A MAN CALLED THIEP, who was native of Sango, a town in the Oyo country, admired a girl called Lith very much. She lived in Oyo and he wished to marry her, as she was the finest girl in her kraal.

It was the custom in those days for the parents to demand such a large amount as dowry for their daughters that if, after they were married, they failed to get on with their husbands and could not redeem themselves, they were sold as slaves.

Thiep paid a very large sum as a dowry for Lith and she was put in the fatting-house until the proper time arrived for her to marry. Thiep told the parents that when their daughter was ready they must send her over to him. This they promised to do.

Lith’s father was a rich man. After seven years had elapsed and Lith came out of the fatting-house to go to her husband, her father saw a very fine girl, also just out of the fatting-house, whose parents wished to sell her as a slave. He therefore bought her and gave her to his daughter as her hands-maiden.

The next day Lith’s little sister, being very anxious to go with her, obtained the consent of her mother, and they started off together, the slave girl carrying a large bundle containing clothes and presents from Lith’s father. Thiep’s house was a long day’s march from where they lived. When they arrived just outside the town, they came to a spring where people used to get their drinking water. No one was allowed to bathe there. Lith, however, knew nothing of this. The women took off their clothes to wash close to the spring, where there was a deep hole which led to the water juju’s house. The slave girl knew of this juju and thought that, if she could get her mistress to bathe there, her mistress would be taken by the juju and she would then be able to take her place and marry Thiep. So they went down to bathe and, when they were close to the water, the slave girl pushed her mistress in, and Lith at once disappeared.

The little sister began to cry, but the slave girl said, “If you cry any more I shall kill you at once and throw your body into the hole after your sister.” She told the child that she must never mention what had happened to anyone, particularly not to Thiep, as she was going to take her sister’s place and marry him, and that if she ever told anyone what she had seen, she would be killed at once. She then made the little girl carry her load to Thiep’s house.

When they arrived, Thiep was very disappointed at the slave girl’s appearance, as she was not nearly as pretty and fine as he had expected her to be; but as he had not seen Lith for seven years, he had no suspicion that the girl was not really Lith for whom he had paid such a large dowry. He then called his society together to play and feast and, when they arrived, they were much astonished and said, “Is this the fine woman for whom you paid so great a dowry and whom you told us so much about ?” And Thiep could not answer them.

The slave girl was then for some time very cruel to Lith’s little sister and wanted her to die so that then her position would be more secure with her husband. Every day she beat the little girl, and she always made her carry the largest water-pot to the spring. She also made the child place her finger in the fire to use as firewood. When the time came for food, the slave girl went to the fire and took a burning piece of wood and burned the child all over her body with it. When Thiep asked her why she treated the child so badly, she replied that she was a slave whom her father had bought for her.

Now when the little girl took the heavy water-pot to the river to fill it, there was no one to lift it up for her, so that she could not get it up on her head. She therefore had to remain a long time at the spring and at last began calling for her sister Lith to come and help her.

When Lith heard her little sister crying for her, she begged the water juju to allow her to go and help her, so he told her she might go but that she must return to him again immediately. When the little girl saw her sister she did not want to leave her and asked to be allowed to go into the hole with her. She then told Lith how surely she had been treated by the slave girl, and her elder sister told her to have patience and wait, that a day of vengeance would arrive sooner or later.

After seeing her sister, the little girl went back to Thiep’s house with a glad heart, but when she got to the house, the slave girl said, “Why have you been so long getting the water?’ and took another stick from the fire and burned the little girl and starved her for the rest of the day.

This went on for sometime, until, one day, when the child again went to the river for water. After all the people had gone, she cried out for her sister, but for a long tIme she did not come. There was a hunter from Thiep’s town hidden nearby, watching the Lith hole, and the water juju told Lith that she must not go. When the little girl went on carrying so bitterly, Lith at last persuaded the juju to let her go to her sister, promising to return quickly. When she emerged from the water, she looked very beautiful with the rays of the setting sun shining on her glistening body. She helped her little sister with her water-pot and then disappeared into the hole again.

The hunter was amazed at what he had seen, and, when he returned, he told Thiep what a beautiful woman had come out of the water and had helped the little girl with her water-pot. He also told Thiep that he was convinced that the girl he had seen at the spring was his proper wife. Lith, and the water juju must have taken her.

Thiep then made up his mind to go out and watch and see what happened. So in the early morning, the hunter came for him, and they both went down to the river and hid in the forest near the waterhole.

When Thiep saw Lith come out of the water, he recognized her at once, and he went home and considered how he should get her out of the power of the water juju. He was advised by some of his friends to go to an old woman who frequently made sacrifices to the water juju, and consult her as to what the best thing to do.

When he went to her, she told him to bring her one white slave, one white goat, one piece of white cloth, one white chicken, and a basket of eggs. Then, when the great juju day arrived, she would take them to the water juju and make a sacrifice of them on his behalf. On the day after the sacrifice was made, the water juju would return the girl to her, and she would bring her to Thiep.

Thiep then bought the slave and took all the other things to the old woman and, when the day of sacrifice arrived, he went with his friend, the hunter, and witnessed the old woman make the sacrifice. The slave was bound up and led to the hole, the old woman called to the water juju, and she then cut the slave’s throat with a sharp knife and pushed him into the hole. She then did the same with the goat and the chicken and she also threw the eggs and cloth on top of them. After this had been done, they all returned to their homes.

The next morning at dawn the old woman went to the hole and found Lith standing at the side of the spring. She told her that she was her friend and was going to take her to her husband. She then took Lith back to her own home and hid her in her room and sent word to Thiep to come to her house and to take great care that the slave woman knew nothing about the matter.

So Thiep left the house secretly by the back door and arrived at the old woman’s house without meeting anyone.

When Lith saw Thiep, she asked for her little sister, so he sent his friend, the hunter, to bring her from the spring. The hunter met the child carrying her water-pot to get the morning supply of water and brought her to the old woman’s house with him.

After Lith had embraced her sister, she told her to return to Thiep’s house and to do something to annoy the slave woman, and then she went to run as fast as she could back to the old woman’s house where, no doubt, the slave girl would follow her. There she would meet them all inside the house and would see Lith, whom she believed she had killed.

The little girl did as she was told, and as soon as she entered the house, she called out to the slave woman, “Do you know that you are a wicked woman and have treated me very badly? I know you are only my sister’s slave, and you will be properly punished.” She then ran as fast as she could to the old woman’s house. When the slave woman heard what the little girl had said, she was quite mad with rage and seized a burning stick from the fire and ran after the child; but the little one got to the house first and ran inside, the slave woman following close upon her heels with the burning stick in her hand.

Then Lith came out and confronted the slave woman, and she at once recognized her mistress whom she thought she had killed, and she stood quite still.

Then they all went back to Thiep’s house, and when they arrived there, Thiep asked the slave woman what she meant by pretending that she was Lith and why she had tried to kill her. But, seeing she was found out, the slave woman had nothing to say.

Many people were then called to play and to celebrate the recovery of Thiep’s wife, and when they had all come, he told them what the slave woman had done.

After this, Lith treated the slave girl in the same way as she had treated her little sister. She made her put her fingers in the fire and burned her with sticks. She also made her beat fufu with her head in a hollowed-out tree and, after a time, she was tied up to a tree and starved to death.

Ever since that time, when a man marries a girl, he is always present when she comes out of the fatting-house and takes her home himself, so that such evil things as happened to Lith and her sister might not occur again.

[ EFIK-IBIBIO ]

ONCE A MAN MADE, a double marriage, one with a superior and one with an inferior wife. The inferior one then prepared a drug and caused the death of her mate, the owner of the hut.

When she was dead, the people said, “Let us bury her in the village.”

But the guilty woman said, “No, not in the village. That would no do, rather at the back of it. I feel the loss of my mate too much.”

The mourning was kept up for a long while. At last the chief said, “Let them eat, otherwise they will die.”

When this word was uttered, the women folk said, “Let us go to do field work.”

So they dispersed in order to go to the fields. But the guilty woman went up to the granary and took out some ears of corn. She then called to the dead woman, Saying, “Come and shuck this.” So saying she went and dug her mate out until she came forth from the grave in which she had been covered with earth, in order to go and shuck the corn.

When the dead wife had finished shucking it, she winnowed and sifted it, then took it to the grinding stone, and began to prepare this stone for use by beating it with a smaller one.

Mean while in the hut the living woman was cooking porridge. When she had finished stirring it, she said, “Come and have some food.”

Go into the hut! That is what her mate would not do. So the living wife said, “Then go and grind. You are a fool.”

The dead woman went to the stone and ground, singing all the while:

“First let me hand over to you little things,

my lady.

Lady Kois, let me hand over little things.

Kois, I have left you the husband;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the cowries;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the children;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the slaves;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the cotton goods;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the chickens;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the wild guinea chickens;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the baskets;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the fire;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you everything;

break me in two, yes.

Let me hand over all the rows.”`Let me hand over all the rows.”

She disappeared before the people came to the village.

The following day the people again dispersed in order to go to the fields. The woman also went, but soon came back and went to the granary and began to take out grain. All of a sudden she started toward the place where she had covered her mate with earth, saying, “Now, now! Come, shuck and grind; the sun is sinking.” And she went and dug her out.

The dead woman shucked and shucked. When she had finished shucking, she took the grain to the grinding stone, then once more began to beat it with another stone.

“Come along! said her mate, “come and have some food.”

“No,” she said, “I do not want any. Food is not what is in my heart.”

“Well!” said the other. “Where are the people who are going to look at you the whole day long? You died long ago.” Then she added, “What, eat! That is what you will do…. Then go and grind, dear, the sun is shining.”

Then the dead woman bent over the stone and began to grind, singing:

“First let me hand over to you little things,

my lady.

Lady Kois, let me hand over little things.

Kois, I have left you the husband;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the cowries;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the children;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the slaves; break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the cotton goods;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the chickens;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the guineas-chickens;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the baskets;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you the fire;

break me in two, yes.

Kois, I have left you everything;

break me in two, yes.

Let me hand over all the Kois.”

Meanwhile everyone left the fields and came back to the village.

The next morning people said, “Let us go to the fields.” After having gone to the field, the woman once more came back before the sun was high and went up to the granary. After that her mate again shucked, took the grain to the stone, and began to grind, singing the same song as on the previous days.

At dawn the next morning people said once more, “Now let us go to work.” But this time a number of people remained hidden in the grass. Then, fancy their surprise, they saw the woman go up to the granary, start taking some ears of corn and, on coming down, go and unearth her mate. Seeing that, they said, “This time it is plain, this is the woman who killed her mate.”

Then, as they saw the dead woman shuck the grain and go and bend over the millstone and heard her saying, Let me begin to grind,” and when they further heard the song, “First let me hand over… ” then, by the ghosts! They were all in suspense.

“Now,” said the dead woman, “let me move away from the stone.”

At this moment they got hold of the murderer…. “Let me go,” she said, “first hold a court of inquiry.”

But they just went and dug up a poison and mixed it and made her drink it by force. Meanwhile her dead mate had vanished.

Bakoo! They made a heap of firewood, dug her heart out, and burned her over the fire.

Now, little iron, my little story stops. Little iron, the end.

[ BENA MUKUNI ]

A MAN HAD TAKEN a wife, and now she had the joy of being with child, but famine was acute in the land.

One day, when hunger was particularly severe, the man, accompanied by his wife, was dragging himself along in the direction of there mother’s home in the hope of getting a little food there. He happened to find on the road a tree with abundant wild fruit on the top. “Wife,” he said, “get up there that we may eat fruit.”

The woman refused, saying, “I, who am with child, to climb up a tree!”

He said, “In that case, do not climbe at all.”

The husband them climbed up himself and shook and shook the branches, the woman meanwhile picking up what fell down. He said, “Do not pick up my fruit. What! Just now you refused to go up!”

And she: “Bana! I am only picking them up.”

Thinking about this fruit, he hurried down from the top of the tree and said, “You have eaten some.”

And she: “Why! Of course, I have not.”

Then, spear in hand, he stabbed his wife. And there she died on the spot.

He then gathered up his fruit with both hands. There he sat eating it, remaining where the woman was stretched out quite flat.

All of a sudden he started running. Run! Run Run! Without stopping once, he ran until he reached the rise of a hill.

There he slept, out of sight of the place where he had left the woman.

Meanwhile the child that was in the womb rushed out of it, dragging its umbilical cord. First, it looked round for the direction which its father had taken, then it started this song:

“Father, wait for me,

Father, wait for me,

The little wonmbless.

Who is it that has eaten my mother?

The little wombless….!

How swollen are those eyes!

Wait till the little wombless comes.”

That gave the man a shake… “There,” he said, “there comes the thing which is speaking.” He listened, he started in that direction…. “This is the child coming to follow me after all that, when I have already killed its mother. It had been left in the womb.”

Then rage took his wits away, and he killed the little child!…. there he was making a fresh start, and going on. Here, where the little bone had been left: “Little bone, gather yourself up…. Little bone, gather yourself up.”

Soon it was up again, and then came the song:

“Father, wait for me,

Father, wait for me,

The Little wombless.

Who is it that has eaten my mother?

The little wombless….!

How swollen are those eyes!

Wait till the little wombless comes.”

The father stopped…. “Again the child that I have killed! It has risen and is coming. Now I shall wait for him.”

So he hid and waited for the child, with a spear in his hand. The child came and made itself visible at a distance as from here to there. As soon as it came, quick with the spear! He stabbed it! Then he looked for a hole, shoveled the little body into it, and heaped branches up at the entrance.

Then with all speed he ran! with all speed!

At last he reached the kraal, where the mother of his dead wife lived, the grandmother of the child.

When he came he sat down. Then his brothers and sisters-in-law come with smiling faces…. “Well! Well! You have put in an appearance!”

“We have,” he says, “Put in an appearance.”

And a hut was prepared for him and his wife, who was expected.

Then the mother-in-law was heard asking from afar, “Well! And my daughter, where has she been detained?”

Said he, “I have left her at home. I have come alone to beg for a little food. Hunger is roaring.”
“Sit down inside there, father.”

Food was procured for him. So he began to eat. And when he had finished, he even went to sleep.

Meanwhile, the child, on its part, had squeezed itself out of the hole where in it had been put and, again, with its umbilical cord hanging on:

“Father, wait for me,

Father, wait for me,

The little wombless.

Who is it that has eaten my mother?

The little wombless…!

How swollen are those eyes!

Wait till the little wombless comes.”

The people listened in the direction of the path… “That thing which comes speaking indistinctly, what is it?…. It seems to be a person…. What is it?…. It looks, man, like a child killed by you on the road…. And now, when we look at your way of sitting, you seem to be only half-seated.”

“We do not see him distinctly…. It cannot be the child, Mother; it remained at home.”

The man just got up to shake himself a little. And his little child, too, was coming with all speed! It was already near, with its mouth wide open:

“Father, wait for me,

Father, wait for me,

The little wombless.

Who is it that has eaten my mother?“

The little wombless….!

How swollen are those eyes!

Wait till the little wombless comes!”

Everyone was staring. They said, “There comes a little red thing. It still has the umbilical cord hanging on.”

Inside of the hut there, where the man stood, there was complete silence!

Meanwhile the child was coming on feet and buttocks with its mouth wide open, but still at a distance from its grandmother’s hut. “Straight over there!” noted everyone. The grandmother looked toward the road and noticed that the little thing was perspiring, and what speed! Then the song:

“Father, wait for me,

Father, wait for me,

The little wombless.

Who is it that has eaten my mother?

The little wombless….!

How swollen are those eyes!

Wait till the little wombless comes.”

Bakoo! It scarcely reached its grandmother’s hut when it jumped into it…. and up on the bed:

“Father, wait for me.

Father, have you come?

Yes, you have eaten my mother.

How swollen those eyes!

Wait till the little wombless comes.”

Then the grandmother put this question to the man: “Now what sort of song is this child singing? Have you not killed our daughter?”

She had scarcely added, “Surround him!” when he was already in their hands. His very brother-in-law tied him. And then…. all the spears were poised together in one direction, everyone saying, “Now today you are the man who killed our sister.”

Then they just threw the body away to the west. And grandmother picked up her little grandchild.

[ BENA MUKUNI ]

THIS IS WHAT A WOMAN DID.

She was then living in the bush, never showing herself to anyone. She had living with her just one daughter, who used to pass the day in the fork of a tree making baskets.

One day there appeared a man just when the mother had gone to kill game. He found the girl making baskets as usual. “Here now!” he said. “There are people here in the bush! And that girl, what a beauty! Yet they leave her alone. If the king were to marry her, would not all the other queens leave the place?”

Going back to the town, he went straight to the king’s house and said, “Sire, I have discovered a woman of such beauty that, if you call her to this palace, all the queens you have will make haste to go away.”

The following morning people were called together and set to grind their axes. Then they started for the bush. As they came in view of the place, they found the mother had once more gone to hunt.

Before going, she had cooked porridge for her daughter and hung meat for her. Then only had she started on her expedition.

The people said, “Let us cut down the tree on which the girl is.”

So they put axes to it. The girl at once started this song:

“Mother, come back!

Mother, here is a man cutting our shade tree.

Mother come back!

Mother, here is a man cutting our shade tree.

Cut! Here is the tree falling in which I eat.

Here it is falling.”

The mother dropped there as if from the sky:

Many as you are, I shall stitch you

with the big needle.

Stitch! Stitch!”

They at once fell to the ground…. The woman left just one to go back and report.

“Go,” she said, “and tell the news.” He went….

When he came to the town the people asked, “What has happened?”

“There,” he said, “where we have been! Things are rather bad! “

Likewise, when he stood before the king, the king asked, “What has happened?”

“Sire,” he said, “we are all undone. I alone have come back.”

“Bakoo! You are all dead! If that is so, tomorrow go to the kraal over there and bring more people. Tomorrow morning let them go and bring me the woman.”

They slept their fill.

The next morning early, the men ground their axes and went to the place.

They, too, found the mother gone, while the porridge was ready there, and the meat was hanging on the tree….

“Bring the axes.” Forthwith they went at the shade tree. But the song had already started:

“Mother, come back!

Mother, here is a man cutting our shade tree.

Mother, come back!

Mother, here is a man cutting our shade tree.

Cut! Here is the tree falling in which I eat.

Here it is falling.”

The mother dropped down among them, singing in her turn:

“many as you are, I shall stitch you

with the big needle.

Stitch! Stitch!”

They were dead. The woman and her daughter picked up the axes….

“Olo!” said the king when he was told. “Today let all those that are pregnant give birth to their children.”

So one woman after another straightway brought forth her child. Soon there was a whole row of them.

Then the whole band departed, making a confused noise.

When the girl saw that, she said, “There is no joke about it now. There comes a red army with the umbilical cords still hanging on.”

They found her at her own place in the fork of the tree.

“Let us give them some porridge on their heads, but the children did not eat it.

The last-born then climbed up the shade tree, picked up the baskets which the girl was stitching, and said, “Now bring me an axe.”

The girl shouted once more:

“Mother, come back!

Mother, here is man cutting our shade tree.

Mother, come back!

Mother, here is a man cutting our shade tree.

Cut! Here is the tree falling in which I eat.

Here it is falling.”

The Mother dropped down among the crowd:

“Many as you are, I shall stitch you with the big needle.

Stitch! Stitch!”

But thee was the troop already dragging the girl. They had tied her with their umbilical cords, yes, with their umbilical cords. The mother went on with her incantation:

“many as you are, I shall stitch you

with the big needle.

Stitch! Stitch!”

In vain! The troop was already in the fields and the ngururu went up as far as God’s abode, and soon the children were in the town.

As they reached it, the mother said, “since you have carried away my child, I must tell you something. She is not to pound in the mortar, nor to go to fetch water at night. If you send her to do one of these things, mind you! I shall know where to find you.”

Then the mother went back to her abode in the bush.

The following day the king said, “Let us go hunting.” And to his mother he said, “my wife must not pound mortar. All that she can do is to stitch baskets.”

While the husband was away there in the open flat, the other wives as well as the mother-in-law said, “Why should not she also pound in the mortar?”

When the girl was told to pound in the mortar, she said, “No.”

A basket of corn was brought to her.

The mother-in-law herself took away the meal from the mortar, and then the other women in their turn brought corn and put it all there.

So the girl pounded, singing at the same time:

“Pound! At home I do not pound,

Here I pound to celebrate my wedding.

Yepu! Yepu!

If I pound, I go to God’s.”

She began to sink into the ground but she went on singing:

“Pound! At home I do not pound,

Here I pound to celebrate my wedding.

Yepu! Yepu!

If I pound, I go to God’s”

Soon she was down as far as her neck. Now the mortar went on by itself pounding the grain on the ground, pounding on the ground. Finally the girl disappeared altogether.

When nothing more was seen of her, the mortar still pounded as before on the ground. The women then said, “Now what shall we do?”

They went and called a crane, and said, “Go and break the news to her mother. But, first, let us know, what will you say?”

The crane said, “Wawani! Wawani!”

They said, “that has no meaning, go back. Let us send for the crow.”

The crow was called, “Now what will you say?”

The crow said, “Kwa! Kwa! Kwa!”

“The crow does not know how to call. Go, quail. How will you do?”

The quail said, “Kwalulu! Kwalulu!”

“The quail does not know how to do it either. Let us call the doves.”

They said, “Let us hear, doves, what will you call to her mother?”

They they heard:

“Kuku! Ku!

She-who-nurses-the-sun is gone,

You who dig,

She-who-nurses-the-sun.”

They said, “Go, you know how to do it , you.”

The mother went when she heard the doves. There she was going toward the town. She carried medicines on a potsherd, also tails of animals with which she beat the air.

While she was on the road, she met a zebra:

“Zebra, what are you doing?

–Ullimidden.

The wife of my father is dead.

–Ullimidden.

O Mother! You shall die.

–Ullimidden.”

The zebra died. The woman went on, went on, went on, and then found people digging:

“You who dig, what are you doing?

–Ullimidden.

The wife of my father is dead.

O mother! You shall die.

–Ullimidden.”

When she reached the town there:

“Let me gather, let me gather

The herd of my mother.

Nakomse, get up.

Let me gather the herd.

“Let me gather, let me gather

The herd of my father.

Nakomse, get up.

Let me gather the herd.”

She then heard the mortar still sounding right above the child.

So she sprayed one medicine, then another.

There was the child already pounding from under the ground. Little by little the head came out. Then the neck, and the song was heard again:

“Pound! At home I do not pound,

Here I pound to celebrate my wedding.

Yepu! Yepu!

If I pound, I go to God’s”

The child was now in full view. Finally she stepped outside. The end.

[ BENA MUKUNI ]

THERE WAS ONCE an old woman who had no husband, and she lived for many days in trouble. One day she said to herself, “Why do I always feel so troubled? It is because I have neither children nor husband. I shall go to the medicine-man and get some children.

She went to the medicine-man and told him she was unhappy owing to the fact that although she had now grown old, she had neither husband nor children. The medicine-man asked her which she wanted, husband or children, and she told him she wanted children.

She was instructed to take some cooking pots – three, or as many as she could carry – and to search for a fruit-bearing sycamore tree, to fill the pots with the fruit, to put them in her hut, and to go for a walk.

The old woman followed these instructions carefully. She gathered the fruit, filled the pots, placed them in her hut, and went for a walk until the evening.

On arriving near the kraal, she heard the sound of voices and asked herself, “Why does one hear the voices of children in the kraal?” She went nearer, and found her hut filled with children, all her work finished, the boys herding the cattle, the hut swept, by the girls, the warriors singing and dancing on the common, and the little children waiting to greet her. She thus became a rich old woman, and lived happily with her children for many days.

One day, however, she scolded the children, and reproached them for being children of the tree. They remained silent and did not speak to her; then, while she went to visit her friends in the other kraals, the children returned to the sycamore tree, and became fruit again. On her return to her own kraal, the old woman wept bitterly when she found it empty, and paid another visit to the medicine-man, whom she taxed with having spirited away her children.

The medicine-man told her that he did not know what she should do now, and when she proposed to go and look at the sycamore tree, he recommended her to try.

She took her cooking pots to the sycamore tree and climbed up into it. But when she reached the fruit they all put forth eyes and stared at her. This so startled her that she was unable to descend, and her friends had to come and help her down.

She did not go to the sycamore tree again to search for the children.

[ MASAI ]

ONCE UPON A TIME there were a brother and sister who lived together. The mother had died leaving many goats, and the brother looked after the goats in the daytime, but in the evening he went away from home, for he was very handsome, and had many friends. The name of the girl was Nasere, the name of the brother Tunka Menin.

Now one day when the brother returned Nasere said to him, “Two men were here yesterday, and if you go away and leave me they will carry me off.” But he replied, “You talk nonsense.” She insisted, “I am speaking the truth. Now when they take me I will bear with me a gourd full of sap which is like fat, and I will let it drop along the path so that you can follow my trail.” That night when Tunka Menin brought the goats home, Nasere made a great feast and gruel, but again he went away. When Tunka Menin came back the next morning he found the homestead empty, for his sister had been carried away as she had said. However, he saw the track where drop by drop she had let fall the sap which was like fat. And Tunk Menin followed over hill and down dale, and ever and again he heard her voice crying from. the opposite hillside, “Follow after where you see the trail.”

The following day the sap began to take root and to spring up into little plants, but he did not see his sister. At last, he returned to his home to herd the flock. He took them out to feed, but he had no one to prepare food for him when he returned home at night, and if he himself prepared the food there was no one to care for the flocks. So he slew a goat and ate it and, when it was finished, he slew yet another, and so on till all the goats were finished. Then he killed and ate the oxen one by one. They lasted him months and years for the flock was large but, at last they were all gone, and then he bethought him of his sister.

Now the plants which marked the way she had gone were, by this time, grown to trees, and so he journeyed on for one month and half a month and at the end of that time he came to a stream and by the stream were two children getting water. Then he said to the younger, “Give me some water in your gourd,” but the child refused. The elder child spoke to the younger and said, “Give the stranger to drink, for our mother said if ever you see a stranger coming by way of the trees he is my brother!” So he and the children went up to the homestead, and he waited outside, and Nasere came out, and he knew her at once. However, she did not know him, for he was not dressed as before with ochre and fat. He came into her hut and she gave him food, not in a good vessel, but in a potsherd. Then he slept in the hut, but on the floor, not in the bed.

Now the next day he went out with the children to drive away the birds from the crops and as he threw a stone he would say, “Fly away, little bird, as Nasere flew away and never came back any more.” Soon another bird would come and he would throw another stone and say the same words again. This happened the next day and the next for a whole month.

The children heard this, and so did others, and they said, “Why does he utter the name Nasere?” So they went and told their mother. At last she came and waited among the grass and listened to his words, and said, “Surely this is my brother Tunka Menin, and she went back to the house and sent for a young man and told him to go and fetch Tunka Menin to come to her, for she said, “He is my brother.” And the young man went and told Tunka Menin the words of his sister, and she has given me no cup for my food but a potsherd,” and he would not go in. Then the young man returned to Nasere and told her the words of her brother, and she said, “Take ten goats and go again and bid him to come to me.” So the young man took ten goats and said, “Your sister has sent these ten goats.” But again Tunka Menin refused, and the young man returned. So Nasere said, “Take ten oxen and give them to my brother.” However, Tunka Menin owuld not come. Nasere then sent him ten cows, and another ten cows, but still Tunka Menin refused to come in. Nasere thereupon told her husband how she had found her brother and how he would not be reconciled to her, and her husband said, “Send him still more animals,” so Nasere sent ten other cows and again ten more, till Tunka Menin had received forty cows besides the goats and the oxen which Nasere had sent at the first. And the heart of Tunka Menin relented, and he came into the house of his sister. And she killed a goat, and took the fat and dressed his hair and his shoulders, for she said, “I did not know you, for you were not adorned as before.

After Tunka Menin had been reconciled to his sister, he asked that eight wives should be given him. So the husband of Nasere sent to all his relations round about, and they brought in goats, and Tunka Menin bought eight girls, some for thirty goats, some for forty. Other relations all came and built eight huts for the wives near to the dwelling of Nasere, so Tunka Menin and his wives dwelt near the homestead of his sister.

[ AKIKUYU ]

THERE ONCE LIVED a man named Battuda, the weed smoker. One year there was s serve drought, and the weed did not grow. He said to his children, “What am I to do? I have no weed.”

They answered, “If you wish it, send us that we may search for some.”

Thereupon he sent the eight sons and three daughters, and said, If you secure weed, leave the girls with the man from whom you got it.”

They walked for a long time, nearly two months, but they did not find weed. They said to each other, “As we have not found that which we seek, it is best that we return.”

On their return they met two men, wanderers, who asked them what they sought. “We seek weed. We were sent by our father who is in great need of it, and we fear he will be dead by now.”

The wanderers replied, “Very well. Come with us, and we will take you to a man who has lots of it.”

Thus they travelled together, and when they arrived at one man’s village they met his son, who asked, “What do you seek?”

They replied, “Weed.”

“Only weed?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed,” they replied.

“If it should be offered to you, what would you give for it?” he asked further.

They answered, “Father said to us if you find a man with weed, leave all the girls with him.”

The man who owned the weed, and who was also named Battuda, rejoiced when he heard this and killed a goat for them. The next morning he filled eight bags with weed and gave them to Battuda’s sons. He also sent his four sons and two daughters, and said to his sons, “When you come to the man who desires the weed and find that his village is a pleasant place, leave the two girls with him.”

When Battuda’s eight sons returned with the weed, he rejoiced and praised them for what they had done and killed a goat for them. They said, “The man from whom we got the weed has also sent his four sons and tow daughters to see your abode and whether it is a pleasant place.”

He replied, “It is well.”

The next morning the four sons returned to their home and left their two sisters ar Battuda’s village.

The two families thereafter became friends and visited each other.

Some time later, Battuda said, “I am old. Take me to my friend that I may see before I die.” To this his children agreed. They went ahead, and he followed, until they arrived at Battuda’s village.

When Battuda heard the greetings and clapping of hands, he asked, “Whom is it you greet?”

One of his sons said, “It is the father of the girls who were left here – he who sought weed.”

He answered, “I am ashamed to meet him, as I married his daughters before I met him. Go and tell him that his friend Battuda is ill.” The sons went and told the man as they were desired to do by their father.

Thereupon the eldest son of the other said, “My father is also ill. I brought him, as he wished to see his friend who supplied him with weed. You say he is ill, therefore both are ill.”

The son of the other replied, “It is as you say. Enter the hut. We shall see tomorrow.”

They prepared food and, when they were about to take it to the visitors, there suddenly arose shouting and wailing, and the people of the village cried out, “Father is dead.”

Thereupon the visitors also set up a wailing and shouting, crying, “Father is dead. He died at the village which was not his home.”

Then all the people said, “We shall see tomorrow when we bury them.”

The next morning the people of the village said to the visitors, “it is daybreak. Go and choose a spot where you may bury your father; we shall do likewise for our father.”

But the sons of him whoo came on the visit replied, “Speak not thus. Let them be buried together, because they had become friends.”

Those of the village answered, “Have people ever been buried together?”

The visitors said, “You say people are not buried together. Have you known of a case where one man went to visit his friend and it was said, ‘He is dead,’ and that the other also died, thus both dying at the same time? Where did you ever see this?”

Thereupon they agreed to bury the bodies together.

They dug a deep grave for the two and carried the bodies thither. First they lowered into the grave the body of the man of the village and then that of the visitor. They then called out, “Bring stones that we may fill up the grave.”

When they were about to throw in the stones, the man who was lowered first called out, “I am not dead, take me out, and do not cover me with stones.” Then the body of the visitor said, “I am on top, I want to get out first.”

Thus both came out.

They went and killed a goat of which all ate. Then the old men called their sons together and said to them, “We wish to instruct you, our children. Do not do this: do not marry a girl before you ask her in marriage of her father.”

Then the old man of the village, whose name was Battuda, said to his sons, “I thought I would be clever. I did not wish to see the man whose daughters I had married without telling him. Therefore I said I was sick, hoping he would go home.”

Thus the custom arose that when a man desires to marry, he first informs the girl’s father of what he desires to do, for at the beginning this was not done.

[ MASHONA ]