by K. P. Kojo
Kahawa sneered. ‘You can call me what you wish, but there is nothing more pathetic than a once-powerful god reduced to petty threats and thieving. You are the fallen totem of an old empire. You have made the Masai your slaves by pretending you still have your old powers, but now that you’ve revealed yourself I can see the weak arm you are cradling in your lap. If you had the powers of a god, you would not need me to tell you where my mother is. You are useless.’
‘Silence,’ roared Ngai. ‘I said, where is your mother?’
‘Find her yourself,’ said Kahawa.
Ngai, angry now and not caring any more about his fading immortality, signalled the Night Howlers to crush and devour Kahawa.
Koma-Tembo, who had picked up the bow and arrows of a fallen Masai during Ngai’s argument with Kahawa, shot an arrow right into the eye of the Night Howler holding Kahawa, and the beast dropped him.
Instantly, a horde of Night Howlers devoured the injured one and converged on Kahawa, Mpushu and Koma-Tembo. However, before they could strike, the air went still with song and they were paralysed.
The sound was the first ever produced by the instrument that Marimba would name the karimba. Made after she was released from the cave by two wounded warriors, it had a row of thin metal tines fashioned from the copper of her jewellery, attached to some wood and bent to allow them to be plucked with the thumbs. Because she carried it in a large gourd when she played, each note from the tines she plucked resonated far into the settlement and beyond, into the forest and along the silent trails of the fleeing Masai.
As the music played, the Night Howlers, enemies of all things that sound melodious and peaceful, dissolved. Their green and black rhinoceros-thick hides fell off them, leaving a mass of green with orange eyes, which turned liquid and evaporated in trails of smoke that had the foulest smell in the world.
But the power of the song was greater:
‘Warriors at arms follow the drum;
I move the air with just my thumb.
Melody moves faster than spears,
calming old wars, fire and fears.
For all wrongs there are notes that heal;
the sourest fruit can still be peeled.
My weapon is song that travels
and heals the last body that fell.
Warriors at arms follow the drum;
I move the air with just my thumb.’
Ngai’s cloud also turned to smoke and the once imperious god of the Masai, dweller of Kilima-Njaro, Ngai of the mountains, fell to the ground like a lump of coal The evil lord of the Masai had been defeated by music.
Marimba ran to embrace her wounded son. When she released him he knelt at her feet and begged her forgiveness for striking her.
He turned to the gathered people, all the Wakambi settlement, and tattooed his palm with his dagger.
‘My people, by this mark I am laying down a new law that you must obey until the end of time. No matter what the circumstances, never must any one of you strike your mother. The one who carries you for nine moons and brings you into the world is the most precious gift you have.
‘By my blood, I beg forgiveness of Marimba the Beautiful – leader of the Wakambi people, daughter of Odu the Ugly and Amarava the Beautiful – who is not only my mother, but also the mother of music.’
Um Bsisi’s Milk
A Berber tale
Near Zuwara, where the sun reflects like a million diamonds on the surface of the Mediterranean, there was once a fine mud nest. It belonged to a swallow called Um Bsisi who was nesting, waiting for three speckled eggs to hatch. She usually fed on moths and flying termites and dragonflies and gnats, but when the weather got particularly hot, as it was right then, she loved to have a drink.
However, although Zuwara was right beside the sea, it was also in the desert; fresh water was difficult to get and Um Bsisi found sea water too salty, so she had developed a taste for milk. She liked Sheep’s milk a little, she liked Cow’s milk much more, but most of all she liked Goat’s milk.
Um Bsisi was good friends with the goat. When she went flying and spotted any succulent green shoots or healthy patches of lovegrass (or even wiregrass, which wasn’t as tasty as lovegrass), she would tell the goat where and the goat would go out and graze in that area. In return, Goat saved a pouch full of milk for Um Bsisi every week.
Now, because Um Bsisi was watching over her speckled eggs in her mud nest and she could not leave them to collect her pouch of milk from Goat, she asked the mouse to go and collect the milk from Goat for her. Um Bsisi begged Mouse to arrive with the milk by sunset. She pleaded because it was still the period of the fast, one day before Eid, and she wanted to break her fast with the milk. She even promised to give Mouse some of the milk when he returned with the pouch.
Mouse went on his way, walking quite briskly to make good time, but soon slowed down. He was hungry himself so he couldn’t keep up his speed. Indeed, Mouse had been hoping to get some honey or milk for himself before Um Bsisi called him. Earlier, he had trekked past:
the tower that carried voices to the sky,
the seven cacti that never seemed to dry,
the six sand dunes arranged in neat rows
and the drying oasis with a single rose
to the bees to see if they had any honey to spare. But there had been too few flowers on the trees, so there was only a little honey for the bees.
So Mouse made his way back past:
the drying oasis with a single desert rose,
the six sand dunes arranged in neat rows,
the seven cacti that never seemed to dry
and the tower that carried voices to the sky
and went to see Sheep.
When he got there, Sheep had plenty of milk and had set some aside, but she had just had two new babies and was resting. Mouse didn’t want to take any milk from Sheep when she was clearly asleep. So he crept away, his belly churning with hunger.
Mouse got hungrier and hungrier as he went past:
the farmer’s homestead,
the cow,
the hyena,
the addax,
the fox,
the camel,
the brown rat
and he stopped to rest in the shadow of a cactus, then carried on past the scorpion and the jackal. He was hungrier than ever as he arrived at Goat’s to collect Um Bsisi’s milk.
Goat gave Mouse a large pouch of milk to take to Um Bsisi. Mouse thanked her, carried the pouch on his back and headed back, past the jackal and scorpion and brown rat … By the time he got to the camel he was dying of thirst. He put the pouch down beside him and rested again.
Mouse hoped to get a little water from a two-headed cactus nearby, but the low part of the plant which he could reach had been drained of water. He sighed and looked at the full pouch beside him. There was so much milk in there – enough to last Um Bsisi a week or more. What harm would it do if a little mouse like him had a sip to quench his thirst? Um Bsisi probably wouldn’t even notice. Besides, she had promised to give him some of the milk when he got back.
Mouse held the pouch open and had the tiniest sip of Goat’s milk. It was delicious, creamy, fragrant, cool, filling and so, so, so refreshing. He couldn’t help having another sip – a not so tiny sip – before he closed the pouch. He wiped his whiskers with the paw not holding the pouch and set off again, feeling full of energy and hope, going past:
the fox,
the addax,
the hyena,
the cow
and the farmer’s homestead, where the ostriches were making a fuss.
In no time he had arrived at Um Bsisi’s and sunset was just beginning. Mouse handed over the pouch of Goat’s milk, pleased with himself for arriving at sunset. He stood by Um Bsisi’s nest waiting for her to give him some of the milk as she promised, but she had a very stern look on her face, her beak clamped shut and angled downwards.
‘How was the trip?’ Um Bsisi asked.
‘It was quite long,’ said Mouse. ‘I got tir
ed and had to rest on my way back.’
‘Did you get thirsty?’ asked the swallow.
Mouse didn’t want to admit that he got thirsty because he feared Um Bsisi would guess that he had drunk some of her milk on the way. ‘I stopped by the big cactus,’ he said. ‘But I’m thirsty now.’
He smiled and rubbed his paws together, sure that Um Bsisi would give him some milk now. It was time to break the fast and he was sure she was thirsty herself.
Um Bsisi opened the pouch and dipped her dark beak inside. She sucked some milk and lifted her head to swallow it.
‘This is excellent milk,’ she said. ‘It is delicious and creamy and fragrant and cool and filling …’
‘… And so, so, so refreshing,’ Mouse added.
Um Bsisi turned the orange part of her face to Mouse, looking at him with one eye. ‘How do you know it’s refreshing?’
‘I’m just guessing.’
‘You mean you’re just guessing it’s refreshing?’
‘Yes, I’m guessing it’s refreshing,’ whispered Mouse.
‘Did you drink some of my milk?’ asked Um Bsisi.
Because Mouse had lied about being thirsty earlier, he felt he could not say that he had drunk some of the milk. Why would you drink someone’s milk if you were not thirsty?
‘No,’ he said.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Um Bsisi.
‘Yes.’ Mouse nodded vigorously.
‘If I find that you did, I will cut off your tail as punishment,’ said Um Bsisi. ‘You won’t be able to wash your whole body for Eid prayers.’
Mouse was nervous but he didn’t want to back down. ‘I didn’t drink your milk.’
Um Bsisi rose from her mud nest, exposing her three speckled eggs, and stood by Mouse. ‘Then why are the whiskers on the left side of your face covered with my milk?’
Mouse lifted a paw to his face and felt the milk. Because he had been holding the pouch with one paw, he’d only been able to wipe one side of his face. He had completely forgotten. So he had gone past the jackal, the scorpion, the brown rat, the camel, the fox, the addax, the hyena, the cow and the farmer’s homestead with one side of his face covered in Goat’s milk.
Little wonder that the brown rat had asked him if he wanted to change his complexion.
And, of course, that’s why the scorpion had said, ‘You are wasting your time, Mouse; I have stung many animals and no matter what colour their fur, their blood is always red.’
Certainly, that must have been why the jackal laughed harder than ever when he went past her.
Before Mouse could think of a good excuse, Um Bsisi had cut off his tail.
‘Aww!’ he screamed. ‘Please give it back.’
‘No,’ said Um Bsisi. ‘You lied to me. This is punishment for your lies.’
‘I’m sorry,’ pleaded Mouse. ‘Give me a chance to make it up to you.’
Um Bsisi returned to sit on her three speckled eggs, tucking Mouse’s tail beside her. She was quiet for a long while before she spoke. ‘If you replace the milk that you stole, you can have your tail back in time for Eid.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mouse, almost in tears. ‘I will get you some milk, I promise.’
Although the sun was setting, Mouse set off, determined to replace Um Bsisi’s milk before the next day. He really wanted to celebrate Eid with his whole body. Wincing from the pain of his absent tail, he slunk past the farmer’s homestead, where the livestock were running wild because the farmer’s dog had grown too old to chase them and keep them under control. Mouse jumped out of the way of two squabbling rabbits and kept going until he got to the cow’s resting place, under the shade of a broken shed. He stopped to ask Cow for a bit of milk.
‘Just a bit to replace what I borrowed from Um Bsisi,’ he pleaded. ‘Just a bit and I’ll be grateful for years.’
‘Well, Mouse,’ said Cow, lowering her head to whisper, ‘I would love to give you a bit of milk, but the bit of milk I’ve been saving is to give to anyone who can get me a bit of hay from the farmer. Do you think you can get me a bit of hay from the farmer?’
Because Mouse really wanted to celebrate Eid and he really needed to replace Um Bsisi’s milk, he nodded, even though he wasn’t really sure if he could get a bit of hay from the farmer. ‘Yes, I think I can get a bit of hay from the farmer for you,’ he said. ‘Please promise to keep that bit of milk for me until I bring you a bit of hay from the farmer.’
‘I promise,’ said the cow with a snort.
So Mouse went back towards the farmer’s homestead, where rabbits and hyraxes and ostriches were stumbling past the old dog to play in the streets and wander in the cool desert evening.
When Mouse rapped the side of a broken fence, the farmer shouted from the gate of his largest pen, ‘Who is there? What do you want?’
‘It’s Mouse, Farmer. I’ve come to ask for a bit of hay to give to Cow, so she will give me a bit of milk to give to Um Bsisi, so Um Bsisi will give me my tail back.’
‘Well, Mouse,’ said the farmer, struggling to hold on to a turkey and a baby ostrich, ‘I would love to give you a bit of hay for Cow but, as you can see, things are a bit disorganized here. I can’t leave this pen to get you the hay because my dog is old and will let all my livestock wander away. And because I can’t leave this pen, I can’t leave the homestead to go to Mama Dog to get a new dog to help me look after my livestock. Do you think you could go to Mama Dog and get a new dog for me?’
Of course, Mouse didn’t know if he could get a new dog from Mama Dog, but he knew that he had to try. Because if he got a new dog, he would get a bit of hay. And if he got a bit of hay then he would get a bit of milk. And if he got a bit of milk to replace the bit of milk he had drunk from Um Bsisi’s pouch, then Um Bsisi would give him back his tail and he could celebrate Eid. So, because Mouse really wanted to celebrate Eid, he nodded.
‘Yes, I think I can get a new dog from Mama Dog for you,’ he said. ‘Please promise to keep a bit of hay for me until I bring you a new dog from Mama Dog.’
The farmer laughed. ‘I can’t go anywhere without a new dog to replace my old dog, so I can’t give any hay away. Of course, Mouse, I promise.’
So Mouse set off to look for Mama Dog to ask for a new dog for the farmer, so the farmer would give him a bit of hay for the cow, so Cow would give him a bit of milk for Um Bsisi, so Um Bsisi would give him back his tail, so he could celebrate Eid.
When Mouse found Mama Dog, he rushed to her side. ‘Mama Dog, could you please, please, please give me a new dog to give to the farmer?’
Mama Dog turned to look at the three new dogs with her and sighed. ‘I would like to give you a new dog, but I need two companions and one of these three, the sheepdog, is sick. I can’t give you the sick dog because he can’t help the farmer, and I can’t give you one of the others because the sick one might die and I’ll only have one companion.’
‘What is wrong with the sick dog?’ Mouse asked.
‘He has sheepdog sickness,’ replied Mama Dog.
‘And won’t he get better?’
‘He may and he may not,’ said Mama Dog. ‘The only way to be sure is to treat him with the afterbirth of a sheep.’
‘The afterbirth of a sheep?’
‘Yes, the afterbirth of a sheep,’ said Mama Dog. ‘Do you think you could get me the afterbirth of a sheep?’
It was getting late. Stars could be seen here and there in the darkening sky. Mouse was now very tired. He still hadn’t eaten properly and Sheep lived quite far from Mama Dog. But if he could get to Sheep and if she was awake, if he asked nicely …
‘Mama Dog,’ he said, ‘if I get you the afterbirth of a sheep, will you promise to keep a new dog for me?’
‘I promise,’ said Mama Dog, and her companions howled as if to say yes too.
And off Mouse went, running along with no tail, all the way to the tower that carried voices to the sky and a little further to see Sheep. When he arrived, Sheep was awake and feeding her babies. She was v
ery happy to see him.
‘Hello, Mouse,’ she said. ‘It was very nice of you not to wake me earlier.’
Mouse was stunned. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘Well, when I woke up, I saw your paw prints all over the ground with your tail mark running through them.’ Sheep paused and looked behind Mouse. ‘Oh dear! What happened to your tail?’
So Mouse told her everything, beginning with the tower that carried voices to the sky and finishing right back at the tower that carried voices to the sky, and, of course, the reason why he needed the afterbirth of a sheep.
‘Oh dear!’ exclaimed Sheep. ‘You’ve had a very difficult day. But I’m glad that you have kept trying. And all this happened because you didn’t want to wake me up earlier.’
‘You looked very tired,’ said Mouse.
‘Bless you,’ said Sheep. ‘Well, you’re in luck. Because I have just had babies, I have an afterbirth that you can give to Mama Dog. I also have some milk that I saved just for you!’ She handed Mouse a small pouch.
Mouse took the pouch and drank. The milk was delicious, creamy, fragrant, cool, filling and so, so, so refreshing. He stared at the arrangement of stars in the dark sky as he filled his rumbling stomach, forgetting about the mild stinging pain where his tail should be.
When he finished, he thanked Sheep and set off:
to give the afterbirth to Mama Dog to get a new dog,
to give the new dog to the farmer to get a bit of hay,
to give the bit of hay to Cow to get a bit of milk,
to give Um Bsisi the bit of milk from Cow,
to replace the bit of milk he drank,
to get his tail back so he could celebrate Eid.
After all that, Mouse was rather tired and fell asleep as quickly as a star disappears in the morning, but when he woke up, he had the best Eid ever. The very best.
The Kokonsa of Asanteman
An Akan tale
Samankrom, the village where Poku the hunter lived, was close to the very centre of the forest. The trees were so high that even in the middle of the day it could turn dark, especially if the sun moved behind the canopy of the old tweneboa tree. At night, owls hooted deep in the forest. They could be heard in all the seven villages nearby, even in the largest village where the Omanhene – chief of the kingdom of Asanteman – lived. Night-time was also when the rats went to work. They tunnelled in the ground and devoured the crops that the villagers had worked hard to plant, making them disappear like magic.