The Best of African Folklore

by Phyllis Savory

  Then the hare handed the whistle to the little buck and said, “Your turn now. I will dance by myself.”

  The dik-dik was so pleased with his new toy, and played it with such joy that he did not notice the hare dancing nearer and nearer to the pond. Finally he reached it, and quickly drank up all the water. The animals were angrier than ever when once more they had to go without their midday drink.

  It was then that the tortoise asked if he could be left on guard the following day. All the animals readily agreed, for he was known to be an honest fellow, and was admired for his wisdom and his cunning.

  He went very stealthily to the forest before it was light next morning, and smeared a strong layer of sticky sap from one of the forest trees, on his back. Then, making himself look as much like a stone as possible, he waited in the middle of the path at the water’s edge.

  Presently the hare came tripping along the path singing to himself, looking around to see if there was anyone on guard, and wondering how he should trick him this time? There seemed to be no one on guard, and nothing but some stones in the pathway, so he hopped from stone to stone until he was standing on the tortoise himself. There he bent down to drink.

  “Got you at last!” cried the tortoise, as the hare’s lips touched the water.

  The hare stood up and tried to turn round to see who had spoken, but he could not lift his feet from where he was standing!

  They were firmly stuck to the tortoise’s back, and how the tortoise laughed at his struggles!

  The glue held fast, and the more he struggled, the more frantic the hare became. Anyway, that was where the animals found him when they came for their midday drink.

  They beat the wicked hare and then strung him up by his arms to a high tree, promising to kill him the next morning.

  Now, the jackal who had been away working in his tobacco fields for a week or so, knew nothing of the hare’s tricks, and shortly after sun-up on the following morning he happened to pass the tree where the hare hung by his paws. “Hullo!” exclaimed the jackal in surprise, “whatever are you doing up there?”

  “I’m playing a wonderful game,” replied the hare. “Come and play with me. It’s much more fun with two.”

  “All right,” answered the jackal, who was always ready for a bit of fun. “What shall I do?” “First undo this rope, and I will pull you up beside me,” answered the hare. The jackal did so, and in no time the hare had hauled him up and tied him by the paws in his place. “Bye!” called the hare, with a rude laugh, and left him. And when the animals arrived later in the morning to punish the wicked hare, all they found was one sore jackal instead.

  THE MISCHIEF MAKER

  KIKUYU

  For many years a lion and a jackal had been devoted friends. Each had his own private hunting ground in the forest, and when he had made a kill, he would call loudly for the other to join him. They would then eat and chat happily together and discuss the news of the forest.

  But Sunguru the hare was highly jealous of this friendship, because they hadn’t invited him to join them. So he planned to make mischief between them. “I’ll put one against the other,” he decided, and it was not long before he thought out a plan.

  The next time that he saw the two friends set out for their hunting-grounds, Sunguru hid between the two areas and waited. Before long he heard the lion call, “Friend, friend, come quickly! I have found some honey.”

  Imitating the jackal’s voice as well as he could, the hare called back, “Eat by yourself. I’m tired of being friends with you!”

  The lion was most upset when he heard what he thought was his friend. He did not understand why the jackal should be so rude. However, he went sadly on his way and said nothing. So all that day and for several days after, the jackal listened in vain for his old friend’s voice.

  Sunguru stayed in hiding between the two hunting-grounds, and eventually the jackal made a good kill after which he called loudly to his friend, “Lion, lion, come quickly and eat with me! I have killed a bush pig.”

  “Then eat it alone! I don’t want to be friends with you,” the hare called back in a voice as much like the growl of a lion as his small throat could manage. The jackal could hardly believe his ears. “How can an old companion treat me like that?” he muttered sorrowfully to himself. “One day I’ll get my own back.”

  Life was now very lonely for the two animals. Each one wandered about on his own until one day the lion could bear it no longer. “There must have been a mistake!” he said to himself. “I’m going to call my friend over the next time I have something to share.” So the very next time he found some food, he swallowed his pride and called out, “Friend jackal, come and share!”

  However, Sunguru was still stirring up trouble, so he replied loudly in the jackal’s voice, “Eat alone, I tell you! I don’t need your friendship!”

  This time the lion was very angry. “Wait until I meet that jackal!” he snarled. “I will kill him for treating me like that.”

  The jackal was equally annoyed when he too found his attempt to heal the friendship was answered with another insult. The two friends drifted farther and farther apart, each furious with the other – until they met accidentally one day in another part of the forest.

  The lion bared his fangs and prepared to attack the jackal who promptly backed down an ant-bear hole. From there, he decided he could safely tell the lion what he thought of his rude behaviour.

  As they listened to each other’s story, it wasn’t long before they realised that someone had planned to make mischief between them. “We must find out who it is,” said the lion. So they decided to go to their own hunting-grounds, where the lion would once more call the jackal to his kill. The jackal would be waiting to catch whoever answered.

  It did not take long before they heard the hare answering rudely as before, but the hare found himself caught as the jackal crept up quietly behind him. The lion joined the jackal, and they told Sunguru angrily that they were going to kill him then and there for his treachery (which they did). After that they made a vow to hunt his children and his children’s children for evermore. And that explains why the jackal hunts the hare to this very day, and the lion continues to call the jackal to his kill.

  Narrator: Gwida Mariko

  THE HARE AND THE REEDBUCK

  ZAMBIA

  Good looking wives were scarce where the hare and the reedbuck lived. One day the two animals decided to make a journey together and search for the right type of wife.

  As you may (or may not) know, it is the plump and well-rounded wife who fetches the greater marriage price and, as they walked along, the reedbuck boasted that he would naturally be looked upon as the wealthier of the two, and would therefore have the better choice.

  “Nephew,” he said, “I’m looking for a nice fat girl; one with big buttocks and strength in her arms. But who will ever marry you? No sensible girl would ever marry such a skinny creature. All you’ll get will be an equally skinny wife who will only have the strength to scratch the earth to sow your crops. Oh, ho, ho!” and he laughed most unpleasantly at the hare.

  However, the hare assured the reedbuck that he would go on searching until he did find a fat bride. So, after three days, they arrived at a village where there were many beautiful girls, and there they decided to stop, for the choice of brides was magnificent.

  The girls were full of grace and beauty, their huts were clean and tidy, and the ripening grain from their fields was bursting with plenty. The hare and the reedbuck rested, and looked around.

  Before long, the reedbuck called an old man and, giving him a love token, begged him to approach the parents of one of the maidens and make an offer of marriage, as was the custom.

  Because some little time had passed and the old man had still not returned, the hare laughed at the reedbuck. “No wonder she doesn’t want you: you eat only green beans from their gardens!” And he laughed loudly.

  The reedbuck was annoyed. “Be quiet, will you?” he sai
d. “Have you no respect for your uncle?” But just then the old man returned, with the news that the parents had accepted the reedbuck’s request for their daughter’s hand.

  “Ah!” smirked the reedbuck to the hare. “Your tongue ran ahead of you! You spoke too soon of the way the wind would blow, we’ll see what happens when your turn comes. My wife is strong and plump.”

  “Yes,” agreed the hare, “you are indeed fortunate. With such a wife, people will bow down before you when you take her back to our village.”

  Before long the wedding preparations began, and a cow was killed to provide meat for the marriage feast.

  “I too am going to find a wife!” said the hare.

  So he went to the same old man, and asked him to go to the parents of a particularly plump girl whom he had been watching, and tell them that he had spoken to their daughter, that she was in love with him, and wanted to marry him. (This, of course, was a lie!)

  “What!” gasped the girl, when her parents asked her. “Marry that skinny little runt? Why, I have never even spoken to him!” The same thing happened each time the hare tried to find a bride. The girls laughed at him and turned him down, because he was so small and skinny, and his envy of the reedbuck’s good fortune grew and grew.

  As the time for the reedbuck’s marriage drew near, the hare began to think out plans for his uncle’s downfall until he finally hit upon what he thought was a splendid idea. Late one night, a couple of days before the wedding, he crept stealthily into the goat pen belonging to the father of the reedbuck’s future bride, and killed several of his goats. He drained the blood from one of these into a gourd and removed its skin. Then he went quietly to the reedbuck’s hut, where he found uncle reedbuck in a very deep sleep. With great care he smeared him well with goat blood, and covered him with the skin.

  By this time the remaining goats, smelling the blood of their companions, began to bleat, so the villagers came out of their huts to see what had happened. Everyone, that is, except the reedbuck, who was such a heavy sleeper that no amount of noise ever woke him.

  The hare quickly mixed with the crowd, and when the dead goats were discovered, he exclaimed, “Oh, this is dreadful. I must tell my uncle reedbuck what has happened. He may be able to catch the culprit.” He asked the father of the reedbuck’s bride to accompany him, as he said he was afraid to go alone.

  By the light of blazing torches they went to the reedbuck’s hut and, pushing the door aside, went in. There they saw him asleep in a pool of blood with the skin of a freshly killed goat covering him.

  “Oh! this is even more dreadful,” cried the hare, as an angry crowd gathered at the door and shouted for the reedbuck to be killed. Time and again the poor reedbuck protested that he was innocent, but the proof was there for all to see, and the blood and the skin seemed proof enough of his guilt.

  He was beaten severely, and driven from the village in disgrace, while everyone praised the clever hare for finding the killer of the goats so quickly.

  In fact, the bride’s father was so grateful that he gave his plump daughter to the hare as a reward. And that was how the hare, with many chuckles at his own cunning, married the reedbuck’s bride.

  THE JACKAL BUILDS A HUT

  LESOTHO

  One day the animals asked the jackal, who was well known for his skill as a builder, to build them a house where they could gather together and enjoy themselves. He was happy to do so and set to work with a will. He worked hard, and soon had the walls up and the roof timbers in place.

  Then he gathered the grass, and had started to thatch it when the hare came sauntering past. “Hullo, old friend,” said the hare, “isn’t it difficult, doing all that thatching by yourself?”

  “Very,” answered the jackal, pushing a large thatching needle through the grass, and carefully sewing it on to the rafters.

  “Surely two can do it better than one?” asked the hare. “Let me go inside and push the needle back to you. I am always happy to help a friend.”

  “Thank you,” said the jackal gratefully, “that is good of you. It will be a great help.” So the hare went inside the hut and climbed up to the roof, where he began to help the jackal to sew the thatch.

  Now the hare was not really trying to be helpful; he had a very different idea in mind. Presently he saw a chance. With great care he pulled the jackal’s tail through the thatch and firmly sewed it with the grass to the rafters.

  Knowing that the jackal was now quite unable to jump down from the roof, the wicked hare went outside and took the pot of food that the jackal had left bubbling on the fire. He carried it to where the jackal could see him and began to eat it with much smacking of his lips. “Look at me eating!” he called up. “My! it tastes good. Aren’t you coming to join me?”

  The jackal had gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare that stew, and he didn’t want to share it with anybody. So he shouted, “Leave my stew alone!” But he could not move from where he was: his tail was too securely sewn to the rafters. No amount of pulling would loosen it.

  The hare then climbed onto the roof and killed the poor jackal, after which he carefully skinned him. Then, putting on the jackal’s skin over his own, he sat down once more beside the pot of stew and continued his meal.

  While he was enjoying his stolen feast, the jackal’s brother came walking past and thought he recognised his own brother. So he called out, “Good morning brother! We haven’t seen each other for a long time. May I join you at your meal?” He was carrying a bag over his shoulder, and he put this down on the ground beside him.

  “What have you got in there?” asked the hare, pointing to the bag after they had been talking for a while.

  “Dagga,” whispered the jackal’s brother. “There’s a good price for such stuff. Don’t breathe a word to anyone, but there is plenty more of it in my fields!” he added with a sly wink.

  “Oh dear!” cried the hare, pretending to look up in alarm, and keeping the jackal’s skin round him, “the house that I am building is falling on us. Come quickly, and help me to hold it up!”

  Obligingly, the second jackal rushed to put his paws against the wall that he thought was collapsing, and pushed with all his strength.

  “Whatever you do don’t let go, or it will fall and kill you,” advised the hare as he picked up the bag of dagga and slung it over his shoulder. Then off he went, well pleased with himself. Of course the dead jackal’s brother was much too afraid of being crushed, to leave off holding up the wall.

  Needless to say, the hare had every intention of making a good profit from his stolen bag of dagga so that’s the last we shall see of him. And the dead jackal’s brother may still be there, holding up the wall of the hut.

  THE WICKED CANNIBAL

  KWAZULU

  While their father worked in a faraway country, little Ncinci and her brother Mvemve lived with their mother in the hills of KwaZulu.

  Maluzwane was a good mother. Her hut was clean and neat; her little ones were plump, and glossy from the lion fat that was rubbed into their strong young bodies each week. Lion fat, of course, was scarce, but everyone knew that the fat of the “Great One of the Forest” was good medicine for strength and beauty. Maluzwane did everything she should for the little ones.

  Clothes were the least of her worries. Ncinci wore a little beaded string skirt. Mvemve was even easier to clothe, for he wore nothing at all.

  They played every day with their friends, modelling small clay oxen, bathing in the nearby river, trapping birds – in fact, all the games that small black children play.

  One day the girls and the boys went off to play in different directions. Ncinci and the other girls decided on some river games and went to bathe. The boys took a bag of grain to use as bait, and went to trap birds in the nearby hills, to roast for their midday meal.

  Soon there came shouts of fun and laughter from the river as the girls tumbled about in the water and ducked each other; while from the hills arose a long, thin spiral of smoke as
the boys started a fire on which to roast the birds they caught.

  While the fun was at its highest, little Ncinci’s string skirt came undone, and the woven string and wooden beads went floating down the river, bobbing and swirling as the swiftly running water carried them away.

  “Oh!” she cried, “my lovely new skirt!” She turned to the girl nearest to her and said, “Please help me to catch it, before it is lost.”

  But her little friend replied, “That’s nothing to do with me.”

  Ncinci turned to one of the bigger girls and said, “Please help me to catch my skirt. Your legs are longer than mine.”

  However, the older ones wouldn’t help her either, and the string skirt bobbed farther and farther away. Ncinci began to weep, and ran splashing through the shallow water after it. But it always escaped her.

  Once her hand was on it, but a wicked swirl of water swept it away from her fingers.

  “Oh no!” she cried, “the water is holding me back. My legs move faster on the land.” She scrambled up the bank and ran across to a shallow ford she knew around the river bend, to wait for her skirt to come floating by.

  By this time she was out of sight of her friends and too concerned about rescuing her pretty little skirt to notice a tall black man with a big bag slung over his shoulder walking down the riverbank.

  “Why are you running so fast, my little one?” asked the stranger.

  “Please help me get my skirt!” she begged, pointing to where it bobbed up and down as the current carried it on.