The Place and The People It was winter in the Great Karroo, and the Van der Merwe family sat by the warm fire. The wind outside was cold, but inside the room was bright and cosy. Mother read her book, Father came in from his work, and the children waited excitedly for something special. Pietie was allowed to fetch Outa Karel, the old Bushman who lived with the family. Outa looked strange—small and bent, with wrinkled skin and long arms—but he was kind and funny. The children loved him because he always had stories to tell. He shuffled into the room, greeted everyone politely, and sat down carefully on his little stool. The firelight made his face look mysterious, and the children gathered closer around him. This was their favourite time of day. Before he began, Outa always asked for his “soopje,” a little drink that made him clear his throat. Once he had it, he smiled, smacked his lips, and declared that he was strong enough to tell a story. The children laughed, because this happened every night. Then Outa began his tale. With funny voices and big hand movements, he told of Jackal, Lion, and many adventures with animals and spirits. The children listened with wide eyes, not knowing what was real and what was made-up, but enjoying every word of Outa Karel’s magical storytelling. How Jakhals Fed Oom Leeuw One morning, Jackal was sneaking around looking for food. He saw Lion had just caught a big fat sheep. Jackal wanted some too, but he was too lazy to hunt for himself. Then he saw a piece of paper, folded it like a letter, and ran down to Lion. “Oom, here’s a letter from Tante,” he said. “She wants you to send this sheep home for her and the children.” Lion could not read, so he asked Jackal to read it. Jackal pretended and said, “Tante says you must give me the sheep right away.” Lion believed him and handed it over. Off trotted Jackal, already planning to keep it all for himself. Poor Lion went hunting again, not knowing he had been tricked. Later, Lion went home. But when he arrived, he found Tante Lion and the cubs crying. “That naughty Jackal stole the sheep!” they wailed. “He even beat us and left nothing but scraps.” Lion roared with anger. “Wait till I catch him!” he shouted. The next morning, Lion found Jackal sitting high on a cliff. He tried to climb up but kept slipping. So he called up kindly, “Come hunting with me, Neef.” Jackal pretended to be too busy cooking meat. Then he offered to pull Lion up with a rope—but he secretly used an old weak one. Each time, it broke, and poor Lion crashed down hard! At last, Jackal played his final trick. He wrapped fat around a hot stone and dropped it into Lion’s mouth. Lion swallowed it whole and roared in pain, rolling and groaning until at last he lay still. Jackal and his family danced around the fire, laughing and singing, “Who is cleverer than Jackal?” Who was King? Once upon a time, Lion roared so loudly that the whole forest shook. From far away, Ostrich roared back, sounding almost the same. The lion cubs laughed and said, “It sounds just like Father! Ostrich is copying him!” This made Lion very angry, because he wanted to be the only one with such a powerful roar. Lion went out to find Ostrich. When they met, they glared at each other. Lion’s mane stood up, and Ostrich spread his wings and hissed. They both roared, and their voices were exactly alike! So Lion said, “You will be King of the Birds, and I will be King of the Beasts. But let us see who hunts better.” They went hunting. Lion crept low to the ground and pounced on a fat buck. Ostrich ran swiftly and kicked the others with his strong feet. In the end, Ostrich killed even more than Lion. But Ostrich politely said, “You eat, Lion. You have cubs. I will only drink the blood.” Lion thought him noble, but really Ostrich just had no teeth! The cubs, while playing, peeked into Ostrich’s mouth and saw the truth. They ran to tell Lion, “Father, Ostrich has no teeth! He is not your equal!” Lion woke Ostrich angrily and said, “How dare you compare yourself to me when you have no teeth!” Ostrich replied, “Teeth or no teeth, I killed more bucks. I’ll fight you!” They agreed to push down an ant-hill to see who was stronger. Lion clawed at it, but Ostrich kicked sand and stones into his face. At last, Ostrich knocked the top off, covering Lion in dust. When Lion leapt, blinded, Ostrich kicked him hard with his sharp toes. Poor Lion fell to the ground, and Ostrich’s claws tore into him. Lion roared no more. Ostrich flapped his great wings and danced away proudly to his mate, while the lion cubs wailed for their fallen father, the King of Beasts. When Outa Karel finished the story, the children argued and asked, “What’s the meaning of it?” Outa only smiled and said, “Another time, my little masters—ask your Nonnie!” And with a playful skip, he left them wondering. Why the Hyena is Lame Outa told the children that Jackal loved to trick Tante Hyena more than anyone. She was always too quick to trust him, even though he fooled her again and again. One day, as they walked together, a big white cloud floated low over the veld. Jackal climbed onto it and began nibbling pieces, saying, “N-yum, n-yum, this white fat is delicious!” Hyena licked her lips and begged for some. Jackal shook his head. “No, Brown Sister, I won’t throw you scraps. I’ll help you climb up yourself. Stand close so you can catch me when I jump.” He leapt down, knocking Hyena flat in the dust. He landed safely on top, but poor Hyena lay coughing and groaning. “Sorry, sorry, I’m so clumsy!” said Jackal. Then he kindly helped her up onto the cloud. Hyena sat happily, chewing pieces of the soft cloud, just as Jackal had done. After a while Hyena called down, “I’ve had enough, Grey Brother! Please catch me when I jump.” Jackal held out his arms—but at the last moment he hopped aside, pretending a thorn had pricked his foot. Hyena fell hard, twisting her leg. “Help me, Jackal, my leg is broken!” she cried. But Jackal limped around on three legs, saying, “Ah, Sister, how can the sick help the sick? I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then he trotted away—fast and strong once he was out of sight. That evening Jackal feasted on young ducks at home, while poor Hyena lay crying in the sand. From that day, Outa explained, Hyena has always walked with a limp, because one back leg is smaller than the other. Who was the Thief? One evening, Jackal said to Hyena, “Brown Sister, there’s no food in the veld. I’m going to work for a farmer. He’ll give me plenty to eat, and when I’m fat, I’ll come home again. Do you want to come?” Hyena’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes, Grey Brother! I love food. Let’s go!” So they both went to the farm, and the farmer agreed to let them stay. There were chickens, ducks, sheep, and so many tasty things. Hyena thought she was in a dream. But Jackal had a plan. In the middle of the night, he crept quietly to the place where the farmer kept the fat from the sheep’s tails. He smeared some all over Hyena’s tail while she slept soundly, then ate the rest himself. “N-yum, n-yum, n-yum,” he whispered, licking his lips. In the morning the farmer shouted, “My fat is gone! Who has stolen it?” He stormed into the wagon-house. Jackal wagged his clean tail and said in a soft voice, “Not me, Baas. Look, no fat here. The thief’s tail will show you.” The farmer looked around until he saw Hyena, snoring happily with her tail stiff with fat. “Aha! Here is the thief!” he cried. Hyena yawned and said, “Oh! I dreamt I was eating fat all night.” But the farmer tied her up and shouted, “You ate my fat for real!” He beat her and drove her away. Hyena cried, “It wasn’t me! I never even tasted it!” But no one listened. Poor Brown Sister limped back to the veld, sore and hungry. She promised herself she would never live on a farm again. And Jackal? He sat nearby with his paws together, pretending to pray. “Be a good creature, Brown Sister,” he called sweetly. But he was laughing inside, because once again, his trick had worked. The Sun. A Bushman Legend. Outa sat by the fire, holding his crooked hands toward the warm blaze. His little masters sat close, their eyes shining in the flickering light. “Ach, my baasjes,” he smiled, “what it is to keep a bit of the Sun even when the Sun is gone! Long ago, my people, the Bushmen, did not know about fire. They ate their meat raw and crept into caves to stay warm. But one day, they learned a story about the Sun, and how it came to live in the sky.” “Was the Sun always up there?” asked Pietie, his eyes wide.“No, my baasje,” Outa chuckled. “Long ago, the Sun was a man. From his armpits streamed bright light. When he lifted one arm, light shone on one side. When he lifted both, the light spread all around. But it only reached where he stood, never far away.” The people noticed that the higher he climbed, the farther his light spread. So a wise old woman gathered the young men. ‘When he sleeps,’ she said, ‘lift him by the armpits and throw him high, high into the sky. Then his light will reach the whole world.’ So they crept to him in the red sand, quiet as mice, and while he slept, they swung him to and fro and threw him up, up, up—till he stuck in the sky!” “When he woke,” Outa said, lifting his own arms, “the light streamed down over the whole world. Day came whenever he stretched his arms, and night came when he pulled them in to sleep. When he is far away, it is winter and cold. When he comes close, it is summer and warm. That is why the seasons change, my baasjes.” Little Jan frowned. “But the Sun has no arms now, Outa.”“Ach, clever one!” Outa laughed softly. “He has rolled round and round for so many years, his light spread all over him. Now he is a great ball of fire. But sometimes, when you see bright rays in the morning or evening, those are his long fingers peeping out. Count them, my baasjes—eight long ones and two thumbs!” The children giggled, their eyes heavy with sleep. Outa’s voice grew softer: “And when the Old Man pulls his fingers in, the world grows dark and everyone rests. Tomorrow, when he stretches again, he will bring light and warmth. But now, my baasjes, it is night. Close your eyes and sleep, while the Old Man Sun sleeps too.” The Stars and the Stars' Road The sky over the great Karroo was dark and deep, like a soft blue blanket, sprinkled with shining stars. Three little boys pressed their faces to the window, pointing and whispering about the Milky Way. Just then, old Outa shuffled in, and the boys turned quickly to ask him, “Outa, are there really a billion stars up there?” Outa chuckled and nodded. “Yes, my baasjes, maybe two billion! Too many to count. And do you know? That bright road in the sky was made from ashes long, long ago.” He settled onto his stool, and the children gathered close. “One night,” Outa began, “a girl sat by her fire, playing with the ashes. She scooped them up in her hands and tossed them into the air. The ashes floated and shone silver against the dark. Then she threw green twigs into the fire, and sparks flew up to join the ashes. Together they spread across the sky, making the great shining road you call the Milky Way. But Outa calls it the Stars’ Road.” “The girl was so happy she clapped and danced, singing, ‘The little stars! The tiny stars! Ash of wood-fire, dust of the Sun! They call the Dawn when Night is done!’ And when she threw her old roots and young roots into the sky, they became the stars—some glowing red, some glowing gold. They twinkled and sang, ‘We are children of the Sun! It’s so! It’s so! It’s so!’” Outa nodded and winked. “When the stars twinkle, baasjes, they are nodding their heads and saying, ‘It’s so! It’s so! It’s so!’ And when a star falls, it is telling us that someone’s heart has stopped. It carries the message across the sky.” The boys’ eyes grew round, and they nodded solemnly, following every word. “One star grew larger and brighter than all the rest. He was the Great Star, and he gave names to the others. Now every night, the stars walk beside the Stars’ Road, and in the dark hour before dawn, the Dawn’s-Heart Star shines brightest of all, with his wife and child beside him. Together they wait and call for the Dawn. And slowly, the Dawn rises, rubbing her eyes, stretching her golden fingers, until the Sun comes with both arms lifted, filling the world with light.” By now the boys’ eyelids drooped, though they still peered out at the glittering sky. Outa’s voice softened. “The stars are waiting for the Sun to sleep again, before they begin their singing. But if you look out of the window now, you will see them twinkle, whispering their song. Yes, my baasjes—they are saying, ‘It’s so! It’s so! It’s so!’” Why the Hare's Nose is Slit The curtains had not yet been drawn nor the shutters closed, and little Jan looked with wide serious eyes at the full moon sailing serenely in the cold sky. Then he sighed as though thoughts too big for expression stirred within him, and turned absently towards the purring fire. “And why does the big man make such a sighing?” asked Outa Karel. “It is like the wind in the mealie land at sun-under.” Little Jan’s eyes slowly withdrew their gaze from some inward vision and became conscious of the old native. “Outa,” he said, “why is the moon so far away, and so beautiful, and so golden?” “Ach! to hear him now! How can Outa tell? It is maar so. Just like grass is green and fire is hot, so the Moon is far away and beautiful and golden. But she is a cruel lady sometimes, too, and it is through her that the poor Little Hare runs about with a slit in his nose to-day.” “Tell us, Outa.” Little Jan dropped on to the rug beside the basket of mealie-cobs, and the others edged nearer. “And why do you call the Moon a lady?” asked Pietie of the inquiring mind. “But doesn’t baasje know that the Moon is a lady? O yes, and for all her beauty she can be cross and cruel sometimes like other ladies, as you will hear.” “Long, long ago, when the world was quite young, the Lady Moon wanted someone to take a message to Men. She tried first one creature and then another, but no! they were all too busy, they couldn’t go. At last she called the Crocodile. He is very slow and not much good, but the Lady Moon thought she would pinch his tail and make him go quickly. So she said to him: ‘Go down to Men at once and give them this message: “As I die and, dying, live, so also shall you die, and, dying, live.”’ “Baasjes know how the Moon is sometimes big and round——so”—and Outa’s diminutive hands described a wide circle and remained suspended in the air—“like she is now in the sky. Then every night she gets smaller and smaller, so—so—so—so—so——till——clap!”—the crooked fingers come together with a bang—“there’s no more Moon: she is dead. Then one night a silver horn hangs in the sky—thin, very thin. It is the new Moon that grows, and grows, and gets beautiful and golden.” By the aid of the small claw-like hands the moon grew to the full before the children’s interested eyes. “And so it goes on, always living, and growing, and dying, and living again. How the Jackal got his Stripe A long time ago, the men of the Ancient Race were walking through the land in search of food. Suddenly, they heard a strange little voice calling from the bushes. It wasn’t a bird, or an animal, but when they looked closer, they found a tiny brown baby lying in the sand. His eyes sparkled like fire, and he spoke clearly: “Carry me, carry me! Put me in your skin bag, I’m tired.” But whenever the men tried to lift him, he burned them with his heat, so they grew frightened and ran away. Watching from nearby was sly Jakhals, the Jackal. When the people had gone, he crept out and saw the strange little baby. “What a fine child, left behind!” he said. The baby begged, “Carry me, carry me!” Since Jackal had no skin bag, he offered his back. The little Sun climbed on, holding tightly to Jackal’s mane. Jackal trotted off, secretly planning to take the baby home and eat him. At first he was pleased, but soon the heat of the baby burned his back. “Soe! Soe! You’re too hot—slide down a little!” he begged. The baby slid down, but the burning grew worse each time, until at last he was holding onto Jackal’s tail. The heat was so fierce that Jackal screamed as his tail turned black. He bucked and jumped until the baby let go, then spun around to bite him. But the little Sun’s eyes shone like fire, and light poured out from under his arms. Jackal blinked and shivered with fear. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t look the baby in the face. The Sun said, “You would have gobbled me up, but remember me well—you will never be able to look me in the eyes again.” He blew hot breath at Jackal, who howled and ran away across the plain. From that day on, Jackal has a black stripe running down his back to the tip of his tail, burned by the little Sun. And he hides away from the Sun all day, coming out only at night to sneak and play tricks. That is why, children, the Jackal fears the bright Sun, and only the Moonlight is his friend. The Animals' Dam Long ago, the Sun burned so hot that no water was left in the land. The rivers dried up, the bushes turned brown, and the animals grew weak with thirst. Oom Leeuw, the Lion, called all the animals together. “Friends and brothers,” he said, “we must work together and dig a dam to keep water when the rain comes.” All the animals agreed—except sly Jakhals, who only laughed and promised, “Those who do not work will also drink.” The animals worked hard. Elephant pushed, Zebra stamped, Hare dug, and even tiny Meerkat scratched the ground. Together they built a fine dam, ready to hold the rain. But Jakhals only wandered around, making jokes and never lifting a paw. Soon the rain fell, filling the dam with cool, fresh water. Flowers bloomed again, and the thirsty animals were happy at last. But greedy Jakhals crept to the dam first. He drank deeply, splashed about, and muddied the water before slipping away. When the others came to drink, they found the dam spoiled. Oom Leeuw was furious. He told Baboon to guard the dam with a big stick, to catch the thief if he returned. That night, Jakhals came back, pretending he had a pot of sweet honey. He tricked Baboon into giving him his stick, tied him up, and laughed while eating alone. Poor Baboon cried for help, but Jakhals only hit him and ran away with water for himself. When Oom Leeuw discovered what had happened, Baboon was punished, and all the animals mocked him for being so easily fooled. From that day on, the animals remembered: lazy Jakhals was clever but selfish, and he always found a way to trick others. And when the night is quiet, if you listen closely, you may still hear him laughing in the dark, singing about his “sweet, sweet water.” Saved by his Tail One night, after the animals built their dam, Oom Leeuw asked, “Who will guard the water tonight?” To everyone’s surprise, a small voice piped up, “Peep! Peep! I will!” It was the Water Tortoise. Though small, he was strong and clever. He asked the animals to cover his shell with sticky black gum from the beehives, and Oom Leeuw agreed. That night, sly Jakhals crept to the dam. He thought the tortoise was just a big black stone and jumped on it to drink. But his front paws stuck fast! Angry, he kicked with his back legs—stick! Then he beat with his tail—stick! At last he tried to bite, and even his mouth stuck fast. The more he struggled, the tighter he clung to the “stone.” In the morning, the animals found Jakhals glued to the tortoise’s shell. They laughed and cheered, for the thief was finally caught. Oom Leeuw called a council, and they decided it was time to punish Jakhals for all his tricks. Hyena was chosen to do it. Jakhals cried out sadly, begging them not to shave his tail, smear it with fat, and hit him on a stone. The animals thought, “If that’s what he fears most, it must be the right punishment.” But clever Jakhals had tricked them again! The moment Hyena swung him around, he slipped free and ran across the veld faster than the wind. The animals chased, but he was running for his life, and they could not catch him. Jakhals didn’t stop until he found a cave under a mountain ledge. Oom Leeuw followed, but Jakhals fooled him one last time. He shouted, “Oom, the rock is falling! Hold it up while I fetch a pole!” Poor Oom pressed his head against the rock while Jakhals ran home, laughing and rolling on the ground. Once again, the trickster had escaped. The Lion Who Once Could Fly Once upon a time, Oom Leeuw the Lion had great wings, big and strong like a bat’s. With them he could soar high above the land and swoop down on animals before they even had a chance to run. All the creatures feared him, for nothing could escape his sharp claws when he flew through the sky. But Oom Leeuw had a strange habit. He kept all the bones of the animals he caught, hidden in his home in the cliffs. He ordered the rare White Crows to guard them carefully, for if the bones were ever broken, something terrible would happen to him. The crows watched day and night, too frightened to leave their post. One day, Brother Big Bullfrog hopped by and teased the crows. “Aren’t you tired of sitting? Fly away and stretch your wings. I’ll watch the bones for you.” The crows thought it was safe and flew off, but as soon as they were gone, Brother Bullfrog went crack, crack, crack—he broke every bone in Oom Leeuw’s house! Then he hopped quickly back to his dam. When Oom Leeuw tried to fly again, his wings were weak and useless. He roared and roared, shaking the earth, but he could no longer lift himself into the sky. Angry, he chased the White Crows, but they only laughed and flew away, calling, “You can’t catch us anymore!” Oom Leeuw then rushed to the dam to find Brother Bullfrog. But each time he pounced, Bullfrog dived into the water—kabloops!—and popped up safe on the other side. At last, Oom Leeuw gave up. From that day on, he could no longer fly, only walk and creep on his claws. The White Crows lost their voices and could only say “Craw, craw,” while Brother Bullfrog still lives happily in his dam, always ready to dive in with a loud “Ho!” whenever Oom Leeuw comes near. And so, the world became safer for all the animals again. “So the Lady Moon pinched old Oom Crocodile’s tail, and he gave one jump and off he started with the message. He went quickly while the Moon watched him, but soon he came to a bend in the road. Round he went with a great turn, for a Crocodile’s back is stiff like a plank, he can’t bend it; and then, when he thought he was out of sight, he went slower and slower—drif-draf-drippity-drif-draf, drif-draf-drippity-drif-draf, like a knee-haltered horse. He was toch too lazy. “All of a sudden there was a noise—sh-h-h-h-h—and there was the Little Hare. ‘Ha! ha! ha!’ he laughed, ‘what is the meaning of this drif-draf-drippity-drif-draf? Where are you going in such a hurry, Oom Crocodile?’ “‘I can’t stop to speak to you, Neef Haasje,’ said Oom Crocodile, trying to look busy and to hurry up. ‘The Lady Moon has sent me with a message to Men.’ “‘And what is the message, Oom Crocodile?’ “‘It’s a very important one: “As I die and, dying, live, so also shall you die and, dying, live.”’ “‘Ach, but that is a stupid message. And you can’t ever run, Oom, you are so slow. You can only go drif-draf-drippity-drif-draf like a knee-haltered horse, but I go sh-h-h-h-h like the wind. Give the message to me and I will take it.’ “‘Very well,’ said the lazy Crocodile, ‘but you must say it over first and get it right.’ “So Neef Haasje said the message over and over, and then—sh-h-h-h-h—he was off like the wind. Here he was! there he was! and you could only see the white of his tail and his little behind legs getting small in the distance. “At last he came to Men, and he called them together and said: ‘Listen, Sons of the Baboon, a wise man comes with a message. By the Lady Moon I am sent to tell you: “As I die and, dying, perish, so shall you also die and come wholly to an end.”’ “Then Men looked at each other and shivered. All of a sudden the flesh on their arms was like goose-flesh. ‘What shall we do? What is this message that the Lady Moon has sent? “As I die and, dying, perish, so shall you also die and come wholly to an end.”’ “They shivered again, and the goose-flesh crept right up their backs and into their hair, and their hair began to rise up on their heads just like—ach no, but Outa forgets, these baasjes don’t know how it is to feel so.” And the wide smile which accompanied these words hid the expression of sly teasing which sparkled in Outa’s dancing black eyes, for he knew what it was to be taken to task for impugning the courage of his young listeners. “But Neef Haasje did not care. He danced away on his behind legs, and laughed and laughed to think how he had cheated Men. “Then he returned again to the Moon, and she asked: ‘What have you said to Men?’ “‘O, Lady Moon, I have given them your message: “Like as I die and, dying, perish, so also shall you die and come wholly to an end,” and they are all stiff with fright. Ha! ha! ha!’ Haasje laughed at the thought of it. “‘What! cried the Lady Moon, ‘what! did you tell them that? Child of the devil’s donkey! you must be punished.’ “Ach, but the Lady Moon was very angry. She took a big stick, a kierie—much bigger than the one Outa used to kill lions with when he was young—and if she could have hit him, then”—Outa shook his head hopelessly—“there would have been no more Little Hare: his head would have been cracked right through. But he is a slim kerel. When he saw the big stick coming near, one, two, three, he ducked and slipped away, and it caught him only on the nose. “Foei! but it was sore! Neef Haasje forgot that the Moon was a Lady. He yelled and screamed; he jumped high into the air; he jumped with all his four feet at once; and—scratch, scratch, scratch, he was kicking, and hitting and clawing the Moon’s face till the pieces flew. “Then he felt better and ran away as hard as he could, holding his broken nose with both hands. “And that is why to-day he goes about with a split nose, and the golden face of the Lady Moon has long dark scars. “Yes, baasjes, fighting is a miserable thing. It does not end when the fight is over. Afterwards there is a sore place—ach, for so long!—and even when it is well, the ugly marks remain to show what has happened. The best, my little masters, is not to fight at all.”