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 ]

A GIRL, it is said, once went to seek for onions. As she arrived at the place where they grew, she met several men, on of whom was half-blind, having only one eye. As she dug, the men helped her, digging also. When her sack was full, the men said to her, “Go, tell the other girls, that many of you may come.” So she went home and told her companions, and early the next morning they started. But a little girl followed them. The other girls said, “Let the little girl go back.”

Her elder sister protested, saying, “She runs by herself; you need not out her into your awa skin.”

So they all went on together and, having reached the onion field, began to dig. Now the little girl saw traces of feet, and she said to the one who had guided them thither, “Wonderful! Whence so many traces? Were you not alone here?”

The other replied, “I walked about and looked around; therefore there must be many of my foot prints.”

The child, however, did not believe that if the other girl had been alone the traces could be many, and she felt uneasy, for she was a wise little woman. From time to time she rose from her work and peeped about and once, while doing this found by chance an anteater’s hole.

Still further spying about, she perceived some men, but they did not see her. She then returned and continued digging with the other girls, without, however, saying anything; but in the midst of the work, she always rose and looked about her.

So the others asked her, “Why do you always spy about you and leave off digging? What a girl!” But she continued her work in silence. When she rose from it again, she saw the men approaching. As they drew near, the one-eyed man blew through a reed pipe the following:

“Today blood shall flow, blood flow, blood flow!”

The little girl understood what was blown on the reed. She said to the elder ones, while they were dancing, “Do you understand the tune that is blown on the reed?”

But they only said, “What a child she is!”

So she mixed in the dance with the others, but managed while so doing to tie her sister’s kaross to her own. In this manner they danced until the merriment became very noisy. Then the two sisters found an opportunity to slip away.

On their way out the little sister asked, “Do you understand the reed – I mean what is blown on it?”

The elder one answered, “No, I do not understand it.”

Then the little girl explained to her that the tune on the reed said, “Today blood shall flow!”

While they walked along, the little girl let her elder sister go first and she herself followed, walking backwards and carefully stepping in her sister’s marks, so that thus they left only one set of footprints, and these going in a contrary direction. In this manner they arrived at the anteater’s hole.

The men killed all those girls who had remained dancing with them. When the elder of the two who had escaped heard their wailing, she said, “Alas, my sister!”

But the younger one answered hr, “Do you think you would have lived if you had remained there?”

Now the one-eyed man was the first to miss the sisters, and he said to the other men, “Where may the two handsome girls be who danced with me?”

The others replied, “He lies. He has seen only with his single eye.” But the one-eyed man insisted that two girls were truly missing.

Then they went to find their tracks, but the footmarks had been rendered indistinct enough to puzzle them.

However, the men finally arrived at the anteater’s hole. They could not see that the foot marks went farther, and they peered into the hole but saw nothing. Then the one-eyed man looked also, and he saw the girls and cried, “There they sit!”

The others now looked again, but still saw nothing, for the girls had covered themselves with cobwebs.

One of the men then took an spear and, piercing through the upper part of the hole, hit the heel of the older girl. The wise little woman took hold of the spear, however, and wiped off the blood. The elder sister was about to cry, but the little one warned her not to make a sound.

When the one-eyed one spied again the little girl made big eyes at him. He said, “There she sits.”

The others looked too, but as they could see nothing they said, “He has only seen with his one eye.”

At last the men became thirsty and said to the one-eyed one, “Stay you here and let us go to drink, and when we have returned you may go also.”

When the one-eyed man was left alone there, the little girl said, conjuring him:

“You dirty son if your father,

Are you there? Are you alone not thirsty?

Oh, you dirty child of your father!

Dirty son of your father!”

“I am indeed thirsty,” said the one-eyed one and went away.

Then the two girls came out of the hole, and the younger one took her elder sister on her back and walked on. As they were going over the bare, treeless plain, the men saw them and said, “There they are, far off,” and ran after them.

When they came near, the two girls turned themselves into thorn trees, called “Wait-a-bit,” and the beads which they wore became gum on the trees. The men then ate of the gum and fell asleep. While they slept, the girls smeared gum over the men’s eyes and went away, leaving them lying in the sun.

The girls were already near their kraal, when the one-eyed man awoke and said, “Oh, the disgrace! Fie on thee!”

“Our eyes are smeared over; fie on thee, my brother!” said the others.

Then they removed the gum from their eyes, and hunted for the girls, but the two sisters reached home in safety and told their parents what had happened.

Then all the people lamented greatly, but they remained quietly at home and did not search for the other girls.

[ HOTTENTOT ]

MANY YEARS AGO There was a Calabar hunter named Effiong who lived in the bush. He killed plenty of animals and made much money. Every one in the country knew him, and one of his best friends was a man called Okun, who lived near him.

Effiong was very extravagant and spent much money in eating and drinking with everyone until at last he became quite poor, and he had to go out hunting again. But now his good luck seemed to have deserted him, for although he worked hard and hunted day and night, he could not succeed in killing anything.

One day, as he was very hungry, he went to his friend Okun and borrowed two hundred rods from him. He told him to come to his house on a certain day to get his money, and he told him to bring his gun, loaded, with him.

Now sometimes before this, Effiong had made friends with a leopard and a bush cat whom he had met in the forest while on one of his hunting expeditions; and he had also made friends with a goat and a rooster at a farm where he had stayed for the night. But, though Effiong had borrowed the money from Okun, he could not think how he was to repay it on the day he had promised. At last, however, he thought of a plan. The next day he went to his friend the leopard and asked him to lend him tow hundred rods, promising to return the amount to him on the same day as he had promised to pay Okun. He also told the leopard that, if he were absent when he came for his money, he could kill anything he saw in the house and eat it. The leopard was then to wait until the hunter arrived, when he would pay him the money. To this the leopard agreed.

The hunter then went to his friend the goat and borrowed two hundred rods from him in the same way. Effiong also went to his friends the bush cat and the rooster and borrowed two hundred rods from each of them on the same conditions, and told each one of them that if he were absent when they arrived, they could kill and eat anything they found about the place.

When the appointed day and left the house deserted. Very early in the morning, soon after he had begun to crow, the rooster remembered what the hunter had told him and he walked over to the hunter’s house but found no one there. On looking around, however, he saw corn on the ground and, being hungry, he commenced to eat.

About this time the bush cat also arrived, and not finding the hunter at home, he too looked about and very soon he espired the rooster who was busy picking up the grains of corn. So the bush cat went up very softly behind and pounced on the rooster and killed him at once, and begun to eat him.

By this time the goat had come for his money; but not finding his friend, he walked about until he came upon the bush cat who was intent upon his meal off the rooster that he did not notice the goat approaching; and the goat, being in rather a bad temper at not getting his money, at once charged at the bush cat and knocked him over, butting him with his horns. This the bush cat did not like at all, so as he was not big enough to fight the goat, he picked up the remains of the rooster and ran off with it to the bush; and so he lost money, as he did not await the arrival of the hunter. The goat was thus left master of the situation and started bleating. This noise attracted the attention of the leopard, who was on his way to receive payment from the hunter. As he got nearer, the smell of goat became very strong and, being hungry, for he had not eaten anything for some time, he approached the goat very carefully. Not seeing anyone, he stalked the goat and got nearer and nearer until he was within springing distance.

The goat, in the meantime, was quietly grazing, quite unsuspicious of any danger, as he was in the compound of his friend the hunter. Now and then he would say “Ba!” But most of the time he was busy eating the young grass and picking up the leaves which had fallen from a tree of which he was very fond. Suddenly the leopard sprang at the goat and, with one crunch at the neck, brought him down. The goat was dead almost at once, and the leopard started on his meal.

It was now about eight o’clock in the morning, and Okun, the hunter’s friend, having had his early morning meal, went out with his gun to receive payment of the two hundred rods he had lent to the hunter. When he got close to the house he heard a crunching sound. Being a hunter himself, he approached very cautiously and, looking over the fence, he saw the leopard only a few yards off busily engaged eating the goat. He took careful aim at the leopard and fired, whereupon the leopard rolled over dead.

The death of the leopard meant the four of the hunter’s creditors were now disposed of, as the bush cat had killed the rooster; the goat had driven the bush car away, who thus forfeited his claim; and in his turn the goat had been killed by the leopard, who had just been slain by Okun. This meant a saving of eight hundred rods of Effiong, but he was not content with this. As soon as he heard the report of the gun he ran out from where he had been hiding all the time and found the leopard lying dead with Okun standing over it. Then in very strong language Effiong began to upbraid Okun and asked him why he had killed his old friend the leopard. He said that nothing would satisfy him and that he would report the whole matter to the king, who would no doubt deal with Okun as he thought fit. When Effiong said this, Okun was frightened and begged him not to say anything more about the matter, as the king would be angry; but the hunter was obdurate and refused to listen to him. At last Okun said, “If you will allow the whole thing to drop and will say no more about it, I will make you a present of the two hundred rods you borrowed from me.” This was just what Effiong wanted; but still he did not give in at once. Eventually, however, he agreed and told Okun he might go and that he would bury the body of his friend the leopard.

Directly Okun had gone, instead of burying the body, Effiong dragged it inside the house and skinned it very carefully. The skin he put out to dry in the sun and covered it with wood ash, and the body he ate. When the skin was well cured, the hunter took it to a distant market where he sold it for much money.

And now, whenever a bush cat sees a rooster he always kills it and does so by right, as he takes the rooster in part payment of the two hundred rods which the hunter never paid him.

Moral: Never lend money to people, because if they cannot pay they will try to kill you or get rid of you in some way, either by poison or by setting bad jujus for you.

[ EFIK-IBIBIO ]

A young man of early race once ascended a hill in order to hunt. As he looked around for game, However, he became sleepy – so sleepy, in fact, that he decided to lie down. What had happened to him? He wondered, as he stretched himself out on the ground, near a water hole. Never before had he been thus overcome by sleep.

As he slept, a lion, exhausted by the noonday heat , came to the pool to quench its thirst. The lion espied the boy lying there asleep and seized him. Startled, the boy awoke and, realizing that he had indeed been seized by a lion, he decided that it would be best not to stir, lest the lion bite and kill him. So he waited to see what the lion would do, for it was clear that the animal thought he was dead.

The lion carried him to a zwart-storm tree. There it laid him in the tree, in the lower branches however, and in such fashion that his legs protruded. Apparently the lion thought he would continue to be thirsty if he consumes the boy’s body immediately and that it would be better first to go down to the pool and drink some more water.

Before leaving, the lion pressed the boy’s head firmly between the branches of the zwart-storm tree.

No sooner had the lion left than the boy moved his head ever so little. The lion noticed the movement, however, as he looked back, and was puzzled. How could the head move after it had been forced so firmly between the branches of the tree? Perhaps he had not fastened the boy securely enough.

Just then the boy fell over. So the lion returned and, once again, pushed the boy’s head into the middle of the branches of the zwart-tree. As he did so, tears came into the boy’s eyes and the lion licked them away.

The boy lay there in pain, for a stick was pressing into the hollow at the back of his head. He faced the lion steadily with closed eyes and turned his head just a little. To the lion it seemed again as if the boy had moved, and again he licked away the tears from the boy’s eyes. Puzzled, the lion trod once more upon the boy’s head and pressed it down in order to be certain that the head might have moved because the body had not been properly confined, and not from any other reason.

The boy, now fearing that the lion suspected that he was not dead, remained absolutely motionless, in spite of the fact that the stick was cruelly piercing his head.

The lion, finally satisfied that the body was now firmly and properly secured, moved a few steps away. Then he looked back. The boy opened his eyes ever so little and through his eyelashes watched what the lion was doing.

The lion then ascended the hill and was about to proceed down to the water on the other side.

The boy, on his part, turned his head gently, in order to see if the lion had really departed. But, as he did so, he saw the lion peering from behind the top of the hill. He had comeback to take one more look at the boy, for he had suspected that the boy might possibly be only feigning death. That is why he had reascended the hill to take one more look. Since, however, the boy still lay there immobile, the lion thought he might quickly run to the water hole, drink his fill, and return without delay to consume the body. The lion was hungry enough but also not a little thirsty.

All this time the boy lay there quietly watching to see the lion what the lion was going to do next. He saw its head and shoulders finally turn and disappear; but, before he made the slightest movement, he wanted to be absolutely certain that the lion had really gone and would not return to peer again over the hill. He knew that the lion is a thing of cunning and that the animal had been suspicious of the movement which his head had made.

The boy lay there a long time without moving, and only when he was positive that the lion had truly gone did he arise and spring forward to a different place. But he did this circumspectly, running in a zigzag direction, so that the lion could not smell him out and know where he had gone. That is why he ran this way and that and did not run straight toward his own house. He knew that when the lion returned and missed him, he would immediately seek for him, following this spoor.

As soon as the boy came to the top of the hill, he called out to his people that he had just been “lifted up” – while the sun had stood high, he had been “lifted up.” More he would not say. They went therefore to gather together all the many harte-beest skins they possessed so that they might roll him in them, for he had just been “lifted up,” while the sun had stood high. He wanted his people to do this, for he was certain that the lion, when it returned and missed him, would seek and track him out. It is the way of a lion, with anything it has killed, not to leave it until he has eaten it. So insistently the boy besought his people to get the harte-beest skins and the mats and roll him up in them.

The people thereupon did this for the young boy, for it was their hearts’ young boy who had made the request and they did not wish the lion to eat him. Accordingly, they hid well, in suck fashion as to prevent the lion from getting hold of him. Indeed, they loved this young boy greatly and they announced that they would cover him over with the huts’ sheltering bushes: all this they would do, to prevent the lion, when he arrived, from seizing their hearts’ young boy.

Everyone now went out to look for some kuisse and when they found some, they dug it up, took it hime, and baked it.

At just about this time, and old Bushman, who had gone out to get some wood for his wife so that she might make a fire with which to cook the kuisse, espied the lion as he came over the top of the hill at the exact place where the young boy had appeared. Immediately he told his house folk about it. Speaking, he said, “Do you see what it is that stands there yonder on the top of the hill, at the place where the young boy came over?”

Thereupon the young boy’s mother, looking, exclaimed, “Not on any account must you permit that lion to come into our huts! You must shoot it and kill is before it ever comes that far!”

So the people slung on their quivers and went to meet the lion. Again and again they shot at him, but he would not die.

Then another woman addressed the people, saying, “In what manner are you shooting at this lion that you cannot manage to kill him?”

Bout one of the older men replied, “Can you not see that this lion must be a sorcerer? It will not die despite our shooting at it, for it insists upon having the young boy that it carried off.”

The people now threw children for the lion to eat, but the lion merely looked at them and left them alone.

Again and again the people shot at the lion but all to no avail. The lion remained unharmed and kept looking for the young boy. After a while, some of the people said, “Bring is some assegais, so that we can spear it.” So they began spearing it while continued shooting. But, despite the shooting and the spearing, the lion remained unharmed and continued its search for the young boy, for the young boy whose tears it had licked. It wanted that boy, none other.

Coming upon the huts, it tore them asunder and broke them to pieces, seeking for the young boy. The people addressed one another in terror saying, “Do you not see that the lion will not eat the children we have thrown him? Can you not see that he must be a sorcerer?”

But some people answered, “Give the lion a girl. Perhaps it will eat her and then go away.”

The lion, however, did not touch the girl. It wanted the young boy it had carried off, none other.

Everyone was now completely bewildered, for no one knew in what manner to act toward the lion to persuade it to leave. It was late in the day and the people had been spearing and shooting at it since the morning; yet the lion remained unharmed and would not die. It kept walking about, searching for the young boy.

“We no longer know what to do to induce it to leave,” the people said.

‘We have offered children and a young girl but the lion has always refused them. It desires only the young boy it carried off.”

Finally, in desperation, some of the people said, “Tell the young boy’s mother what is happening. Tell her that, despite her great love for the young boy, she must take him and deliver him to the lion, even though he be the child of her heart. She herself must realize that the sun is about to set and the lion is still threatening us, that it will not depart. It insists upon having the young boy.”

The mother heard and answered, “Be it so. Give my child to the lion. In no wise, however, must you allow the lion to eat him, in no wise must you allow the lion to continue walking about here. You must kill him and lay him upon my child. Let the lion die upon my son.”

When the young boy’s mother had thus spoken, the people unwrapped the young boy from the harte-beest skins in which he had been rolled and gave him to the lion. The lion immediately seized him and bit him to death, but as he was thus biting him to death, the people shot and stabbed the lion.

Finally the lion spoke and said that he was ready to die, for now he had secured the boy he had all the time been seeking; he had got hold of him.

And so the lion died, and both the boy and the lion lay there dead, next to each other.

[ BUSHMEN ]

THERE ONCE LIVED a certain man called Akwasi-the-Jealous-One, and his wife was Aso. He did not want anyone to Aso or anyone to talk to her, so he went and built a small settlement for Aso to live in. No one ever went into that village.

Now he, Akwasi- the-Jealous-One, could not beget children. Because of that, if he and his wife lived in town, someone would take her away. Now the sky-god advised the young men, saying, “Akwasi-the-Jealous-One has been married to Aso for a very, very long time. She has not conceived by him and borne a child; therefore he who is able, let him go and take Aso and, should she conceive by him, let him take her as his wife.” All the young men tried their best to lay hands on her, but not one was able.

Now Kwaku Ananse, the spider, was there watching these events and he said, “I can go to Akasi-the-Jealous-One’s village.”

the sky-god said, “Can you really do so?”

Ananse said, “If you will give me what I require.”

The sky-god, “What kind of thing?” Ananse replied, “Medicine for gun and bullets.” And the sky-god gave them to him.

Then Ananse took the powder and bullets to various small villages, saying, “The sky-god has bade me bring powder and bullets to you, and you are to go and kill meat, and on the day I shall return here I shall take it and depart.” He distributed the powder and bullets to receive all the meat which they had killed. Father Ananse took the meat and palm-leaf basket, set them on his head, and set out on the path leading to Akwasi-the-Jealous-One’s settlement. When he reached the stream from which Akwasi and his wife drank, he picked out some meat and put it in the stream.

Ananse strode hard, carrying the palm-leaf basket full of meat, and passed through the main entrance leading into Akwasi-the-Jealous-One’s compound. Aso saw him. She said, “Akwasi-e! Come and look at something which is coming to the house here. What can it be?”

Anase said, “It is the sky-god who is sending me, and I am waery, and I am coming to sleep here.”

Akwasi-theJealous-One, “I have heard my lord’s servant.”

Aso said to Ananse, “Father man, some of your meat has fallen down at the main entrance to the compound.”

The spider said, “Oh, if you happen to have a dog, let him go and take it and chew it.” So Aso went and got it and gave it to her husband. Then Ananse said, “Mother, set some food on the fire for me.” Aso put some on, and Ananse said, “Mother, is it fufuo that you are cooking or etol?

Aso replied, “Futuo.”

Ananse said, “Then it is too little; go and fetch a big pot.”

Aso went and fetched a big one, and Ananse said, “Come and get meat.”

There were forty hindquarters of great beasts. He said, “Take only these and out them in the pot. If you had a pot big enough, I would give you enough meat to chew to make your teeth fall out.”

Aso finished preparing the food, turned it out of the pot, and placed it on a table, splashed water, and out it beside the rest of the food. Then Aso took her portion and went and set it down near the fire, and the men went and sat down beside the table. They touched the backs of each other’s hands and ate out of the same dish. All the time they were eating, Kwaku Ananse said, “There is no salt in this fufuo.“

Akwasi said too Aso, “Bring some.”

But Ananse said, “Not at all. When the woman is eating, you tell her to get up to bring salt. Do you yourself go and bring it.”

Akwasi arose from the table, and Ananse looked into his bag and took out a pinch of purgative medicine and put it in the fufuo. Then he called Akwasi, saying, “Come back for I have brought some with me.”

When Akwasi came Ananse said, “Oh, I shall eat no more; I am full.” Akwasi, who suspected nothing, continued eating.

When they had finished their meal, Akwasi said, “Friend, we and you are sitting here and yet we do not know your name.”

Ananse replied, “I am called ‘Rise-Up-and-Make-Love-to-Aso.'”

Akwasi said, “I have heard, and you, Aso, have you heard this man’s name?”

Aso replied, “Yes, I have heard.”

Akwasi rose up to go and prepare one of the spare bedrooms and to make everything comfortable. He said, “Rise-Up-and Make-Love-to-Aso, this is your room, go and sleep there.”

The spider said, “I am the soul-washer to the sky-god and I sleep in a open veranda-room. Since mother bore me and father begat me, I have never slept in a closed bedroom.”

Akwasi said, “Where, then, will you sleep?”

He replied, “Were I to sleep in this open veranda-room here, to do so would be to make you equal to the sky-god, for it would mean that I was sleeping in the sky-god’s open veranda room. Since I am never to sleep in anyone’s open room except the of a sky-god, and since that is so, I shall just lie down in front of this closed sleeping-room where you repose.”

The man took out a sleeping mat and laid it there for him. Akwasi and his wife went to rest, and Ananse, too, lay down there. Ananse lay there and he slipped in the crossbar of the bedroom door. Ananse lay there and took his musical bow and sang:

“Akuamoa Ananse, today we shall achieve something, today.

Anase, the child of N sia, the mother of N yame, the sky-god, today we shall achieve something, today.

Ananse, the soul-washer to N yame, the sky-god, today I shall see something.

Then he ceased playing his sepirewa, and he laid it aside and lay down. He had spelt for some time when he heard Akwasi-the-Jealous-One calling. “Father man!” Not a sound in reply except dinn! Akwasi-the Jealous-One was dying. The medicine had taken effect on him, but he called, “Father man!” Not a sound in reply except dinn! At last he said, “Rise-Up-and-Make-Love-to-Aso!”

The spider said, “M! M! M!”

Akwasi Siad, “Open the door for me.” Ananse opened the door, and Akwasi went out. And the spider rose up and went into the room there.

He said, “Aso, did you not hear what your husband said?”

She replied, “What did he say?”

Ananse replied, “He said I must rise up and make love to you.”

Aso said, “You don’t lie.”

And he did it for her, and he went and lay down.

That night Akwasi rose up nine times. The spider also went nine times to where Aso was. When things became visible next morning. Ananse went off.

It would be about two moons later when Aso’s belly became large. Akwasi questioned her saying, “Why has your belly got like this? Perhaps you are ill, for you know that I who live with you here am unable to beget children.” Aso replied, “You forget that man who came here whom you told to rise up and make love to Aso. Well, he took me and I have conceived by him.”

Akwasi-the-Jealous-One said, “Rise up, and let me take you to go and give you to him.” They went to the sky-god’s town and Akwasi went and told the sky-god what had happened, saying, “A subject of yours whom you sent slept at my house and took Aso, and she has conceived by him.”

The sky-god said, “All of my subjects care roofing the huts. Go and point out the one you mean.” They went off, and the spider was sitting on a ridge-pole.

Aso said, “There he is!” Then Ananse ran farther on.

And again Aso said, “There he is!” Then Ananse fell down from up there where he was sitting.

Now that day was Friday. Ananse said, “I, who wash the sky-god’s soul – you have taken your hand and pointed it at me, so that I have fallen down and got red earth on me.” Immediately the attendants seized hold of Akwasi-the-Jealous-One and made him sacrifice a sheep. When Akwasi-the-Jealous-One had finished sacrificing the sheep, he said to the sky-god, “Here is the woman; let Ananse take her.” So Ananse took Aso, but as for the infant, they killed it, cut it into pieces, and scattered them about.

That is how jealousy came among the tribe.

[ ASHANTI ]

An Elephant fell madly in love with a Zulu woman Cisse and married her. Cisse’s two brothers came to visit her secretly but, for fear of him, she told Elephant she wanted to fetch some wood and then went and hid the two brothers in the firewood.

Then she said, “Since I have married into the kraal, I beg you to tell me, has the one-without-hair-at-the-knees been slaughtered for me?” {That would be a fully grown ram.} The blind mother-in-law answered her, “Things that were not spoken about of old, these she now speaks of and the smell of a Cisse is present.” Thereupon the woman answered her mother-in-law, “Should I not anoint myself in the old way and sprinkle myself with incense?” And the mother-in-law said, “Hum, things are being said by my son’s sweetheart which she did not say of old.”

Just then, Elephant, who had been in the field, came home and behaved as though he had found out that the woman’s two brothers had come. He rubbed himself against the house. Then the wife said, “What I did not do of old, now I do. Which day did you slaughter for me the ram lying far back in the kraal, and when did I anoint myself and sprinkle myself with my incense? Thus the woman spoke to him. Thereupon the mother-in-law said to him, “Things which were not spoken about of old are spoken now; therefore grant her her desire.”

So the one-without-hair-at-the-knees was slaughtered. And the woman herself fried it. That night she asked her mother-in-law, “How do you breathe when you sleep the sleep of life, and how do you breathe when you sleep the sleep of death?” And the mother-in-law said, “Hum, this is an evening rich in conversation. When we sleep the sleep of death, we breathe sui sui, and when we sleep the sleep of life, we breathe choo awaba, choo awaba.”

Then the woman prepared all her things as well as herself, while the others just slept. When they snored heavily and slept the sui sui sleep, she rose and said to her brothers, “The people are sleeping the sleep of death, let us make ready!” So they rose and went out, and she uncovered the mat-house and took all the necessary things and said, “Any noice that is made means that someone wants me to die.” So all things were done in silence. Then with the two brothers, who stood ready to go, she went among the flock, leaving her husband just a cow, a sheep, and a goat. Then she instructed the cow, “Do not cry as though you were only one, if you do not desire my death.” She spoke to the sheep and the goat in a like manner. Then they moved on with all the flock behind them. Now, the animals that had been left behind, cried out and cried out noisily in the night, as though all of them were still there, and Elephant thought all of them were really there. When he arose at daybreak, he saw his wife had left with everything, so grabbed a stick and said to his mother, “If I fall, the earth will resound with a thud.” And he pursued them.

When his wife and her brothers saw him coming close, they turned aside bout could not penetrate a rock which barred the way. Thereupon the woman said, “We are people behind whom a big company of travelers is following, so, rock of my forefathers, spread out to both side for us!” And the rock parted and then, when all had gone through, closed again.

Elephant, too, soon arrived and said to the rock, “Rock of my forefathers, cleave yourself for me too!” Then it spread itself and then he had entered, closed again. There Elephant died. The earth resounded with a thud. His mother at home said, as it was predicted by my oldest son, so it has happened. The earth has just resounded with a thud.”

[ NAMA ]

Gulari once found some snakes fighting. As he came near and looked at them he saw that one snake had been killed. He reproved them. He said, “Go away.”

One snake gave him a charm, saying, “By means of this charm you will hear all things. When the rat talks, you will hear it. When the cow talks, you will hear it. You will hear everything that is said.” The man passed on. He came to the village.

At night Gulari’s wife Wadda locked the house so that there was no open place. All was quite dark. She and her husband Gulari lay down to sleep. A mosquito came to the door. It examined the house and found no way in. The mosquito exclaimed, “They have locked the house very tightly. How can one get in?”

The Gulari understood and laughed.

“What are you laughing about?” asked Wadda his wife.

“Nothing,” said Gulari.

Later, a rat came. He examined the door. He found it fast closed and left it. Then he tried the eaves of the house and got in. He searched everywhere. He wanted butter but he found none. He said, “Oh, where has that woman stored her butter?” Gulari laughed.

His wife Wadda asked him, What are you laughing at?”

He answered, “Nothing.”

In the morning Gulari went to his barn. He let the cattle out. When it was nearly milking time his wife Wadda came to milk. When she arrived the cow said, “Of course you come, but you will not milk me today. I shall withhold my milk. My calf will drink it afterward.” Gulari laughed.

Wadda asked him, “what are you laughing at?”

He answered, “Nothing.”

Wadda left the cow. She returned to the village. Then the calf sucked its mother.

The next day Wadda again came to milk. The cow again with held its milk. In the afternoon Wadda’s child was ill for want of milk. She brought it to the barn and she talked to Gulari. She said, “That calf will kill my daughter.”

The cow interrupted, “What! My daughter will kill your daughter?”

Gulari laughed.

Wadda asked him, “What are you laughing about?”

He answered, “Nothing.”

When it was nearly sunset his wife said, “I shall get a divorce.”

She called all the people. They came to her husband’s place. They seated themselves. They said to the wife:

“You Wadda and your husband Gulari talk. We will listen.”

Wadda talked. She said to the people, “When we lie down to sleep, my husband Gulari always laughs at me without any reason. When I ask him why he does it he hides the reason from me. That is why I object to him?”

Then they asked Gulari, “Why do you laugh at Wadda? Tell us.”

He answered, “Nothing.”

They said again, “Tell us.”

He answered, “Men, if I tell it, I will die.”

They said, “Tell it Gulari! Do not hide it.”

He replied, “Oh, men, I will not tell it. I will surely die if I do.””

They urged him. When he was worn out he told them. Gulari said to the people, “This is the reason why I laughed when we were lying down in the house. After a while at night the mosquito would talk. It would say, “Who is this woman that has locked up her house so tightly?’ Where can one get in?” That is why I laughed.”

Gulari died, as he had said. The people cried. Some of them dug a grave. As they were about to bury the body a certain snake hastened to the desolate spot. It wrapped itself around the body. It stuck its tail in the nose of the dead man Gulari. He sneezed. the people were amazed. Some of them said, “Is it his god?”

Others replied, “Why ask who it is?”

When Gulari stood up the snake left.

When Guklari had quite recovered he travelled through the desolate places. He found the snake under a tree. The snake said, “But why did you tell? Long ago when I gave you that charm I told you it would make you hear all things.”

Gulari replied, “They urged me, so I told them.”

The snake said, “Oh!”

Then the snake gave him another charm, saying, “You will hear the words of the birds which eat the corn, if another bird came near, the first one would say, “Bird! Do not come. We shall be seen. I am eating quietly. This is my place. Let us separate. The field is large.”

After a while another bird would reply, “What! I shall be found out?” A third would break in, “How will you get out? Perhaps they will find us.”

“Let him go.” cried one bird.

“I am not going,” said another. Gulari laughed there in the corn field.

Man always held that snake sacred as his god.