The Best of African Folklore

by Phyllis Savory

  “Couldn’t we each pluck a feather from our wings, and fix them to his feet?” they wondered. This was an exciting idea. Then, when they arrived above the clouds, they could proudly present the tortoise as their king. Without delay they set to work, and it was a strange looking creature that at last took to the air surrounded by his feathered friends.

  The birds couldn’t help laughing because he looked so funny, but their plan succeeded and the tortoise soared into the sky with them.

  “What shall we call him?” the birds asked one another as they neared the home of their cloud friends. Many names were suggested, and they finally decided that he should be called “All Of You”, meaning that he was to represent all of them – the greatest of them all. So when they arrived, he was introduced as King All Of You.

  The Cloud People were very honoured to think that the birds had brought their king to visit them, and at once prepared a great feast. “Whose food is this?” asked the birds politely, as they were taken into the hut where all the fine dishes were spread out.

  “It is for ‘all of you’,” replied the Cloud People. The tortoise, hearing his new name called out strode forward and, with great relish ate nearly all the food that had been provided, leaving very little indeed for his companions.

  “It must be their custom,” thought the Cloud People, “to see that their king satisfies his wants, before they eat themselves.” So they stood aside while the tortoise enjoyed all the food within his reach.

  The birds were so angry at the tortoise’s greed, that after they had picked up the few scraps of food that were left, they took back all the feathers they had so carefully attached to his feet. Now he had no way to return to earth. Although it was no more than he deserved, he was weeping and wailing when the birds flew away, leaving him to his fate.

  The parrot was the last to leave. “Please, friend parrot,” begged the unfortunate tortoise, “have pity upon me. Please go at once to my wife and tell her to gather all the soft grass that she can find, and to pile it high near the big rock, so that I can land on it safely, for otherwise I shall be killed.”

  However, the parrot was as hungry as the other birds, so he, too, was angry. The message he took to the tortoise’s wife was that her husband wished her to gather as many rocks and stones as she was able, and to build them into a platform, on which he would land.

  This the wife duly did, and down jumped the tortoise. What a crash-landing! His nice smooth shell was broken into many pieces, and although his wife nursed him devotedly, the scars left between his bits of broken shell never left him. They have shown to this very day on all tortoises ever since – a reminder of the day when he jumped from the clouds.

  Narrator: Joyce D. Khumalo

  HALF CHILD

  SWAZI

  “I must consult a ‘Wise One’, a Sangoma, to learn why, of all the women in the kraal, you alone, have no children,” said a husband to his childless wife. So he went to a woman in a neighbouring village who was well known for her wisdom.

  “Bring me a sleek young beast from your herd, for I shall use its fat in the medicine needed for your wife,” she said. But, besides being bad tempered, the man was mean, so he chose a hornless beast without a tail, and drove it to the old woman on the following morning.

  “Your punishment for bringing me this imperfect beast,” said the Sangoma, “will be that you will have a son without arms or legs; but I warn you to tell no one of this matter. Return now to your wife, and remember my words.”

  In spite of her fame, the husband did not believe the old woman’s threat, and told all his friends the result of his visit – but his wife he did not tell. As a result, when she knew that a child was on its way, the woman’s heart was filled with gladness. Her joy soon turned to sorrow, however, for the girl-baby was not welcomed by her husband. “I paid for a son,” he said angrily. “I will not have her. Take the child away.”

  The poor woman pleaded with her husband to be allowed to keep her baby daughter, but when she was three years old the cruel father made her take the child into the wilds, to be devoured by hyenas. The creatures of the wild, however, proved kinder than her human father, for they did not touch her.

  She grew up under the shelter of the overhanging rock under which her mother had left her. Her food was the honey that trickled down the rock from a bees’ nest overhead, and she gathered the berries and roots that grew around her little home. Sometimes, too, her mother left food for her as she went to hoe her lands. In her loneliness the child grew more beautiful as the years passed, and she learned many secrets of the wilds.

  After the birth of the baby girl, the husband returned to the Sangoma, to complain that he had paid for a son, and he therefore refused to accept the daughter. He was angry that his wife had failed him once again.

  “Did I not warn you to be silent?” the old woman reminded him. “You shall have your son!” The days went by, and once more his wife knew that a baby was to be born to her. This time it was a son, but the old woman’s warning proved only too true, for he had neither arms nor legs. They called him Half Child, and, although it was a great grief to the poor mother, she loved him even more for what he was. As she could get no one to look after him by day, she was forced to leave him locked in her hut while she and her husband attended to the farming.

  One day his sister came in secretly from her hiding-place. She found her mother’s hut and called out, “Let me in, Half Child. I am your sister, who was sent by our hard-hearted father to live in the wilds. Let me in.”

  “How can I let you in, when I have no arms or legs?” asked the boy, so the girl opened the door. “Half Child,” she said, “have arms and legs!” and arms and legs immediately appeared upon the boy.

  “Now I will do our mother’s work for her,” said the girl. She swept the hut, fetched water from the spring, and cooked a tasty meal for their parents’ return. “Don’t tell anybody that I have been here,” she told him. “If your mother asks who has done the work, tell her that you did it. Now, brother Half Child, arms and legs, depart!” Immediately he was once more as helpless as before, without either arms or legs. The girl then hurried back to her home under the overhanging rock.

  The mother and father were astonished on their return from the fields, to find all that had been done at home while they were out. “Who has done all this?” asked the mother.

  “I did it,” the boy replied.

  “Then, let me see you do it,” she told him.

  “I don’t do something twice,” was all that he answered, and his mother was left wondering. Every day after that, the sister came to do the housework, saying as she opened the door, “Half Child, arms and legs, appear!” and as she left, “Half Child, arms and legs, depart!” Every time her magic order was obeyed.

  One day, when she needed water for cooking the evening meal, the girl told Half Child to fetch it from the spring. But once the boy felt the soft green grass under his feet he ran, and ran and ran; far beyond the spring and up the hill beyond. She called for him to come back, but he ran on and on, until finally she cried out, “Half Child, arms and legs, depart!” At once the boy fell to the path, as helpless as before.

  On her way home that evening, the mother found her son lying exactly where he had fallen.

  “How did you get here?” she asked in surprise.

  “I came by myself,” he replied.

  “Well, let me see you go home again,” she demanded.

  “I don’t do something twice,” he answered stubbornly. So without arguing she picked him up and, putting him on her back, continued along the path.

  Now, on this very day her husband had decided to remain in hiding at home to discover the reason for such strange happenings in their hut and, having witnessed all that had taken place, caught the girl as she was about to return to her rock shelter.

  “She is too beautiful to escape me before I find out where she comes from,” he thought to himself.

  In answer, she told him of her lonely l
ife since he had sent her into the wilds as a small child. Thinking of the fine cows he would add to his herd in exchange for such a lovely daughter, he now told her that she must come and live in her proper home. To this the girl readily agreed.

  Soon they saw the mother in the distance, carrying Half Child on her back. “Half Child, arms and legs, appear!” called out his sister, and immediately the boy jumped from his mother’s back, and ran along the path in front of her, singing and laughing, and leaping for joy.

  The mother was astonished at the sudden change in her helpless son, but her astonishment was even greater when she reached her hut, to find her husband and daughter awaiting her arrival. With joy and surprise, she found that her husband was now willing to accept the daughter he had so cruelly driven into the wilds for the hyenas to devour, so many years ago.

  The husband needless to say, was also pleased for, apart from now having a son with arms and legs, he had a marriageable daughter who would not only increase his wealth, but who had also, through her life of solitude, learned the art of magic.

  Not very long after this, the sister and a party of girls from nearby went to gather red clay, with which to beautify themselves. Half Child decided to follow them, but his sister told him that this was work for girls alone, and bade him to go home. They had nearly reached the clay-pit when they looked back and saw that the boy was still following.

  The sister was angry and returned to beat him, saying as she did so, “Half Child, arms and legs, depart!” which left the boy helpless on the path. “It serves him right,” she said to her companions, “for disobeying me.”

  They had just finished filling their pots with clay, when a violent storm broke, beating down mercilessly upon their unprotected bodies. “Your brother!” exclaimed the girls. “We must hurry back for he is helpless!”

  Running through the rain to where he lay, they found to their surprise, that the boy was laughing, with dry earth all around him. “Sister,” he said, “you beat me, which made me angry, but I forgive you. Look, no rain has touched me. Come close to me, all of you, and you can shelter from the storm.”

  The girls did, and while the rain continued to pour down everywhere else, not a single drop fell where they were gathered around the boy. His sister, sorry for the beating she had given him, quickly restored his limbs and, to the astonishment of them all, he said, “My father’s hut, come here!” and immediately his father’s hut covered them. Then he added, “My father and mother, with their all possessions, come here!” and at once this happened too, so they all took refuge until the storm had passed.

  The father and mother never returned to the old kraal, but started a little community of their own, where they lived happily for ever after. And his sister never took Half Child’s arms and legs away again – for now he had found a magic more powerful even than her own.

  UMUSHA MWAICE THE LITTLE SLAVE GIRL

  ZAMBIA

  Long, long ago there lived a chief who had three wives. Two of these wives had large families, many sons and six daughters between them. The third wife, however, was childless, and the other two laughed her to scorn.

  The six daughters were a comfort to their mothers in all their daily tasks, helping them to gather wood and water, and to work in the fields. But not one of them would raise a finger to help the childless woman, and life was hard and lonely for her.

  One day, while she was fetching water from the river, this sad woman burst into tears and cried out, “Why is it that I have no daughter to help me with my work? Where, oh where, can I get one?”

  Akakantote, the praying mantis, bringer of goodness and mercy, was nearby and heard her cries. The little insect answered, “If you are able to cure my troubles, I will help you in return.” He then showed the woman an ugly festering sore on his body.

  The childless wife was kind at heart, so she picked up the little mantis and sucked the poison from his sore, saying, “I am happy to do far more than this for you, if you want me to.” And the magic of her lips healed Akakantote’s sore.

  The mantis was very grateful to the woman for the help she had given him, and said in gratitude, “You have healed me of a painful sore; my reward for your kindness will be the daughter you desire.”

  The little insect handed her a stick, saying, “Take this stick, and keep it hidden from sight. Put it in a clay pot in the corner of your hut, and leave it for three days and nights.”

  The woman thanked Akakantote, and when she had drawn water from the river, she returned to her hut, where she did as the insect had told her.

  There was a great deal of rude laughter when the lonely woman mentioned the kindness of the mantis, and the second wife jeered at her so much that the chief became very angry, and banished this hard-mouthed wife from his village. He comforted the childless one, and said, “Do not let the hard words of these two hurt you, for you, too, are my wife, and I do not blame you that you are childless.”

  Now, the two cruel wives were very fond of each other, so the first wife took the children of the banished one and cared for them as her own.

  When three days had gone by and there was no sign of Akakantote’s promise coming true, the woman was deeply disappointed and felt that her hopes had been raised for nothing. But she was wrong, because one day she did find a lovely baby girl where the stick had been, and her joy was beyond words.

  When the chief’s first wife saw the beautiful baby, she was so jealous that she refused to believe the story of the mantis, and accused the woman of stealing the baby. After that, the first wife grew more and more cruel and unkind to the little one’s mother, until eventually she killed the poor woman. The chief was saddened by his wife’s death, though he did not know how it had happened. Since his dead wife had owned a fine cow, he gave it to her newborn child. The cow was said to be magic, but no one knew how.

  As she grew up, the child cried for the missing love of her dead mother. But the more she cried, the more her step-mother beat and ill-used her, calling her Umusha Mwaice the “Little Slave”, and making her do all the menial work that was usually given to the slaves in the royal kraal. She was also at the mercy of the six royal half-sisters, who made her mend their bead-work and sew their cloth. She was indeed their “little slave”, and she knew nothing else in the years while she was growing up.

  Now, in a neighbouring country there lived a wealthy and highly respected chief, whose son had at this time reached the age of marriage. This mighty chief sent word to the father of the seven girls to say that he wished his noble son to choose a bride from among his neighbour’s many daughters. “The honour that I do to your kingdom is great,” he said, “so it would be wise to make suitable preparations to receive my heir.”

  All was bustle and hurry in the royal kraal, each sister being anxious to outdo the other five in hopes of catching the prince’s eye. Each begged her father to buy her beads and finery in preparation for the great day.

  But the youngest one asked for nothing, as she had not been included in the celebrations, and never imagined that any important visitor would look at her. However, before he went to the market to buy what was needed, the father called Little Slave to him and asked, “When I am buying the best for your six half-sisters, what shall I get for you?”

  “Father,” she answered, “if a little stick should fall upon your path as you travel through the forest, please bring it to me. That’s all I want.”

  The chief left with his seven daughters’ requests, and brought back from his journey many beautiful gifts for the six proud ones – but he bought nothing for the youngest one. But as he passed through the forest on his way home though, a twig fell from a tree and landed on the path. Remembering what Little Slave had asked, he picked it up, and kept it for her.

  The six sisters laughed as Little Slave took her gift and clasping it in her hand, stole away to her mother’s grave. She cried as she planted the stick and, as she watched in wonder, she saw it grow before her eyes into a graceful tree. Added to this, her m
other came alive out of the grave and said, “Don’t weep, my daughter. Tell me what I must do for you!”

  In between her tears, Little Slave told her mother her long, sad tale. Then the woman gathered dew from the magic tree, and in it she bathed her daughter, who at once became more beautiful even than she had been before. The magic leaves turned to clothes far, far finer than those which her six wicked half-sisters wore; and when her mother had dressed her in them, she sent the child to the royal kraal.

  Her step-mother, however, was so angry when she saw the loveliness of the magic clothes, that she beat Little Slave and complained, “Where did you steal such lovely clothes? They are far too good for such as you.” So she pulled them off the child, and gave them to one of her own daughters, while she sent Little Slave back to her tasks of smearing the royal floors with mud, pounding casava flour, and doing the slaves’ jobs as before.

  When her tasks had been done, Little Slave went back to her mother’s grave and, as she wept beside it, her mother appeared once more. “Go,” said the woman, “and find the magic cow, which once was mine. Ask her to swallow you.” The girl knew the cow well, for she had cared for it, as her own, and it now obediently did as it was told and swallowed Little Slave. Inside the cow, her slave’s clothes were changed to purest silk – more beautiful even than those that she had worn before. Then out of the cow’s mouth she came again and went to the royal kraal.

  This time the step-mother was angrier than ever, and when she heard that the clothes had come out of the stomach of the magic cow, she killed the cow, and invited all the people of the kraal to share her feast of its meat. Umusha Mwaice was too sad to join in. Instead when the feast was over, she gathered up the bones.

  “Aha,” jeered the step-mother, “she would not eat the meat, but now she picks the bones!” Little Slave took no notice. She carried the bones to the river and threw them far out into the water. Immediately there appeared on the river bank, some large and splendid huts, more magnificent than those of the royal kraal, and in them were all things needed for a bride, and food for all.