African Folktales

by Roger Abrahams

  55

  How Squirrel Robbed Rabbit

  of His Tail

  Rabbit and Squirrel were brothers-in-law and always had a harmonious relationship. One day Squirrel said: “Brother-in-law, let me have your tail to walk about with. I will return it.” But Rabbit refused, saying he did not want to be left without a tail. Squirrel stopped asking, but after some days he started up again: “Truly, brother-in-law, I don’t know why you refused me—I just wanted to walk about with your tail and said I would bring it back.” So finally Rabbit consented, and Squirrel took his tail, saying he would return it in eight days’ time.

  Then Squirrel went home. On his arrival there, his people admired his fine tail and asked him where he had gotten it. Said he: “My brother-in-law gave it to me.” They replied: “You are blessed indeed!”

  When the eight days had passed, did Squirrel return the tail? Not he! Nine days passed, then ten days, and on the eleventh day, Rabbit followed his tail to Squirrel’s place. On his arrival, he found Squirrel on the ground. “You have come!” said he, as soon as he saw him. Then Squirrel jumped into a tree, climbed up, and laughing heartily, said: “What have you come after, brother-in-law?” Rabbit didn’t say a word. So Squirrel asked him a second time. Rabbit answered then, saying, “As for me I am angry. You have simply deceived me. You did not bring back my tail.” Thereupon, he got very mad. Squirrel again laughed aloud, and said; “As you are so angry, perhaps you will climb up into the tree, and get your tail! If you do not climb the tree, you will never see your tail again.”

  Then Rabbit thought to himself: “What am I to do without a tail? How am I to stay among all the other animals? They have all got tails. I am the only one lacking a tail.” Thereupon, he went to a hill, and to this day, he lives among the rocks.

  —Ila

  56

  Victims of Vanity

  Once upon a time, a hare went to seek work with a lion, and agreed to attend to the drying of the meat the lion killed. One day, when the lion was away hunting and the hare was busy attending to his task, some hyenas came by and seeing the meat, asked the hare to give them some. The hare refused, explaining that it belonged to the lion, his master. But the hyenas just ignored him, and took the meat and made off with it anyhow.

  This went on every day, and the hare became so much distressed by it, that he decided to try to trap the hyenas. He dug a game pit, and after putting pointed stakes in the bottom, covered it up with grass. That afternoon he went out for the daily supply of firewood, and on his return, found to his distress, that the lion, not the hyenas, had fallen into the pit, and been killed.

  Now he had not only to defeat the hyenas, but to avenge the death of his master, as well. He raised the lion out of the pit, carefully removed the skin, dried it, and stuffed it with grass. He lay the stuffed body down in the forest close by, and attached one end of a rope to its neck; then he went back to his work. Presently, the hyenas came along, as usual asking for meat. The hare this day invited them to come and take what they wanted. Pretending to be friendly, the hare remarked how well one of them would look with a necklace, and because the hyena’s vanity was touched, he allowed the hare to fasten a rope around his neck. Now the other end of this rope was attached to the stuffed lion, so when, at the next moment, the hare called out that the lion was coming back, and the hyenas started to run away, they found that the lion followed them. Wherever they stopped to get breath, there he was, still on their tracks, so they decided to run for a hole they knew, where they could hide. After they had been there for some time, one of them gathered the courage to peep out, but there was the lion waiting for them. Day by day, they became hungrier and hungrier, but every time they looked out, they always saw the lion waiting. So the robbers grew weaker and weaker, and eventually they starved to death.

  —Wayao

  57

  Death by Burning

  Neither Hare nor Mulala Dragon had fire, so Hare suggested they steal some from the village, and Dragon agreed, but wondered how they could do it. Hare answered: “Let us be clever in our stealing.” Dragon said: “Clever in what way?” Said Hare: “Come here, Dragon, and let me tie some grass around your head,” and he did. Then Hare told him: “Go to the village. When you get there, stick your head into the fire and the grass will catch. Then run away and come back here.”

  So Dragon went to the village of men. When she got there, everyone said: “Here’s a dragon,” and ran away in fear. Dragon entered a house and found fire blazing. She put in her head, still tied round with grass, and it caught. She ran away, then, returning to Hare, calling out: “Hare! Hare!”

  Hare answered, saying: “Well!”

  “Here comes the fire!”

  “Bring it here!”

  So Dragon ran toward him. But Hare started running, too, and got far ahead, for he was much faster. Then the fire began to cover Dragon, and she died.

  When Dragon’s son saw what happened, he said: “As my mother has died from fire, I shall go and sleep in a hollow tree and in a burrow. I shall not again sit by a fire.” Then he grew very fierce, and red wattles appeared around his neck—symbols of the fire which burned his mother long ago. To this day Dragon does not warm himself by the fire, though he is frequently burnt to death in the hollow of a tree and in the burrows where he sleeps. It is Hare that showed how to kill Dragon by fire.

  —Ila

  58

  The Ant’s Burden

  Kweku Anansi and Kweku Tsin, his son, were both very clever farmers. Generally, they had fine harvests from each of their farms. One year, however, they were very unfortunate. They had sown their seeds as usual, but no rain had fallen for more than a month after and it looked as if the seeds would never sprout.

  Kweku Tsin was walking sadly through his fields one day, looking at the bare, dry ground, and wondering what he and his family would do for food, if nothing ever came up. To his surprise, there was a tiny dwarf seated by the roadside. The little hunchback asked why he was so sad, and Kweku Tsin told him. The dwarf promised to help him to bring rain to the farm. He had Tsin fetch two small sticks and tap him lightly on the hump, while singing:

  O water, go up, O water, go up,

  And let rain fall, and let rain fall.

  To Tsin’s great joy it immediately began to rain, and it kept up until the ground was good and soaked. Then the seeds sprouted and the crops began to look very promising.

  Anansi soon heard how well Tsin’s crops were growing—while his were still languishing in the earth. He went straightaway to his son and demanded to know the cause. Kweku Tsin, being an honest fellow, at once told him what had happened.

  Anansi quickly decided to get his farm watered in the same way, and immediately set out for the place where Tsin had met the little dwarf. As he went, he cut two big, strong sticks, thinking, “My son made him work with little sticks. I will make him do twice as much with my big ones.” He carefully hid the big sticks, however, when he saw the dwarf coming toward him. Again the hunchback asked what the trouble was, and Anansi told him. “Take two small sticks, and tap me lightly on the hump,” said the dwarf. “I will get rain for you.”

  But Anansi took his big sticks and beat so hard that the dwarf fell down dead. The greedy fellow was now thoroughly frightened, for he knew that the dwarf was jester to the king of the country, and a big favorite of his. He wondered how he could fix the blame on someone else. He picked up the dwarf’s body and carried it to a kola tree, climbed up, and laid it on one of the top branches. Then, he sat down under the tree to watch.

  By and by, Kweku Tsin came along to see if his father had succeeded in getting rain for his crops. “Did you not see the dwarf, father?” he asked, as he saw the old man sitting alone. “Oh, yes!” replied Anansi; “but he climbed this tree to pick kola. I am now waiting for him.” “I will go up and fetch him,” said the young man—and immediately began to climb. As soon as his head touched the body, the dwarf, of course, fell to the ground. “Oh! what have you done, you
wicked fellow?” cried his father. “You have killed the king’s jester!” “That is all right,” quietly replied the son (who saw that this was one of Anansi’s tricks). “The king is very angry with him, and has promised a bag of money to anyone who would kill him. Now I can go and get the reward.” “No! No! No!” shouted Anansi. “The reward is mine. I killed him with two big sticks. I will take him to the king.” “Very well!” was the son’s reply. “You killed him, you may take him.”

  Off set Anansi, quite pleased with the prospect of getting a reward. But when he reached the king’s court, it was only to find the king very angry at the death of his favorite. The body of the jester was shut up in a great box and Anansi was condemned—as a punishment—to carry it on his head forever. The king enchanted the box so that it could never be set down on the ground. The only way in which Anansi would ever be able to get rid of it was by getting some other man to put it on his head. This, of course, no one was willing to do.

  At last, one day, when Anansi was almost worn out with his heavy burden, he met Ant. “Will you hold this box for me while I go to market and buy some things I need badly?” said Anansi to Mr. Ant. “I know your tricks, Anansi,” replied Ant. “You want to be rid of it.” “Oh no, indeed, Mr. Ant,” protested Anansi. “Indeed, I will come back for it, I promise.”

  Mr. Ant, who was an honest fellow, and always kept his own promises, believed him. He took the box on his head, and Anansi hurried off. Needless to say, the sly fellow had not the least intention of keeping his word. Mr. Ant waited in vain for his return—and was obliged to wander all the rest of his life with the box on his head. That is the reason we so often see ants carrying great bundles as they hurry along.

  —Hausa

  59

  Their Soft Crowns Discovered

  At one time, all the eagles and hawks used to be afraid of fowls, Land especially of the cock; because of his crest of red horns they thought he must be very dangerous. One day, after talking it over, they decided to send their little brother, Katotola, smallest of the hawks, to see if their fears were warranted.

  So Katotola flew down to the earth as an ambassador of peace. He found the cock strutting about with his family and explained to him that the eagle, Kapungu, their king, wished them to be on friendly terms with the cock, but they all were afraid of his crown of red horns. The cock answered that it was not made of horn, but was quite soft. “Come and feel it,” said he, “it is nothing to be afraid of.” Katotola was frightened, but when the cock repeated the invitation, Katotola did as he asked. He was surprised to find it soft and harmless, just as the cock had said.

  The cock accepted the eagle’s message of friendliness, so Katotola said goodbye and prepared to fly away. Just then, he spied one of the cock’s daughters and no longer afraid, he darted down, picked her up, and flew with her back to the others, saying, “See here, I have carried off one of his daughters. The cock is nobody to be afraid of.” And that is the reason that today, all the eagles and hawks know that the fowls are a weak tribe, and they easily make war on them and carry off their children.

  —Wayao

  60

  The Pig’s Nose and the

  Baboon’s Rear

  Long ago, the pig and the baboon used to live together on the hillsides. One day, it was very cold and a cutting wind was blowing. As the pig and the baboon sat in the sun trying to get warm, the baboon turned to the pig, and said, “This wind is enough to wear the end of one’s nose to a blunt point.” “Yes,” answered the pig, “it’s really enough to blow the hairs off one’s buttocks and leave a bare, dry patch.” “Look here,” said the baboon, getting cross, “you are not to make personal remarks!” “I did nothing of the kind,” retorted the pig, “but you were rude to me first.” This started a quarrel, and they came to the conclusion that neither cared for the other’s company. So they parted, and the baboon went up on to the rocky top of the hill, while the pig went down to the plains, and there they remain to this day.

  —Wayao

  61

  One Trick

  Deserves Another

  Not very long ago, perhaps sixty years, perhaps more, there was a man who possessed a beautiful calf, sleek and round and full of promise. He used to feed it with great care, because he knew it was of real value and a good asset to his home. He gave it a big bundle of sweet potato vines daily, plus some porridge made of crushed maize. It was his only consolation, because his wife had been childless for years and years.

  One day, as always, he left his wife at home preparing food, saying that he was going to the field to collect the sweet potato vines and would be back soon.

  But from the field he heard the beer drinkers carousing in a village nearby. The temptation was too much for him, for the sun was hot and he was thirsty. Without considering very much what he had told his wife, he hid the long string he used for tying up the sweet potato vines and went to the feast in the village, sure that he would enjoy a few horns of beer with his chums.

  Meanwhile, at home, a cunning man, called Wakahare, approached the man’s wife, and asked: “Good woman, where is your husband?” “He left just now and went to the garden in the valley to collect a bundle of sweet potato vines for the calf you see there.” “What a beautiful calf,” said Wakahare, “very fat, well shaped, but, but—” “But what?” asked the surprised woman. “Yes, it is very sad. I don’t mean to be rude, my woman, but from what I hear everywhere this calf is the reason for your barrenness. You know, I am a medicine man, and I know something about it. But cheer up, for I think I can help you. If you like, I am ready to give you the medicines you need. Imagine your joy when you embrace your baby next year. We must kill the calf that is causing your problems, and I will tell you what to do with its blood and the contents of the stomach. After all, which means more to you, having a calf or a baby?”

  The idea of having a baby of her own in her arms was simply too alluring for the woman. Without hesitating, she agreed to Wakahare’s plan, and the calf was slaughtered. They used a calabash to collect the blood, and the contents of the stomach were collected in one of those split gourds you find in every Kikuyu home. The make-believe medicine man told her what to do with the blood and how to use the contents of the stomach. But he insisted that she should not eat the meat, not a single morsel, lest she remain barren until the end of her life.

  Later in the day, when her husband came home with the usual bundle of potato vines, he said to his wife: “Take this to the calf, for it must be hungry: I had some beer at Kemani’s and could not come before.” “But there is no calf now,” said the woman. “What do you mean?” “Well, the calf was slaughtered today at noon.” “Shut your mouth,” said the man, “and don’t fool around. Besides, I have had some beer, so I am not fully responsible for my actions.” “If you will quiet down,” answered his wife, “I will tell you all about it. A man came here, named Wakahare, and told me that I would certainly give birth to a child if only I knew how to use the blood of the calf and the contents of its stomach. I know you are longing for a child just as I always have. And after all, what is a calf when we can have a child! So we killed the calf and here is the blood and the contents of its stomach.” Her husband shouted: “You did this you fool? You must be the greatest fool on earth! I don’t know whether to beat you or slaughter you like a goat? And where is the meat?” She answered: “Wakahare took the meat, for, as he said, it’s taboo for me to eat it. If I did I could never give birth to a child.” “I can’t think of a stupider woman than you!” her husband told her. “My beautiful calf, which I had built all my fortunes on! I am leaving here. I will travel the whole world until I find another woman as stupid as you, and then I’ll bring her back to be your husband.”

  The poor man took a staff in his right hand, threw an old blanket over his shoulders, and simply left. He went on and on for many days. At last he arrived at a large village. When he asked around, he found out that it was the homestead of a very rich man. Pretending to be an ordinary trave
ler, he begged for somewhere to stay in a place nearby. Meanwhile he asked around about the rich man, his habits, his wives, and his possessions. And, as always, he found that there was no lack of people who delighted in such talk. Now he thought that he would be able to play a good trick and try his luck.

  One day the rich man went to see his herd where it was grazing. It was rather far from his home. The would-be tricker went to spy on what he was doing. Then, when he thought it was safe, he disguised himself, smearing mud and dirt all over his body and his head. Thus camouflaged, he went to the rich man’s wife. He had been fasting for three days, and so looked very emaciated. He came by as the woman was cooking her food outside her home. She looked up and saw the miserable beggar. She was horrified, and cried out.

  “Keep quiet, dear woman, keep quiet. There is nothing to fear, I won’t hurt you” said the beggar. “Who are you?” “My name is Kemando” (which was the name of a man belonging to that family who had died about twelve years before). “What did you say?” she said in a scared voice. “I come to ask something from you, which I need desperately.” “What is it?” “Money, a big pocket of money. I come in the name of Wagaki and Kenyai (two others who had recently died). They sent me to you because we have no money and we are starving.” “I am sorry, spirit,” said the woman. “We had better wait until my husband comes back. There is some porridge here if you like. Help yourself.” “No, thanks. We of the other world do not eat the kind of food you eat. I must have money only for then we are able to buy our kind of food. If you refuse, I must take you with me to our land and you will feel the pinch of hunger as we often do.” “Oh! no!” said the woman, “I don’t want to die. I am still young. There is plenty of money in this house. I’ll give it to you. You will leave immediately!” She went into her home and brought forth a big sack of money, very heavy, and threw it on the ground in front of the beggar, for she didn’t want to touch him. “It’s heavy,” she said. “If you want, I will carry it for you.” “No, no,” said the man, “don’t trouble yourself. Besides, you can’t come along, for you could never come back.” “Go away,” said the woman, “and be quick about it.”