Stories Gogo Told Me

by Lisa Grainger

  Frog swam through the choppy water, until he reached the surface. Just as he put his head up, another wave came whooshing towards him. This one, too, went straight into his mouth and down into his froggy lungs. ‘Croooooaaaak!’ he spluttered, as his fat body sunk for the second time.‘Croooooaaaaak!’

  Frog was extremely unhappy. Every time he tried to raise his head above the water, he got knocked back under. And every time he tried to protest, a strange croaking sound came out of his mouth. ‘Croooooaak,’ it went. ‘Croooooooaaak!’

  Tired and half-drowned, Frog swam to the bank and slowly crawled out, shaking the water from his mouth and ears. Once on solid ground, he looked round to see who had dared to dethrone him. There in the pool were two girls, splashing and singing, lurching his lily pad thrones about as they did so.

  ‘Foolish females,’ he gargled through his water-filled throat. ‘Do you not know that I am King of the cool pool? You must be punished!’ Slowly but surely he puffed and he huffed, until his body was almost double its size. Then, when he was as round as a ball, he opened his secret little poison sacs behind his ears, and blew and blew, until horrible clouds of green noxious gases rose above his head and wafted towards the swimming girls.

  The girls’ laughter soon turned to coughs. Then splutters. Then howls as the poisonous gas filled their lungs. And when they could cough or splutter no longer, they both sank beneath the surface to the bottom of the pool.

  Later that afternoon, the chief began to get worried. His daughter was normally back before dark. So off he set with his faithful warrior, until he reached the cool pool. Instead of his daughter, all they found was her reed skirt and beaded necklace. And a fat frog sitting on a lily pad.

  ‘Oh, King of the cool pool, and singer of great songs,’ said the chief. ‘Have you seen my precious daughter? Her skirt is here, and her necklace is here, but her smiling face has gone.’ Being a cowardly fellow, Frog just shook his head and opened his mouth to sing no. But instead of sweet little froggy notes, a terrible croaking noise out of his throat. ‘Naaaaaooooaaaaoooooo,’ he gurgled and croaked, cringing in horror at the awful tones. The chief looked at him suspiciously. ‘That sound, Terrible Toad, is a sure sign of punishment from the gods,’ he said. ‘It is the voice of guilt. And from now on, Man will abhor you. You will be forbidden from singing during the day, and Man will hunt you until the end of your days!’

  From that day on, frogs have avoided Man, hopping off their lily pads at the mere sight of one. They are also very sorry for what they have done. Listen carefully at night and you will hear them croaking mournfully from ponds, remembering the great days when they were the kings of the cool pool.

  Why Crocodile has no tongue

  Told to me in English by Gcina Mhlophe, a professional storyteller, in Johannesburg, South Africa

  Once, a long time ago, a drought came to the earth. Every day both Man and animals looked up to the sky, praying it would rain, but it never did. The fields became cracked from the fiery sun and the waterholes shrivelled up. Soon there was nothing left on the earth but red hot dust and a couple of puddles.

  King Lion got very worried. Some of his subjects had not eaten for weeks. Giraffe’s neck was bonier than ever. Impala had lost the spring in his step. Even the normally fat buffalo’s ribs had started to show through his dusty black coat. Something had to be done.

  So the king called a meeting. ‘Animals,’ he roared, as his subjects gathered in the shade of the great fig tree. ‘I have called this meeting because, as you know, we have no food, and if we don’t come up with a plan, we will all soon turn to dust. So, if anyone has an idea, would he please step forward.’

  The animals all looked at each other, hoping someone else would come up with a solution. The impalas wagged their tails nervously. Wildebeest stamped their feet and snorted. Zebras hurrumphed and flicked their long black tails. And Elephant rumbled his throat importantly. But no one actually said anything.

  Then a tiny nervous voice rose from the antelopes. ‘Excuse me, Your Majesty,’ said Waterbuck, shyly stepping forward to show off his white-ringed bottom. ‘But I have an idea.’

  The animals all looked up at the brown and white buck. ‘Well,’ roared Lion, flicking his tail impatiently, ‘what is it? Step forward, step forward!’

  Waterbuck, as you know, is a shy, solitary creature, which doesn’t like crowds, so it took great courage for him to pipe up. ‘As you know, King Lion, I usually drink by the river, and down there is a small pool of water and the last patch of green grass in the kingdom. If all of us planted pumpkins and mealies there, that might tide us over until the rains come. We might all then be saved.’

  The animals all cheered. What a wonderful idea! King Lion praised Waterbuck, saying ‘If Man can grow crops, why can’t we?’ and at once the animals made hoes and set off for the field. Every animal helped – either ploughing the land, planting seeds or watering them from the tiny pool left in the river. By sunset everyone was exhausted and set off home.

  The field was a great source of pride to the creatures, and each day one of them guarded it and watered it. Everything was going well – the mealie plants rising high in the sky and the pumpkins ripening – until one terrible day, when Impala didn’t return from his duty. The animals saw him go to the river, but he never come back. The next week Eland vanished. Then big Buffalo. The animals began to get worried, and soon no one wanted to guard the crops.

  So once again King Lion called a meeting. ‘As you know, Animals,’ he growled. ‘Waterbuck’s plan is going extremely well. But a spell has fallen on the field. As fast as our crops grow, our guards vanish. Now no one wants to go to the field and our crops are wilting. We must decide what to do.’

  Once again, the animals looked at each other nervously. And again Waterbuck piped up. ‘Your Majesty,’ he stuttered, looking shyly at the King under his long black eyelashes. ‘Being a Waterbuck, I spend much of my time at the water. I usually love water. But I don’t like guarding the water at our field. At night it has red eyes in it!’

  ‘Red eyes?’ snorted the king, as the rest of the animals started to snigger. ‘How can water have eyes in it, silly Waterbuck? Are you ill? Do you need a doctor? Water doesn’t have eyes!’

  Waterbuck was most upset. ‘You animals can laugh,’ he sniffed huffily, ‘but if any one of you will come with me, I will show you.’

  The king felt a bit sorry for Waterbuck. After all, he had been brave enough to step forward with an idea. So the king agreed. ‘All right, Waterbuck,’ he said. ‘I will accompany you. We will meet at the pool tonight.’

  As agreed, under the light of the moon, Waterbuck met the king. The two of them hid quietly behind some reeds and watched and watched. At first nothing happened. Then, just as Waterbuck had said, the king spotted two huge round eyes in the water. ‘You are right, Waterbuck, you are right!’ whispered the king, looking terrified through the reeds. But, being a brave king, out he stepped and spoke to the eyes: ‘Red eyes, red eyes shining bright, Come out of your water tonight!’ he commanded.

  To the pair’s horror, out of the water slid the eyes until soon, under the light of the moon, lay the hugest crocodile anyone had ever seen.

  They both trembled. ‘Who, pray, are you?’ said the king in a wobbly voice.

  ‘Who am I?’ bellowed the creature in a terrifying voice. ‘I am Gongqongqo, King of the Crocodiles. I eat buffaloes whole – horns, hooves and all. I swallow impala as a snack. I have tortoises for my tea! You will be a mere morsel in just one snap, scrawny old lion!’

  Waterbuck and Lion shook and quivered. This creature was scary – too scary for even the king to tackle. They looked at each other in terror and, tails between their legs, ran for their life without once looking back.

  Back at home, the jungle was woken by the king’s frightened roar. With eyes as large as pools, the normally brave king related in a little trembling voice what he and Waterbuck had met at the field: the biggest, fattest, longest, nastiest crocodile
anyone had ever seen.

  Impala looked terrified. ‘He said he’d have me as a snack!’ he cried, his little front legs shaking nervously. ‘What will we do?’

  Again, the animals were silent, hoping someone bigger and braver would come up with an idea. Then, from the ground, came a little old reedy voice. ‘I’ll get him!’ it squeaked. The creatures looked down, and there on the ground stood Tortoise. ‘Give me a little sharpened axe that I can hide in my shell,’ the creature said, ‘and I will rid you of this pest.’ The animals gave a little giggle. But as no one had a better idea, the king agreed, and soon the animals were waving Tortoise and his little axe goodbye.

  When Tortoise got to the field, the enormous green monster was lying sprawled in the moonlight. ‘What are you doing here, you silly snack of a shelled creature?’ it bellowed, spewing rotten fumes from his mouth. ‘Don’t you know I will eat you?’

  To the beast’s surprise, Tortoise agreed. ‘Please, oh please eat me,’ Tortoise begged. ‘We are so short of food and water that it would be a pleasure to live in your mouth, great beast. Perhaps, then, I could share in your feasts.’ And he strode straight up to the surprised creature’s mouth and the great beast tossed him back under his great pink tongue.

  It was exactly as Tortoise had planned. As soon as he had got to his feet under the creature’s tongue, he pulled out his little axe. ‘We’ll see now, Crocodile, who will eat whom for a snack,’ he giggled. And bit by bit he started to chop away at the great crocodile’s tongue.

  No matter how much the creature roared, or tossed its head about in pain and anger, Tortoise continued his job. Chop, chop, chop he went, until at last his job was done. The large crocodile’s tongue fell out into the field, and with it Tortoise jumped out.

  The animals, having heard the noise, rushed up to the field and there they found the creature lying tongueless on the ground. ‘From now on, Crocodile,’ said King Lion, standing by the creature’s tongue, ‘you must promise to leave our fields alone. Remember you are a water creature. Try and creep out again and you know what will happen.’ With a scared little grunt, the injured crocodile crept back into his pool and the animals carried Tortoise home to celebrate his great victory.

  Since then, crocodiles have rarely been seen in fields again. They are scared of creatures with axes. But if you do ever see one on land, sunbathing or sleeping with its mouth open, take a look. It won’t have a tongue. Thanks to the bravery of the terrific Mr Tortoise.

  When the earth was young

  This is a story of how the earth became like it is. It is not really a traditional story, just an explanation of why things are like they are. Told to me in San by Nxexao Kgimxow in Botswana

  Today earth is like a three-storey house. On the top floor live the gods, the sun, the moon and the stars. On the middle floor lives Man, the animals, the rivers and the plants. And on the bottom live the dead, and the gods who are taking care of them. It wasn’t always that way, though. Once upon a time, the earth was flat …

  In the beginning

  When the earth was young, it was flat and everything lived on the flat brown ground together: the sun, the moon, the stars, and the animals. And everything had its own place to stay. Sun lived in a cave, where it went to sleep at night. Moon lived in a black pot, and let his light out when the gods lifted its lid. And all the animals – the elephants, the lions, the buffaloes, the hippos, the buck and the birds – shared one big house and the gods above fed them and gave them water.

  Man

  One day the god Mulungu decided to make Man to share the earth with the animals. He took three handfuls of the soft earth and made three people from it: two men and a woman. One of the men was a leper. ‘I have been sent to save you,’ the leper said to the other man and woman. ‘But soon I am going to die. Once you have returned me to Mother Earth, go to the river and get some water. Then give thanks by sprinkling my body with it.’

  When he died, the couple did as they were told and sprinkled water on his grave. When they returned the next day, they were amazed to find that instead of a grave there were fields of millet, of maize and of grass. ‘Hurrah!’ they cried. ‘The gods have been great. We have hay to make a house. We have maize and millet to eat. Now we can have a family.’ So they built a hut from soil and grass, made some porridge from the millet, and soon bore some children. Those children had more children. That is how the earth’s first tribe was born.

  The sun

  One day two men went out exploring the flat earth and came to a cave. Usually caves are dark, but from this one came great rays of heat and light. The men were very frightened. ‘What god lives here?’ they asked, with terror in their eyes. While one man ran away, the other went in to look. Slowly he crept inside, shielding his eyes from the hot light, until he reached the back, where he saw a huge ball of fire under a stone. It was the sun. ‘Man, please help me,’ begged the sun, great flames coming from its mouth. ‘A stone fell on me, trapping all my power, and I can’t escape. I will bring you great luck if you do.’ Once the sun had promised he wouldn’t burn the man, the man lifted the stone, and out flew the sun, with bright trails of sparks and black smoke and roaring flames behind it. It flew and flew until it reached the great lake in the sky, where it still lives today. It kept its promise to Man, and every day it brings light and warmth to the earth, in thanks for the day Man set him free.

  The stars

  One day the children were playing on a beach full of stones. ‘Watch out,’ warned an old man walking by. ‘A small stone is as great as a big rock.’ Puzzled, the children looked at him and continued their game. Five minutes later, he returned to see a little pebble whizz through the air and hit a girl hard on the head. As she fell to the ground, the pebble flew up into the sky where it exploded into a ball of light. It was the first star ever. ‘From now on,’ said the old man, ‘every time a little child dies, a star will light up in the sky at night.’ And until today, it has.

  The moon

  In the same tribe lived a man called Machelenga who owned a big pot. This was no ordinary pot, for inside it he kept the moon. Every day, as he went to the fields, he warned his children not to touch it. ‘The child who touches that pot will have terrible luck,’ he said. ‘It is a most magical pot. So keep your hands off.’

  But one night, when Machelenga was out in the fields, one of the children decided to have a peek inside. ‘I’ve touched it, I’ve seen it, I’ve smelt that pot, I can tell you right now that it’s not even hot!’ he boastfully said to his friends. With that, he marched up to the big black pot and picked up the lid. Moon was delighted! He was sick of the confines of the little black space, and with a whoosh of white light, he swooped out into the black night.

  Out in the fields, the father knew at once what had happened. ‘You wicked children!’ he said, running back to his house. ‘Gather ladders for we must catch it. Quick, quick!’ After such a long time crammed up in a pot, Moon was not very practised at rising in the sky. By the time the children had found ladders, he had risen only to the top of the first mountain. ‘We can catch him, Father, we can catch him!’ shouted the children, racing to the mountains. ‘Just wait!’

  The child who had let Moon out was in the biggest hurry, as he knew how much trouble he was going to be in. He climbed as fast as his little legs could carry him until at last he was at the top, with Moon just above his fingertips. ‘I’ve got him, Father, I’ve got him,’ he cried, and leapt from the top of the ladder towards Moon.

  Moon, though, was far too bright to be caught again. Just as the child leapt upwards, it rose even higher into the sky. The child’s hands slipped through the air, and he fell slowly onto the steep, rocky mountainside.

  The father and mother wept and prayed to Moon to help them to save their child. But it was too late. The child had died. ‘Because of your stupid Moon, we have lost our precious child’, the wife wailed. ‘I am going to live somewhere else where I will never see your Moon again.’ And off she went.

&n
bsp; She has never stopped travelling, for wherever she goes Moon follows. And Machelenga has never stopped crying. Whenever it is full moon, listen. You are sure to hear him howling.

  The rain

  When the earth was young, the skies were full of lightning. It would light up the sky day after day, striking down man after man. Every week there was another funeral, until at last the people got angry with God. ‘Every week we have to have a funeral,’ they shouted, ‘and every week we have to provide food and water for the mourners. If you are going to kill us, at least help with the refreshments.’

  The god Mulungu apologised for the lightning and promised he would be more helpful in future. ‘Now when I send lightning, I will also send rain for you to drink,’ he said. ‘And I will thunder, too, to bid my own farewells to the dead.’ And ever since, he has.

  When Hippo was hairy

  Told to me in Shona by Cosam Kachembere in Harare, Zimbabwe

  In the days when the earth was young, Mvuu, the hippo, was considered to be the most beautiful of all African animals. His large, muscular body was covered with a dark glossy coat. From his head hung a pair of the longest, silkiest ears in the animal kingdom. And from his well-rounded bottom hung the sweetest, shapeliest tail that any animal had ever seen.

  Everyone admired Mvuu, from the emerald-coloured sunbirds and naughty monkeys to the mighty King Lion. Across the jungle, as the handsome hippo walked from grassy snack to grassy snack, the creatures would sing out in praise of God’s most beautiful creation. ‘Mister Mvuu, how beautiful are you!’ cried the monkeys from the trees. ‘Mighty Mvuu, how handsome are you!’ roared the lions. ‘Magical Mvuu, we wish we were you!’ sang the sunbirds.

  Soon Hippo began to believe that he was, indeed, the most beautiful thing on earth. Every morning, when he went for his dawn drink, he would stand by the river, admiring his own reflection and remind himself of his magnificence. ‘It’s no wonder I’m a jungle obsession,’ he would say vainly, tossing his shiny hair in the morning mist. ‘It’s quite clear that when God wanted perfection, He made me.’