African Folk Tales

by Yoti Lane

  He now assumed an air of surprise.

  “Oh, are you alone? I heard voices a moment ago!”

  “As you see I am alone,” rejoined the tortoise.

  “You talk to yourself !” exclaimed Chita.

  “I must talk to someone,” rejoined the tortoise.

  Chita’s little red eyes looked suspicious.

  “You shouldn’t remain alone so much. You should join one of our Committees.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing people are beginning to talk. You don’t mix with any one any more, and it gives a bad impression.”

  “How is that?” asked the tortoise, drooping his eyelids.

  “It looks as if you didn’t approve of things as they are now?”

  “Would that make any difference?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Chita suspiciously.

  “Whether I approve or not. Things are going very well. Aren’t they?”

  “Wonderfully well. That’s why we want everyone’s support. It would be such a pity if everyone weren’t happy and satisfied.”

  The tortoise closed his eyes as if preparing to doze.

  “It would be, wouldn’t it,” he said lazily.

  Flipping his tail with irritation Chita hurried away. At least he pretended to hurry away, but as soon as he got out of sight he slipped back again, and hid behind a tree. He felt sure the tortoise was up to something. But the tortoise was wily, and his mother was no fool. She kept quiet, and the tortoise apparently dozed. After some time he heard very quiet movements. Chita had given up watching and gone home.

  The days passed and the animals led a carefree existence. Food was less plentiful than it had been, but the rains were due soon, and nobody worried. All sorts of societies flourished. As well as the Cultured Crocodiles, there were the Philosophical Pigs, who met every Saturday night for a truffle feast, and the Ants’ Art Society who were Town Planners, and the crickets who had a Choral Group. There were many others as well, including the Baronial Bipeds Club, organised by Chita himself.

  But now a cloud overshadowed the animals’ carefree existence, or rather an absence of cloud was the cause for depression, for the rains didn’t come, and food became more and more scarce.

  “This is the most shocking state of affairs,” young Mrs. Zebra complained to Mrs. Doe. “Nothing like it has ever happened in my lifetime. The rains always fell with great regularity.”

  “None of us remember anything like this,” replied Mrs. Doe. “I was telling Mr. Chita that only yesterday. I do wish he’d do something about it, he seems so clever.”

  “I suggest we appoint a deputation, and go to see him,” Mrs. Zebra said, and hurried off to tell all her friends. They all agreed that the deputation was a good idea, and a large crowd got together and went off to Chita’s home.

  Chita was not there. He had made another of his secret expeditions to spy on the tortoise. He had been doing it for some days. He was almost certain now that the tortoise had someone hidden, and who could that someone be but his mother. Chita was determined to catch the old lady, and make a first class crisis. This would achieve two results, both of them very satisfactory, and secondly a scandal would keep people from thinking so much about the drought.

  When Chita crept close to the tortoise’s home he was rewarded at last. Heat and thirst had driven old Mrs. Tortoise to the mud of the river bank where she and her son were chatting quietly. Delighted, Chita sped back to his friends, hastily organised them into a band and led them to the river bank. So quietly and cunningly did they move that poor Mrs. Tortoise never sensed their presence until she was surrounded.

  “What are you going to do with my mother?” demanded the tortoise, as he glared at the grinning monkeys.

  “She is a criminal, and must stand trial. She has broken the law,” retorted Chita. Despite all pleas from the tortoise the poor old lady was turned on her back and carried off to be gaoled in Chita’s house.

  It was not easy to pick a judge and jury from the worried bush folk. They wanted food, not justice. Chita himself acted for the prosecution, and the tortoise undertook to defend his mother.

  Chita had been working for days on the case for the prosecution, and the vulture, who was judge, was prepared to agree with everything he said.

  “Your Worship,” he began. “This old woman has committed the most grievous crime against the State. She has conspired with her son to overthrow the Law. At a great cost to our own feelings we freed ourselves from the shackles imposed on us by the old people in order to win our freedom, to create a community of young people no longer dragged down by the dead weight of the old and useless. You have all seen the wonderful result.”

  At this a murmur rose in the Court.

  “We never had a drought before. How do we know it isn’t a punishment for driving away the old people?” someone shouted.

  “Silence in the Court,” cackled the Judge.

  “The voice of superstition,” Chita shrilled hastily. “How much worse would be our sufferings during the drought if we had thousands of old people to feed. If we hadn’t got rid of them we should have starved by now.”

  On and on he went until a truly terrifying case had been built up against poor Mrs. Tortoise. At length her son was allowed to speak in her defence, although no one believed his efforts on her behalf could be of any use.

  “I don’t propose to defend my mother’s action in remaining behind. The facts will do that. As far as I know there are only two people who have not suffered great hardship from lack of food in the last week or so. Myself and my mother!”

  At this audacious statement a great howl arose.

  “Quiet,” shouted the tortoise. “The reason we have had food was because my mother knows where to find it. She lived through a drought before, and survived because the old people of that day knew where to look for unknown and strange foods that enabled them to exist until things improved. None of us young people know about these things.”

  At this his words were drowned. The animals began to break up in wild disorder. “Bring back the old people to save us.” “My grandmother would never let me die of hunger.” “My mother will be able to help us.” “My father was a clever man, he’ll know about this.” “My grandfather was the oldest person in the bush, he’ll know where to find food.”

  So they all clamoured, and began to run wildly in the direction they had despatched the old people months before. No one was left but the vulture and Chita, and no one was prepared to listen to them any more. “Court adjourned,” croaked the vulture weakly, and flapped his way across the tree tops. There was always a chance that someone might have been trampled to death in the rush to find the old people.

  The tortoise and his mother made their way home, and sat quietly on the river bank. They enjoyed a very peaceful time for several days because it took the others a long time to find their exiled relatives, and even when they did find them there was a good deal of explaining to do. Most of the old people forgave their children, however, and came back, and helped them to find food until the rains came. Chita’s mother, and all his ancient relatives, and there were many of them, were the exceptions. Monkeys are rather bad tempered, vindictive people, and have long memories. That is why, to this very day such awful quarrels go on among the monkey folk.

  THE SNAKE IN THE FOREST

  IN ALMOST EVERY village in West Africa there is a story about some animal, reptile, or bird, which has been living in the neighbourhood for a very long time, such as a crocodile, a tortoise, or a snake, as these creatures live to a very old age.

  This is a story about a snake who had lived for such a long time that no one could remember when he first appeared. Because he was old, and cunning, and very large, all sorts of tales grew up around him, and many people were very frightened of him. It seems, however, that many of these stories were much exaggerated, for there is no real proof that he ever did anyone any great harm. In fact he often did a good turn, as you will hear from the story of
Yere and the snake.

  Yere was a pretty girl, and everyone said she would certainly make a very successful marriage, and right enough when the time came she married Sako, who was a strong and handsome young man, and a fine worker, and there seemed to be every hope that the marriage would be most blissful.

  This alas was not to be. Before a year had passed a new girl named Tinou came to live in the village with her aunt. Tinou was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, she was also sly and lazy. She had resolved to make a good marriage, but it seemed to her that the most attractive man in the village was already married, because Sako was the one man she wanted. Now it is the custom in some parts of Africa for a man to have several wives if he can afford to keep them, so Tinou resolved to try and induce Sako to make her his second wife.

  So every day the wicked Tinou made some opportunity to talk to Sako, and gradually they became more and more friendly, until after some months had passed, Sako decided he would marry Tinou. This upset Yere terribly but it was not until the marriage had taken place that she realised what a very bad thing it was. Once Tinou was married she used all her cunning to make Yere miserable, because she wanted to get rid of her.

  Sako had no idea of the truth of matters because he was very busy, and he was quite bemused by Tinou, and thought Yere was making things worse than need be. Gradually Tinou poisoned his mind until poor Yere found that her position was worse than that of a slave. So she stayed at home, and moped, and wept, while Tinou went with Sako to feasts and dances. All the good things went to Tinou and not to Yere. Good food, fine clothes, jewellery, and everything else that was to be got.

  So Yere became almost an outcast, and spent much of her time wandering in the forest, weeping. One day she was particularly unhappy because there was to be a great feast, and she had no new clothes. She decided she would stay away rather than appear in her old ones, while Tinou openly triumphed over her.

  So she ran away to hide her grief in the lonely forest. She was sitting sobbing on a tree trunk when she heard a voice.

  “What are you crying for?” the voice asked, in the low harsh tones of a very old man.

  Yere looked round but could see nobody. Then near her feet she saw a large snake, watching her with strange beady eyes that looked as if they knew everything.

  Between her sobs Yere told the snake about the cruel way Tinou and Sako treated her. “Now,” she ended, “all the neighbours know about it, and I am not going to the feast in my old clothes to be shamed before everyone.”

  “Can’t you get any new clothes?” enquired the snake.

  “No, Tinou takes everything, and pretends that I am sulking and don’t want to have new clothes.”

  “Why don’t you explain to your husband?” asked the snake.

  “Because I have some pride. I’ve tried to explain, but it’s no use. He just thinks I’m jealous.”

  “I suppose you are too,” said the snake.

  “Of course I am. Who wouldn’t be, but if he would treat me more fairly I’d put up with it. It’s the Law that a man can have two wives, but it’s not the Law that one should be made a Queen and the other a slave.”

  The snake shook himself impatiently, and the sound was like dry leaves blowing along the ground.

  “You people can be very silly and cruel,” he told Yere. “These things don’t happen between snakes.”

  “I suppose not, but what can I do? I’m not a snake.”

  “All the worse for you!”

  The snake became thoughtful.

  “What do you want to do? Go to the party in a fine dress and make Tinou sick with envy, and try and make your husband like you again?”

  Yere nodded. “That’s what I want to do, but I haven’t got a dress, so I can’t.”

  “You come along with me,” the snake said in such a firm voice that Yere could do nothing but follow him as he slid away through the grass. After they had gone a short distance the snake suddenly began to disappear; first his head, then his body, and then the tip of his tail vanished. Yere gazed helplessly after him. Why had she been so silly as to believe a snake, everyone knew they weren’t to be trusted. Tears rolled down her cheeks once more.

  “Come, come,” she heard the dry voice say. “Don’t stand there crying. Stoop down and wriggle in.”

  Yere then saw that a small bush had been bent by the passing of a heavy body. She found that behind the bush there was a hole between some rocks. The hole was just large enough for her to wriggle through. Down, down she went, into the dark, and once more she wondered if she had been tricked. Then quite suddenly, it was light again, and she was in a large cave, lit from a gap in the rocks high above.

  Yere gazed around in amazement. The walls of the cave seemed to be hung with gleaming cloth all the colours of the rainbow. Yere looked at these bright, beautiful strips, and gaped.

  “Pretty good, aren’t they?” chuckled the snake. “Those are my old clothes, but they are a lot better than yours, aren’t they?”

  “They are beautiful!” Yere gasped. “Much more beautiful than any clothes I’ve seen before.”

  “Of course they are. Now take your choice. Pick out one to wear at the feast.”

  “You mean you’re going to give me one?”

  The snake shook his head.

  “That might cause trouble in the end. I’ll lend you one.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you!” Yere sobbed.

  “You’ll thank me best by drying your tears, looking pretty and cheerful again so that you can do my clothes credit and have a good time at the feast. Now, which one will you choose?”

  Yere walked round fingering the beautiful skins, and finally chose one that seemed to hold all the colours of the setting sun.

  “This one, please,” Yere said humbly. “When shall I bring it back?”

  “Bring it back at sunset in three days’ time, and if it’s in good order you may have the loan of it again some time, or of any of the others.”

  Yere felt overcome with gratitude.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you. You are very good to me.”

  “I don’t like people crying round my forest disturbing my afternoon nap. It’s uncomfortable. If you think wearing my old skin is likely to make things better, then I can have my nap in peace.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it will,” Yere asssured him. “And I’ll take great care of your skin.”

  The snake puffed himself a little.

  “You’d better. If you don’t I shall be very, very cross. I’ve never lent anything to anyone before.”

  Yere slipped away and walked through the forest as if on air. Help had certainly come from an unexpected quarter, and she pinned all her hopes on the idea that if only her husband could see her as he used to do, looking beautiful, and carefree, he would cease to neglect her.

  Yet she felt that in taking the snake skin she was taking a risk also. Ever since she was a little girl she had heard about the ancient, mysterious snake, who was so powerful. Suppose some accident befell the dress, what then? She was perfectly well aware that if Tinou knew about the skin she would destroy it if she got the chance.

  Yere stopped when she reached the edge of the village. It was deserted; the people had not yet come back from their farms. Yere slipped quickly to her hut, hid the snakeskin, and then set about preparing supper. She could hide the skin but she could not hide the light in her eyes, and Tinou looked at her curiously as she went about her tasks.

  “Where did you spend the afternoon?” asked Tinou, wondering what had happened to make Yere cheerful. “Oh, I just went for a walk in the forest,” Yere replied. “You spend a lot of time in the forest,” Tinou remarked. “Perhaps you have friends there?”

  “Perhaps I have,” Yere answered airily. She felt quite safe because no one ever went to the remote corner where the snake lived; everyone was too much afraid of him.

  Still Tinou was not satisfied. She could scarcely eat her supper for wondering what it was that had caused Yere to change from someone utterly
crushed to a cheerful girl again. “Anyhow she won’t dare to come to the feast in her old rags, and even if she does Sako won’t notice her. Maybe I can manage to do something to provoke her, and then Sako will send her back to her own people in disgrace. Then I’ll be his first, and only wife,” thought Tinou.

  Sako had come in late to supper, and he was too hurried to notice any change in Yere, even if he had had eyes for her, which he had not. By this time he had come to believe that Tinou’s criticisms of Yere were true, that she was jealous and ill-humoured, and that perhaps he had made a mistake in marrying her in the first place.

  After supper Yere went quietly to her hut, and sat there waiting for the others to go to the feast. Soon she heard them pass.

  “Where is Yere? Isn’t she coming?” she heard Sako ask Tinou.

  “She said she didn’t want to come. She was quite disagreeable about it,” lied Tinou. “It’s better for her to remain at home as she’s so disagreeable.”

  “Perhaps I’d better go in and speak to her,” Sako suggested.

  “Why should you bother,” Tinou asked swiftly. “Let us forget about her, and be happy. You know she only makes you miserable,” and she seized his hand, and dragged him along the path.

  Tears started to Yere’s eyes, but she fought them back. Then she bathed, and dressed her hair, put on what ornaments Tinou had left her, and lastly draped herself in the snakeskin. Then she set off for the feast.

  By this time the feast was at its height, and Tinou felt very satisfied with herself. She was the most beautiful woman there. All the other women envied her, and no one spoke of Yere. Sako also seemed to have completely forgotten his first wife. “Yere might just as well not exist,” Tinou told herself triumphantly.