by Yoti Lane
“Oh, you’ll see. Now, how are we going to do it?”
“Well, the only fair way is to seal ourselves up in our nests. As I’m the smallest I’d better do it. First of all I’ll do the preliminary work. I’ll seal you up, all except a small hole for your eye. Then you’ll be able to watch me seal myself up, and see that there is no cheating. Then you can put the last bit in, in front of your eyes.”
The large bird agreed enthusiastically. He was a very bumptious fellow, and was quite convinced that he could do anything twice as well as anyone else. So he sat complacently in his nest while the small bird built a wall all round him. Finally he was walled-in all but a small bit so that he could watch the other bird.
Then the small bird proceeded to build himself in until he was quite invisible. Then the large bird pulled the last bit of plaster in front of his own eyes, and proceeded to settle down and fast.
Now the cunning small bird, who was able to squeeze through the smallest possible space, had really left a slit through which he could fly in and out, and obtain food, but the foolish large bird was quite unaware of this. So the small bird woke up early, slipped out, and found some food and was back again by the time the sun rose. Not that either of them could see it rise, but they did feel its warmth.
“How are you?” called the small bird.
“I’m fine,” replied the large one. “I don’t mind being hungry in the least. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine too,” replied the small bird, but he was very careful not to sound too convincing.
The next day passed in the same way, although this time the big bird’s assertion that he was feeling “fine” sounded a little grim. On the third day the small bird felt sure that his fellow martyr’s voice sounded faint, next day it was definitely faint, and on the day after that the small bird had to call twice before he got a reply. On the day after that there was no answer to his call. Nevertheless the small bird continued to apparently remain buried, and slipped out at night for food. When three more days had passed without any answer from the big bird, the small bird went across and opened the other nest. Inside the big bird was lying there, a mere skeleton.
“Dead for days past,’’ commented the small bird. “Foolish, boasting fellow.”
Then the small bird picked up the thigh bone of the big bird, put it to his beak and blew. A beautiful, mellow sound came forth. “Ha,” exclaimed the small bird, “Now I shall be able to pipe with the best of them.”
And pipe he did, flying round all day long, making a terrific din. This caused great excitement in the forest, for the small bird was so small, and so thin, with two legs like sticks, that the noise he made was most surprising. Not even a canary could have sung louder. After a time his noise caused a good deal of irritation, and a large canary determined to put a stop to it.
“Give me that pipe of yours?” he demanded.
The small bird puffed up all his feathers in great indignation.
“I will not. I had to go to great lengths to find this pipe, and I’m not giving it up.”
“I don’t believe you came by it honestly,” retorted the canary, “but I don’t care about that. Give it to me at once, or it will be the worse for you.”
Quite unable to stand up against the canary the small bird was forced to hand over his pipe, and he flew away swearing vengeance on the canary.
The canary flew off home with the pipe, and showed it to his wife.
“I want you to look after this,” he told her. “It belongs to that nasty little fellow who has been making such a din during the last few days. He’s not to have it back on any account. So if anyone comes round trying to get it, just you be on your guard.”
“But how shall I know him if he comes round?” asked Mrs. Canary.
“He’s small, and he’s got the thinnest little legs you ever saw, like sticks.”
“All right,” said Mrs. Canary. “I’ll look out for those legs.”
Sure enough while she was having a rest in her nest next day the thin little bird came around.
“I have called for my pipe,” he told her. “I lent it to your husband yesterday, and told him I’d call for it this afternoon.”
“Did you indeed? It’s odd he didn’t say so,” replied Mrs. Canary.
“Oh, I expect he forgot,” said the small bird. “Anyhow it doesn’t matter. I’ll take the pipe now.”
“Indeed you won’t,” Mrs. Canary snapped at him. “I’ve heard all about you from my husband, and what a nuisance you have been making of yourself.”
“But there must be some mistake, I have been doing nothing of the kind. You must be confusing me with someone else!”
“Oh, no, I’m not. You’re the little bird with the thin legs, I’d know you anywhere. Fly off now, for you won’t get the pipe!”
Furiously angry the small bird flew away, and then sat down to think out some way of getting back his pipe. He had no friends who would do it for him, because no one liked him very much, so he decided that he would disguise his legs. So he went round, and gathered up a lot of very tiny feathers, and stuck them all over his thin legs, then he added a few to his face as well, and back he went to the canary’s nest. Having scouted round carefully he saw that Mrs. Canary was alone, so he flew up boldly.
“Good afternoon,” he said in as deep a voice as he could manage. “Your husband asked me to collect that pipe you are minding.”
Mrs. Canary peered at him suspiciously, first at his face, and then at his legs, but when she saw that he appeared to have thick, fat legs, she relaxed.
“He didn’t say anything to me about your calling for the pipe,” she protested weakly.
“I know, I only met him a while ago, and he told me about the annoyance that noisy little bird had caused playing on his pipe, so we decided the best thing was to bury the pipe, and save further trouble.”
“Well, I think that’s a very good idea,” said Mrs. Canary. “It will save me the bother of looking after it all the time,” and she gave him the pipe without demur.
A few minutes later her husband returned.
“I gave your friend the pipe,” she told him. “Have you buried it safely?”
“What on earth are you talking about?” demanded the canary.
She told him about the visitor.
“Good heavens,” he yelled. “I didn’t send anyone. It must have been that impudent little bird. Didn’t I tell you to be cautious!”
“But I was,” wailed his wife. “I looked at his legs most particularly, and they weren’t thin at all. In fact they were fat and all covered with feathers.”
“You’re a very silly woman,” exclaimed the canary, and immediately a quarrel flared up, and they had a most terrible row.
While they shrieked and flew at each other, they heard the pipe playing loudly above their heads, as the cunning little bird flew on his way, piping loudly.
Which only goes to show that you shouldn’t judge by appearances.
WHY SHEEP SAY “MAA-A”
ONCE UPON A time there was a farmer with a son and daughter. The girl was gentle and quiet, and kept house for her father while he tended his farm. The boy caused his father a good deal of worry, however, for he didn’t want to do any of the things ordinary people did. He was a clever fellow, and knew it, clever both with hands and tongue. There were only two things he really liked to do, one was to trap animals, the other was to make up songs, usually songs that gave him an opportunity to exercise his wit against his neighbours.
The father did not like the boy trapping animals, and forbade him to go into the forest, but the boy kept on begging to become a trapper. One day when the sister was going into the forest to gather sticks, the boy asked if he might go also. He asked for the loan of a machete so that he could cut branches to make traps. The father forbade the boy to trap but said he could go to the forest and help his sister gather sticks, and so make himself useful for once.
As soon as they were in the forest the boy dropped behind his s
ister, and used the sticks he gathered to make a trap. Then he lay down some distance away and watched. Very quickly his patience was rewarded, a hedgehog sniffed curiously round the trap, and was caught. In triumph the boy brought it home, set about making up the fire, and put the hedgehog to roast. Neither father nor sister had returned, so the son slipped back to the forest to set a few more traps.
When the father came home the first thing he noticed was a delicious smell, and then he saw the hedgehog roasting. At first he was angry because he knew the boy had been setting traps again, but after a while he wondered if he had been unjust. If the boy really wanted to become a trapper, perhaps he should be allowed to do so. After all, it would provide them with good nourishing food. The father grew impatient waiting, the hedgehog was cooked, and he took it down and prepared to eat some of it. Just then the son returned and seeing what his father was doing, began to sing mockingly. He sang of how he had wanted to be a trapper, and how his father had forbade him, and refused to lend him a machete, and how he had managed to make a trap without it, and caught a hedgehog, and how he came home to find the father, who had refused to let him have his way, preparing to eat the hedgehog.
At this the poor father became very embarrassed, protesting that if the boy was set on trapping he would no longer forbid it, but that he would eat no more, neither of the hedgehog or anything else that might be caught. So he handed over the hedgehog to the son, only asking that a portion be saved for the sister who worked so hard. At that moment the girl returned with the sticks, and the son sang a song about how good she was, and how hard she worked, and how he would like to give her half the hedgehog to eat. She was hungry and gladly accepted, and they ate until they came to the last mouthful. The sister then said the brother must eat this, as he had caught the hedgehog, but the brother protested at great length, saying that she was entitled to it after all her hard work. So, after being pressed, the sister ate the last piece. No sooner had she done so, however, than the boy began to sing mockingly, telling the whole story over again from the very beginning, and adding that even the last bit of the hedgehog had not been given to him.
At this the sister became much upset, and felt very guilty. To make up for what she considered her greed, she offered her brother a very fine, long forked stick, which she had dragged from the forest. It was a shape much in demand at that time of the year, because it was possible to bend the branches of the pear trees with it, without damaging them, and to pluck the pears.
Very pleased with his own cleverness, the boy took the stick and marched off down the road. After he had gone some distance he saw a man picking his pear crop without a proper stick, and making a very bad job of it. So the boy pointed out to the man that he needed a proper stick. The man said he was sorry but he hadn’t got a suitable stick, and as he was lame he couldn’t go into the forest to get one. To this the boy replied that he had just the right stick, and he would loan it to the man. The man accepted the offer gratefully, used the stick to bend the branches, and gathered in a lot of pears, when unfortunately the stick broke. As soon as this happened the boy set up a great wail, and began to sing his song from the very beginning, with a new verse added about the man who had so carelessly broken his stick.
Naturally the man became chagrined. He explained that it was a sad mischance that he had broken the stick, as he was usually very skilful with such things, and offered the boy half of the pears to make up for it.
Delighted with his reward the boy gathered up the pears, and went on his way.
After a while he came to the blacksmith’s forge. The blacksmith had just finished work, and a great fire was still glowing. The boy went up to the blacksmith and remarked what a shame it was to waste such a beautiful fire, and that it would be ideal for roasting pears (pears in West Africa are not like ours, and can only be eaten after they have been roasted). The blacksmith agreed but said he had no pears. At this the boy opened his bundle and displayed the fruit, saying the blacksmith could have all he wanted to eat if they could be roasted over his fire. The blacksmith was very pleased, so they set about roasting and eating the pears, and went on until they came to the last one. Then they had the usual polite argument until the boy convinced the blacksmith that he should have it. As soon as the blacksmith ate it, of course, the boy raised his voice in song, and went over every bit of the story, ending up with a new verse about how the blacksmith had eaten the last pear.
The blacksmith then became so convinced he had behaved like a churl that he begged the boy to take a very fine knife for tapping palm wine. The knife was worth far more than the pears, so the boy graciously accepted it, and walked off well satisfied with himself.
Down the road he saw a man tapping palm wine with a blunt knife, and damaging his trees, so the boy went up to him, and protested. “Look at the way you are destroying your trees with that blunt knife. Why don’t you use a proper knife?” “I’m a poor man,” replied the other, “and I have no money for a new knife.”
“But I have a splendid one which I shall be pleased to lend you,” said the boy, and handed it over. The man was delighted, and went on tapping with such speed that he soon had two large gourds of wine. Then to his horror the knife slipped, and snapped in two. Immediately the boy raised his voice, sang his song from the beginning, and added a new verse about the broken knife. This humiliated the man so much that he hastily offered half the palm wine, which was, of course, worth more than the knife. So the boy took up the gourd, and off he went.
A little further on he met an old woman. She looked tired and thirsty, so he stopped and offered her a drink of palm wine. The old woman was very glad, and between them they almost finished the wine. Then the boy insisted that the old woman must have the last drop. After a great deal of protest she took it, and was terribly overcome when the boy set up his song, and added a new verse about how she drank the last of his palm wine. Almost weeping with shame she sought for something to give him in exchange. “The thing I value most is a very fine razor,” she told him. “You must have that.” Now a razor, which is known as a “Maa” in the country we are concerned with here, is a very much valued object, and the boy was only too delighted with the exchange. He took it cheerfully and strode down the road feeling very elated at his own cleverness.
Next he came upon a shepherd leading a flock of sheep to a show. At once the boy noticed that the leading sheep had no bell, or other ornament to distinguish it. He pointed this out to the shepherd. “I know,” the shepherd replied, “but the bell got broken, and I have no other.” “Well,’’ said the boy, “I haven’t got a bell, but I can lend you this maa. It will at least glitter in the sun, and distinguish your leader.” At first the shepherd protested, but the boy over-ruled his protests and forced the razor on him, and the shepherd tied it round the neck of the leading sheep. On they went, but when they arrived at the show, the maa was lost, and could not be found.
Again the boy set up his mocking song, this time with additions about the shepherd’s carelessness and ingratitude. By this time the song was very long, and everybody, including the sheep, became very tired of listening, particularly as the boy made up not one, but several verses about the lost maa.
At last the sheep became so bored that the leader tried to drown the boy’s voice by calling back “Maa-a,” and all the other sheep took up the call, and went on “Maa-ing” until everyone was nearly deafened, and the boy turned tail and fled.
The story of his tricks spread, and people called “Maa-a” mockingly wherever he appeared. Worse still, sheep always called “Maa-a” too, and there were so many sheep everywhere in the district that the boy never had a chance to forget his cheap trickery. Finally, he left the place altogether, and went away to a district where there were no sheep, but he never made mocking songs against his neighbours again.
But because of the song about the razor, sheep all over the world always cry “Maa-a” ever since.
SING, CRICKET, SING
IT IS THE custom in West Africa
to have a great ceremony when the head of a family dies. Everyone tries to contribute something, there is music, and people sing sad songs, and make up stories about the excellence of the person who has died. Relatives come from far and wide to attend the funeral.
When the mother-in-law of a farmer named Shan died, Shan felt that it was up to him to make a really impressive contribution to the mourning ceremony. The usual thing was to hire some professional mourners who would sing and wail for all they were worth. If they could sing louder, and wail more bitterly than anyone else present, all the better. Shan however was rather mean about money. He didn’t like the idea of spending any, so he decided to do all the ceremonial mourning himself. Unfortunately he could neither play nor sing. However he collected a stringed instrument, and set out.
On the way through the forest he was surprised to hear what sounded like loud, and persistent scrapings of strings. “Ha, someone on the way to the funeral,” he told himself. “Hi, there!” he called. Immediately there was complete silence. “That’s odd,” Shan thought, and stood still. After a moment or two the noise started up again, louder than ever. This time Shan didn’t call, instead he moved very quietly towards the sound.
He soon found out the source of the noise. Two large crickets were sitting on a log, chirruping away, and making a terrible din. Closer and closer crept Shan, but the crickets were so busy they didn’t hear him, and knew nothing of his presence until he clapped a bag down on them, and imprisoned them.
“Listen,” Shan told them. “I’m not going to hurt you. Quite the contrary, I’m going to do you a good turn. I’m going to take you with me to a distant village, and when we get there, wait for the word from me, and then sing. Keep on singing until I tell you to stop, and I’ll reward you well.”
Naturally the crickets were a bit flurried and indignant at the way he had pounced on them, but as they were his prisoners anyhow, it seemed best to agree to his proposal.
