The spider passed by the python lying in the sun, and the snake heard the muttering. ‘What are you talking about?’ asked the python.
‘My wife has argued with me,’ said the spider. ‘She says that this bamboo is longer than you are, and I say she is a liar. It could not be longer than you.’
‘Measure me,’ said the python.
Ananse laid the bamboo by the python’s body, and the snake straightened out its coils. ‘Stretch yourself,’ said Ananse. The python stretched himself.
‘I can’t tell,’ said the spider. ‘When you stretch at one end, you move away from the bamboo at the other. If I could fasten the bamboo to you, so that it didn’t move, then I could tell.’
‘Then tie me to the bamboo,’ said the python. Ananse tied the python’s tail to the bamboo.
‘Now stretch yourself again,’ said the spider, and the python strained himself to be longer than the bamboo. As he was stretching, the spider coiled the vines up his body until he was tied completely to the bamboo. And then the python couldn’t move.
‘Heh!’ said Ananse. ‘Now I have caught you, and I shall take you to the sky-god as part of the price of the stories.’
So Ananse took the python up to the sky-god, and the sky-god admitted that he had paid a part of the price. ‘And what remains remains,’ he said.
Ananse came down and talked with his wife. ‘Now let us get the hornets,’ he said, and his wife suggested that he get a gourd and fill it with water.
He took his gourd into the forest, until he found a nest of hornets, and then he began to splash water about, particularly on the hornets’ nest. He held a large leaf over his head, as though to shelter him from the rain.
The hornets buzzed, thinking it was raining.
‘Ah,’ said Ananse. ‘Why don’t you take shelter from the rain inside this gourd?’
‘Thank you, Kwaku Ananse,’ said the hornets (Kwaku is a term of respect that has become part of Ananse’s name), and they buzzed out of their nest and into the gourd. Quickly, Ananse stopped up the mouth of the gourd with a leaf. ‘Heh,’ he said. ‘Now I have caught you, and I shall take you to the sky-god as part of the price of the stories.’
He took the gourd up to the sky-god. ‘What remains remains,’ said the sky-god.
Ananse came back and talked to his wife. ‘Now for the leopard,’ he said.
‘Dig a hole,’ said his wife. ‘I understand,’ said Ananse. He went into the forest and found the tracks of a leopard. There he dug a very deep pit and covered it over. He went back to his hut for the night. The next morning, as the sun was beginning to show, he went along the path to his pit and found a leopard in it.
‘Heh!’ said Ananse. ‘Little brother, what has happened to you? Surely you were drinking too much last night and so you fell into this hole in the dark. Such is the price of foolishness. I would let you out, but you would then simply hurt me and my children.’
‘Oh, no,’ said the leopard. ‘I would never hurt you if you let me out.’
‘Well,’ said Ananse. He placed two sticks in the pit, far apart, so the leopard’s paws were spread as he tried to climb them. And then Ananse pulled out his knife and hit the leopard as soon as his head reached the top of the pit.
The leopard fell back in, and Ananse pulled him out with a ladder. ‘Heh,’ he said. ‘Now you are mine, and I shall take you to the sky-god as part of the price of the stories.’
He brought the leopard to the sky-god. The sky-god took the leopard and said, ‘What remains remains.’
Ananse went home. He carved a large wooden doll, the size of Ananse himself. He drew the sap from trees – gummy sap that did not dry. He coated the doll with the glue. Then he pounded yams and made some food. He put some in a bowl and some in the doll’s hand. He took the doll and the bowl of food into the bush, and placed it at the base of a great tree where spirits lived. He tied the doll to the tree.
A spirit came by and saw the bowl of food. ‘May I eat?’ asked the spirit.
Ananse moved the doll’s head to say yes.
The spirit ate from the bowl of food and then thanked the doll. But the doll did nothing. The doll did not answer.
‘Ah!’ said the spirit to another spirit. ‘This person told me to eat and I ate, and now when I have eaten and I return my thanks this person says nothing at all. What sort of a person is this?’
‘It is a bad person,’ said the other spirit. ‘You should slap the person’s face.’
So the spirit slapped the face of the doll, but its hand stuck to the glue. ‘My hand is stuck to the person’s face,’ the spirit called.
‘Then strike the person,’ answered the other spirit.
The spirit struck the doll with its left hand. The left hand stuck too. Then the spirit kicked the doll. One leg was stuck. Then the other, and finally the stomach.
Ananse came out from behind the tree. ‘Heh,’ said Ananse. ‘Now I have caught you, and I shall take you to the sky-god as part of the price of the stories.’
Ananse went home with the doll and the spirit and called to his mother. ‘Come, mother,’ he said, ‘for I have the last part of the sky-god’s price, and I wish you to go along as well in exchange for the stories.’
He took the doll and the spirit and his mother and carried them to the home of the sky-god. When he arrived, he greeted the sky-god. ‘Here is the bush-spirit,’ he said, ‘which is part of the price of the stories, and here also is my mother whom I said I would bring. Have I not paid the price?’
The sky-god called his council together and they talked. ‘Kings and cities have come,’ said the sky-god, ‘but they could not bring me the price of the stories. But Ananse has paid it. I told him to bring me the python, the leopard, the hornets and the bush-spirit. He has brought me the python, the hornets, the leopard and the bush-spirit, and he has also brought me his mother. Surely he has paid the price and the stories are his? Surely we should praise him?’
So they all praised Ananse.
‘Ananse,’ said the sky-god, ‘now and for ever, I give you my stories. I take them and I give them to you with my blessing. No longer shall the stories be the stories of the sky-god, but they shall be the stories of Ananse.’
And so they are. All stories today belong to Kwaku Ananse.
ANANSE AND THE CORNCOB
This story was told among the Krachi, close neighbours of the Ashanti, who preserved their independence from the powerful Ashanti kingdom thanks to a celebrated shrine. The theme of the story – the successive exchanges – is widespread in Africa and around the world (see, for instance, Uthlakanyana, Chapter 14 above).
At the start, the sky-god Wulbari lived close to man; he lay next to Mother Earth. But in this condition, he was so close to man that problems came about, and now he has moved far away. There were a number of reasons for this. When the women pounded their millet or their yams, their long pestles would poke him. The smoke from the kitchen fires got in his eyes. Men would wipe their hands on him, because he was so close and handy. But the worst of all was an old woman, who cut bits from him each night to thicken her soup.
Wulbari removed from men and went to live with the animals. For a time, all went well. Then one day Ananse the spider asked Wulbari for a corncob. ‘Certainly,’ said Wulbari. ‘But what will you do with one corncob?’
‘For one corncob,’ said Ananse, ‘I will bring you one hundred slaves.’
Wulbari did not believe him.
But Ananse went down to earth onto the road from Krachi to Yende. That evening, he got to the town of Tariasu, and there he asked the village chief for lodging. At night-time, he went to the chief again.
‘I have another question,’ he said. ‘I have here the corncob of Wulbari. He is sending it to Yende, and I must keep it safe on the journey. Where can I place it for the night?’
The chief said he might hide it in the thatch of the roof of the chief’s house, and so Ananse left it there.
But in the middle of the night, Ananse got up and
took down the corncob and threw it to the chief’s chickens. The next morning, he asked for the corncob – and they found it in the yard, all eaten and pecked at. So Ananse complained loudly about his loss and the insult to Wulbari, and to compensate him the people of Tariasu gave him a large basket of corn.
Ananse carried the basket out of town for some way until he was so tired he had to rest. He put the basket down and rested in the shade, until a man came by with a chicken. Ananse greeted him and they talked, and Ananse admired the chicken, and the man said he would sell it. So Ananse traded the large basket of corn for the chicken, and the man carried off the basket and Ananse went on his way with the fowl.
That night, he came to Kpandae, and he went to greet the village chief and to ask for a night’s lodging. And he also asked for a very safe place to keep his chicken, which belonged to Wulbari and which was being sent to Yende and had to be kept carefully. So the people put the chicken into a small coop and all went to bed.
But Ananse got up in the middle of the night and took the chicken from the coop and crept out of the village. There, he sacrificed the chicken, but he saved some blood and feathers and marked the door to the chief’s compound with them. Then he washed his hands and went back to bed.
The next morning, he asked for his chicken, and it was not there. Ananse began to yell and complain. They had broken their promise! He would lose his job! They showed no respect for Wulbari! Where was his chicken? Everyone was there, and then Ananse pointed out the blood and the feathers on the chief’s door.
There it was. And while they were talking about it, a small boy brought in the body of the chicken which he had found at the edge of town. Clearly, the chief was guilty: he had broken his trust, he had stolen the chicken.
The people begged Ananse to intercede, to hold away the wrath of Wulbari. Could they make up for the loss of a chicken? Would another chicken – or lots of chickens – be enough?
Ananse thought that maybe some sheep would be enough to avert the anger of Wulbari.
‘We will give you sheep,’ cried the villagers. ‘How many do you want?’
So Ananse left the village with ten sheep. He reached the town of Yende, and paused for a while outside the town to let the sheep graze. While he was resting, a crowd of people came towards him, wailing. They were carrying the corpse of a young man, and after Ananse asked them, he learned they were returning him to his own village for burial.
Where was this village, Ananse wanted to know, and was it far away? Yes, it was far away, answered the mourners.
‘Well,’ said Ananse, ‘if you carry the body that far it will rot and spoil.’
‘True,’ they agreed.
‘It would be better,’ said Ananse, ‘if you let me take the body. In exchange, I will give you these ten sheep.’
This was a very strange bargain, but after they thought about it the mourners agreed that it was a good idea. So they left the corpse with Ananse and took the sheep back.
Ananse waited until it was late at night, and then he picked up the body and went into the town to the compound of the great chief of Yende. There he begged for a small place to sleep for the night, for him and his companion.
‘I am Ananse, from the court of Wulbari,’ he said. ‘My companion is the son of Wulbari, but he is young and tired from the long journey today. He is already asleep. We wish only to lie down as soon as may be.’ The people of Yende were delighted to have such distinguished guests, and they quickly got ready a hut with two beds. Ananse put the corpse in the bed and arranged the sheet so he seemed to be sleeping.
Then Ananse went outside, where the people greeted him lavishly: pots of food and drink. Ananse took a bowl into the hut, saying it was for the son of Wulbari, but he ate it all himself. Then the people asked him if they might sing and drum and dance in honour of their distinguished guests, and Ananse replied that of course they should sing and drum and dance. The son of Wulbari would sleep through it all: he slept very soundly, and in the mornings Ananse sometimes had to beat him to get him out of bed.
When morning came, Ananse said they should continue on their way. So he asked some of the chief’s children, who had been dancing with him, to wake up the son of Wulbari. If he did not get up, said Ananse, they should beat him. So the children went into the hut and tried to wake up the young man. They pushed him and pulled him, and finally they began to beat him. He did not wake. They went to Ananse, and he told them to hit harder. So they beat the body again.
Then Ananse said he would try to wake up the boy. He went into the hut and called Wulbari’s son by name. He shook him and pushed him and pulled him, and then found… that the boy was dead! Ananse screamed and everyone in the compound came running.
There was Ananse. There was the body of the son of Wulbari. There were the chief’s children who had beaten the son of Wulbari to death. The people were appalled, and they were certain that the sky-god would destroy their village instantly. The chief came and offered to kill his children. He would kill himself and his family and burn his compound. He would offer gold and silver.
Ananse said that the shock was too great, that he could not think. For that day, they should do nothing. He would consider what they should do. The people should bury the boy, and Ananse would think of a plan.
So the town of Yende gave a funeral to the young man’s body.
Then the town sat in silence, waiting for Ananse to come up with a plan.
Ananse sat all day beneath a shade-tree in the chief’s compound, thinking. In the evening he called the chief.
‘I cannot blame the village for the death of the son of Wulbari,’ he said. ‘I will return to the court of Wulbari and take the blame upon myself. But he may not believe my word alone. You must send people with me to bear witness to what I have done. Send one hundred young men with me.’
The chief and the people of the town were delighted with this solution, and so they chose one hundred of the finest young men of the town and sent them with Ananse to the court of Wulbari.
When they reached the court of Wulbari, Ananse showed him the young men, and told him how he had gotten them all from a single corncob. Wulbari was greatly pleased and confirmed Ananse in his court position and gave him names of honour.
Later, however, Ananse began to boast of his cleverness and to say that he was smarter even than Wulbari. Wulbari heard him say this one evening, and became angry at Ananse for these words. So the next day he called Ananse and told him to bring him something. He did not say anything more.
Ananse thought and thought all day. In the evening, Wulbari laughed at him. ‘You said you were more clever than I. Now you must prove it.’
The next day, Ananse went away from the sky to find the something. He stopped a bit away from Wulbari’s court, and he gathered all the birds he could find. He took one feather from each of them, and then he wove all the feathers into a marvellous and strange cape such as had never been seen before. He went back to the court of Wulbari and put on the cape. He climbed into the tree near Wulbari’s hut. Soon, someone noticed this peculiar being, and called attention to it. Wulbari asked what it was, and people could not tell him. Not one of the people there could tell him what kind of a bird this was.
Ananse might know, suggested an animal, but Wulbari said that he had sent Ananse on an errand. What was the errand, all the animals asked, and Wulbari laughed. ‘I have sent Ananse to find something,’ he told them.
So of course the animals wanted to know what something was, and eventually Wulbari told them. ‘By something,’ he said, ‘I mean the sun, the moon and darkness. Ananse has said he is as clever as I. If he can bring these things back, then perhaps he is.’
All the animals laughed with Wulbari, and they agreed that it was unlikely Ananse would be able to guess what Wulbari wanted and to bring it back. Then they went back to their various businesses. When they had all dispersed, Ananse came down from the tree and took off the cloak of feathers and left the court again.
He wen
t far away, for a long time. Who knows where he went or what he did? But he found the sun, and the moon and darkness. Some say the python kept them in its belly; others say other things. But Ananse found them and put them into his bag and he brought them with him back to the court of Wulbari.
He walked up late one afternoon, and Wulbari greeted him.
‘Well,’ said Wulbari. ‘Have you brought me something?’
‘Yes,’ said Ananse. He opened his bag and let out the darkness. Everything was black. No one could see anything anywhere. Then Ananse reached into the bag and pulled out the moon. A little light came back into the world, and people could begin to see again. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out the sun.
Those who were looking directly at Ananse when he took the sun from his bag became blind. Some were not looking straight at the sun, and their sight was only partly harmed, and others were looking away. They were not harmed.
So it is that blindness came into the world because Wulbari asked Ananse for something.
PART II
STORIES OF KINGDOMS AND PEOPLES
ANCIENT AFRICA
Almost no records exist of local cultures prior to the Middle Ages for most of the continent. North Africa was an important part of the classical world, colonized first from Phoenicia and then integrated into the Roman empire, but its possible relations with sub-Saharan Africa have been effaced by the later Islamic conquest. Egypt and Ethiopia represent the oldest indigenous literate cultures on the continent. A significant gap in time and space separates these two cultures from the rest of Africa; the distance is compounded by the difficulties of crossing the desert out of Egypt and the passage of the mountains which shielded Ethiopia from Muslim conquest. In Islamic times (from the seventh and eighth centuries on), an active trade in various commodities and the Muslim practice of pilgrimage to Mecca did multiply contacts.
African Myths of Origin (Penguin Classics) Page 13
