Stories Gogo Told Me

by Lisa Grainger

  As he looked down, his heart sank. For floating below him were several hornbill feathers – his hornbill feathers. And below them were hundreds of jungle animals, roaring and screeching and neighing and howling, ‘You’re melting, Bushpig, you’re melting!’

  They were right. As he got closer to the sun, his wax had melted into a soft yellow mush, and one by one his feathers were falling off. No matter how hard he tried to flap his legs it was too late. His wings had melted. Nose downwards, Bushpig plummeted towards the ground, feathers and wax flying off his body as he shot down.

  As expected, Bushpig landed with a terrible crash – face first into the dusty red soil, with his bushy little tail sticking up straight into the air. You would have thought things were bad enough. But they got worse. Just as Bushpig crashed, the wind changed. And, as you know, when that happens, your expressions freeze as they are. Nightjar’s grin was permanently stuck forever more onto his wide bill – you can still see it today. Elephant shrew’s long nose froze even longer as he whistled his horrified ‘Shrewwwwwwww!’ at Bushpig’s landing. And poor old Bushpig dug his face out of the ground to find he had the flattest nose anyone had ever seen.

  Mrs Bushpig was so horrified at her husband’s stupidity that now she spends even less time with him than she did before. Now if you see her, she’ll probably be marching through the bush, her little piglets in tow, with poor old flat-nosed Mr Bushpig trailing a long way behind. He’s probably still dreaming of the day he flew. And the time when he still had a lovely long nose.

  How Lion got his roar

  Told to me in Shona by Sabine Sinjere in Mabvuku, Zimbabwe

  A long, long time ago, Lion had a small, soft voice. ‘Miaaaow, miaaaow!’ he would squeak as he padded through the long grass, hunting for his supper. ‘Miaaaaow, miaaaow!’

  The animals all thought it was terribly funny that His Majesty sounded like a mouse and made fun of him behind his back. ‘More like King of the Squeaks than King of the Beasts!’ they would giggle.

  One day, when the animals were sniggering under a great fig tree, Hare staggered by, almost fainting with exhaustion. ‘Water, water, please, friends,’ he begged. ‘I have been hopping for hours, trying to escape Lion. He’s out hunting, and with his silly squeak, I didn’t hear him coming.’

  After giving Hare some water, the animals sat in a circle, chatting. Hare was right, they agreed. It was impossible to hear Lion hunting with his silly squeak. Every day one of them was caught for his supper. But what could they do about it?

  Hare sat for a while, sipping water from a calabash. Then he grinned. ‘I’ve got an idea!’ he said, jumping up from the dusty ground. ‘We will give Lion a loud voice as a present! Then all of us will be safe. Listen out tomorrow, friends!’ And off he hopped.

  The next day, as Hare had promised, he went to visit Lion. ‘Your Majesty, you are a good and just king. And to thank you, we animals would like to give you a gift,’ he said, bowing nervously before the big cat. ‘We have asked the gods to help us find a voice suitable for the king of the beasts and he has found one. It is called a Voice Like Thunder.’

  The king was delighted. His subjects had never given him a gift before and he wasn’t too sorry about losing his soft squeak. ‘Why, thank you, Hare,’ he said gratefully, holding out his royal paw expectantly. But Hare shook his head. ‘I can’t give it to you here, King,’ he said. ‘Your new voice is so precious that we have had to hide it in the forest. You will have to come and get it fitted there.’

  The king agreed, and at lunchtime the pair met in the centre of the forest. There, Hare gave the king three instructions. ‘First, so as not to spoil the surprise, you must close your eyes,’ he said sternly. ‘Secondly, you must open your mouth, so we can fit your new voice into your throat. And thirdly, once your voice has been fitted, you must keep your mouth closed until sunset. New voices take a while to settle in and if you open up, it will escape. Got that?’

  The king nodded solemnly and soon he was lying under a tree, eyes closed, mouth open, ready for delivery of his new voice. Hare grinned to himself. ‘What a clever fellow I am!’ he chuckled quietly, rubbing his paws together in glee.

  Once Lion was settled, Hare set about collecting the king’s voice. First he picked up a long stick, and poked it into a hole in the tree. Then he pulled out exactly what he’d hoped for on the end of his stick: a great big waxy honeycomb – and hundred and hundreds of angry bees. ‘Just as I planned,’ Hare thought as he lowered the honeycomb into Lion’s open mouth. ‘Now open up wide, your Majesty,’ he instructed, with a grin. ‘Then, please, once your voice is in, keep your mouth closed.’

  For a while, Lion did as he was told. He rather enjoyed the taste of his new voice, he thought. It was as sweet as honey! After a while, though, it began to sting a bit. Then a lot. Soon it was throbbing with pain. He opened his eyes in terror, desperate to cry out. Then he saw Hare in front of him.

  ‘Be a king, Your Majesty! Be brave!’ Hare ordered. ‘Remember, that when a Voice Like Thunder is born, it hurts. But we wouldn’t want the animal kingdom to know that a little pain had made you give their gift away, would we?’

  ‘Grrrrrrrrrrrrr!’ Lion growled, his mouth clamped shut with agony. ‘Grrrrrrrr!’ Throughout the afternoon, the Lion lay unhappily, his head on his paws, and great growls of pain reverberating through the jungle. At sunset Hare could see the king’s patience was running thin. ‘Well done, Your Majesty,’ he said to the grumpy king. ‘Your voice is nearly born. So, I’m going to get the rest of the animals to come and celebrate. Lie there for a while and we will be back.’

  For another hour, the king lay in agony, moaning and growling. Then another hour. Soon the jungle was completely dark. But still Hare wasn’t back. At last Hyena came along, looking for scraps of food. ‘What are you doing, King?’ he giggled, seeing the look on Lion’s face. The king could bear the pain no longer and in agony he opened his mouth. Instead of his little squeak, though, out flew a great swarm of bees, buzzing and bombing and stinging with all their might. ‘Roooooooarrrrrrrr!’ Lion howled in pain and anger, as bees stung his nose and eyes and ears and tail. ‘Roooooooarrrrrrr!’

  The animals, hearing the terrifying noise, realised Hare had done just as he’d promised. Quickly, they hid in every safe nook they could find: Aardvark down his anthole, Leopard up his tree, Baboon on to his rocky koppie, and Hare into the very depths of his burrow.

  Even now, when they hear his roar, the animals quake and make their escape. For, as they know, the king is not just after Hare, who tricked him, but after every animal who gave him such a nasty gift. He has never forgotten that pain, either, and sometimes at night you can still hear him moaning and groaning, remembering the day he was given his Voice Like Thunder.

  How Bat got his wings

  Told to me in Zulu by Lindiwe Ndaba in Johannesburg, South Africa

  Once upon a time, long ago in the African jungle, lived a mouse. This mouse was a great complainer, squeaking here and there about his misfortunes. No matter how good his life was, he would find something to moan about. ‘I hate being small,’ he’d complain to Elephant. ‘If only I were as big as you, then no one would stand on me.’ Or he’d gripe to Gnu about his squeaky voice. Sometimes he would even complain about his colour. ‘If I weren’t black, birds wouldn’t be able to pick me out in the grass,’ he grumbled.

  One day, when he was in a particularly ratty mood, Mouse decided to beg a favour from King Lion. The king, everyone knew, could do anything. ‘Please, oh gracious King, give me wings,’ he begged. ‘I can’t stand my life any longer – with birds eating me, creatures standing on me and no one listening to my little squeaky voice.’ The king looked puzzled. ‘But you are a lovely, delicate little mouse,’ he growled softly. ‘You are not made to fly. Like me, or Elephant, or Antbear, or Eland, you were made to walk on the earth, not fly in the sky. Creatures that fly have feathers and beaks, not fur and tails like us. Now go away Mouse, and enjoy gifts you have been given.’ />
  But Mouse, being a professional moaner, wasn’t going to be pushed away that easily. ‘King,’ he protested in a squeak so squeaky it made Lion wince, ‘I want wings. I neeeeeeeed wings. I am desperate for wings. Pleeeeeeeease give me wings to fly high in the sky!’

  His squeak was so insistent and his manner so annoying that eventually the king gave in. But there was one condition attached to the gift. ‘Take these wings and you will become a flying creature for ever,’ Lion warned. ‘Once you have taken to the sky, you can never return to earth again.’ ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!’ squealed Mouse, leaping up and down on the path in excitement. ‘Thanks for listening, King. Now if you don’t mind I’ll say goodbye. I’ve got to fly!’

  Quickly he attached his new wings to his side, and with a great flap, he swooped off into the sky, his whiskers whisking backwards in the wind. For the first time in ages, Mouse had nothing to moan about as he fluttered and flapped happily, tumbling and turning, and swooping and swirling in the hot African air. He was so happy.

  The only problem was that Mouse wasn’t used to flying and after a few minutes, his wings began to ache. So, spotting a quiet, shady sicklebush tree, he flew down and was soon hanging comfortably from the branch. No sooner had he landed, though, than a thunderous squawking and screeching and squeaking erupted into the air as birds flapped in astonishment at this new furry flying creature. ‘Who are you, you furry little creep? Where do you nest and what do you eat?’ they squawked rudely, staring at him.

  Mouse wasn’t very pleased – after all, he thought he was rather a lovely looking fellow. ‘I am a mouse and the King has given me wings,’ he announced proudly. ‘I have come to join you in the air, so I can escape everyone standing on me and trying to eat me. I don’t have feathers or a beak and I don’t make a nest or lay eggs, but I hope I can soon become one of you.’

  The birds were horrified. ‘We can’t have an animal living with us,’ Owl hooted. ‘We have our own bird kingdom, with our own rules and our own king. I’m afraid you can’t stay here. We’re pleased you want to copy us, and fly like us, but you are going to have to face it: you are not one of us. Now off you go. Goodbye!’

  Mouse was very upset, but with all of those angry looking birds around him, he thought he’d better make a move earthwards. So down he flew, back to the animal kingdom.

  When he got to the king, he burst into a flurry of little mousy tears, but this time not even his high-pitched squeaks and squeals moved the king. ‘I told you, Mouse, that if you took wings and took to the sky, you could never return to earth,’ he growled angrily. ‘Now off you go. I don’t want to hear another squeak from you.’

  Given the sharpness of Lion’s claws and teeth, and the hungry glint in his eyes, Mouse didn’t like to argue. So, sadly, he fluttered off to find a new home. But as Owl had warned him, he was from a different kingdom and not welcome in the air. If he swooped over a mountain, eagles and hawks would attack him with their long claws. If he roosted by a river, kingfishers and cormorants would spear him with their sharp beaks. And if he went anywhere near a tree or a nest, flocks of screeching, flying feathers would descend on him to chase him away.

  ‘It’s just not fair,’ moaned Mouse, flapping his wings wearily. ‘No one wants me. Where I am I going to go?’ As he looked down, suddenly he spotted a cave – the kind of cave that birds hated. It was dark. It was cool. It smelt a bit like his mouse hole. And if he made little mousy squeaks, the sound echoed round and round the cave, making him feel like there were lots of other friendly mice like him living there. ‘This will be home,’ he decided happily, after checking that no one else lived there. ‘Now that I have wings my new name will be Bat. And this lovely place will be my bat cave.’

  Bat has lived there ever since. To keep out of the birds’ way, he goes out only at night, when most of them are asleep. His eyesight is not as good as it used to be when he was a mouse that found food by day. But he’s still furry and still very, very squeaky. Listen out on a dark night and you will probably hear him complaining noisily about the day he left his friends behind for a lonesome life in a cave. You might even hear his warning: ‘Sometimes when your wishes come true, they’re perfect for someone else, but not for you.’ Isn’t he right?

  How Giraffe got his long neck

  Told to me in Nyanga by Million Daka at Kisani Camp in the Luangwa Valley, Zambia

  When the earth was young, not all animals looked like they do today. Lion was the only creature that had a tail. Hippo, then, was very hairy. And Giraffe was as short as a warthog, with squat legs, tiny brown spots and a fat little neck.

  Although Giraffe was odd-looking, he was extremely popular. Every animal loved him, for not only was he kind-hearted and generous, but he could sort out any problem. If Lion needed someone to break up an argument, he would call on Giraffe. If an old animal needed assistance, Giraffe stepped in. And if little children fell in the river, Giraffe fished them out. He was the jungle’s best friend.

  The problem was, though, that Giraffe trusted everyone – no matter how nasty, mean or wicked they were. ‘The world is a wonderful place and animals are a beautiful race,’ he’d say, blinking his long eyelashes dreamily. And off he’d trot to help the latest creature in distress – a stork stuck in the mud, a frog with a sore throat, or a monkey with a tangled tail.

  One day, when lazy Crocodile started crying in his pond, there was only one animal who felt sorry for him: Giraffe. ‘Leave the creep to weep,’ all the other animals warned, eyeing Crocodile suspiciously. ‘He’ll beat you or unseat you, or may even eat you.’ But Giraffe, being Giraffe, ignored them.

  At the edge of Crocodile’s pond he asked the crying creature what the matter was. ‘Oh dear Giraffe,’ said Crocodile, tears streaming down his long nose. ‘I ate a fish and got a bone stuck in my throat. It’s so painful and sore, I just want to roar!’

  ‘Fibber,’ muttered Frog. ‘Trickster!’ snorted Tortoise. ‘Liar,’ said Lion. But still Giraffe stepped further forward into the pond. The animals began to panic. ‘Don’t believe him! Don’t believe him!’ trumpeted Elephant on the riverbank. ‘That clever crocodile may be crying, but he’s probably cheating, tricking and lying!’

  But Giraffe couldn’t bear seeing Crocodile’s tears any longer. So, he balanced on the edge of the green pond, put his neck out over the water and asked Crocodile to open his mouth wide.

  Crocodile was delighted to do so. And just as Giraffe leaned forward, the hungry creature cracked down its jaws, biting down hard on Giraffe’s neck. ‘Quick, quick, give it stick!’ trumpeted Elephant, grabbing onto Giraffe’s legs with his trunk. ‘Save him!’ At once, all the animals took hold of Giraffe. As Crocodile heaved, they hauled. As he wrenched, they yanked, with Giraffe giving great cries as his body was pulled this way and that, stretching his legs, his skin, his neck, and even his spots. Eventually, though, the old fat Crocodile got too tired to hold on any longer, and with a cross ‘Phoooooooarr!’ he let go of Giraffe’s neck and disappeared into the water in a mass of huffing bubbles.

  For the first time in his life, Giraffe flew – right up into the air. Then he landed, with a thump, on a pile of roaring, groaning and moaning friends. As each animal got up, it stared in amazement at the stretched giraffe before it. Instead of a squat little creature, there stood the tallest, longest-necked animal anyone had ever seen. His legs reached the top of Elephant’s head. His neck was as long as Ostrich’s. And his tail trailed past his knobbly knees. He was one of the most beautiful creatures anyone had ever seen.

  King Lion was the first to speak. ‘Of all the animals in my kingdom, it is you who most deserves this beautiful new body,’ he said, standing proudly beside his now tall friend. ‘You have always had a beautiful heart inside, and now you have a beautiful skin too. You will be a reminder that good things come to those who deserve them.’

  As for Crocodile, no animal will ever trust him again. He can cry all he likes in his deep, dark pool and no one will come near. For they know he
is trying to trick them with his fake crocodile tears.

  The End