Ajapa the Tortoise

by Margaret Baumann

  Even as he spoke, Taiwo could not help trembling, for night was falling, and as he pressed onwards he could hear around him all the mysterious forest sounds—the whirring of insects, the growl of leopards, the howling of wolves, and the rustling of leaves.

  Taiwo wished for a little company, and, in fact, the darkness and loneliness became so oppressive at length that he began singing for the comfort of hearing his own voice.

  Suddenly a light flickered some distance in front of him, and again disappeared. Taiwo stood still and listened.

  “I am very foolish,” he thought. “Here I am singing, forgetting that there may be enemies lurking in the darkness, who may attack me at any moment with spear or poisoned arrows. I must be cautious.”

  At this instant the light shone again, and gradually came nearer.

  Taiwo waited with his knife ready to throw, but when he saw that the light was carried by an old, bent man, walking with a stick, he replaced his knife and hastened to greet the old man.

  “Alas! unfortunate one, what have you done to get lost in the middle of the forest at this time of night? Let me guide you to the edge of the forest.”

  “You yourself seem to be in need of a guide,” replied the old man pleasantly. “Where have you been?”

  “I am Taiwo the Traveller, and I have been to the city on the great river of the North. I am now on my way home, but I confess that in the darkness the path is hard to find, and I am very solitary. I have at home a little family awaiting me with eagerness, and in this wallet I carry presents for them all from the great city. But I begin to wonder if I shall ever see them! . . .”

  “You are courteous and kind,” said the old man. “I will guide you.”

  And with his light he guided Taiwo to the edge of the forest, which was after all not far away. When dawn came the old and the young man stood side by side outside Taiwo’s own house.

  “Old man,” said Taiwo heartily, “you have guided me well. I pray you to enter my house and be my guest as long as you please to stay, for I can never repay your kindness.”

  The old man shook his head and smiled.

  “Alas! I must return to the forest. It is dawn.”

  “If you must go,” said Taiwo, “accept this small reward.” And he took out all the coins he had and offered them to the old man.

  “No,” said his guide, with a strange look. “I am the one to offer you a gift. Young man, I am the spirit of the iroko, and for your gentleness tonight I shall ever watch over this house.”

  With these words, he thrust into Taiwo’s hands his light, and disappeared. The light changed, as Taiwo held it, into a lump of gold, of such great value that Taiwo was a rich man for the rest of his life.

  Often he stood in front of the iroko tree, wishing to express his gratitude, but he never saw the old man again, and once or twice, when he caught sight of a light between the trees, he found that it was nothing but the glow-worms who guide travellers falsely into the swamps!

  XVII. The Ants and the Serpent

  The ants were once building a new city.

  They toiled all day long in the hot sun, making rooms and streets, tunnels and porches, and no one thought of taking a rest until the task was finished.

  But alas! just when the work was nearing completion, a huge serpent came out of the forest and crawled right through the city of the ants, ruining it, and destroying all the work of the industrious insects.

  The chief workers of the ants ran after the serpent, and cried:

  “Oh, monster! oh, villain! how could you destroy our work—you, who never create anything beautiful or useful! You must pay us something to make up for the damage you have done with your great heavy body.”

  The serpent only laughed, as it began to glide up a tree-trunk.

  “If you say any more I will come back and crush you all, as well as the mound you call a city!”

  “We will have our revenge!” cried the ants, running to and fro, and beginning their toil all over again.

  The serpent, lying coiled round a branch, took no notice at all.

  That night the ants summoned all their friends and relatives for miles around. Thousands and thousands of ants came marching in a great army to the spot where the great serpent lay asleep in the long grasses.

  Silently, swiftly, steadily they marched over all obstacles, and suddenly swarming over the serpent they began to eat him up alive.

  The serpent writhed here and there, begging for mercy, but the ants he had persecuted did not hear his appeal, and though he tied himself into knots and double knots, it was all to no purpose.

  When morning came the ants had marched on their way, leaving nothing but the white skeleton of the serpent behind them.

  Which shows how the weakest creatures, if banded together, can overcome a strong and dangerous enemy.

  XVIII. Tortoise Saves the King

  “Oh, King!” said Tortoise, “how many ears have you?”

  “Two,” replied the King.

  “Then listen well with both of them. Here we are, with plenty of food, but outside the city a big army is encamped, and our enemy is only waiting to attack us. And they are very fierce because they are so hungry.”

  The King replied:

  “That is true. I am afraid they may attack at any time, and then what will become of our city? We can only defeat them by a trick, and I have promised to give my daughter to the man who thinks out the best plan.”

  “Well, King,” said Tortoise boldly, “I do not wish to marry your daughter, because I am quite satisfied with Nyanribo, but I have thought of a very good way of defeating the enemy. All I ask is a little basket of provisions from the royal storehouse.”

  “Is that all? Do you not need money and warriors?”

  “Not yet,” said Tortoise cautiously, and in a little while he left the town with a small basket of provisions.

  He went straight on until he reached a marsh, near which the enemy lay waiting to attack.

  Now the sentry and herald of the enemy was a Frog, and he seized his bugle and listened intently when he heard someone approaching.

  Tortoise came slowly into sight, carrying his basket, and Frog laughed and threw down the bugle.

  “Why, it is Tortoise! What brings you here?”

  “Curiosity,” returned Tortoise promptly. “I have been told that you are a great runner and jumper, and I did not believe it, so I thought I would come and ask you yourself.”

  “Has the tale of my wonderful jumping only just reached your ears? You are slow, Tortoise, slow! I am the world’s greatest jumper.”

  Tortoise looked unconvinced.

  “It is surprising,” he said. “I never thought you in any way remarkable, and yet you say you are famous. . . .”

  “Famous?” cried Frog angrily. “This army has chosen me as sentry and herald because I am such a very clever fellow. No one else is fitted for such an important post. I shall certainly become a Chief when the war is over.”

  “That may be,” agreed his visitor, still doubtful. “But, to be convinced, I would have to see an exhibition of your marvellous leaping.”

  “Oh, of course! I will show you. I can easily jump right across this marsh . . . if I try. But I am not at my best just now, because we are nearly starved to death. As a matter of fact, we shall attack the town to-morrow, and then there will be no hunger again! Even you, Tortoise, would make quite a tasty stew for a hungry warrior. . . .”

  Chuckling at his own wit, Frog took a deep breath and sprang into the long grass quite a distance away.

  “Did you see me?” he called proudly.

  “Not very well,” replied Tortoise, who was busy cramming the herald’s bugle with the savoury morsels of food he had brought in the basket. “Not very well. Jump again!”

  Frog leaped here and there, and then returned, calling: “Did you see me? Did you see me?

  “Yes,” said Tortoise, picking up his empty basket, “I saw all I came to see, and I am quite satisfied. You are a v
ery wonderful fellow. There is no doubt you will be either a Chief or a King some day!”

  “Of course,” said Frog, as Tortoise ambled away.

  When he arrived, all out of breath, in the King’s presence, Tortoise panted:

  “Quick! I have arranged everything! Order your warriors to attack at once. The enemy is encamped behind the marsh, and we cannot fail to defeat them.”

  The King gave the necessary orders, and the whole army quickly advanced towards the marsh.

  Frog was alarmed when he saw the warriors advancing, and he seized the bugle to sound a warning to his friends. To his astonishment a morsel of food dropped from the bugle into his mouth, and each time he tried to blow the bugle, the same thing happened. In the end, hunger overcame discretion, and while he gobbled up the food, the King’s army advanced and fell upon the enemy without warning, gaining a complete victory.

  The warriors returned to the town in triumph, and Tortoise was the hero of the day.

  As for Frog, he ate the contents of his bugle so eagerly that he burst, and no trace of him was ever found but his bugle.

  XIX. Oluronbi’s Promise

  In a certain village no baby had been born for fourteen years. The women grew idle, as they had no children to care for, and the men, who would have been instructing their sons in the secrets of hunting and wood-craft, as well as in the various occupations of the village, shook their heads sadly over the drowsy silence that reigned where childish prattle and running feet should have made a cheerful and comforting noise.

  One night all the men of the village met in a secret grove and discussed the matter. Bada, the drummer, was more vehement than all the rest.

  “Alas!” he complained. “I am growing old, and who is there to carry on my work? Shall a stranger from some other village come here with his drum to play for the dancing and to mock at us?”

  “Alas!” sighed all the rest.

  “There is some evil charm hanging over the village,” continued Bada. “Or perhaps the women of the village are not pleasing to the gods. Let us turn them out into the forest.”

  The rest cried out against such a harsh thought, but the fat goldsmith, Alagbede, said:

  “It is true. Our women must be very wicked, since the gods will not trust them to train up little children to bring prosperity to the village. Let us cast them off.”

  In the end all the men gave their consent to the suggestion, except Sani, the wood-carver, who loved his young wife Oluronbi devotedly. He was a very skilful man, and even the King of the land had praised his carving, for he designed stools supported by the figures of two fighting elephants; and again the shapes of crocodiles, strange birds and beasts of the forest, decorated with the marks of a hot iron, and so lifelike that all were astonished to see them.

  Being thus a man of importance in the village, Sani was listened to with respect by the rest, though most of them were older than himself.

  “I agree with you, my friends,” he declared, “that things are in a very serious state. At the same time, I feel that there is good fortune in store for our village. Let us therefore wait another year before we cast off our wives, and I now pledge you my word that my own wife, Oluronbi, whom I love dearly, shall be the first to go.”

  After much discussion, the rest agreed, and the meeting came to an end.

  But someone reached the village before the men: one of the women, concealed among the tall grasses, had heard every word which had been spoken, and she ran like an antelope to tell her friends what had transpired.

  Oh, what sorrowful looks did the women cast upon one another when they heard of the cruel decree of their husbands! But none felt such grief as Oluronbi when the words of Sani the wood-carver were reported.

  “Alas! alas!” cried all the women together. “We shall be turned out into the forest to be killed by the leopards and wolves. Alas for Oluronbi, who must be the first to leave!”

  Months passed by, and still the spirits of little children refused to come to the village, and the women all wept bitterly when they were alone, and thought with fear of the terrible day which was fast approaching.

  One day Oluronbi called all the women together, while the men were out hunting.

  “Let us go into the forest and ask the iroko, the magic tree, to help us,” she said.

  No one had thought of this before, so they all set off at once into the forest, until they came to the magic tree.

  The boldest among the women spoke for the rest, and asked the spirit of the tree to help them in their need.

  For a long time there was silence, while the unlucky women trembled and wished they had never left the village; when suddenly from the iroko tree came a deep voice like thunder.

  “Alas for you, my daughters. There is cause for mourning and sorrow . . . sorrow . . . sorrow.... Yet the iroko will aid you. Return home, and if you bring a suitable sacrifice, children shall be given to every one of you.”

  At this the women wept for joy.

  “Oh, great iroko!” cried the wife of Bada the drummer. “I will sacrifice a fat sheep.”

  “And I a goat,” said the wife of fat Alagbede, the goldsmith.

  “And I a sucking-pig.”

  “And I ten young chickens,” they said, one after another.

  But Oluronbi rejoiced most of all, for she loved her husband dearly.

  “Iroko,” she cried, “if this is true, I will give you my first child.”

  Thus happiness came again to the village, and in each hut there was the crowing of children, and the joyful parents went about smiling proudly.

  Proudest of all were Sani and Oluronbi with the little girl that was born to them. She was so beautiful, even when she was a tiny infant, that she was called “Layinka,” or “Honour-surrounds-me,” and when the King passed through the village, he was struck by the sweetness of the little girl, and resolved that she should one day be the bride of his son.

  How proudly Oluronbi looked at her little daughter when the King had passed on his way! Then suddenly her promise to the iroko, completely forgotten in her happiness, returned to her memory.

  Trembling with fear, Oluronbi held the baby in her arms and thought of her terrible promise. But she could not bear to sacrifice her sweet little daughter to the magic tree, and hoped that with the gifts of fat sheep and goats, choice fruits and ornaments of gold laid at the foot of the tree by the other women, the iroko would be content.

  However, for a long time she was afraid to go near the magic tree, and meanwhile her daughter Layinka grew rapidly to be a beautiful and amiable child, so that her parents were very proud of her.

  After a while Oluronbi forgot all about her promise to the iroko, and went with the other women into the forest as before. One day, walking alone, she thoughtlessly passed by the iroko tree, singing as she went:

  “Layinka, my beautiful child,

  Thou art thy mother’s joy.”

  Evening came, and in the village there was no trace of Oluronbi. All the villagers were alarmed, but especially Sani the wood-carver, who ran from hut to hut trying to find his wife.

  She could not be discovered, and after a sleepless night Sani went at daybreak into the forest, where Oluronbi had last been seen. Here again his search met with no reward, and towards evening he turned his steps sorrowfully back to the village.

  In the shade of the iroko tree he sat down for a little while to rest. There was a flutter of wings in the leafy branches, and a little brown bird appeared and began to sing these strange words:

  “Everyone promised a goat, a goat!

  Everyone promised a sheep, a sheep!

  But Oluronbi promised her child, her child;

  Her child as sweet as the red palm-oil!

  Poor Oluronbi!

  Here sits she,

  Confined to the boughs of iroko tree.”

  Several times this song was repeated, and at length Sani realized that the little brown bird could be none other than Oluronbi herself!

  He sprang t
o his feet, but the bird disappeared.

  When he reached the village, Sani related what had happened and soon learned the meaning of the song, for all the women confessed how they had gone to the iroko tree for help and had promised various gifts. Nobody was surprised that poor Oluronbi had found it impossible to sacrifice her pretty baby, and it was evident that the iroko tree had seized the unfortunate woman as she passed by, and changed her into a bird.

  Sani and the Magic Tree. Page 70.

  Sani sat all night by the door of his hut, thinking how he might rescue his wife from her sad fate, and at last an idea came to him.

  As soon as it was light he chose a fine piece of wood and his sharpest tools, and began to carve. For three days he carved away in secret, and at the end of that time he had completed the figure of a baby, so lifelike that all who saw it believed it at first to be a real child.

  He wrapped this wooden baby in a handsome blue cloth and hung a small gold chain about its neck. Then he set off once more to the forest.

  In the branches of the iroko tree the little brown bird was still singing plaintively.

  Sani laid the wooden baby on the ground and cried:

  “Iroko! Iroko!

  Take up Oluronbi’s child.

  Here is the child,

  As red as palm-oil,

  As sweet as a paw-paw!

  Oh, take the child from me.

  The small brown bird set free!”

  The branches of the iroko creaked and swayed and suddenly bent down to snatch up the wooden baby, which disappeared in the midst of the thick leaves.

  And before Sani the wood-carver stood his weeping wife.

  “Alas! alas! husband,” she cried. “I would rather have remained for ever a poor brown bird than that our beautiful Layinka, who was to wed the King’s son, should be given up to the cruel iroko!”

  Without any explanation Sani led her swiftly from the forest, and when they reached the entrance of their hut . . . there sat little Layinka, laughing happily and playing with her wooden toys.