They never found the needle. No, never. It was lost forever. Hawk was so disappointed and angry that he never again visited Hen. Their friendship had been lost and was replaced by fear and distrust. Fear and distrust.
The Sotho Blanket
Because winters in Lesotho, the traditional home of the Sotho people, is so cold and snow covers the mountains, the Sotho blanket has become the national costume of its people and is still worn by many Sotho today, particularly those living in rural communities in and around Lesotho. The colours and designs of these blankets change with fashion, and may even vary between different age groups. A Sotho man traditionally wears his blanket pinned across his right shoulder, while a Sotho woman wears her’s pinned across her breast. These brilliantly coloured and beautifully patterned blankets may be decorated with a wide variety of different symbols and designs.
The hunters and the honeyguide
ZULU
At the first sign of morning, Jabane and his elder brother, Mandla, set out for a day of hunting. Mist, like soft smoke, swirled in the valley below, hiding the stream that lay like a sluggish snake in its sandy bed.
‘I’m after an impala today,’ said Mandla excitedly. ‘I’d be happy with just a bushbuck,’ said Jabane, adjusting the strap of the shoulder bag he carried.
As they tramped their way through the scratchy, long grass and dry, spiky bushes, the mist lifted and the sun shone brightly in the clear sky.
‘There’s a clearing over there between the trees,’ said Jabane. ‘Let’s walk towards it.’
When they reached the open space, they came across a very strange sight indeed. Large brown-red coiled pots had been placed upside down in a straight line on the grass.
‘What are these pots doing out here in the middle of the bush?’ asked Mandla, astounded by what he saw before him. Jabane was fascinated and leaned over to touch them.
‘Leave them alone, Jabane,’ warned Mandla nervously. ‘There’s something strange about these pots.’
‘I want to see what is under them,’ answered Jabane, handling the first one. ‘See, Mandla! There’s nothing under it!’
Mandla crept a little closer and watched cautiously as Jabane picked up the second pot. All that was under it was the imprint that the mouth of the pot had made on the grass. Confidently, Jabane picked up the next pot and the next, as though playing a game, until he came to the last pot in the row.
‘What are you afraid of, Mandla?’ laughed Jabane. But as he turned the last pot in the row, an old woman stood up and stretched.
Jabane screamed and stepped backwards, distancing himself from the pots.
The woman was stooped with age, and her smiling face bore the lines of one who had spent many, many years wandering the veld, looking for food.
She walked right past Jabane and said to Mandla:
‘Stop shaking liked a scared, young buck. I won’t do you any harm. Come with me. I have something wonderful to show you.’
But Mandla would have nothing to do with this woman and he ran away. Then the old woman turned to Jabane.
‘Come with me, young man,’ she said to him, urging Jabane to follow her.
Jabane followed the old woman as she hacked a path through the dense, spiky veld with an axe. The midday sun scorched their skin and Jabane grew hot and tired. He was relieved when the old woman eventually stopped in front of a Sweet Thorn tree.
‘Young man, take this axe and cut down this tree,’ said the old woman.
Jabane looked up at the size of the tree. It was huge and it would take him hours, even days to cut it down. But he was too frightened to disobey her.
He lifted the axe, gathered his strength and struck the tree as hard as he could. With the first strike, a copper coloured ox appeared out of the tree. Jabane couldn’t believe what he had seen.
‘Strike again,’ urged the woman, smiling.
So he struck the Sweet Thorn again and a tan coloured cow came out of the tree trunk. With each strike a bull, cow, goat or sheep emerged, until Jabane was surrounded by animals.
‘Take these animals home, young boy,’ said the old woman. ‘They are yours. I will remain here.’
Jabane was shocked.
‘Thank you,’ he said gratefully, looking at all the livestock. Then he drew the animals together and started herding them back home towards his father’s village. When he passed the clearing, he found his brother, Mandla, asleep against the trunk of a tree.
‘Awu, Jabane! Where did all these animals come from?’ asked Mandla, jumping up.
‘Walk with me, and I will explain,’ said Jabane.
As they drove the animals homeward, Jabane told his elder brother what had happened, arousing great jealousy in Mandla’s heart. The journey through the bushy veld was slow and after a while, Mandla said: ‘I need water. Let’s leave the animals to graze and see if there’s a stream or spring nearby.’
They climbed over a rocky outcrop and were on the edge of a steep and treacherous cliff when Mandla shouted to Jabane: ‘There’s a trickle down there. Let me down with a rope. I’m parched.’
Jabane skilfully made a rope out of creepers and lowered his brother down from the rocky outcrop high above the little stream. When Mandla had quenched his thirst, Jabane hoisted him back up and said: ‘My turn now.’
Mandla let Jabane down, down, down to the rocks beside the stream. While Jabane was drinking and washing his face in the water, an evil thought came to Mandla. He threw the edge of the creeper rope over the cliff and smiled to himself as he ran back to the animals. Mandla knew that his brother could never climb out of the ravine on his own.
He found himself a strong stick, and Mandla drove the animals home, away from the setting sun. Jabane and Mandla’s father ran out to greet him when he appeared on the outskirts of the village. ‘Mandla! Where did you get all those animals?’
Mandla told them about the old woman.
‘But where is Jabane?’ asked the boy’s mother.
‘He took another route home,’ lied Mandla. ‘Isn’t he home yet?’
‘We’ve not seen him,’ said the boy’s mother. ‘And it will soon be dark.’
‘He can take good care of himself,’ said his father. ‘Perhaps he’s still out hunting.’
Darkness fell and covered the village. Then, when it lifted the next morning, the women set out to draw water from the sluggish stream in the valley. A surprise greeted them at the water and they returned in a hurry to their husbands: ‘We’ve heard the honey-bird calling in a tree near the stream. Quick, follow it and fetch some honey for us.’
The boys’ father and some village men ran after the honeyguide, keeping their eyes on the bird’s white tail feathers as it made pathways through the sky.
The bird led them into thick bush. Some men were tired and said: ‘There’s no honey. We’re going home!’ But, at that point, the honeyguide flap-flapped its wings mightily and screeched its call ‘whit-purr, whit-purr … whit-purr …’ urging the men to follow.
As the bird hovered above a rocky outcrop, Jabane’s father stood still and listened.
‘I hear a faint cry from the ravine below,’ he said. ‘Listen … it sounds like my son.’
‘J-a-b-a-n-e!’ he shouted.
The honeyguide flapped its wings and then took off, swooping down into the rocky ravine below, landing next to Jabane.
Jabane’s father looked over the rocky edge and saw his son. He quickly made a rope out of creepers, let it down and hoisted Jabane up to safety.
‘If it weren’t for the honeyguide, we might have lost you,’ sighed Jabane’s father, putting his arm around his son. As they walked home, Jabane told his father what had happened.
‘Your brother will be punished,’ he said.
‘His jealousy has made him act foolishly.’
But, by the time the villagers arrived home, Mandla had disappeared. He had heard that his lost brother had been found, and he knew that Jabane would tell his story.
Jabane took c
are of his cattle, sheep and goats.
Not only did he prosper, but he remembered his parents in their old age and took good care of them.
The Honeyguide
The little honeyguide is found mostly in Africa, and features quite commonly in popular African myths and folktales. Some species are known to lead men or animals, such as the familiar honey badger or ‘ratel’, to the hives of wild bees by making chattering noises, and flying in the direction of the bees’ nests. Once the hive has been raided, the honeyguide eats what is left. It feeds on bees’ wax and grubs, and the honeyguide has a tough skin and a special membrane over its eyes so that they are protected against being stung by the angry bees. Although it is more common in Africa’s woodlands and thorn veld, the honeyguide may also be seen in our own gardens and parks.
The test of fire
SOTHO
Tortoise crept along a sandy, bald patch of grass, heading for the shade. Occasionally she paused, reflecting on how far she had travelled. And, of course, every now and then, she was side-tracked by the new leaves on shrubs, made succulent by the first summer rains.
Zebra and wildebeest congregated in the spiky acacia shadows, trying to escape the searing heat of the midday sun. Even the warthog retreated from the oppressive heat that hovered in the air.
Energized by the shade of the trees, Tortoise crept further and further into the undergrowth, only noticing Duiker when he stood up from his leafy bed.
‘Sorry to have startled you, Duiker,’ said Tortoise politely. ‘It’s so cool here.’
‘I prefer to stay here all day,’ said Duiker. ‘I dare not be seen during the day. Crowned eagle has a nestling to feed.’
‘So, you’re not very brave, Duiker,’ teased Tortoise.
‘Well, you’re not very fast, are you, Tortoise?’ teased Duiker in return.
‘Slow, but sure,’ laughed Tortoise.
‘Excuse me,’ interrupted the warthog. ‘There is only one way to test courage … and that’s by fire.’
‘He’s right,’ said Tortoise flippantly. ‘Let us put our courage to the test, Duiker.’
Duiker hesitated, knowing he was terrified of flames, but then he realised how cowardly he would seem to the other animals of the veld. So he agreed, but only half-heartedly.
The challenge attracted a great deal of interest and the grassland inhabitants crowded around.
‘I’ll dig a hole in which we can build the fire,’ volunteered the warthog. ‘And I’ll also ask the springhares and moles to help me. We’re all expert excavators.’
‘We’ll collect the firewood,’ said a guinea-fowl.
‘And we’ll help too,’ said the leader of the turtle doves from his perch overhanging the gathering.
While all the activity continued around him, Duiker took very little interest. He went back to his cool place in the wooded area and lay down lazily in the shade. Tortoise nibbled at a few juicy leaves for a while and then rested too.
It was only when the bundle of thorny firewood was placed beside the hole that Tortoise realised that the test of her courage was soon to take place.
‘Duiker,’ pleaded Tortoise, ‘please let me go first.’
Duiker was relieved and readily agreed.
‘I’m going to get some sleep now,’ said Tortoise. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
Tortoise crept home and waited for night to hide the colours and shapes of the grassland. But a white moon rose in the sky, the colour of ash, and gave her just enough light to scuffle unseen through the bushy undergrowth.
She quickly dug a burrow that led out of the hole the animals had made for the fire, and then hid the entrance to the tunnel with branches. Then she went home to sleep.
The next morning, Duiker and the grassland birds and beasts had already gathered at the hole by the time Tortoise arrived.
‘Thought your courage had failed you,’ laughed Duiker. ‘You never were very brave.’
Watched by all the animals, Tortoise went down, down into the hole and then shouted in a muffled voice: ‘You can start the fire now!’
Duiker threw the firewood gathered by the birds into the dark hole and trampled it down with his hooves. Then in an elated mood, he rubbed firestones together causing the first spark.
The wood in the pit hissed and sparked as it surrendered to the fire. The grassland animals and birds stepped back to avoid the smoke and heat of the soaring flames.
‘Poor Tortoise,’ they sighed.
But, long before the flames could reach her, Tortoise had cunningly crept into the burrow she had prepared the night before. She had brought two seed-pods with her and when they were heated by the flames, they exploded in the fire.
‘Tortoise’s eyes have popped!’ wailed the warthog.
‘She should never have volunteered to go first,’ said the guinea-fowl.
Duiker enthusiastically fed the hungry fire all day. It gobbled the dry sticks and branches and by dusk it had burned itself out.
Duiker went home, curled up on his soft leafy bed and fell asleep.
Tortoise slept well too. Early the next morning, she crept back along the tunnel of the firepit. After testing that the ashes were cool, Tortoise rolled around in the remains of the fire until her shell was completely covered with the ashen dust. Then she lay on her back with her eyes closed.
Duiker rose early and looked for a wild olive branch. He tore off a stick and sharpened it until it had a fine point.
‘I’ll never have to listen to that Tortoise again,’ he said, peering into the pit.
He struck Tortoise’s shell harshly.
But Tortoise slowly rolled over and answered: ‘Duiker, I warned you that my courage could stand the test of fire.’
Duiker was stunned into silence. The birds and the beasts couldn’t believe that Tortoise had survived the awful heat of the fire.
‘Now it’s your turn, Duiker,’ said the warthog.
‘I’m not afraid,’ replied Duiker. ‘How good of you all to come and witness my victory.’
Suddenly Tortoise said: ‘Please would you help me dig a new hole? Duiker should have a larger and more comfortable hole than I had.’
The warthog led the work party once again and they dug all through the day.
The next morning, before the dew had evaporated in the glow of the sun, Duiker went down into the deep, deep hole. Alas! No tunnel had been built.
The firewood was put in position in the pit. It was lit and soon tongues of flames licked the air. A popping sound was heard.
‘Duiker’s eyes,’ said the warthog sadly.
Tortoise kept the fire smouldering all day and went home at sunset.
The next day, when the acacias and wild olive trees came to life with the chorus of grassland birds, Tortoise went to the hole.
Duiker’s horns were the only parts which had not been burnt by the scalding flames, so Tortoise cleaned them, shone them and made them into musical instruments. From that day on, Tortoise’s song sounded through the grasslands as the wind whisked them into motion:
Poor Duiker, Poor Duiker,
He died so young,
as the flames engulfed him.
How sad!
The Blue Duiker
The timid blue duiker is the smallest antelope in southern Africa, and prefers to stay hidden among thick bush or leafy forests. It ventures out mostly at night and is usually found alone. The blue duiker feeds on leaves and fruit – particularly its favourite wild figs. Its main predators are eagles, pythons and, of course, man. Both males and females have horns and their grey-brown coat enables them to be well-camouflaged in their bushy surroundings.
Daughter of the moonlight
XHOSA
Look at all these weeds,’ sighed the young woman as her hoe hit the earth with a thud, uprooting a stubborn patch of weeds. Her husband had lost interest in her because she had not yet had a child and she carried the sadness with her as she worked in her garden.
Suddenly, a beautiful green and
yellow finch landed near her and offered her some berries, saying: ‘Eat these before you eat your food and you shall have the child you so long for.’
The young woman was so happy that she offered the bird her bead necklace. But all the bird wanted was river sand, which she carefully collected for him.
In time she gave birth to a beautiful daughter, whom she named Tangalimlibo, which means ‘the single shoot of a pumpkin’. But the mother wanted to keep her child a secret so she hid her baby, and when the little girl was old enough to work in the fields, she would do so only by the light of the moon, and stay hidden in her mother’s hut by day.
One night her father and his hunting party passed by the river. He saw this beautiful girl and watched her as she returned home with the water she had drawn. He ran after her and followed her into the hut of his wife.
‘Why did you not tell me about our beautiful daughter?’ he asked his wife. ‘I would like to arrange a feast so that we may celebrate Tanga’s growth into a woman.’
The day of the celebration arrived, but Tanga would not leave her hut until the moon rose in the sky. From the time he saw her in the moonlight, Mpunzi, the son of Jebe, wanted her to be his wife.
But Jebe said: ‘Mpunzi, how can you be married to a woman who refuses to go out during the day? How will she get her work done?’
When his mother saw how disappointed Mpunzi was, she offered to help with the work and so the parents agreed to the marriage. Cattle were paid to Jebe and, as was their tradition, Tanga’s father sent a cow with Tanga when she moved to the home of her mother-in-law.
Everyone was pleased when Tanga gave birth to a son. But although she worked hard, Jebe continued to try to persuade her to go out into the sunlight. And one day, when Mpunzi was away on a hunting trip, Jebe ordered Tanga to fetch water for him.
African Myths and Legends Page 4