Don't Pay Bad for Bad & Other Stories (Cheeky Frawg Historicals)

by Amos Tutuola

  As for the criticism, I absolutely disagree that there was any element of racism in either the publication or the positive reactions The Palm-wine Drinkardenjoyed at any time. I believe we all like to read (at least, occasionally) something unique, odd, exotic or “… thronged, grisly and bewitching …” as Dylan Thomas described it in his review of the work in 1952 (the first ever, by anybody). I believe the Palm-wine Drinkardonly evoked the interest (no matter how curious) of the non-African literary world.

  The reactions were genuine. Otherwise, the work, immediately after publication, would have been trashed if the initial reactions were aimed to discriminate against some African literary standard in any way, or to just “push” the book into the market. If lacking, the work would have died out after the publication of many other books written by many African (especially Nigerian) writers who are by now almost too numerous to mention by name. But, instead, the books soared in sales and praise in Europe and the United States alongside later works by African intellectuals. In addition, The Palm-wine Drinkard has been translated into (at least) twelve European and non-European languages. All of this means genuine interest and acceptance to me.

  I also find this quote from Taban Lo Liyon in “Tutuola, son of Zinjanthropus,”, published in Critical Perspectives on Amos Tutuola, relevant:

  Now, in all that he has done, Amos Tutuola is not sui generis. Is he ungrammatical? Yes. But James Joyce is more ungrammatical than Tutuola. Ezekiel Mphahlele has often said and written that African writers are doing violence to English. Violence? Has Joyce not done more violence to the English Language? Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finnis written in seven dialects, he tells us. It is acknowledged a classic. We accept it, forget that it has no “grammar”, and go ahead to learn his “grammar” and what he has to tell us. Let Tutuola write “no grammar” and the hyenas and jackals whine and growl. Let Gabriel Okara write a “no grammar” Okolo. They are mum. Why? Education drives out of the mind superstition, daydreaming, building of castles in the air, cultivation of yarns, and replaces them with a rational practical mind, almost devoid of imagination. Some of these minds having failed to write imaginative stories, turn to that aristocratic type of criticism that magnifies trivialities beyond their real size. They fail to touch other virtues in a work because they do not have the imagination to perceive these mysteries. Art is arbitrary. Anybody can begin his own style. Having begun it arbitrarily, if he persists to produce in that particular mode, he can enlarge and elevate it to something permanent, to something other artists will come to learn and copy, to something the critics will catch up with and appreciate.”

  Though in literary circles criticism of any particular work is still relevant will never end, his reputation is clearly different now than during the period between 1950 and 1960, in terms of better understanding and placement of his works. Through calmer reassessments the virtues in these works are emerging and are being recognized and praised.

  For example, in “The Palm-Wine Drinkard: A Reassessment of Amos Tutuola” from the Journal of Commonwealth Literature, Professor Omolara Ogundipe-Leslie wrote: “What commands acclaim is Tutuola’s use of his materials, chosen from all and sundry, and minted to make something beautiful, new and undeniably his own. He has handled his material with all of the skill of the good storyteller and he has been able to endow it with the qualities of a ‘well-told-tale’.”

  In “Amos Tutuola: The Nightmare of the Tribe,” published in Introduction to Nigerian Literature, O.R. Dathorne also said: “Tutuola deserves to be considered seriously because his work represents an intentional attempt to fuse folklore with modern life. In this way he is unique, not only in Africa, where the sophisticated African writer is incapable of this tenuous and yet controlled connection, but in Europe as well, where this kind of writing is impossible.”

  My father passed away in June of 1997 at the age of seventy-seven. As Robert Elliot Fox said in his article for Research in African Literature, “Tutuola and the Commitment to Tradition,” “Whatever else may be said about his work, it undeniably is part of the foundation of African writing—that part which is sunk most deeply in the substratum and psyche of African culture and imagination. However high and wide the African literary edifice grows, we’ll keep coming back to Tutuola, not just as an historically important entity, but as a necessary counterpoint to other developments. Tutuola has become, and as time passes, will continue to become, less exotic and more inevitable as a contributor to the realm of African lit/orature. While we mourn his death, let us celebrate the life of his writings.”

  Works Referenced

  Adeagbo Akinjogbin, Letter to West Africa, June 5, 1954. Critical Perspectives on Amos Tutuola. Ed. Bernth Lindfors. Washington: Three Continents Press, 1975

  Chinweizu, Onwuchekwa Jemie, and Ihechukwu Madubuike, Toward the Decolonization of African Literature Vol. 1. Enugu: Fourth Dimension Publishers, 1980.

  O.R. Dathorne, “Amos Tutuola: The Nightmare of the Tribe”. Introduction to Nigerian Literature. Ed. Bruce King. New York: Africana Publishing, 1972.

  Robert Elliot Fox, “Tutuola and the Commitment to Tradition”. Research in African Literatures, vol. 29, no. 3 (Autumn, 1998), pp. 203-208.

  Eldred Jones, “Amos Tutuola—The Palm-Wine Drinkard: Fourteen Years On”. Bulletin of the Association for African Literature in English, no. 4 (1966), pp. 24-30.

  Taban Lo Liyon, “Tutuola, Son of Zinjanthropus”. Critical Perspectives on Amos Tutuola. Ed. Bernth Lindfors. Washington: Three Continents Press, 1975.

  Alastair Niven, “Obituary: Amos Tutuola”. The Independent, June 16, 1997.

  Omolara Ogundipe-Leslie, “The Palm-Wine Drinkard: A Reassessment of Amos Tutuola”. Journal of Commonwealth Literature, no. 9 (1970), pp. 48-56.

  Oyekan Owomoyela, “Amos Tutuola: A Man of His Times”. ALA Bulletin, vol. 23, no. 3 (1997), pp. 15-16.

  Eustace Palmer, The Growth of the African Novel. London: Heinemann, 1979.

  DON’T PAY BAD FOR BAD

  There once lived two tight friends named Dola and Babi. Both were ladies. Babi and Dola had liked each other since when they were children. They wore the same kind of clothes and were always going everywhere together in their village and to several other villages as well. Because of this, many people thought that they were twins.

  Both went everywhere together until they grew old enough to marry. But, as they liked each other so much, they decided to marry two men of the same family and who lived in the same house, so that they might be with each other always.

  Luckily, a few days after they had agreed to do so, they heard of two men who were born by the same father and mother and lived in the same house as well. So Babi married the one who was the junior and Dola married the second one who was the senior. Now, Babi and Dola were very happy because they were living together in their husbands’ house as when they had not been married.

  A few days after their marriage, Dola cleared a part of the front of the house very neatly. She sowed one kola-nut on that spot. After a few weeks, the kola-nut shot out. Having seen this, she filled up one big jar with water and put it before her new kola-nut tree. Very early in the morning, Dola would go and kneel down before her tree and jar, and then she would pray to the tree to help her get a baby in time. Then after the prayer, she would drink some of the water which was inside the jar. Dola believed that there was a certain spirit who was coming and blessing the kola-nut tree and the water in the night. Having done all this, then she would go back to her room before the rest of the people in the house would wake.

  After some months, the kola-nut tree grew up to the height of about two feet. But unfortunately, the animals of the village began to eat the leaves of the tree and this hindered its growth. One morning, Babi saw Dola, her friend, as she knelt down before the tree and jar praying. After the prayer, Babi asked, “Dola, what are you doing before that kola-nut tree and the jar?”

  “Oh, this kola-nut tree is my God and I always ask it to help me to get a baby in time,” D
ola, pointing a finger to the tree and jar, explained quietly.

  When Babi noticed that the animals had eaten the leaves of the tree, she went back to her room. She brought the head of her large pitcher from which the body had been broken away. She gave it to Dola and advised her to cover her tree with it so that the animals might not be able to eat the leaves of the tree again. Dola took it from her and thanked her greatly. Then she covered her tree with it, and as from that morning the animals were unable to eat the leaves again, and the tree then grew as quickly as possible in the centre of the head of the pitcher.

  A few years later, the tree yielded the first kola-nuts. The nuts were of the best quality in the village. For this reason the kola-nut buyers bought them with a considerable amount of money. And when the tree yielded the second and the third crop of nuts, the buyers bought them with as large a sum of money as before. So in selling these nuts, Dola became a wealthy woman.

  Having seen this, Babi was so jealous that one day she asked, “Please, Dola, will you return the head of my pitcher this morning?”

  “What? The head of your pitcher?” Dola shouted with great shock.

  “Yes, the head of my pitcher. I want it back this morning,” Babi replied in a jealous voice.

  “Well, the head of your pitcher cannot be returned at this time unless I break it into pieces before it will be able to come out of my tree,” Dola replied with a dead voice.

  “The head of my pitcher must not break nor split in any part before you return it to me,” Babi shouted without mercy.

  “I say it cannot be taken away from the tree unless the tree is cut down!” Dola explained loudly.

  “Yes, you may cut the tree down if you wish to do so, but at all costs I want the head of my pitcher back!” Babi boomed at Dola.

  “But Babi, remember that both of us have been friends since when we were children. Therefore, do not attempt to destroy my kola-nut tree,” Dola begged Babi.

  “Yes, of course, I don’t forget at any time that we are friends, but at any rate, I want the head of my pitcher now!” Babi insisted with a great noise.

  At last, when it was revealed to Dola that Babi simply wanted her tree to be destroyed so that she might not get kola-nuts to sell anymore, she went to the court of law. She sued Babi for trying to destroy her tree. But, when the judge failed to persuade Babi not to take the head of her pitcher back, he judged the case in favour of her, that Dola must return the head of the pitcher to her.

  With great sorrow, the kola-nut tree was cut down and the head of the pitcher was taken away from the tree and returned to Babi. Babi was now very happy, not because of her pitcher but of Dola’s tree which was cut down. After that she and Dola entered the house and they continued their friendship as before and Dola did not show her sorrow for her tree in her behaviour towards Babi.

  A few months after the tree was cut down, Babi delivered a female baby. In the morning that Babi’s baby would be named, Dola gave her a fine brass ring as a present to put on her baby’s neck, because brass was one of the most precious metals in those days. Babi took the brass ring from Dola with great admiration and she put it on her baby’s neck at the same time. This brass ring had been carefully moulded without any joint.

  Ten years passed away when one fine morning, as Babi’s baby was celebrating her tenth birthday, Dola went to Babi, and asked gently, “Babi, my good friend, I shall be very glad if you will return my brass ring this right fine morning.”

  “Which brass ring?” Babi sprang up and shouted.

  “My old brass ring which is now on your daughter’s neck,” Dola pointed a finger at the girl’s neck, as if she was simply joking with her.

  “This very brass ring, on my daughter’s neck?” Babi was trembling with fear.

  “Yes, please,” Dola replied quietly.

  “Please, Dola, my good friend, don’t try to take your brass ring back. As you know, before the ring can be taken away from my daughter’s neck, her head must be cut off first because it is already bigger than the ring!” Babi begged with tears.

  “I won’t force you to cut off the head of your daughter, but I want my brass ring back without cutting it!” Dola insisted.

  At last, when Babi failed to persuade Dola not to take her brass ring back from her, she went to the same court of law. She sued Dola for tying to kill her daughter. Unfortunately, the case was judged in favour of Dola when she related the story of her kola-nut tree, which was cut down when Babi insisted on taking the head of her pitcher back. The judge added that the head of Babi’s daughter would be cut off in the palace of the king and in the presence of the whole people of the village, so that everybody might learn that jealousy was bad. Then a special day was fixed to behead Babi’s daughter so that the brass ring could be taken away from her neck.

  When that day came, the whole people of the village gathered in the front of the palace and the king sat in the middle of the prominent people. Then the king told Babi loudly to put her ten-year-old daughter in the centre of the crowd and she did so. She and her daughter stood, and both were trembling with fear while the swordsman, ready to behead her daughter, stood at the back of the girl with a sword in hand, waiting to hear the order from the king and then to behead her.

  Then the king announced loudly to Babi, “As Dola’s kola-nut tree was cut down when you insisted on taking the head of your pitcher back, so the head of your daughter will be cut off now, so Dola’s brass ring can be taken away from your daughter’s neck and given back to her.”

  The people were so quiet with mercy that it was a few minutes after the king had made his announcement to Babi before they could talk to each other, and the people mumbled again with grief when the king gave the order to the swordsman to behead the daughter.

  But, as the swordsman raised the sword up to cut the head off, Dola hastily stopped him and announced loudly,

  “It will be a great pity if this ten-year old daughter is killed, because she has not offended me, but her jealous mother has. And, I believe, if we continue to pay bad for bad, bad will never end on earth, therefore, I forgive what Babi has done to my kola-nut tree!”

  The king and the rest of the people clapped loudly for Dola immediately when she pardoned Babi. Then everyone went back to his or her house with gladness, and Dola and Babi were good friends throughout their lives’ time.

  REMEMBER THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW

  “Remember the day after tomorrow, my sons.” That was how the father, when he was alive, used to warn his two sons, Yaya and Shita, whenever they offended one who was older than them. But alas, the two boys did not understand what their old and weary father meant by that, and they did not remember to ask the meaning of this proverb from him until he died.

  “Perhaps ‘Remember the day after tomorrow’ is the name of our eldest brother who was born and had left our father for another town before we were born?” Yaya suggested one day to his young brother, Shita.

  “And probably our father is just reminding us not to forget him!” Shita supported his brother because both of them were puzzled about this warning.

  At last, the two brothers put in their minds that “Remember the day after tomorrow” was the name of their eldest brother who was born and had left their father for another town before they were born. But unfortunately, a few years after their father had started to warn them like that continuously he died, and two months later their old mother died as well. Then these two boys began to take care of themselves, but not as satisfactorily as their father and mother when they were alive.

  Their father and mother had hunchbacks before they died and so did Yaya and Shita. So for their strange hunchbacks, the rest people in their town used to call them “Hunchback family.”

  A year after their father and mother died, a strange man came to them in their father’s house. The name of the strange man was Totofioko. Totofioko was an expert trickster and kidnapper of children. He overheard whenever the father of the two boys warned them, “Remember the day after t
omorrow, my children.” He noticed as well that every one of them had a hunch on their back. So, one day he put a flat stone on his back in such a perfect way that the stone seemed exactly like a real hunch when he wore big garments. After that he took a big suit case, a very costly umbrella, put on costly shoes and then went to Yaya and Shita in their father’s house, and he met them as they sat down in the sitting room.

  “Hello, my two junior brothers!” Totofioko entered the room and put down the costly umbrella, suit case, etc., which he had held. “I am very sorry to tell you now that this is the first time I have come home since when both of you were born!” Totofioko explained to the two boys loudly and with a joyful voice immediately after he entered the sitting room.

  “Hello sir! Welcome sir! Please have a seat sir!” Yaya and Shita received Totofioko with great respect, especially when they saw the costly garments which he wore and the costly suit case and umbrella he carried.

  “This is cold water, sir!” Shita ran to the pot of water and brought the cold water over. He knelt down with great respect as he was giving him the water.

  Then Totofioko drank the water and rested for a few minutes. He asked them, as if he had not yet heard of the death of their father and mother, “Where is your father?”

  “Father? Our father has been dead over a year now,” Yaya and Shita explained at once with sorrow.

  “Do you remember that your father, before he died, was warning you that you must not forget, ‘Remember the day after tomorrow?” Totofioko asked with grief.

  “Oh, yes, our father always used to warn us before he died that we must ‘Remember the day after tomorrow,’ and he told us also that ‘Remember the day after tomorrow’ was coming home soon!” Shita hastily explained.

  “Was that so? Good!” Totofioko asked and then paused for a few moments as he raised his head up and down in a slow motion, as if he was thinking seriously about the father’s death.