The Best of African Folklore

by Phyllis Savory

  “But how did it happen that you were killed for my marriage feast, three long years ago?” asked Lungile.

  “Having changed me into a white bull, the wicked king sent me to lead the herd which was paid as the bride-price for the sister of the man you were to marry,” answered the chief’s son. “But grieve no more, my lovely one, that you lost your bridegroom, for if you will marry me, I will give you greater happiness and riches than would have been in his power to offer.” There was no need for him to wait for her reply for her eyes told him all that he wished to know.

  For many days now, Lungile stayed among the buck in the forest, gathering spinach daily while she sang the magic song, while from far and near the buck came in answer to the song; old buck, young buck, and tiny fawns. All gathered round her, waiting expectantly; then, one morning, as the rising sun sent its first rays of brilliance over the hilltops, they were all changed into men, women and children – and, as though shrouded in the early morning mist, the chief’s son himself came striding through the forest, to claim them as his long lost tribe.

  It was a happy home-coming for Lungile, and the celebrations that followed were splendid.

  Never did a bride have a kinder or more loving husband, and never was such a magnificent herd of cows presented to a proud father, as her “bride-price”. And, as the years passed, many were the children who played around their happy home.

  MONTUAI AND THE HYENA

  SWAZI

  Montuai’s father was proud of his crop of mealies. The cobs were swelling daily, and he was sure he would have a good harvest – if only he could keep the birds away. They kept coming now to pick the juicy grain and more of them every day. For several days he himself had chased them away but, he decided, this was not a grown man’s work. “Surely Montuai is now old enough to do such work,” he thought. He therefore built a small hut in which to keep her food and to shelter her from rain and, preparing a pot of food for her breakfast and midday meal, he sent off his small daughter at sunrise each day to chase away the troublesome birds.

  It was lonely work for the little girl, as she had no brother or sister to keep her company. She sang to herself to ease the loneliness as she ran from one side of the field to the other, while the birds flocked here and there. At meal times she went to the little hut her father had built for her.

  She was about to begin her breakfast one day, when she heard a harsh voice calling, “Montuai, Montuai!” She ran to the door, thinking that a human called, but to her distress she saw an evil-looking hyena by the far side of the mealie field.

  “What do you want?” she asked nervously.

  “I want you to come and carry me to your hut,” replied the dreadful beast.

  “You are too heavy for me to lift,” answered the child. “Why cannot you use your own legs?” “I dislike wetting my feet in the early morning dew,” growled the hyena. “Obey me at once,” he added, “or I will eat you!” So the poor child had no choice but to go across the field, pick up the horrid animal and carry him to her hut.

  “Who does this belong to?” he asked, lifting the lid from the pot and sniffing inside. “It is my father’s food,” replied Montuai.

  “Oh ho,” said the hyena, “if it is not my food, I will have to eat you.”

  “Well, eat it,” sobbed the child terrified, and the hyena emptied the pot. Then to her great relief, he went to the river to drink.

  That evening when she went home, Montuai told her father that an ugly animal from the forest had frightened her. “I shall come tomorrow and see what it is,” he told her, but he forgot, and she had to go to the mealie-field alone when the morning came. She had not been in her little hut for long, before she again heard the same voice calling “Montuai, Montuai!”

  “Yes,” she answered, shaking with fear.

  “Come and carry me to your hut at once!” the hyena ordered, and, trembling in every limb, she was forced to obey the dreadful animal. He took the lid off her pot and asked as before, “Who does this belong to?”

  “As I said yesterday, it belongs to my father,” said the child.

  ‘‘As I said yesterday,” sneered the hyena, copying her, “if it is not my food, I will have to eat you.”

  And again he ate all the food in the pot before going to the river to drink.

  That evening Montuai complained once more to her father about the animal from the forest, but he told her that she must be imagining things, and sent her alone to the mealiefield the next morning.

  The hyena, pleased he had found a meal every day so easily, saw the child enter her hut with the pot of food and he called out at once, “Montuai, Montuai!” She was too frightened to do anything but run out and carry him to her hut.

  For the third time he took the lid off the pot and asked the same question: “Who does this belong to?”

  “It is my father’s,” sobbed Montuai.

  “Well, if it is not my food, I shall certainly eat you,” he said, drawing back his lips to show his yellow fangs as he came towards her.

  “No, no! It is your food,” screamed the child. “Please eat it,” and for the third time the hyena emptied the pot before going to the river to drink.

  That evening Montuai told her father that she would rather be beaten than go again alone to the mealie-field. So on the following morning, taking a hoe with him, he went with her, and hid behind some bundles of thatching grass in the hut.

  Not long after their arrival, she heard the dreaded voice calling again. But this time when the hyena told her to come and fetch him she refused. “Come by yourself! I’m not carrying you today.”

  “I told you I don’t like getting my feet wet. Come at once!” he growled.

  “Coward!” called Montuai, laughing. So, forced to walk to the hut on his own two feet, the hyena was very angry. “I’ll deal with you properly when I have eaten. Now tell me, who does that food belong to? Is it mine?”

  “No,” answered the girl defiantly – no longer afraid, now that her father was near, “it is my father’s!”

  “When I have finished it, you will suffer for your cheek,” he threatened, taking off the lid and putting his head into the pot. He was so pleased with the delicious food inside, that he did not see Montuai’s father creep from his hiding place, raise his hoe and strike. He did not even know what had hit him as he fell with a deep wound on the back of his neck.

  The father dragged the ugly beast’s body out of the hut, and left him under some bushes, thinking he was dead. Montuai, no longer afraid, settled down to her work of scaring the birds from the ripening mealies once more. Nor had she any fear as she went singing to the mealie-field early on the following morning. But imagine her terror when she arrived, for the hyena, his neck covered in blood, was waiting for her at the end of the field.

  “Montuai, Montuai!” he called. “Come and carry me to your hut!”

  The poor child did not dare to disobey. She picked up the horrible creature and carried him to her hut. She put the food down in front of him and she said, “It is yours; eat it.”

  When the pot had been licked clean the hyena said, “Now, wash the wound your father made on my neck – and be quick about it – for this time I am going to carry you to the river, where I will drown you in the big pool.”

  With trembling hands Montuai cleaned the gash on the hyena’s neck. After she had done so, he picked her up and, putting her upon his back, began a slow jog-trot to the river. His wound was hurting him, so he kept his nose to the ground, and did not look to right or left as he went.

  “What can I do to escape?” thought Montuai. Fortunately she had a quick mind, and soon she saw a heavy forked branch lying on the path ahead. She caught hold of it as they passed and put it over the hyena’s shoulders in front of her. Then she slipped quietly off over his tail. On and on jogged the hyena, still looking neither right nor left, until he reached the pool where he had planned to drown Montuai. Standing at the edge of the water, he jerked his load into the deep pool. The heavy t
hud of the branch as it splashed into the water made him look round, but all he saw was the forked branch of a tree floating where the girl should have been.

  His howl of rage echoed far and wide, and he ran back to find her. But he was far too late, for Montuai had lost no time in running home as fast as her legs would carry her. And she never went back to chase the birds from the ripening mealies, for her father watched them for the few days that were left before he gathered in his crop.

  For two days the hyena wandered about with his nose to the ground, looking neither to the right nor to the left, for the wound on his neck made it so stiff that he couldn’t move it at all. That meant that he couldn’t hunt for food either, so on the third day he died – and nobody was sorry!

  Narrator: A.S. Cambul.

  THE WHITE DOVE

  SWAZI

  Of all the hunters in the land, the most skilled of them all was the king’s only son, Sanfu, and no one loved hunting so much. He would leave the Royal Kraal with his knobkerries and spears to enjoy a day’s hunting, for his father’s country was rich in game of every kind. Seldom did he return without a kill slung over his shoulder for his family to eat.

  One fateful morning he left home when the day was crisp with sunshine: ideal hunting weather. But for some unknown reason prize after prize escaped him. Was his skill slipping? he wondered, annoyed, as he missed one throw after another. Buck were there as usual, but he failed to bring them down, as he followed them for hour after hour. Even the hare and smaller animals seemed determined to escape, while they led him farther and farther from his home, until he found himself in a strange country which he had never seen before.

  He was about to turn for home when he saw ahead of him two high twin peaks, with tall forests reaching to their grass-covered tops. Surely this should be a hunter’s paradise, he thought as he pressed on – and up, up, up he climbed through the trees. So dense were their branches that the sun was hidden from sight, while underfoot he trod on soft, moss-covered ground, where his footsteps made no sound. Birds of every colour darted here and there, while monkey-chatter from the huge creepers that hung from above was the only sound that broke the silence. Yes, there was game here, too, but try as he might, he caught only fleeting glimpses of their stately horns as the buck kept out of range of his spears, vanishing as if by magic.

  Sanfu eventually decided to try the open lands above, where there were no trees to spoil his view, so he continued to clamber upwards. He soon found himself at the top of a grass-covered pass between the mountains, where he looked into a valley of immense size and majestic beauty. “Surely I must find something here,” he thought, as he began the downward climb. But to his surprise he found that it was far more difficult going down than it had been climbing up, for the ground was covered with hundreds of rocks and boulders that gave way and rolled with him down the slope.

  Bumped and bruised from his fall, he stood up and looked around. The grass was so high that it hid any game there might be. Disappointed, he turned wearily to retrace his steps, but to his surprise found that tall forbidding cliffs had arisen behind him, completely barring his return. So steep were they, that he realised that there was no other way he could go except on down to the valley beneath.

  By this time it was getting late, and he had had nothing to eat or drink since he left home, so he was both hungry and thirsty. There had been no sign of human life. Such a deep and sinister silence hung around him, that he decided he must surely be in the land of spirits.

  While he was wondering what to do next, he was startled by the sound of soft footsteps. A few paces behind him stood an old, old woman, clothed from head to foot in a long black cloak. In her right hand she held a tall black staff, on top of which were perched two black ravens.

  “Mother,” Sanfu addressed her politely, when he had recovered from his surprise, “I am far from home, and in a strange land. Can you tell me where I may find food, water and shelter for the night?”

  The old woman put her finger to her lips and shook her head, for she was both deaf and dumb. With a sinking heart, he continued his struggle downwards – for surely, he thought, he would find water at the bottom of the valley. The strange figure followed, and a deeper silence than ever closed in around them, but as they neared the bottom of the valley Sanfu heard a faint sound in the distance. He cupped his hand to his ear, and thought he could hear the mournful coo of a dove. “Where there is life,” he decided, “there must be water.” So he pressed on. The cooing became louder as they went on down, until finally he distinctly heard the words:

  “My father is dead,

  My mother is dead,

  My brothers and sisters

  are dead, dead, dead.

  I sit here alone,

  alone on my own.

  My heart is throbbing,

  throbbing, throbbing, throbbing!”

  it moaned, the sad song that doves have lamented since the beginning of time. Still louder grew the cooing, until at last Sanfu and the silent figure were standing in a wide open space opposite an enormous jet-black rock that towered into the sky. On either side of him, sheer-sided red cliffs had suddenly appeared. At the bottom of the valley he saw a broad, black and sinister river. The cooing went on, becoming ever more melancholy. At the foot of the tall black rock he saw three caves, and at the entrance to the middle one sat a most beautiful white dove. It was she who was singing the mournful song. On either side of her stood a black raven. As soon as the ravens saw Sanfu, they began to dance faster and faster until, utterly exhausted, they collapsed at the dove’s feet.

  The white dove raised her head proudly to address Sanfu. “Welcome to our country, good Sanfu. For many years we have awaited your arrival.”

  Sanfu decided there must be magic here. How else could a talking dove be expecting him? So he asked, “How is it that you know my name and why should you await me?”

  “The time has come;’ answered the dove, “for you to do us a great service. We have awaited your arrival for as many days as there are stars in the sky. We are weary of our captivity.”

  “I am willing to help you,” said Sanfu at once. “Tell me what I must do.”

  “Repeat these magic words after me three times;’ the dove replied.

  “River, river, magic river,

  You bewitched us long ago;

  Change us from the shapes you gave us

  Back to the forms we used to know.”

  Three times Sanfu repeated the magic words. Immediately there was a loud creaking sound, and the cave on the right-hand side of the White Dove opened to a burst of singing from thousands of birds that had been imprisoned within. Birds of every size and colour now flashed before his admiring eyes, and beyond them were mountains and lakes, forests and flowers, beautiful beyond words. He gazed at the sight in astonishment as gradually the huge cave closed again upon the birds. At the same time the raven on the right-hand side of the White Dove rose slowly to its feet, to gaze into the distance as though nothing had happened.

  “Is this all I must do?” asked Sanfu; “and what does it mean?”

  “This is only the beginning,” replied the White Dove. “The birds you have seen are the lovely maidens of this valley, who were bewitched into birds long ago, and you must set them free. Now, repeat the magic words again three times.”

  Three times more Sanfu chanted the words, and immediately the cave on the left-hand side of the White Dove creaked open, revealing herd upon herd of every wild animal that he had ever seen, and many more besides. Their skins shone like satin, and the cries that came from them all but drowned the singing of the birds. They stood knee-deep in lush green pastures where sparkling streams reflected soft sunlight. Then this cave too, slowly closed its yawning entrance, while the second black raven rose slowly to its feet and, like its companion, gazed into the distance.

  “Those;’ said the White Dove, “are the warriors belonging to our king, my father. They, too, are under the spell of the big black river, and you have b
een chosen to set us free.”

  “There is a third cave,” broke in Sanfu. “Tell me what it holds!”

  “That I cannot tell you now,” replied the White Dove. “It cannot be opened until you have been our guest for the passing of ten full moons. Stay with us, good Prince, for you alone can bring our imprisonment to an end.”

  “What about my own people, White Dove?” asked Sanfu with a sinking heart. “How can I tell them where I am? Otherwise they will think me dead.”

  “There is no way to tell them,” replied the White Dove. “You must trust my word that your reward will be worth their sorrow. But listen – if you leave us before your service is completed, a most dreadful fate will befall you. You will become an enormous and fearsome spider – so terrible to look upon, that all living things will avoid you with horror, and your home will be in damp and dark places. Your life will be one of loneliness and sorrow. Think well on this matter, good Sanfu.”

  “Such a fate seems too terrible for me to refuse,” replied Sanfu miserably. “I give you my word that I will stay, oh most beautiful of all doves.”

  “It is well,” sighed the White Dove in a tone of relief. She turned to where the dumb woman stood behind her, took her staff from her and threw it to the ground. As the staff left the old woman’s hand she vanished, though the two ravens fell with the staff, to remain motionless where they had fallen.

  “You are both hungry and thirsty,” said the dove and, with a nod of her head towards the staff, she ordered food and drink. These appeared at once – all that a hungry man could desire. Sanfu ate and drank until he was satisfied, then lay down and slept.

  Never again did the White Dove speak; and never again did Sanfu see the two black ravens. Yet strangely, he never suffered from hunger or heat or cold, for food and drink appeared whenever he wished and the weather passed him by. It was a long and weary wait, but eventually the ten moons passed, and Sanfu stood before the White Dove, whom he had watched for all that time.