‘Poor Hyena, you missed out on the fish,’ said Jackal, pretending to feel sorry for his friend. ‘Perhaps we should have swopped skins!’
Men of Men
The Khoikhoi, or ‘Men of Men’ as they call themselves, lived in the Cape of Good Hope long before the Dutch arrived and settled in the area in 1652. They were given the name Hottentots by the European settlers. Although they are similar in many ways to the San people, the Khoikhoi were herders of cattle, sheep and goats while the San were traditionally hunters and plant-gatherers. It is thought that the Strandlopers, who once lived along the coast around Table Bay (now Cape Town) and who ate mostly shellfish and plants, might also have been part Khoikhoi.
The milk bird
XHOSA
It was spring and the villagers came to life as though they were waking from a long winter sleep. From sunrise to sunset, the Xhosa people worked in the fields, preparing the dry ground for seeds. As they loosened the iron hard earth with hoes, they dreamed of the first spring rains that would soften the ground and bring life to their planting.
Khethani had been dreaming of the rain that never came for many seasons now. The drought-stricken village in which he lived had had just enough grain to see them through the winter. Still, Khethani was hopeful and worked long hours in his fields.
One night, while the people slept, a bird perched on top of a tree near Khethani’s field and said:
‘Weeds, grow again in Khethani’s field.’
The weeds obeyed the bird and when Khethani and his wife arrived at their field the next morning, they were surprised to find their land unweeded.
‘That’s strange,’ said Khethani, ‘the land we dug up yesterday is covered over with weeds again.’
‘We must start again,’ said his wife, picking up her hoe. The sun warmed their backs and by the time they returned home with the other villagers at sunset, Khethani and his wife were stiff and tired, but satisfied that their work had been done.
That night the bird returned and gave the same order: ‘Weeds, grow again in Khethani’s field.’
The next morning, when Khethani and his wife saw that their land was covered with weeds again, they cried out to their neighbours in despair.
‘Perhaps this has happened because you are lazy,’ other villagers laughed.
Once again, Khethani and his wife started uprooting the weeds and worked until sunset. When the smoke from the first fires danced above the rooftops in the village, Khethani said to his wife:
‘I am going to hide near our field tonight and see who or what is destroying all our hard work. You wait for me at home.’
As he lay in wait, Khethani saw a bird hover above a tree and then land on one of its silhouetted branches. It was such a beautiful bird that he fixed his gaze on it. The bird flew down and hopped along the ground, and Khethani was utterly amazed Then he heard the bird say: ‘Weeds, grow again in Khethani’s field.’
Khethani was so angry that he ran at the bird and was about to grab it, when the bird cried out: Khethani, don’t harm me. If you spare my life, I’ll make milk for you.’
‘First you need to restore our fields,’ said Khethani angrily. ‘You have given us extra work.
The bird fluttered its wings and said: ‘fields of Khethani, become weeded again.’ And Khethani watched as the weeds became uprooted and then ordered the bird to make milk for him. He took out a calabash and the bird filled it with thick warm milk.
Khethani savoured the milk as it slithered down his dry throat. It had been a very long time since he had tasted milk.
Khethani hid the bird in his bag, and when he arrived home he said to his wife: ‘Wash all the largest pots we have.’
‘What for? You are teasing me!’ said his wife. ‘You know that we are experiencing famine and are hungry. What food do you intend to store in the pots?’
‘Just follow my instructions and you will soon see,’ said Khethani.
When the pots were clean, Khethani gathered his sleepy children around the pots and told them to watch. He took out the bird and said:
‘Bird, Bird make sour milk for my thirsty family.’ The children watched in awe as the beautiful bird made sour milk for them, filling all the pots.
‘Just remember, children,’ said Khethani, ‘tell no one about this bird. Not even your best friends.’
The next day, happily fed, Khethani and his wife continued to cultivate their fields. It would soon be time to plant maize, beans and pumpkins.
One day, when the children of the village were playing near Khethani’s house, little Nomsa said: ‘Children of Khethani, why is it that you are fat and we are so thin?’
Khethani’s children looked at each other and said: ‘But we are no fatter than you are.’
But the children of the village did not believe them and kept nagging and nagging Khethani’s children to tell them their secret. Eventually, Khethani’s young daughter whispered: ‘There is a special bird in our father’s house that makes thick milk for us.’
‘Can we see it?’ the children asked in disbelief.
Checking that their parents were still working in the fields, Khethani’s children led their inquisitive friends into the quiet house.
‘Where is it?’ asked one of the children, looking around curiously.
Khethani’s daughter took the beautiful bird from the secret place where it was hidden and asked it to make milk for all the children. Obediently, the bird did as it was asked and, after drinking the sour milk, the children said: ‘Let the bird free for a little while so that it can fly around and stretch its wings. It is such a beautiful bird!’
Suddenly, the bird flew out of the house and, stretching its wings, soared high into the cloudy sky. ‘Our father will be very angry,’ cried Khethani’s eldest child. ‘We must follow the bird. Quickly!’
All day long the children chased the bird, not even stopping when they had a stitch in their side. When the bird rested on the ground, they tried to grab it, but it took off again, landing in trees – always out of the children’s reach.
As the sun neared the hills in the west, the villagers left their fields and returned to their homes. Khethani looked at the grey clouds and said to his wife: ‘We are sure to have rain tonight. Look at those mountains of cloud. But where are the children? They normally run to greet us.’
They searched the house and yard frantically and ‘when Khethani saw that the bird was missing too, he knew what must have happened.
The setting sun was darkened by heavy clouds and the light disappeared quickly. The village children were a long way from home and feared a storm.
‘Let us forget about the bird and return to our parents. Listen to the thunder roaring in the distance.’
‘Do not be afraid,’ said one of the older boys, ‘I will look after you all.’
So the boy made a shelter for all the children and they gathered wild roots, and toasted them on a fire. As they were eating, a cruel old man mysteriously appeared from the shadows and demanded their food. They were terrified.
‘Give him the roots,’ said the elder boy, and while the man gobbled up the food, the children escaped, running as fast as a buck. But when they turned around, they saw that he was following them …
‘Let’s hide in that forest,’ said the boy, leading them to a dark forest at the foot of a mountain.
‘You’ll be safe here,’ he assured them. ‘Climb that tree and stay there.’ So the children sat shivering in the dark, clutching the branches of the tree.
After a while, the children saw a bird with the largest wing-span they had ever seen. It appeared out of the darkness and hovered over them.
‘Cling to me,’ said the eagle, ‘I will take you home.’
Flying through the darkness of the cool night, the bird took the first children home. Then he returned again and again, trailing the sky with his keweekewee until all the children were safely home.
Khethani and the other parents were so relieved.
‘Wher
e have you been?’ they asked.
‘We thought you would be angry when the bird escaped so we chased it,’ cried the eldest child.
‘I am so relieved you are safe,’ said their mother.
The milk bird never returned, but Khethani, ever hopeful, said: ‘We are sure to have rain soon so that our crops will grow and flourish.’
And as he said this, the first drops of rain hit the dry, iron-hard earth.
Milk of Africa
Amasi, or maas, is a thick, naturally soured milk, rather like yoghurt, enjoyed by many southern African people. This curdled milk, like most dairy products, is not only very nourishing and healthy but is also quite cheap and forms the basis of many traditional tribal dishes. Amasi may be mixed with vegetables, and is also used to make cottage cheese. Because it is so popular and is part of the staple diet of many people, amasi can now also be bought in shops.
Frog’s first croak
ZULU
Dawn brought the first gentle light to the scraggy, drought-ravaged thornveld. Slowly, the sun began its climb into the orange-tinged sky and gathered its strength for the long journey to the west.
Animals began to emerge from the silent shadows. Warthog and her young crept out of the aardvark hole where they had sheltered for the night. Noisily they scrunched their way through the dry undergrowth, heading towards the water. They were not the first to arrive at the shallow waterhole. A herd of graceful, tan and white impala who were quietly drinking fled in fright as Warthog staked her solitary claim to the muddy shallows of the drinking place. Frog watched her from a log at the edge of the murky water. She and her young rolled and snorted with delight as the mud caked their hairy bodies.
‘She really does take over the waterhole,’ grumbled Frog to himself.
But not for long. Soon Warthog was joined by zebra, giraffe and a herd of nyala. When she discovered she was not alone, Warthog left the muddy water and scratched her itchy back against a tree. Her young waited impatiently nearby. Suddenly there was a hush amongst the animals at the water’s edge. They had heard a cry, and listened keenly as the cry came closer and closer.
‘Its the side-striped jackal himself,’ said one of the zebra. ‘I wonder what he is doing up so early?’
At the sight of the trickster the animals around the waterhole became uneasy.
Jackal spoke immediately. ‘There seems to be very little honey about,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ agreed Nyala bull, tossing his head back. ‘I’ve noticed.’ Nyala was especially fond of honey. In fact, all the animals had noticed that honey was scarce. They all liked it very much, and suddenly everybody had something to say about the shortage.
‘I say,’ said Jackal screaming to make his voice heard above the drone of discussion, ‘that whoever finds honey should be allowed to eat it.’
‘Agreed,’ said Nyala bull. ‘As long as the animal who finds it can get past the bees who are guarding the honey. When bees have honey, they’re as vicious as a wild dog with a bone. I’ve been stung many, many times!’
‘That is always a problem,’ laughed Zebra, lifting her head from the foal she was gently grooming. ‘I think all the honey that is found should be shared amongst us all. After all, we are all partial to the fruit of the bees.’ The animals agreed.
‘I have an idea,’ said Giraffe, straightening his legs after taking a long drink of cool water. ‘I have been listening to the discussion and I think it would be a good idea to take the matter to Elephant. He is the largest and wisest of us all and he’ll be able to help us decide how we are going to share the small amount of honey that is left in the thornveld.’
‘Yes,’ said Nyala. ‘Elephant’s many years in the bush have given him great experience and wisdom.’
‘Why not leave the matter to me? I’ll decide who will have the honey and who won’t,’ offered the wily, side-striped jackal. But no-one trusted Jackal.
By the time the animals had set off to find Elephant, the sun was almost a quarter of the way on its journey through the sky. It shone down brightly, warming the already dry and dusty earth.
Old Elephant bull, who lived alone, was wallowing in the slow flowing waters of the river when the deputation arrived. He seemed to ignore them as they waited for him on the river bank. He squirted himself slowly with cool, brown water as the animals continued to squabble amongst themselves on the bank above him. After a long wait, Black Rhino stood apart from the animals and put himself in charge of the deputation.
‘Elephant, we need you to settle an argument that has broken out over the shortage of honey this year.’
Elephant flapped his ears. Then he spoke.
‘I know,’ he said. Elephant knew everything.
‘I’ve been listening to the arguing and I think the best way to settle the dispute is to declare that, because there is so little honey, none of the small animals should be allowed to eat any honey at all.’
‘Not a bad idea,’ said Black Rhino. ‘After all, they do have very small appetites, unlike us larger animals!’
Grey Duiker, Mongoose, Suni, spotted Hyena and even muddy Warthog were not at all pleased with the new ruling.
‘We have been discriminated against because of our size,’ said Suni.
Frog had arrived just in time to hear the judgment and he too was very unhappy with the ruling. The small animals murmured and grumbled amongst themselves, but were too afraid to speak out against Elephant’s decree. But Frog, who had been stunned into silence, could simply not keep quiet any longer. He enjoyed fresh, dripping honey as much as any other animal and never before had he been told that he could not eat honey.
‘Why should only the LARGE animals be allowed to eat honey? That is terribly unfair!’ Frog spoke in a deep melodious voice and surprised even himself that he had been so outspoken.
‘Frog is right,’ chorused the small animals. His boldness had given them courage.
‘Silence!’ thundered Elephant, flapping his huge ears in anger. ‘Who dares challenge my ruling?’
Tortoise, suddenly endowed with enormous courage, stuck out his neck and begged Elephant for the chance to say something.
‘Kind Elephant,’ said Tortoise. ‘Don’t you think that it would be fairer if none of the animals ate any honey for a whole year? Maybe then the bees would have made enough for us all to enjoy.’
The animals couldn’t believe that Tortoise had dared to make a suggestion to Elephant.
A debate followed, interrupted only by the sound of Lion’s yawn in the distance. A hush fell over the animals. Frog, knowing that he had the support of the smaller animals, and angry because he was denied his rights because of his size, burst out:
‘Excuse me, Elephant, but I cannot live without honey for such a long time … and there are many animals here who would agree with me …’
‘Please be quiet, Frog,’ whispered Suni. ‘You’re spoiling it for the rest of us.’
Then, in a loud voice, Elephant replied. ‘I need time to reconsider the matter.’ He realized that his wisdom should be just and fair for all.
So the animals waited restlessly on the river bank, while Elephant pondered the matter of the honey.
Finally Elephant said: ‘We have an agreement. No one may eat honey for a whole year. Anyone found breaking the law will be punished.’
By the time the agreement was reached, the sun had already moved on, leaving a trail of scorching heat which sent the animals clambering back into the thornveld in search of shade.
The hot days crept by and poor Frog began to regret that he had spoken out so boldly. More than anyone else in the thornveld, Frog craved honey. And when the honeyguide fluttered his wings and flew around in circles, drawing attention to a hive, Frog found it very hard to ignore him. The bird’s distinctive chattering cry was a great temptation to a honey-lover. One day, when Frog was out searching for food, he saw a swarm of bees foraging for pollen and nectar. Making sure that no-one was around, Frog traced the path of the bees back to their hive in th
e hollow of a dead tree, not far from the reeds where he lived.
While planning a way to get at the honey without being stung, he suddenly remembered Elephant’s warning. Reluctantly, Frog turned back. He resisted the temptation to steal the honey and tried to forget all about the sweet, drippy substance he so loved.
But one day early in Spring, he noticed a huge swarm of bees leaving the hollow tree.
‘They’re looking for a new hive,’ he thought.
So, late that afternoon, as the setting sun cast its finger-like shadows on the thornveld, Frog went out to find a little taste of honey. The sun was disappearing quickly, taking most of the light with it.
‘No-one would mind if I had a taste,’ he reassured himself. ‘In fact, no-one would even see me,’ he thought. Frog looked around in all directions. There was no-one around. He checked again and then hopped towards the tree.
He was pleased to see that there were fewer bees guarding the honey than before. In the tree were glistening pieces of honeycomb, dripping with dark golden honey. His mouth watered. He leaped forward towards the comb with great courage. His heart pounded in his chest. He helped himself to a mouthful of honey.
‘Delicious!’ he said, as the sweetness clung to the inside of his mouth even after he had swallowed it.
When Frog had finished, he looked longingly at the comb again, wishing that he could have a little more. But he decided against it. He couldn’t take the chance. He was already feeling a little guilty.
As he leapt home, still savouring the taste of honey in his mouth, Frog heard a voice in one of the trees above him. He hopped more quickly, trying to hide in the wheat-coloured grass. He heard the voice again. It seemed to be following him. He froze. Frog was beginning to feel very frightened indeed. His eyes stuck out even more than usual. Someone must have seen him! Frog felt so guilty about what he had done, he could barely speak.
African Myths and Legends Page 2