This story is about orphans. A story, a story. Let it go, let it come. A certain man died and left two sons, and their mothers, two women. Then one of the mothers fell sick. She was taking medicine, but her illness refused to go away. When she saw she was going to die, she said to her sister-in-marriage, “I know I am going to die. When Allah, the Exalted One, has taken my life from me, behold I will put my young son in your charge, for the sake of Allah and the prophets.” The other said, “This is only fitting. I will care for him as my own.” But, in truth, that can never be.
Some time passed after the woman died. Now, the two boys each had a fowl, and they were rearing them together. One day, when the orphan was not at home, the remaining mother lifted a stick and hit his bird and killed it. When he returned and found his hen dead, he said only, “Alas, Allah, the Powerful One, today my hen has died.” Then he picked it up, plucked it, prepared it well, placed a pot on the fire, cooked the hen thoroughly, and took it to the market. Whoever came saying he wanted to buy it, he would answer that he would not sell it, except for a horse.
Then the chief’s favorite son came. He, too, was quite a little boy, and he was mounted on a powerful horse. He said the flesh of this hen was what he wanted most and it must be sold to him. But the orphan said, if he did not trade him his horse, he could not eat this meat. So he was given the horse, and the chief’s son the meat, and the boy took his horse home. But his stepmother said, “Take your horse and put it in this house, and close up the door with earth. In about seven days, if you open it, you will see it has become fat enough to burst its house.” She thought if he did so, the horse would die, of course. Now, the boy believed his stepmother, so he put the horse in the house, and plastered up the door. When about ten days had gone by, he opened the door, and he saw his horse had become fat. And his stepmother’s heart grew black with anger.
Well, things went on, and one day she said, “Today there is nothing to cook and eat. You must sell your horse and buy some stalks of grain.” When he objected and asked why, she told him, “Just because I am not your real mother, do you think you can argue with me?” He said, “I am not arguing, I’ll do as you say.” So he sold the horse for grain stalks, and brought them to her. But instead of cooking them she threw them in the fire, burned them all, leaving only three very small pieces. He picked these up, sewed a little bag, and tied them inside.
Another day, he went for a walk, and coming to a village, he thought he would worship there. But when he climbed up on the altar, some people saw him, seized him, and said they would cut his throat. Then he said: “I have heard the news that your chief is blind, and for that reason I came to make medicine for him. If you don’t want me to try, then kill me.” But they said they would let him try, so he was brought to the chief’s compound and given a hut. When night came, he carried with him his grain stalks, those three that the fire had not burnt. He set fire to one stalk and walked around the back of the chief’s house till it died out. And the chief began to see a very little. Then he lit another, and when it was burned up, then both the chief’s eyes opened. Thereupon they did the boy honor.
At dawn, the chief assembled the people, and said, “You have seen that the boy has made medicine for me. My eyes are healed, and I shall give him half of the town to rule over.” But the boy answered, “I am only a trader, passing through, and I do not rule.” They said, “If you will not rule, take whatever you wish and go.” So he took slaves and cattle and everything beautiful, and went off with them and returned to his own town. The people were astonished. But his stepmother said, “Come, let us go to the road by the stream. I have seen a rat enter a hole. You dig it out for me to make soup.” And he said, “Come now, my mother, what kind of meat is a rat’s? Look, I have brought you guinea fowls, and hens, and rams.” And she said, “We all know you have wealth, but for me, rat’s meat is what I want.” So he said, “There is no harm in that. Let us go, you show me.” Now she had seen it was really a snake’s hole, but she told him a rat so that she might bring him trouble. A big slave of his rose up to come along with him, but she said, “I know you are the owner of slaves, but you only must go with me.” So he told his slave to sit down, and the two set off together, alone.
The stepmother took him to the hole, and told him to dig. As he was about to start, she said, “Put down your hoe and reach in with your hand.” So he put in his hand and drew out a magnificent bracelet. She said, “That is not it! A rat, I said, was there.” So he put in his hand again and drew out a golden bangle. Growing angry, she went back home and called her own son. He came, to the hole, but when he put his hand inside, the snake bit it and they had to carry him home. He died before they got there, and the stepmother died three days later, leaving the orphan with the house and property. So goes the saying, “The orphan with the cloak of skin is hated, but when it is a metal one he is looked on favorably.” That is all.
—Hausa
86
Tungululi and the Masters
There was a certain man who liked to hunt very much, and he used to go out every morning to inspect his game and bird traps. But after his marriage he sent his wife instead. They had game and birds to eat every day.
Then the wife became pregnant. When the man saw that his wife was big, he sent his brothers to look after the traps. Before the year was out the woman produced a baby son, and they called him Tungululi. A week after his birth, the mother returned to minding the traps. She went on in this way, while Tungululi grew up and began to herd cattle.
Then one day the lady told her husband, “I’m not going to see to the traps today, because I’ve had some very bad dreams.” But her husband scolded her, saying, “If you don’t go, you can get out of here altogether!” So in the end the lady went, much afraid. She came to the first trap and found a small animal in it. She went on and checked all the other traps, except for one that was in a cave. Then, as she approached the last trap, she suddenly saw a lion. Trembling violently, she realized that unless she was very careful she would die. So, stealthily, she approached the trap and began to move the log holding it, but it slipped out of her hands and struck the lion. Then she saw that it was dead. While she was looking at the body, another beast came out of the cave and, gripping her by the neck, it killed her and began to eat her.
Meanwhile, the man began to search for his wife, seeing it was past midday. He took the path to his traps, and when he got there, he found the clothes of his wife all stained with blood and smelling of a lion. Forthwith he returned to the village and arranged for a mourning ceremony. Three days after the mourning was over, he began to send his son Tungululi to see to the traps.
The first day, Tungululi found a mole. When he brought it to his father, this man scolded him severely, saying, “You are an incompetent good-for-nothing who will never know how to trap. You are an idiot!” Without replying, Tungululi went out and ran off. He took the mole back and released it, and went on to the next trap, where he found a partridge. He took it to his father, who scolded him as before. So he took the partridge back, too, and released it. The next day he returned and found a pigeon. When he took it to his father, and his father again scolded him, this time beating him repeatedly. He took the pigeon back and released it.
The next day he went to the traps and found a young girl. At first Tungululi was afraid to release her, but at length he did, and took her back to the village, though all the time exchanging not a word with her. He took her to his father as he had the other things, but this time the latter was delighted. He told his son, “Yes, my child, and what is this you have brought me? Before you brought me nothing of any value, but at last I see you have learned sense. I have nothing with which to reward you except this girl, so take her as your wife.”
The son asked the girl what she thought of this, and she said, “Good.” Straightaway they set about brewing millet beer for a wedding ceremony such as had never been seen in the village. The father went back to looking after his own traps, hoping to obtain something s
imilar for himself. While these things were going on, the girl said to her future father-in-law, “Father, give me leave to go with my future husband to greet the ladies of my own village.” The father agreed.
So on the day of the final preparation of the wedding beer, she went off with her husband-to-be, Tungululi. When they were far from his village, she said to him, “I must leave you for a moment to tell my people to make millet porridge for our visit.” So she went away. Now, this girl was in fact not a human being but a monster. When she reached home she told her father, “I am bringing you some unusually tender meat.” Then she returned to Tungululi.
When Tungululi and his wife-to-be arrived in the village, they were well received and given plenty of good food. For six whole weeks they ate well. Then the monsters said to Tungululi: “When tomorrow comes, you are going to dig a field of compost mounds so big that if a person stands at one edge of it he will be unable to see the other side. If you refuse to do this we shall eat you.”
Then Tungululi saw that he was indeed in a desperate situation. The next morning he took a hoe and went out into the bush, but he knew that the task was impossible. Nevertheless, he raised the hoe and completed one mound, then began another. Then he saw a multitude of moles around him, all working to make compost mounds, and as they worked, they sang:
Tungululi, Tungululi, Tungululi!
We are digging compost mounds, Tungululi!
Tungululi, Tungululi!
They told him that they were helping him because he had helped their friend to escape from the trap. Tungululi thanked them very much.
By the time it was just past midday, the work he had been commanded to do was completed. He returned to the village, and told the monsters the field was ready. They went out to look, and saw that he had done as he was told, and more. That evening the monsters came again, and said, “Tomorrow you are going to spread out all those mounds, and if you fail to complete the job we shall eat you.”
Tungululi was exhausted, and the prospect of still more hard work the next day dismayed him. However, the next morning he took a hoe and went to the field and began to spread the mounds. He had hardly finished one when a flock of partridges and pigeons arrived, and began to demolish the mounds, singing as they did so:
Tungululi, Tungululi, Tungululi!
We are spreading the mounds, Tungululi!
Tungululi, Tungululi, Tungululi!
They worked together with Tungululi until the field was finished, and Tungululi returned to the village. He told the monsters he had done the job, and they were very angry. That evening they had only cassava to eat. They told Tungululi: “Tomorrow you will go out and harvest the millet, and if you fail, we’ll eat you.”
When Tungululi got to the millet field the next day, he found the same birds there, and they pecked at the millet, singing as they did so:
Tungululi, Tungululi, Tungululi!
We are harvesting the millet, Tungululi!
Tungululi, Tungululi, Tungululi!
When they had finished the field, they told Tungululi: “We’ve helped you because you released our friends from the traps.”
Tungululi returned to the monsters’ village. They were furious when they saw he had completed the task, and they began plotting to go and eat him in the night, when he was sleeping. They made all preparations, salting the water in the cooking pot, and so on. After that, they went stealthily to Tungululi’s hut, trying to see what was happening inside.
Tungululi was lying on his bed, tossing and turning in fear. In a corner of the hut was a wooden effigy of a god, and he prayed to it for help. Then he happened to glance down and saw a mole, who said to him, “Put that wooden effigy under the blanket so the monsters think it is you on the bed, but don’t go out of the door because they are waiting for you there. Instead, go out of that hole you see there. Do it at once, because the monsters are coming.”
Tungululi did as the mole told him. Meanwhile, the monsters were saying to one another: “This meat of ours is quite small—it’ll be each for himself when we get him!” Then they all gathered at Tungululi’s hut and broke down the door. They seized the effigy and, supposing it to be Tungululi, they each bit into the wood until their teeth broke, while those outside burst in determined to have their share.
Tungululi, meanwhile, had escaped through the hole and returned to his village. His father welcomed him back with celebrations surpassing those of any wedding. In a few days, the monsters were all dead—the wood had given them a fatal stomach sickness. Thus there was an end of monsters in that country.
And so ends my story.
—Fipa
87
Chameleon into Needle
A story, a story. Let it go, let it come. A chief had a beautiful daughter. Indeed, she was so beautiful that she had no equal in the town. And he said, “Whoever hoes on the community hoeing-day and hoes the most and best, he will marry the chief’s daughter. So on the day the chief calls hoeing-day with his neighbors, let all the eligible young men come and hoe. But the one who hoes and does so better than everyone else, I will give my daughter to him as wife.”
Now the chameleon had heard about this a long time before, and had been studying magic and eating medicine to make him strong. When the day of the contest came round, the chameleon did not emerge until those hoeing were at work and far away. Then he came, struck one blow on the ground with the hoe, and climbed on the hoe and sat down; and then the hoe itself started to hoe, and fairly flew until it had done as much as the hoers. It passed them and reached the boundary of the furrow. The chameleon got off, sat down, and rested, and only later did the other hoers get to where he was.
But the chief would not consent to let the lizard have his daughter, and now said that he who ran and passed everyone should marry her instead. And so they had a race. The hartebeest said he would win because he could run fastest of all, but the chameleon turned into a needle; and leaped up and stuck himself to the tail of the hartebeest. There he stayed as the hartebeest ran, passing everyone, until they came to the entrance of the chief’s house. As they passed it, the chameleon let go of the hartebeest’s tail.
When the hartebeest came back he found the chameleon embracing the beautiful maiden, for he had won the match in everyone’s eyes and she was his. Thereupon the hartebeest began to cry, and that is why, even today, you can see what look like tears in a hartebeest’s eyes. From that time he has wept and not dried his tears.
—Hausa
88
Mother Come Back
This is what one woman did. She was then living in the bush and never showed herself to anyone except her daughter, who lived with her and used to pass the time sitting in the fork of a tree, making baskets.
One day, a man appeared there just after the mother had gone to kill game. He found the girl making baskets, as usual. He said, “Here now! There are people in the bush! And that girl, what a beauty! Yet she is all alone. If the king were to marry her, would not all the other queens leave the palace?”
Going back to the town, he went straight to the kings house, and said: “I have found a woman so beautiful that if you brought her here she would put all your wives so much to shame, that they would have to go away.”
The following morning, the king called many of the people together, and set them to grind their axes. Then they went into the bush. As they came in view of the place where the man had seen the girl, they discovered the mother had once again gone to hunt. Before going, she had cooked porridge for her daughter and hung meat out for her to eat. Only then had she started on her expedition.
The people said: “Let’s cut down the tree where the girl sits.” So they put their axes to it. At once the girl began singing:
Mother, come back!
Mother, a man is cutting down our shade tree.
Mother come back!
Mother, a man is cutting down our shade tree.
Cut! The tree in which I eat is falling.
Here it is falling.
Suddenly, the mother dropped down, as if from the sky, saying:
Many as you are, I shall stitch you with this big needle.
Stitch! Stitch!
The people at once fell to the ground and were killed. The woman allowed only one to get away, so he could report. “Go,” she said, “and tell the news.” There at the town, when he arrived, the villagers asked: “What has happened?” He said: “There where we have been, I say, things are rather bad.”
Likewise, when he stood before the king, the king asked: “What has happened?” He said: “We have met great misfortune. I am the only one to come back.”
“Good heavens! The rest are all dead! If that is so, tomorrow go to So-and-So’s compound over there, and bring other people. Tomorrow morning let them go and bring to me the woman.”
They slept their fill.
Next morning early, the men ground their axes and went to the place. They, too, found the mother gone, the porridge already made, and the meat hanging on the shade tree. “Bring the axes.” But the song had already started:
Mother, come back!
Mother, a mans cutting down our shade tree.
Mother, come hack!
Mother, a man’s cutting down our shade tree.
Cut! The tree in which I eat is falling.
Here it is falling.
The mother dropped down among them, singing in her turn:
Many as you are, I shall stitch you with this big needle.
Stitch! Stitch!
They all fell down dead. The woman and her daughter picked up the axes.
“What is this, then?” asked the king. “Today let all those that are pregnant give birth to their children.” So one woman after another straightaway brought forth her child. Soon there was a whole row of them, a whole band, making a confused noise. They marched into the bush to get the girl.
African Folktales Page 40
