African Folk Tales

by Yoti Lane

  The leopard went straight to the drinking pool, and after that he went to look for the cunning tortoise, but he never found him, for the tortoise heard what happened, and went off to join his relatives on the Niger. And the kinkajou told everyone how the leopard had tried to kill him, and all the animals shunned the leopard harder than ever. Since then the leopard has no friends.

  THE MAN WHO WAS TOO CLEVER

  THERE WAS ONCE a boy named Lobo who was so clever, that people declared him to be the cleverest boy they had ever known. From the earliest age he seemed able to learn everything twice as fast as everyone else, and to do it with very little trouble. He had many brothers and sisters, but they were not particularly clever, and it soon came about that he was treated like some very special person, much superior to other people.

  Lobo’s family were not wealthy, and they all worked hard on their farm, and hunted in their spare time. Lobo didn’t care overmuch for hunting. He preferred to set traps. He did this so cleverly that the family were seldom short of meat, which they also shared with their neighbours. Now animals that can be eaten are known as game, and as the years passed Lobo set so many traps in the neighbourhood that game became quite scarce.

  A wise old man pointed this out to Lobo. “Ours is not a good country for game, and unless we do less trapping, and make shift with occasional meat, we shall find ourselves with none in a few years’ time. I’ve seen it happen before!”

  Lobo looked at the old man contemptuously. He reckoned there would be enough game for years to come, and he wasn’t a person who looked very far ahead, or cared much what happened to others. So he simply went ahead and continued to lay traps.

  The rest of the time he made elaborate plans. Some had to do with ways of making work easier, some were connected with the future. It was soon clear, however, that most of Lobo’s labour saving ideas were of great benefit to himself. More and more of his time was spent in advising other people how to do things, and less and less in doing anything himself. Nevertheless, between one thing and another Lobo prospered, and his family prospered along with him, and when the time came he married the daughter of a Chief. After that he did less work than ever, because Chiefs have to hold many Councils, and Lobo was always present on such occasions.

  All the same Lobo was not altogether popular. “He’s too clever,” some people said. What they really meant was that he was selfish, and indeed he was.

  With the passing of the years the scarcity of game increased just as the wise old man had predicted, and not even Lobo’s traps were of much use. It was quite an event for the village to have meat. When they did get it, it was as often as not a gift from a white man who had come to live in the district and who had guns. This man’s job was to look after the forest, and the game, and he explained to the villagers that he didn’t want to shoot more game than he could help for fear the animals would disappear altogether.

  Lobo of course had no patience with such ideas. If only he could have got possession of a gun himself he would have shot all the animals he could find, but he couldn’t obtain a gun, and he was afraid to steal one because the theft would have been traced.

  One day Lobo was wandering through the bush looking at his empty traps when he met an evil old man who practised black magic. Now this old man was very fond of meat, and like Lobo he bewailed the fact that it was so scarce.

  Lobo got into conversation with him, and made many bitter complaints about the empty traps.

  “The only person who can get game is the white man because he has guns. If I had a gun I could get it also.”

  “And what does the white man do with the game?” asked the magician.

  “If it’s very small game he eats it himself, if it’s anything bigger he shares it out, and the share is so small it isn’t worth taking as a rule,” Lobo growled.

  “It would be all right if you got the whole of it, say just for yourself, and a friend,” suggested the Magician.

  “It certainly would,” Lobo agreed, “but there’s no chance of that. The white man is a stupid fellow. He is fool enough to think everyone should share alike.”

  “I see,” said the Magician. “What if his game disappeared after he shot it?”

  “No human being could get near his camp, it’s too well guarded,” Lobo replied. “As a matter of fact I investigated that aspect of the matter long ago.”

  “But an animal might get in!” the Magician suggested.

  “What do you mean?” Lobo asked curiously.

  “If someone were willing to be turned into an animal, say a hyena, they could steal the meat quite easily. It would be a simple job for a clever fellow,” and the Magician eyed Lobo shrewdly.

  “Meaning who?” enquired Lobo.

  “You—if you aren’t afraid,” said the Magician.

  “You mean you could turn me into a hyena?” exclaimed Lobo. “I could. All I ask is that you share half the meat with me.”

  “Certainly,” said Lobo, highly delighted. “But are you quite sure you can turn me into a hyena?”

  “I can. Next time the white man makes a kill you come to me at dusk, and I’ll turn you into a hyena. Then you can creep into his camp when it’s dark, steal the meat, bring it to me, and after that I’ll turn you back into a man again.”

  Although rather scared Lobo was fascinated at the notion. Few people would have had the courage to submit to such an ordeal, he told himself. But he wasn’t like the others, he had brains.

  “I agree,” he told the Magician. “Next time the white man makes a kill, I’ll come to you. Where shall I find you?”

  “About half a mile from here you will see a very thick thorny stretch of bush. It looks as if it was a solid mass of trees and scrub, but in the centre there is a small clearing, and I have a hut there.”

  “Splendid,” Lobo said admiringly, and bade the Magician farewell.

  A couple of days later Lobo heard that the white man had shot a large buck, and that next day he was going to share it out. So at sunset Lobo hurried off to the Magician. He soon found the particular stretch of bush the old creature had described, and it was indeed an extraordinarily good hide-out. If Lobo had not had very sharp eyes he would never have found the track that led into the centre, it was like walking between solid walls of bush.

  The Magician was tending a fire over which a pot smoked and bubbled.

  “I heard you coming so I made preparations,” he explained. “Sit down for a while.” Lobo did as he was bid, and soon the Magician ladled a foul smelling brew out of the pot, and presented it to Lobo. “Now swallow it,” he commanded, and began to mutter strange incantations. Obediently Lobo swallowed the stuff, and almost at once he felt strange changes taking place in his body. He shut his eyes tightly and tried not to cry out. A moment later the strange feelings departed, and he opened his eyes to find he was a nasty looking furry creature, rather like a mixture of wolf and mongrel dog. In fact he was a hyena, that despised scavenger of the animal world.

  Lobo screwed round to have a look at himself.

  “Well, I’m not much to look at,” he commented. “But I suppose I’ll be able to do the job.”

  “You certainly will. You had better set off now, and wander round a bit just to get used to yourself,’’ advised the Magician.

  So Lobo set off, and as soon as he became accustomed to the sensation of walking on four legs instead of two he began to find the experience very interesting. All sorts of small nocturnal animals were creeping about, but they took no notice of Lobo. Hyenas never hunt, they only steal meat already killed by other animals, and the animals know this and are not afraid of them. This was very reassuring until Lobo remembered that some of the larger animals did kill hyena. After that he proceeded with the utmost caution, and made for the main highway as soon as he could.

  He then decided it would be fun to wander round the village. This he proceeded to do, slipping cleverly from shadow to shadow so that he was unobserved. Unfortunately the old adage that listeners never hear
good of themselves proved only too true because he had not gone very far before he heard two of the villagers discussing him.

  “Where is Lobo this evening?” asked one.

  “Oh probably away by himself somewhere thinking out some wonderful plan to make more work for us, and less for himself.”

  “Come now,” said the other. “You must admit most of his ideas are good?”

  “Yes, but mostly good for Lobo. No one else gets much out of them!”

  “Perhaps so, but all the same he’s a clever fellow.”

  “Too clever if you ask me.”

  Lobo was so annoyed he snarled with irritation.

  “Whatever was that?” exclaimed one of the men.

  “Oh only some nasty hyena hanging around to see if he can steal something,” replied the second, and picking up a stone threw it with such accuracy that it hit Lobo on the ear, much to his fury, but there was nothing he could do but lope off into the bush. After that he made his way slowly, and cautiously to the white man’s camp where he proceeded to spy out the land.

  The tents had been surrounded by a thick circle of thorn which no man could have penetrated, but which a hyena could slip through. The embers of the fire were dying, but as Lobo watched the boys proceeded to pile branches on it, and then they lay down round it and settled themselves for the night.

  Shortly afterwards the light in the other tent went out and the white man settled down to sleep. Lobo waited for a bit longer, then he slipped silently under the thorn hedge, lying flat in order to do so, and made his way like a shadow to the kitchen quarters. There hung a fine buck. Lobo crawled up on to the roof, loosened the buck from its hook, and it slipped to the ground. The thud it made was not very loud, and it awakened nobody. Then slowly and cautiously Lobo began the really difficult task of dragging the buck towards the hedge as quietly as possible. It had to be done very slowly so as to make no noise, and Lobo complimented himself on his nerve. One incautious tug might have ruined everything. Fortunately it was a dark night, and Lobo ran little fear of detection so long as he made no sound. When he actually got the carcass to the edge of the thorn bushes it was of course more difficult, and some noise was unavoidable, but by wriggling through himself and dragging the buck slowly after him he made little sound, and didn’t wake anyone. Once outside he was more daring, and when he got out of earshot he made up for lost time. By midnight he had reached the Magician’s hut, tired, hot and hungry.

  The Magician was delighted to see him; in an instant he was changed into a man again, and they proceeded to skin and cook the buck over a huge fire. Then they had an enormous meal, and for many nights afterwards they supped off the remains of the buck.

  The news of the theft spread round the village next morning. The white man and his servants were most upset. They had seen the footprints of an animal, and realised that some four-footed thief had stolen the buck. The villagers were terribly disappointed because they would have no meat, and the white man promised that next time he would see that the meat was not stolen.

  But during the weeks that followed the thefts continued. Lobo devised all sorts of ways of defeating the precautions taken by the white man. It became a thrilling game to pit his wits against everyone else. He believed he was quite entitled to take the meat if he was clever enough to secure it, and naturally the Magician backed him up. His task was made a little easier by the fact that he was usually able to learn in advance about any precautions that were taken to protect the meat, because during the day it was quite easy to talk to the servant boys, and find out exactly what was going on.

  By this time the white man was completely puzzled. He could not understand how any animal could be clever enough to get round all the precautions, and avoid all the booby traps laid for him. Finally, the white man began to wonder if some human was behind the thefts. He conceived the idea that perhaps some man had trained a dog to do the job. For this reason the white man decided on stern measures which he mentioned to nobody.

  That day he had killed a small deer, and he hung it beside his own tent, and determined that he would sit up all night and watch, gun in hand. Lobo had arrived early to spy out the land, but observed nothing unusual, except that the deer was hung near the white man’s bed, but that didn’t worry him very much. He was so confident by this time that he would have risked anything. Anything that was, except the real situation which he did not know about. He saw the light go out, but he did not know that the white man had fixed up a dummy in his bed, and was crouching, gun in hand a few feet from where the deer hung.

  In blissful ignorance Lobo made his way soundlessly through the thorn bushes, and crept slowly towards the spot where the deer was hanging. He had seized it in his mouth before he saw the movement made by the white man as he raised his gun. There was a flash, Lobo felt a stinging pain in his shoulder, and then he turned and fled. Even then he did not completely lose his presence of mind for he avoided the brighter patches of ground, and ran in the shadows. Also he was clever enough not to make for the spot where he had entered, but to another which he also knew.

  Shots rang out behind him as he ran, but once through the hedge he was safely in the bush, and no one could have caught him. This was just as well for his shoulder was hurting badly, and he limped painfully back to the Magician to tell the story of failure for the first time.

  The Magician was very alarmed when he heard what had happened, which of course he was unable to learn until he had changed Lobo back into a man. “This is a very serious situation,” he told Lobo. “If it were known I should be exiled for my part in it!” “But what of me!” exclaimed Lobo. “The people would be so angry they might kill me!” “That is true,” agreed the Magician. “It seems to me there is only one thing to do!” “What is that?” asked Lobo. “I’ll tell you in a minute,” said the Magician, “Here drink this, and you’ll feel better!” He handed Lobo a cup, and Lobo drank. In a moment he had turned into a hyena again. Amazed and indignant he made protesting noises. “There was nothing else I could do,” the Magician told him. “You could never have explained away that bullet wound even if I had kept you here, and succeeded in healing you. As a hyena you will recover much more quickly and easily, and no one will seek to kill you provided you keep away from the white man. Also you will be unable to talk, which is very advisable, both from your point of view and mine!”

  Snarling and snapping Lobo tried to attack the Magician, but his shoulder was too painful for him to do anything, so he sat down and sulked.

  “Calm yourself,” said the Magician. “You will find life as a hyena has its good points. If you scavenge cleverly you will get your share of all the meat that is going, and you won’t have to do any work. Now let me tend your wound!” So the Magician tended Lobo’s wound, and after that they both slept until long after the sun rose.

  They were awakened by the sound of people forcing their way through the bushes, and before they could move the white man broke into the clearing.

  “See,” he cried. “I was right. I knew all along it was some sort of trained animal that was stealing the meat. His blood has led us straight here to himself—and his owner!”

  Before the startled Magician could rise the servants at a command from the white man seized him, but Lobo was too quick for them. He darted under a thorn bush, and was soon wriggling his way to freedom. He reached the path and plunged into the bush on the other side, and didn’t pause until his wound forced him to rest.

  He had a hard time until his wound healed because he had little to eat, but when he recovered he became a notorious scavenger and thief. On the whole he didn’t greatly mind being a hyena. He would have minded a great deal more if people had known about it, but they didn’t, and among the hyena tribe he was already regarded as an up-and-coming leader. Because he was completely selfish he didn’t miss any of his family or friends.

  The Magician had been sent to gaol, and every time Lobo thought about this he laughed. It was a very loud unpleasant laugh, all hyenas laugh ve
ry unpleasantly, but Lobo sounded even less pleasant than the others. So if ever you go to Africa and hear a particularly nasty hyena laugh in the wilds at night, it’s quite likely to be Lobo thinking about the Magician languishing in gaol.

  THE BEES AND THE BUFFALO

  ONE OF THE most disagreeable and dangerous animals in the African bush is the buffalo. If he strays near crops or gardens he tramples them down. If he decides someone is an enemy he stalks him most cunningly, and attacks him from behind. If buffalo start wandering about near a village they make a lot of trouble.

  Once there was a very powerful family of these animals who became tired of where they were living, so they moved up country to a place where there was forest and river, and villages with large crops. The animals in this district were living very happily, there was no scarcity of food, and life was very pleasant. Tortoise sat on the banks of the river, deer wandered in the forest, and hares nibbled some of the crops, but there was so much that nobody minded. Of course there were dangers as there always are in the bush. Most people kept a wary eye on the snakes, and no one ventured too near the lions, but most of the animals were on very good terms.

  Then the buffalo strayed in and trouble began immediately. They trampled on the crops, they stamped on small animals and never even noticed, and they wallowed in the mud on the river bank, and the tortoise family only escaped with their lives because of their thick shells.