African Folk Tales

by Yoti Lane

  THE LAME AND THE BLIND

  IN A VILLAGE there were two men who met with great misfortune. One of them began to get a cataract over his eyes and to grow blind. The other had a severe fever, and it was a long time before he recovered. When he did recover he found that he was lame. Instead of being able to walk, and run about and tend his farm he had to sit down and watch others, so he found himself in the company of the blind man, who also had to remain idle.

  “Ah, if only I had your legs,” mourned the lame man. “I could go and work on my farm. Now I feel as useless as a log.”

  “And if only I had your eyes,” complained the blind man, “then I could make use of my legs.”

  This gave the lame man an idea.

  “You are a fine, big, strapping fellow, and I am small. If you will carry me on your back, I’ll tell you which way to go, and we need not sit idly here,” he suggested.

  “That wouldn’t be easy,” said the blind man.

  “I know it wouldn’t, but it’s worth trying!” So the lame man climbed on the blind man’s back.

  “Now set out, I’ll be your eyes, and you can be my legs!”

  So off they went. At first it was a slow and clumsy business, because the blind man tripped over small obstacles, but they went on trying, and after some weeks they got around splendidly, and went off and tended their farms, and did not have to sit idle any more.

  As time passed there was little they could not do, and they even became a little jealous of each other, each trying to outdo the other in some small feat.

  “Let us kill a chicken for dinner,” the lame man suggested one day. “However shall we manage to do that?” asked the blind man.

  “You do exactly as I say, and we’ll manage it. When I say ‘Run,’ don’t be afraid to run.”

  “All right,’’ agreed the blind man, “but I don’t like it.”

  So they proceeded to run after the chicken, and after a strenuous chase they caught it.

  “Now you sit down,’’ said the lame man. “I’ll prepare the chicken, and we’ll have a real feast.”

  As the lame man prepared the chicken he began to think that it would be a great pity if he had to share it with the blind man. He thought very hard about how he could manage to keep it all for himself. As he was washing the chicken in the stream he saw a very large frog sitting on the bank. Edging forward he suddenly threw himself on the startled frog, and killed it. Then he proceeded to prepare it for cooking along with the chicken. He knew some frogs were tender, and he hoped this one was.

  Then he began to wonder if the flavour would give the game away so he put a great deal of spice, and pepper into the pot.

  When the chicken was cooked he judged that the frog must be cooked also, so he took them out, and put them on a large dish which he took along to the blind man.

  “What a long time you have been,” the blind man complained, when he heard his companion crawling along.

  “I cooked the chicken in a very special way, I’m sure it’s going to taste different to any chicken you ever ate before,” said the the lame man, and putting down the dish, he carefully turned the side with the frog towards his companion.

  “I seem to have the whole bird,” the blind man said as he groped round the frog.

  “I want you to have the best of it, just pull off a little bit for me,” the lame man replied.

  So the blind man picked up the frog, and tried to tear it in halves, but the frog was very tough, and gave him great trouble.

  “You certainly have cooked this in a very special way, it’s so tough I can’t tear it apart,” the blind man said angrily.

  “It must have been a tough old bird,” replied the lame man. “Give it a good hard pull; you’ll find it will be delicious once you do get it apart.”

  So the blind man gave a mighty heave, and the frog flew in halves, and the pepper with which it was coated flew into the blind man’s eyes. The blind man danced, and howled, and wept and blinked, and then to his great surprise he suddenly found he could see once more.

  The first thing he saw was what he held in his hands, and it was quite evident it was not a chicken. His face became convulsed with rage, and the lame man realised that unless he could escape he was in for a good beating. He was so terrified that he began to run, not realising the amazing fact that he had regained the use of his legs.

  So the lame man ran, and the blind man pursued him right through the village, and out into the open country until they encountered a farmer returning from work. He was a great big burly man, so the lame man ran and hid behind him.

  “Save me, save me,” he cried. “I’m a poor cripple, and the blind man will kill me.”

  The farmer looked at the pair, and decided that the first one must be mad.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “How can you be a cripple, when you are running like the wind, and how can this fellow be blind when he is running after you?”

  So they both began to talk at once until the bewildered farmer had grasped the truth of their story.

  “This man is violent, he’s a dangerous fellow,” ended the lame man. “Our chicken must now be eaten by the dogs.”

  “And this fellow is a cheat and a villain,” yelled the blind man. “He tried to fob me off with a frog for my dinner.”

  The farmer began to roar with laughter.

  “Well I think you must both be mad. You’ve got back the use of your legs,” he told the lame man, “and you’ve got back your sight,” he reminded the blind man, “and all you can do is to squabble over a silly chicken and a frog.”

  At this the two men quietened down and looked sheepish.

  “You’re right,” said the lame man, “we are very silly people. And I apologise for trying to cheat you over the chicken, my old friend, it’s because I was so jealous that you had good legs, and I was lame—or at least I thought I was.”

  “I quite understand,” the blind man responded. “Anyhow, it was all for the best.”

  So the two of them patched up their quarrel, and turned and hurried back to the village to tell everyone of the wonderful thing that had happened to them.

  Which proves that disappointments are often blessings in disguise.

  BUSH BABY

  THERE WAS A time in Africa when the country was torn by war, and when it was the custom that the victor took away large numbers of the vanquished people to be his slaves. No one was safe, men, women, and even little children, were taken from their homes, formed into gangs, and made to walk through the bush for miles and miles, until they came to the victor’s country. There they had to work hard for long hours, and could be bought or sold, or traded for goods.

  There was a little boy named Abu whose mother lived in constant dread of war and slave raids. When she was a little girl her parents had been stolen in such a raid, and she had only escaped by hiding in the bush. She was determined that this fate should not overtake her little son, and she told him many times what he must do if strange, fierce men appeared in the village. He was to take to the bush, and hide for a long time, and not come out of hiding until he was quite sure that the slavers had gone.

  Abu was very sad when his mother talked of these things, but most of the time he was very gay and happy, because life was pleasant and carefree. Most days his mother took him with her when she went to work on their farm where they grew food. Abu loved the early morning walk to their particular patch of land, and even more he loved returning home in the evening when the fires were lighted, and everyone had a meal, and then sat round and told stories.

  The only thing that really scared Abu was the witch who lived some distance from the village. She was a bent and wrinkled old hag whom the villagers visited when there was sickness, or drought, or any other misfortune, and she was reputed to make magic remedies, and to obtain favours from the gods. Abu’s mother tried to calm his fears. “She is a wise woman, and must be respected,” she told him. “But isn’t she wicked and cruel?” Abu asked. “I have heard th
at she changes people into animals if they displease her.” “Then be careful not to displease her,” the mother replied.

  However Abu was taking no chances. He never went near the house of the witch, and if he saw her coming he ran away, and hid, for she was terrifying in her strange garments, and her bracelets of monkey fur.

  Then came rumours of war in the district. Many men went away to fight (among them Abu’s father), and by and by came news that they had been defeated, that Abu’s father was dead, and that the victorious armies were marching upon the villages.

  To make sure her son was safe, Abu’s mother hid with him in the bush near their farm, and never left him except to gather food. “If I don’t come back don’t try to follow me,” she said when she left him each morning. For many days this went on, and always after a few hours the mother came back to her son. But one day she did not come back. Abu waited all day till the sun went down, and then lonely and frightened of the dark he made his way cautiously to the village.

  A dozen times, as he crept through the bush, he felt sure he was being followed, but he found that it was only animals, and birds, moving around uneasily because of all the strange sights, and sounds that had made that day so unlike other days.

  Abu met no strangers, and as he drew near the village he saw the light of the evening fires, and heard men singing. Heartened he hurried forward thinking that nothing much could be wrong after all, but when he drew near he saw a terrible sight. Nearly all the people of the village were crouching on the ground in chains while their captors laughed, danced, and made merry in the firelight. Anxiously Abu looked for his mother, and then he saw her, one of the crowd of captives. Forgetting all her warnings he cried out, and the men round the fire turned and saw him.

  “Run, Abu, run into the bush!” cried the mother, and as the men started towards him, Abu turned, and ran. He slipped through bushes, and around tall trees, slid down deep gullies, and hid under river banks. Now the pursuers were far away, now they were near. On and on Abu struggled. At last in the distance, he saw a light, and made towards it. It was a small, mean house, but to Abu it meant shelter, protection. Without pausing to knock, he opened the door, and darted into the dim interior. The moment he had done so he realised this was no ordinary house, the walls were hung with strange objects, and a small, smoky fire burned in the room. The figure that rose to greet him was clad in curious robes, and had a wizened face like a monkey. It was the witch’s house.

  Bad as this was, at least Abu knew the witch, and he did not know the strangers who pursued him. “Hide me, hide me!” he gasped. “The slavers are after me!” Without saying a word the witch flung a skin over him, and sat so that she hid his small bulk. Then the men dashed in.

  When they saw the witch they paused in dismay, for they were just as much afraid of her as Abu was.

  “What is this? Why do you come to my house?” the witch asked in her strange, harsh voice. “We are seeking a boy, he ran this way!” quavered the leader. “Go about your business,” said the witch. “Those who enter this house do it at their peril!” The men muttered among themselves, and then withdrew. The witch hobbled across to a small hole in the wall, and watched and listened for some minutes.

  “You may come out,” she told Abu at last. “They have gone further into the bush.”

  “But they will come back,” Abu said sadly as he threw the skin aside.

  “True, but they will not come here. What are you going to do?” Abu sighed.

  “I do not know. My father has been killed in the wars, and my mother is captured. I must try and follow them when they take her away, or else I shall not know where she has gone, and will never see her again.”

  “How do you hope to follow the slave gang without being captured, or else starved or left behind?”

  “I don’t know,” Abu said unhappily. Then he thought over some of the things he had heard about the witch, and almost quivering with fright at his own idea, he made a suggestion.

  “Couldn’t you help me? I have heard that you can change people into animals. Please change me into something else, and then I can follow my mother.”

  The witch looked at him curiously.

  “Aren’t you afraid?” she asked.

  “How can things be much worse?” Abu asked.

  “I suppose not,” replied the witch. “What sort of animal do you want to be?”

  Abu looked thoughtful, it was very difficult.

  “I can’t be a crocodile because I couldn’t follow them over the land. If I’m a lion they might kill me, and in any case a lion would frighten my mother. If I’m a giraffe I’ll be too remarkable. If I’m a deer I’ll probably be attacked and killed by the lions. If I’m a nasty looking animal like a bush pig I’ll frighten my mother just as much as if I’m a lion. Oh dear, it is difficult.”

  “I would advise you to be something small and unremarkable but at the same time quite pretty so you won’t frighten your mother when she finds out it’s you. I would also suggest that you become a nocturnal animal, that is one that sleeps a lot in day time, and travels at night because that is what the slavers are likely to do.”

  “That seems a good idea,” Abu agreed. “But what shall I be?”

  “I think you’d better be a bush baby. They are very small, no bigger than a squirrel, they travel through the tree tops or run over the ground with equal ease, and no one notices them. You will be quite safe.”

  Abu clapped his hands with joy.

  “Oh, thank you so much!” he cried.

  The witch grunted.

  “You sit down and keep quiet. I have much to do!”

  Abu watched round-eyed while the witch made strange, and mysterious preparations. She placed a huge pot on the fire, and proceeded to throw into it a lot of peculiar looking, and vile smelling, substances. Soon there was much steam and smoke in the air and the witch began muttering incantations that made Abu quake with terror.

  Then the witch fell silent, poured some of the brew into a cup, and handed it to Abu.

  “Drink!” she commanded.

  As he was about to raise the cup to his lips Abu was struck by an alarming thought.

  “I forgot,” he gasped. “I don’t want to be a bush baby for ever. You will change me back again, won’t you?”

  “You come back to me when you want to resume your normal form, and I’ll change you back,” replied the witch.

  Looking into her wicked, laughing eyes, Abu felt sick with doubt. Could he trust her? He did not know. He would have to take the risk.

  Abu raised the cup to his lips. It was very bitter, but he drained it to the dregs.

  Almost immediately he experienced the strangest feelings. He felt as if he were melting away, and sank to the floor out of weakness and fright. For a moment everything whirled round him, and he gave himself up for dead. Then the whirling stopped, Abu opened his eyes, and saw the witch towering above him.

  “How you’ve grown,” he quavered, at which the old woman gave a horrible cackle. “Look at yourself !” she croaked.

  Abu stretched out his arm, or what had been his arm, now it was a delicate little paw covered in fine fur, and ending in queer claw like fingers. Then he looked at his legs. They had almost disappeared. He found he was a tiny animal no bigger than a squirrel. For a moment he felt completely panic stricken, then he moved cautiously, and the next moment he had run up the wall, and was hanging suspended from the ceiling, although he had no notion why he had done such a peculiar thing.

  “Well, you’re a bush baby all right,” said the witch.

  “I’m certainly something peculiar,” Abu replied and found his voice had turned to a high, shrill squeak, but the witch seemed to understand him.

  “Now go quickly,” she said, “if those men come back and suspect anything, they might kill you!”

  Abu scampered out of the house, and was surprised to find that although it was very dark he could see quite well. Also it was fun to travel in a new way, because instead of running
over the ground he found himself running up and down trees and swinging from one branch to another. In this manner he reached the village very quickly. It was quiet now. The captors, with the exception of some guards were sleeping, and the captives lay on the ground where he had last seen them, doing their best to sleep also. Abu wondered if he should go to his mother, but deemed it too dangerous. It was better to watch and wait.

  Before dawn the village was astir, and in the grey light of morning the poor captives were marshalled into a long row, and were marched off, leaving the village deserted but for a few old people, who wept for their lost ones.

  As the sun rose Abu liked the journey less, and less. He was much more comfortable in the dark than in daylight, and his eyes blinked weakly. He had a miserable time until the caravan paused for a rest. Then he got an idea and crawled into a large bundle carried by one of the servants. It was soft and dark inside. Abu curled up comfortably, and slept away the long hours of daylight.

  When he awoke he realised that the caravan must have slept during most of the day also, for it was night, and they were marching on. This made it impossible to approach his mother. For four days and nights this programme was repeated. The train marched at night, slept by day, and it was never possible for Abu to go to his mother. He was glad to see however, that the young, strong captives, and his mother was one, had a better time than the weaker, or older people. If these tired, or fell, they were beaten, and when they could walk no longer they were left behind.

  Then on the eve of the fourth day Abu realised they were nearing a town. People came out to meet them, and the victorious army was welcomed home. There was also much rejoicing because they had brought so many slaves. The slaves were marched into a large compound, and for the first time their chains were removed, and they were sorted out and shifted into huts. Abu watched anxiously until he saw where his mother was taken, and then he slipped into the hut after her, and crouched in a corner until the poor slaves fell asleep. Then he crept across to his mother, put his paws on her arm, and squeaked.