The Annotated African American Folktales

by Henry Louis Gates

Spider is both animal and human, a trickster figure standing betwixt and between, embodying desire in all its excesses along with efforts to measure and contain. On the one hand, we have the expansive, generous wisdom of story and on the other a greedy trapping and acquisition of animals. In this tale, Ananse “buys” the Sky God’s stories, and what is the price? Nothing less than all the characters in plots staged by Spider. The Sky God may now own the players, but Spider has created a story about the naming and ownership of stories, a metanarrative that serves a foundational role as charter narrative and that will also be preserved through cultural memory. Note that he would never have succeeded without the specific instructions issued by his wife Aso.

  The British captain R. S. Rattray collected this story while in the service of what was then known as the Gold Coast Colony, and it has been adapted here from his version. Rattray established a Department of Anthropology in Kumasi, which gave him the opportunity to devote his full energies to studying Ashanti culture.

  “How the Sky God’s Stories Came to Be Known as Spider Stories,” from R. S. Rattray. ed., Akan-Ashanti Folk-Tales, 1930. By permission of Oxford University Press.

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  1 “We do not really mean, we do not really mean, that what we are going to say is true”: A typical opening line, one that emphatically calls attention to the status of the story as “lie.”

  2 Kwaku Ananse: Ananse is usually referred to as simply Ananse, the Akan word for spider. Here, Kwaku means “father.”

  3 Nyankopon: Nyankopon is one aspect of the triune deity Nyame, with Nyame representing the cosmos, Nyankopon its life-giving force, and Odomankoma, the creative power.

  4 Kokofu, Bekwai, Asumengya: villages in the Ashanti region of Ghana

  5 “What is the price of the stories?”: Stories are made from mere words, and it seems deeply ironic that we hear about the “buying” and “purchasing” of things that have no material substance. At the same time, nothing is more precious than the stories of a culture, and for that reason the “price” for them is made almost impossible to pay by making a set of challenging demands.

  6 Onini the Python: The choice of creatures—a python, hornets, a leopard—seems somewhat arbitrary, though each could be seen as incarnating some kind of attribute, e.g., stealth, suffering, swiftness. The Fairy provides the opportunity to stage a version of the tar-baby story. The fact that Ananse throws in his mother for good measure seems astonishing but is treated in matter-of-fact fashion.

  7 plantain: A major food staple (related to the banana) in parts of Africa, Central America, and the Caribbean Islands.

  8 plastered the doll’s body with it: Here is the ur-form of the tar-baby story, with a doll covered with a sticky substance, an interlocutor insulted by lack of responsiveness, and an aggressive punch that backfires.

  9 Mmoatia the Fairy: Mmoatia is also known as Mmotia and Kulparge and Chichiriga, all of whom are mischief-loving fairies and dwarfs.

  10 my story: The narrator lays claim to the story rather than crediting Ananse with ownership.

  11 let some come back to me: The story is given an attribute associated with edibles, and the narrator sends it into circulation but hopes to enjoy some returns as well.

  RABBIT WANTS MORE SENSE

  Rabbit wen’ an’ asked de Lawd dat he have mo’ sense, didn’ have sense enough. An’ de Lawd said dat he mus’ go an’ bring home a flock of parridge an’ a rattlesnake an’ a alligator-tush.1 An’ Rabbit wen’.

  He met Rattlesnake firs’. “Good-mornin’, Ber Rabbit!”

  “Good-mornin’, Ber Rattlesnake! Ber Rattlesnake, you grow a big man since I see you las’.”

  “Man,” he say, “I ain’t grow so big.”

  “Oh, yes, man! Le’ me measure you by dis stick!” He bring his stick down. Den he tie Rattlesnake tail down to de stick, an’ he tie Rattlesnake head down to de stick.

  “Man, what you do to me?”

  Say, “De oder day2 dey measure me, short as you see my tail, dey tie um down.” Den he kyarry Rattlesnake to de Lawd.

  Den he come back. He meet Partridge. “Good-mornin’, Partridge!”

  “Good-mornin’, Rabbit!”

  “Partridge, yer fam’ly grow to a big crowd since I see you las’.” He had a calabash full o’ pease.

  Ber Partridge, he said, “I betsh yer you an’ all yer fam’ly couldn’ jump in dis calabash.” An’ as dey busy eatin’ de pease, Rabbit cover dem down. When dey done eat de pease, dey holler, “House dyark! Ra’3 done gwine wid dem! House dyark! Ra’ done gwine wid dem!”

  Ber Rabbit kyarry dem to de Lawd!

  Den he come back. Dey goin’ now to get Ber Alligator tush. Gone to de riberside wid all de fiddleman to play. Sing,—

  “News come from Santee,

  Pease ripe already.”

  When dey ax him how he knows pease ripe at Santee, he say ’cause he meet a mess o’ pease. Den Alligator holler to him, “Any harm for come sho’?”4

  “No, suh! No harm for come sho’.” Den dey dance. An’ after dey come sho’, move his seat higher an’ higher from de water, way up f’om de water. An’ after dat he kill Alligator, an’ pull out he tush an’ kyarry dat to the Lawd. An’ de Lawd drive him away, tell him he got too much sense, wouldn’ give him no mo’. An’ dat was de en’ of him.

  SOURCE: Elsie Clews Parsons, Folk-Lore of the Sea Islands, 16–17.

  In this tale about Rabbit and his desire for “more sense,” there is a clear mirroring of the story about Ananse and his wish to make the stories of the world his own, but with the perverse twist that Rabbit is not rewarded, for he is already endowed with sense enough. It quickly becomes evident that African folklore settled comfortably into the New World, transforming itself as all folklore does when it makes itself at home in a new region

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  1 alligator-tush: alligator tooth

  2 De oder day: the other day

  3 Ra’: refers to Ber Rabbit

  4 Any harm for come sho’?: Any risk in coming ashore?

  HOW WISDOM CAME INTO THE WORLD

  There once lived a man named Father Anansi. He possessed all the wisdom in the world. People came to him daily for advice and help.

  One day the men of the country made the mistake of offending Father Anansi, who immediately decided to punish them. After much thought, he believed that the most severe punishment he could inflict would be to hide all his wisdom from them. He set to work at once to gather together everything he had already given. Once he succeeded, as he thought, in collecting it, he placed all of it in a great pot1 and sealed it carefully. He was determined to put it in a spot where no human being could reach it.

  Now Father Anansi had a son named Kweku Tsin. This boy began to suspect his father of some secret plan, and he made up his mind to watch him carefully. Next day he saw his father quietly slip out of the house, with his precious pot hung around his neck. Kweku Tsin followed. Father Anansi went through the forest until he left the village far behind. Then, selecting the tallest and most remote tree,2 he began climbing it. The heavy pot, hanging out in front of him, made his ascent almost impossible. Again and again he tried to reach the top of the tree, where he planned to hang the pot. There, he thought, wisdom would indeed be beyond the reach of everyone but himself. But he was unable to carry out his wish. Each time he tried, the pot was in his way.

  For some time Kweku Tsin watched his father’s hopeless attempts to climb the tree. At last, unable to contain himself any longer, he called out, “Father, why don’t you hang the pot across your back? Then you can easily climb the tree.”

  Father Anansi turned and said, “I thought I had all the world’s wisdom in this pot. But now I see that you possess more than I do.3 All my wisdom was inadequate to show me what to do, yet you have been able to tell me.” He was so angry that he threw the pot down to the ground. It struck a great rock and broke into pieces. The wisdom conta
ined in it escaped and spread throughout the world.

  SOURCE: Adapted from William Henry Barker and Cecilia Sinclair, West African Folk-Tales, 33–34.

  Anansi incarnates the spirit of unruliness, and this tale, told at his expense, reveals his less appealing side. Abstract and constructed from mere words, wisdom is not, as the story asserts, a material substance that can be put into a pot, where it is hoarded and contained. But while wisdom may lack substance, it has a deep pragmatic value, as Anansi discovers while attempting to scale a tree with a pot of wisdom on his belly. Ironically, wisdom eludes the grasp of the one who claims to “possess” it. It is Anansi’s son, innocent yet also knowing, whose wisdom is superior to his father’s and who enables Anansi to release wisdom into the world.

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  1 placed all of it in a great pot: Anansi’s dreadful instincts are revealed in this tale. He takes offense and punishes, turning wisdom into something material that, like the evils in the story of Pandora, can be stored in a jar. In this version of a foundational story, Anansi is shown to be a punitive hoarder, undone by his own greed. In some variants, Anansi decides to hoard wisdom out of boredom.

  2 the tallest and most remote tree: Anansi seeks out a spot that is inaccessible, and in a location that connects Earth with the heavens. This “tree of knowledge,” unsuccessfully climbed, has interesting connections to other myths about knowledge and transgression and to the biblical narrative about Adam and Eve.

  3 you possess more than I do: In many folktales, it is the child who speaks truth and wisdom to power. In some variants of the tale, Anansi becomes furious that his son is teaching him a lesson, no matter how valid it may be.

  THE TWO FRIENDS

  Everyone knows the story of the two friends who were thwarted in their friendship by Esu. They took vows of eternal friendship to one another, but neither took Esu into consideration. Esu took note of their actions and decided to do something about them.

  When the time was ripe, Esu decided to put their friendship to his own little test. He made a cloth cap. The right side was black; the left side was white.

  The two friends were out in the fields, tilling their land. One was hoeing on the right side; the other was clearing the bushes to the left. Esu came by on a horse, riding between the two men. The one on the right saw the black side of his hat. The friend on the left noticed the sheer whiteness of Esu’s cap.

  The two friends took a break for lunch under the cool shade of the trees. Said one friend, “Did you see the man with a white cap who greeted us as we were working? He was very pleasant, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, he was charming, but it was a man in a black cap that I recall, not a white one.”

  “It was a white cap. The man was riding a magnificently caparisoned horse.”

  “Then it must be the same man. I tell you, his cap was dark—black.”

  “You must be fatigued or blinded by the hot rays of the sun to take a white cap for a black one.”

  “I tell you it was a black cap and I am not mistaken. I remember him distinctly.”

  The two friends fell to fighting. The neighbors came running but the fight was so intense that the neighbors could not stop it. In the midst of this uproar, Esu returned, looking very calm and pretending not to know what was going on.

  “What is the cause of all the hullabaloo?” he demanded sternly.

  “Two close friends are fighting,” was the answer. “They seem intent on killing each other and neither would stop or tell us the reason for the fight. Please do something before they destroy each other.”

  Esu promptly stopped the fight. “Why do you two lifelong friends make a public spectacle of yourselves in this manner?”

  “A man rode through the farm, greeting us as he went by,” said the first friend. “He was wearing a black cap, but my friend tells me it was a white cap and that I must have been tired or blind or both.”

  The second friend insisted that the man had been wearing a white cap. One of them must be mistaken, but it was not he.

  “Both of you are right,” said Esu.

  “How can that be?”

  “I am the man who paid the visit over which you now quarrel, and here is the cap that caused the dissension.” Esu put his hand in his pocket and brought out the two-colored cap saying, “As you can see, one side is white and the other is black. You each saw one side, and, therefore, are right about what you saw. Are you not the two friends who made vows of friendship? When you vowed to be friends always, to be faithful and true to each other, did you reckon with Esu? Do you know that he who does not put Esu first in all his doings has himself to blame if things misfire?”

  And so it is said:

  “Esu, do not undo me,

  Do not falsify the words of my mouth,

  Do not misguide the movements of my feet.

  You who translates yesterday’s words

  Into novel utterances,

  Do not undo me,

  I bear you sacrifices.”

  SOURCE: Ayodele Ogundipe, Esu Elegbara, the Yoruba God of Chance and Uncertainty: A Study in Yoruba Mythology, II, 133–35.

  Esu is often depicted as having two mouths, and he speaks with what has been described as a double-voiced discourse, self-reflexive and also bridging or mediating contradictions. The story of the two friends is probably the best known of all Esu narratives. It survived the Middle Passage and versions of it continued to proliferate in many locations, especially Brazil and Cuba. Ayodele Ogundipe, who recorded this version, tells us that “the conceptualization of Esu’s presence as a dynamic principle and his representation as the principle of chance or uncertainty has endured in both the Old and New Worlds” (2012, 207). What Esu reveals is the impossibility of settling on fixed meanings or of creating closure. Meaning is always determined by perspective and the vantage point from which something is seen, as the story of Esu’s cloth cap tells us. The fact that the cap is both black and white suggests an embracing of contradictions, and Esu reveals the enrichment that comes with the swerve toward both/and rather than either/or.

  HOW IT CAME ABOUT THAT CHILDREN WERE (FIRST) WHIPPED

  They say that once upon a time a great famine came over the land and that Father Ananse, the Spider, and his wife Aso, and their children, Ntikuma, Nyiwankonfwea (Thin-shanks), Afudotwedotwe (Belly-like-to-burst), and Tikonokono (Big-big-head), built a little settlement and lived in it. Every day Spider used to bring food home, wild yams, and they boiled and ate them. Now one day, Father Ananse went to the bush. He saw a beautiful dish out there.

  “This dish is beautiful!” he said.

  The dish replied, “My name is not ‘beautiful.’ ”

  Spider said, “What are you called?”

  It replied, “I am called ‘Fill-up-some-and-eat.’ ”

  Spider said, “Fill up some that I may see.”

  The dish filled up with palm-oil soup, and Ananse ate it all up. When he was finished, he asked the dish, “What is your taboo?”

  The dish replied, “I hate a gun wad1 and a little gourd cup.”

  Spider took the dish home, and he put it up on the ceiling. Then Ananse went off to the bush and brought food. Aso, when she had finished cooking, called Ananse, and he said, “Oh, you need food more than I do. As for me, I am an old man. Why should I have any food when you and the children need it? If you are no longer hungry, then my ears will calm down, for I will not longer hear your complaints.”

  When they had finished eating, Spider went up to the ceiling where the dish was. He said, “This dish is beautiful!”

  The dish replied, “My name is not ‘beautiful.’ ”

  Spider said, “What is your name?”

  The dish replied, “I am called ‘Fill-up-some-and-eat.’ ”

  Spider said, “Fill up some that I may see.”

  And the dish filled up a bowl of ground-nut soup, and Ananse ate. The same thing happened every day.

  Now Ntikuma noticed that
his father was not growing thin, despite the fact that Ananse was not eating with them. Ntikuma kept an eye on his father and saw that the father had gotten his hands on something. When Ananse went off to the bush, Ntikuma climbed up to the ceiling and discovered the dish. He called his mother and brothers, and they went up there with him.

  Ntikuma said, “This dish is beautiful.”

  The dish replied, “My name is not ‘beautiful.’ ”

  Ntikuma said, “What is your name?”

  The dish replied, “I am called ‘Fill-up-some-and-eat.’ ”

  Ntikuma said, “Fill up a little that I may see.”

  And the dish filled up to the brim with palm-oil soup. Ntikuma and his mother and brothers ate everything that was in the dish.

  And now Ntikuma asked the dish, “What is taboo to you?”

  The dish said, “I hate a gun wad and a small gourd cup.”

  Ntikuma said to Afudotwedotwe, “Go and bring them to me.”

  And Afudotwedotwe brought them, and he took the gun wad and touched the dish with it. Then he took the little gourd cup and touched the dish with it. Then they all climbed down from the ceiling.

  Father Spider, in the meantime, had returned home from the bush with the wild yams. Aso finished cooking them. They called Ananse, and he replied, “You must not have heard what I said. I told you that from this day forward, when I come back home with food, you are the ones who will eat it, for you are the hungry ones.” Aso and her children ate. Father Spider washed up. He climbed up to the ceiling and said, “This dish is beautiful.” Complete silence! Father Spider said, “It must be because the cloth I am wearing is not beautiful. I shall go and bring the one from the Oyoko2 tribe and put it on.” And he came down from the ceiling and fetched the tartan cloth from the Oyoko tribe and put it on. He put on his sandals. He climbed up there again. He said, “This dish is beautiful.” Complete silence! He looked around the room and saw that a gun wad and a little gourd cup were in it.