and to light it. In a few seconds you will have a wonderful meal. Your flesh will soon heal—see how quickly mine has gotten better.” The goat took off the dressing and showed that his shoulder was indeed unharmed, though still a little red from the heat. Ananse, thinking of another wonderful meal, was in a hurry to get home and try out the goat’s idea. “Thank you, thank you, dear friend, for the wonderful meal. I am glad that you are so much better. I must go now as my wife is waiting for me.” And off he went. As soon as Kwaku Ananse returned home he called to Aso, his wife: “Aso my wife, come quickly, bring me some palm oil and light a fire. I will show you something wonderful that the goat has taught me.” Aso hurried to bring the oil and helped him to rub it well in over his body. She was not used to asking questions as Ananse was master in his home. When he was well oiled he asked his son Ntikuma to light a brand in the fire and set fire to the oil. Then Ananse burst into flame. The house was soon filled with his cries, and he rushed outside. The flames did not go out as the goat had indicated, but burned fiercely. Screaming, Ananse called to his wife to bring water, and she and the children threw all they could find over him. They managed to extinguish the flames in most places but they still burnt fiercely around his waist. Soon there was no more water, and the children rushed off to the stream to bring some back. When they returned and put out the rest of the flames, poor Ananse’s waist had practically been burnt through. The goat, who had left his sickbed as soon as Kwaku Ananse had gone home, came to enjoy the fun. He watched from behind a bush as Aso and the children carried Ananse into the house. Then he went home satisfied and told his mother what had happened.“That will teach Kwaku Ananse a lesson,” she said. “He always thinks he is so clever, but this time you, my son, have outwitted him. I am proud of you. You have had your revenge for his greed and jealousy.” As for Kwaku Ananse, though his wounds healed in time, the fire had burnt so deep around his waist that it was nearly burnt away. And that is why from that day to this, the spider has such a slender waist. Why Kwaku Ananse Stays on the Ceiling The lion, King of the Beasts, thought one day that he would amuse himself by finding out which of his subjects was the cleverest. He called all the animals together and said:“Ever since I have ruled this kingdom, I have had to listen to one animal after another claiming to be the strongest, cleverest, or swiftest in the forest. Let us decide once and for all who is the cleverest. You may now make your claims.” So the animals spoke, each boasting of their cleverness. Then Kwaku Ananse stood up and related all the wise things he had done. The animals listened with respect and agreed he was indeed clever. But the birds began to taunt him: “You may be clever, but you cannot fly!” Annoyed, Ananse replied: “Oh yes I can. Of course I can fly, though I have never done it in public.” The birds laughed: “You can’t!” Ananse appealed to the lion: “Your Majesty, these birds are foolish. Surely you believe me when I say I can fly.” The lion, intrigued, demanded that Ananse prove it, threatening him with dire punishment if he failed. So Ananse went home, set traps, caught many birds, and plucked off their feathers. With the help of his wife Aso and son Ntikuma, he stuck the feathers all over his body with latex from rubber trees. Finally, he sent Ntikuma to announce to the lion that he was ready to fly. The lion gathered all the animals and, to prevent trickery, held Ntikuma as hostage. Soon the animals saw an extraordinary figure flying round and round in the sky. “It’s Ananse!” they shouted. The birds, however, were furious. They followed him, jeering. The eagle, King of the birds, challenged him to fly higher. Ananse followed, but as they climbed higher, the sun’s heat melted the latex, and his feathers began to fall. Unable to keep up, Ananse tumbled down, landing on soft palm branches and scuttling into a roof, ashamed. From that day to this, Kwaku Ananse has not dared to come down from roof and ceiling, so ashamed is he at his downfall. How Wisdom Was Spread Throughout the World At one time, long, long ago, there was only one wise person in all the world, and that was Kwaku Ananse the spider. But, alas, Kwaku Ananse was also greedy and he wished to keep all this wisdom to himself. One day, bored with having to stay and guard his wisdom all day, Kwaku Ananse decided to store it away and hide it in a safe place. So he called to his wife Aso and asked her to make him a big pot into which he could put all his wisdom. Aso went down to the riverbank and collected clay. She carefully built up a great pot—a great pot with a narrow opening at the top so it could be easily sealed. Then she put the pot out in the sun to bake, and with the remainder of the clay fashioned a stopper. When the pot was finished, Aso took it to her husband, and after making sure that there were no cracks in it, he gathered together all his wisdom and pushed it well down. He covered it with some cocoa-yam leaves, then he put in the stopper and tied it on with some strong twine. Now Kwaku Ananse had decided to hide the pot way up in the branches of a huge silk-cotton tree that grew some distance away in the forest. It was over ten feet wide, and the spikes in its trunk would stop all but the most intrepid from climbing it. Carrying the pot in front of him, he made his way through the forest, followed—unknown—by his small son Ntikuma. At last he reached the great tree and started to try climbing it. He hung the pot by a rope around his neck, with the stopper just below his nose so he could make quite sure it did not tip over. Alas, try as he would, Kwaku Ananse could not climb the tree, for the pot got in the way of his arms and he found he was unable to grip the trunk. He tried, and he tried, and he tried. He grew hot and sticky and started to swear angrily. Now Ntikuma was watching his father from behind a tree, puzzled by his curious antics. At last, when Kwaku Ananse’s swearing grew really bad, he could stand it no longer and came up to his father timidly. “Surely, my Father,” he said, “if you wish to take that pot up the tree you should tie it to your back and not your front. Then your hands would be free.” Ananse was furious. Here his small son was teaching him a lesson—a lesson which he realized was only too true. Shaking with anger and exhaustion he lifted the pot, meaning to take it off and chastise his son. His hands were slippery with sweat and the great pot was heavy. It slipped through his fingers and crashed to the ground. The pot burst open and its contents were scattered far and wide. There was a storm coming, and the wind swept through the forest, lifting the wisdom and carrying it on its way. The rain poured down and swept the wisdom into the streams, which carried it into the sea. Thus was wisdom spread throughout the world. Kwaku Ananse chased his small son through the pouring rain, blaming him for so great a loss. But he was not really sorry the pot was broken, for he said, “What is the use of so much wisdom if my own small son can judge better than I?”