IT IS SAID that once there was a female eagle and that in her wanderings she came upon a certain old woman who had a sore on her leg. And the eagle said, “Gracious me! That is an unusual kind of sore. With a sore like that, however hard you try, are you able to walk?”

The old woman said, “Oh, just a very little.”

The eagle said, “You people! Nowadays, if I were to do something good for you today, tomorrow you would do something bad to thank me.”

The old woman said, “Oh! I would not do that.”

The eagle said, “If you will not behave like that, I will help you.” After a pause the eagle commanded, “Shut your eyes, and then open them.”

And the old woman shut her eyes and opened them.

The eagle then said, “look at your sore.”

And the old woman stooped to look – not a trace of it remained. Then the eagle made her close her eyes again; she opened them, and she saw that all the forest had been cleared.

The eagle said, “Close your eyes again.”

The old woman closed them and then opened them, and she saw that houses were firmly built there. And the eagle made her close her eyes again. She opened them to see a town of large size. There it was – huge!

The eagle said, “Old woman, it’s yours.”

The old woman said, “Thanks, thanks! I give you thanks! What must I give to thank you?”

The eagle said, “I do not want even a trifling thing. As for me, all that I desire is that silk-cotton tree that stands there.”

The old woman said, “This thing you ask for – it is nothing – take it.”

Then the eagle flew off, alighted on the tree, and wove a nest and laid two eggs which she deposited in it. And she hatched the two eggs, and went off to seek for something for her children to eat.

Then the old woman’s grandchild, who lived with her, began to whimper: “Ehe! Ehe!”

The old woman said, “What’s the matter?”

The child said, “Let me chew an eagle’s child.”

The old woman said, “Where am I to get an eagle’s child?”

The small grandchild commenced again – “whimper! whimper!”

The old woman said, “What’s the matter?”

The child said, “Let me chew an eagle’s child, for if I non’t have one to chew I shall die.”

The old woman said, “Ah! Must this my grandchild die for want of an eagle’s child to chew? Go, take axes, and strike the silk-cotton tree and bring me the eagle’s children.”

The village folk went there, the axes sounded pinpin! pinpin! pinpin! It was just when the tree was going down, that the elder of the eagle’s children jumped up and stood on the edge of the nest and raised a cry. It called the mother:

“Sango, the bird e!

Sango, the bird, the eagle’s child!

Snago, the bird e!

Sango, if she went to eat, come back!

Sango, the bird e!

Sango,o! o!”

The mother heard that her child was crying; she rose up and the sound of her wings flapping was fa! She came, she said “Sanguri!” And the silk-cotton tree, which was nearly severed, came together again, and all the people who had been striking it were swallowed up. The eagle took the food which she had brought and gave it to her children. Then she bade them good-bye and said, “I am going. If the old woman comes to take you away, let her take you.”

And the old woman said, “Go and strike down the tree and bring the creatures for my grandchild to chew.”

And they went there a second time. Pinpin! pinpin! pinpin! It was just as the tree was to go to the ground that the eagle’s child came out and stood on the edge of the nest, and called its mother:

“Sango, the bird e!

Sango, the bird, the eagle’s child!

Sango, the bird e!

Sango, if she went to eat, come back!

Sango, the bird e!

Sango, o! o!”

It called its mother, and called, and called, and called – there was no answer – and now the tree spoke as it hit the ground. “Brim!” it said.

They took away the eagle’s children. They gave one to the old woman, but the one that remained flew away and alighted on a wawa-wawa tree. The first one the old woman roasted and gave to her grandchild, who added it to the roasted plantain she was eating

Not long afterward, the eagle came. When she reached the tree which they had felled, she saw one of her children sitting there. She asked it what had happened, and it told her the news. The eagle set off for the old woman’s village. When she arrived there, the old woman’s grandchild was eating one of her children. She said, Old woman, I congratulate you.” Then she came out from the old woman’s house and commenced her magic at the outskirts of the town. She said “Sanguri!” and every person disappeared; and again she said “Sanguri!” – the village once again became the forest. “Sanguri!” and the old woman’s sore came back. And the eagle said, “Old woman, you have seen.” That is why the elders say, “If some does good to you, thank him by doing good to him and do not return evil to thank him.”

[ ASHANTI ]

THERE WAS ONCE a certain woman, and she bore three children. The younger among them was suffering from yaws.

The eldest of the brothers asked their mother to let them have gold dust that they might go trading. The youngest of them said he would like to go too, but they decared that he should not go with them. The mother, however, said that they and he must go together. Then their mother gave the elder sons gold dust to the value of five pounds and the youngest son gold dust to the value of two pounds. When things became visible, they set out.

The elder brothers went in front and left the child to follow behind. The child came along slowly. The elder ones met a certain man who was bringing fish. He said to them, “Buy!”

They answered, “Go on and you will meet a certain child. Make him buy. If he refuses to buy, take him and return with him to his mother.”

The fellow went on and, sure enough, he met the child. He said, “Some elders whom I met said you are to buy this fish.”

The child said, “Must I buy when those who are my elders did not buy?”

The fellow said, “They say if you will not buy I must beat you and must take you back and give you to your mother.”

The child said, “How much is it?”

The fellow said, An osua’s weight of gold dust.” The child paid for it and received it.

He went on and overtook the elder brothers at a certain village. They had cooked vegetables but they did not have any meat to go with them. The child said, “Here is a fish which I bought.” They put it in the soup-stew. When they had finished cooking, the elders gave him the head of the fish. When the child was about to break it, he saw red gold within, and he tied it up in the edge of his cloth.

The next day, when things became visible, the elders set out, and they went along, they met a man, and a rooster rested on the top of things which he was carrying. As soon as he came up with the elders, he said, “Buy this rooster.”

They replied, “Go on, and you will meet a child. Make him buy it and, if he will not buy it, beat him.”

Of a truth he met the child. He said, “Your elder kinsmen said that you are to buy this rooster, and that if you do not buy it, I am to beat you and take you and give you to your mother.”

The child replied, “Here, take what I have.” The fellow, on his part, handed him over the rooster.

After a while they reached a village. In the whole village there were no roosters to crow. The next morning, when things became visible, the rooster, which belonged to the child, crowed. The headman of the village said, “Child, bring the rooster and let me buy it.”

The child said, “The price is an osua-and-suru’s weight of gold dust.”

The headman paid the amount. The next day, when things became clear, they started off again.

As they were going along, the elders met a man carrying a cat. He said, “Buy this cat.”

The elders said, “Take it along, and you will meet a certain child. Make him buy it. Should he say he will not buy, beat him and take him back to his mother.”

The fellow passed on and met the child. He said, “Your elders say that you are to buy this cat and that if you do not buy it, I must beat you and take you back to your mother.”

The child said, “How much?”

The fellow said, “An osua-and-suru’s weight of gold dust.”

The child paid the price. He went on and came up with his elders at another village.

Now the mice used to nibble the feet of the headman there whenever he attempted to sleep. When the child with the cat arrived at this village, he went to the chief’s house and the cat caught the mice which were there. The headman said, “I will buy this cat from the person to whom it belongs.”

The child said, “It is mine.”

The headman said, “How much?”

The child said, “An osua-and-suru’s weight of gold dust.” the headman picked up the gold dust and put it in the child’s hand.

The next day, when things became visible, they again set out. The elders went ahead and on the way they met thieves who had stolen the corpse of a certain chief. The thieves said, “You must buy this corpse.”

The elders said, “Take it, and go on and you will meet a child. Give this corpse to him to buy. If he says he will not buy it, beat him, and take him and give him back to his mother.”

The thieves went on and they met the child. They said, “Your elders say that you are to buy this corpse.”

The child said, “Eh! What should I buy a corpse for? I could not carry it. Whatever i do with it, it will not be of any good use to me.”

The thieves said, “Your elders said that if you do not buy it, we must beat you and take you and give you back to your mother.”

The child said, “How much?”

They said, “An osua-and-suru’s weight of gold dust.”

The child paid the price, took the corpse, and laid it in the bush.

Then he set off and came to a certain village and went to a house to beg for food. The master of the house said, “There is none.”

The child said, “Grandfather, I implore you!”

The master of the house said, “There is none.’

The child said, “Grandfather, I implore you!”

The master of the house said, “Why does this child trouble me like this? Our chief is dead. We are fasting, and this is the eighth day, but, search as we may, we cannot find his corpse.”

Then an old woman sitting nearby said, “Give him some food.”

Thereupon a woman gave the child food and meat. When the child had finished eating, he said, “Master of the house, I have seen the chief’s body yesterday as I was coming, some thieves made me buy it for an osua-and-suru’s weight of gold dust.”

The woman ran off. Yiridi! yiridi! yiridi! was the sound of her running, and she told the village elders the news. They took the child and he went and showed them the body. Then they brought it and buried it properly. They said, “Now you will succeed the chieftaincy.” So the child became chief.

Now when his elder brothers heard about him, they came and claimed blood relationship with him. The child, however, said, “Clear out! I don’t know you! Be off!” And he made his slaves drive them away.

That is why we say, “If you are going anywhere, and if your younger brothers says he will go with you, take him along.”

[ ASHANTI ]

THEY SAY that once upon a time Arlum Silla, the sky-god, cleared a very large plantation and planted okras, onions, beans, garden-eggs, peppers, and pumpkins. The weeds in the garden became thick and nettles grew up. The sky-god then made a proclamation by odawuro to the effect that his plantation was overgrown with weeds and that anyone who could weed it without scratching himself might come forward and take his daughter, Kuse, in marriage. The first one who went to try scratched himself where the nettles tickled, and they hooted at him. The next one who tried was also hooted at. All men went and tried and all failed.

Now Spider, said, “As for me, I am able to do it.” The sky-god’s plantation was situated on the side of the path, and the path was the one people used to take when going to the market every Friday. The spider, because he knew this fact, used only to go and clear the weeds every Friday. When he was hoeing, the people who passed by used to greet him, saying, “Hail to you at your work, Father Spider!”

Then he would answer, “Thank you, Aku.” They would continue, “A plantation which no one has been able to clear – do you mean to say you are weeding it?”

The spider would answer, “Ah, it’s all because of one girl that I am wearing myself out like this. Her single arm is like this.” And he would then slap and rub his arm where it was tackling him, and when he did so, he would get relief from the irritation. Then another person would pass there and hail him at his work, and he would again slap the place that was itching. For example, if it was his thigh, he would say, “That single girl! They say her thigh is like this,” and he would slap and rub his own thigh.

In this manner he finished clearing the plantation. Then he went off to tell the sky-god how he had finished the weeding of his farm. The sky-god asked the messenger, “Has he really finished?”

The messenger said, “Yes.”

The sky-god asked him, “Did he scratch himself?”

He said, “No, he did not scratch himself.”

Then the sky-god took Kuse and gave her to Spider in marriage.

One night Spider and his bride went to rest and the bride questioned him, saying, “However was it that you of all people were able to clear father’s plantation of weeds? A plantation like that – from which everyone who tried turned back! However were you able to clear it?”

Then the spider said, “Do you suppose that I am a fool? I used to hoe, and when anyone passed by and said to me, ‘Spider, are you clearing this farm which no one else has ever been able to clear?’ I would thereupon slap with my hand any place on my skin that was tickling me and scratch it, and declare to the person that your thigh, for example, was like the thigh of a buffalo, and that it was beautiful and polished. That is how it came about that I was able to weed the plantation.”

Thereupon Kuse, the ninth child, said, “then tomorrow I shall tell father that you scratched yourself after all.”

But the spider spoke to her, saying, “You must not mention it. This is a sleeping-mat confidence.”

Kuse, the ninth child, said, “I know nothing whatever about sleeping-mat confidences, and I shall tell father.” Kuse took her sleeping-mat away from beside Spider and went and lay down at the other end of the room.

Now Spider’s eyes grew red and sorrowful, and he went and took his sepirewa, and he struck the strings and sang:

“Kuse, the ninth child, this is not a matter

About which to quarrel.

Let us treat it as a sleeping-mat confidence.

‘No!” she says. She has a case against me,

But some one else has a case

which is already walking down the path.”

Then the spider went and lay down. After Spider had lain there for some time, he rose up again. He said, “Kuse.” Not a sound save the noise of the cicada chirping dinn! Spider said, “I’ve got you!”

He took a little gourd cup and slashed it full with water and poured it over Kuse’s sleeping-mat. Then Spider went and lay down. After he had lain there a while, he said, “Ko!” Kuse, whatever is this! You have wet the sleeping-mat, you shameless creature! Surely you are not at all nice. When things become visible, I shall tell everyone. It was true then – what they all siad – that when anyone went to your father’s plantation, he would say, ‘A girl who wets …. ! I am not going to clear a nettle plantation for such a person.’ “

Then Kuse said to him, “I implore you, desist, and let the matter drop.”

But spider said, “I will not leave it, for my case came first. You said you would tell your father. I said, ‘Desist’; but you said, ‘No.’ Because of that I will not drop the case.”

And Kuse, the ninth child, said, “Leave my case, and your case, too about which I spoke. I shall drop it, for if you do not leave mine, my eyes will die for shame.”

Then Spider said, “I have heard. Since you so desire, let it be a sleeping-mat confidence. So the matter ends there.”

That is how the elders came to say, “Sleeping-mat confidences are not to be repeated.”

[ ASHANTI ]

THEY SAY that once upon a time a great famine came, and the Father Spider, and his wife Wan, and his children, Diakhu, Mandara (Thin-Shanks), Kau Kau (Belly-Like-to-Burst), and Tikonokono (Big-Big-Head), built a little settlement and lived in it. Every day the spider used to go and bring food – wild yams – and they boiled and ate them.

Now one day, father Spider went to the bush and he saw that a beautiful dish was standing there. He said, “This dish is beautiful.”

The dish said, “My name is not beautiful.”

The spider then asked, “What are you called?”

It replied, “I am called ‘Fill-Up-Some-and Eat.'”

The spider said, “Fill up some so that I may see.”

The dish filled up with palm-oil soup, and Spider ate it all.

When he had finished, he asked the dish, “What is your taboo?”

The dish replied, “I hate a gun wad and a little gourd cup.”

The spider took the dish home, and went and placed it on the ceiling. He went off to the bush and brought food, and Wan, when she had finished cooking, called Spider. He said, “Oh, yours is the real need. As for me, I am an old man. What should I have to do with food? You and these children are the ones in real need. If you are replete, then my ears will be spared the sounds of your lamentations.”

When they had finished eating, Spider passed behind the hut, and went and sat on the ceiling where the dish was. He said, “This dish is beautiful.”

It replied, “My name is not Beautiful.”

He said, “What is your name?”

He said, “I am called ‘Fill-Up-Some-and-Eat.'”

Spider said, “Fill up some for me to see.” And it filled up a plate full of ground-nut soup, and Spider ate. Every day when he arose it was thus.

Now Mandara noticed that his father did not grow thin in spite of the fact that they and he did not eat together, and so he kept watch on his father to see what the latter had got hold of. When his father went off to the bush, Mandara climbed up on top of the ceiling and saw the dish. He called his mother and brothers and they, too went on top. Mandara said, “This dish is beautiful.”

It said, “I am not called ‘Beautiful.'”

He said, “Then what are you called?”

It said, “My name is ‘Fill-Up-Some-and-Eat.’ “

He said, “Fill up a little that I may see.” And the dish filled up to the brim with palm-oil soup.

And now Diakhu asked the dish, “What do you taboo?”

The dish said, “I hate a gun wad and a small gourd cup.”

Diakhu said to Kau Kau, “Go and bring some for me.”

And he brought them, and Diakhu took the gun wad and touched the dish and also the little gourd cup and touched the dish with it. Then they all descended.

Father Spider mean time had come back from the bush with the wild yams. Wan finished cooking them. They called Spider.

He replied, “Perhaps you didn’t hear what I said – I said that when I come home with food, you may partake, for you are the ones in need.” Wan and her children ate.

Father Spider washed and then climbed up on the ceiling. He said, “This dish is beautiful.” Complete silence! “This dish is beautiful!” Complete silence! Father Spider, “Ah! It must be on account of this cloth not being a beautiful one; I shall go and bring the one with the pattern of the Oyo clan and put it on.” And he descended to go and fetch the Oyo-pattern cloth to wear. He put on his sandals and again climbed up on the ceiling. He said, “This dish is beautiful.” Complete silence! “This dish is beautiful.” Complete silence! He looked round the room and saw that a gun wad and a little gourd cup were there.

Spider said, “It’s not one thing, it’s not two things – it’s Diakhu.” Spider smashed the dish, and came down. He took off the Oyo-pattern cloth, laid it away, and went off to the bush. As he was going, he saw that a very beautiful thing called Mpere, the whip, was hanging there. He said, “Oh, wonderful! This thing is more beautiful than the last. This whip is beautiful.”

The whip said, “I am not called Beautiful.’ “

The spider said, “Then what are you called?”

It said, “I am called ‘Abiridiabrada,’ or ‘Swish-and-Raise-Welts.’ “

And spider said, “Swish a little for me to see.” And the whip fell upon him biridi, biridi, biridi! Father Spider cried, “Pui! pui!’

A certain bird sitting nearby said Spider Say ‘Adwobere, cool-and-easy-now.’ “

And Spider said, “Adwobere, cool-and-easy-now.”

And the whip stopped beating him. And Spider brought this whip home; and he went and placed it on the ceiling.

Wan finished cooking the food and said, “Spider, come and eat.”

He replied, “Since you are still here on earth, perhaps you have not a hole in your ears and don’t hear what I had said – I shall not eat.” Spider climbed up above and went and sat down quietly. Soon he came down again and he went and hid himself somewhere.

Then Diakhu climbed up aloft. He said, “Oh, that father of mine has brought something home again!” Diakhu called, “Mother, Mandara, Kau Kau, come here, for the thing father has brought this time excels the last one by far!” Then all of them climbed up on the ceiling. Diakhu said, “This thing is beautiful.”

It replied, “I am not called ‘Beautiful.’ “

He said, “What is your name?”

It said, “I am called ‘Swish-and-Raise-Welts.’ “

He said, “Swish a little for me to see.” And the whip descended upon them and flogged them severely.

Spider stood aside and shouted, “Lay it on, lay it one! Especially on Diakhu, lay it on him!” Now when Spider has watched and seen that they were properly flogged, he said, “Adwobere, cool-and-easy-now.” Spider came and took the whip and cut it into pieces and scattered them about.

That is what made the whip come into the tribe. So it comes about that when you tell your child something and he will not listen to you, you whip him.

[ ASHANTI }

THERE WAS ONCE a hunter. After he got up in the morning he used to go to the bush to seek for game to kill so that he might get some to eat and some to sell.

Now one day he went to the bush and he heard Kokotee, the bush pig, call out to its kinsman, “Kokotee Asamoa!”

He replied, “Yes, brother, yes.” Kokotee again called, “The time for work on our farms has arrived. Let us go to the blacksmith’s forge that he may fashion the iron and put an edge on our cutting tools, so that, if we have to cut down any trees, we may be able to do so.”

When the bush pig called to his brothers, the hunter crouched down and hid, and he heard all the conversation. Now Kokotee’s brother asked, “And to what village shall we go to have the iron struck?”

Kokotee replied, “We shall go to the village called Across-the Stream.”

And his brother said, “what day?”

He replied, “Monday.”

The hunter heard all this arrangement and set off for home. When he came home, he told the headman of Across-the-Stream the news, namely, what he had heard when he had gone to the bush. And the hunter said to the headman of the village, “Let the children go and cut logs and bring them, and when, on Monday, the bush pigs change themselves into people and come, we shall take them and fasten them to the logs.”

The children went and cut the logs and brought them. The headman of the village went and told the village blacksmith to beat out iron staples for him. And the blacksmith asked the headman, “And all this quanity of iron staples which you say I must beat out – what are you going to do with them?”

And he told him the news – how a hunter had gone to the bush and come back to report that on Monday certain beasts would turn themselves into people in order to come to his forge to have tools forged. The blacksmith ran off to beat the iron staples quickly. As soon as chief had finished collecting the logs and staples, he caused the town crier to beat the iron gong, saying, “On Monday, be it woman , or be it man, no one must go anywhere.”

Monday arrived, and in the morning an old woman said to the hunter, “Go and grind peppers, salt, and onions at the place where the beasts will peel off their skins and lay them down. Do you also, when you go there, take the peppers and rub them on. When the beasts come there, and we catch them, should some escape and go to take their skins again and put them on, then the peppers will hurt them, and they will throw the skins off and will become people again.”

The hunter went off to the bush and he hid there. And he heard the bush pigs calling, “Kokotess Asamoa, Monday has arrived, let us go.” So they all came. They peeled off their skins and put them down. Now one of the pigs, who was a doctor of herbs, was among them and let them go away. He went and took all the skins and rubbed on them the peppers which they had mashed, and then took the skins and pout them in the stream, letting the water take them away. The skin of the medicine-man, however, which had been out aside from the rest, the hunter did not see.

The hunter went home, and the chief called the people gathered round the blacksmith’s forge and made them come to his house. When these people came to the chief’s house, they inquired of the chief, “Why have you called us?”

The chief said, “You were once my men, and you ran away to settle elsewhere. Today you have come back – that is the reason I say you must come, for I will not permit you to go away any more.”

The beasts said to the chief, “What you have said we have heard. But we know that the Creator’s hunter came and told you all about us. However, that does not matter. We and you will live together, although we know that what you say is false. Nevertheless that, also, does not matter; we thank that hunter. So we and you will live together. But there is one thing which we taboo, namely, that you disclose our origin, of that any of your subjects should disclose our origin. Should that happen, we shall break up this, your tribe, and depart.”

Now at the time the chief went to call them, the medicine-man and some others ran away. And the medicine-man went to take his skin and he escaped; but the rest turned back. That was because they could not find their skins. The chief agreed to the conditions laid down by the beasts, and the human beings and the beasts lived happily together.

After a while the men of the village married some of the beasts’ women-folk and they bore children. Now one day one of the beasts and one of the villagers were fighting with their fists. Thereupon the villager said to the beast, “Take yourself off from there – an animal like you who belongs to the bush-pig tribe!” No sooner had he said this than the eyes of all the beasts became red, and they went to the chief’s house to tell him, saying, “The possibility about which we told you has now actually come about, so what are you going to do?”

The chief made them go and call the people who had caused the dispute. The chief looked closely into the matter and gave judgement that the beasts should drop the charge because, he said, it was a long time since they had come and this, moreover, was the first occasion on which anyone had ever said anything to them about their origin.

But the beasts said, “We do not agree.”

And the chief said, “You will not listen, and you think that what this man said is a lie. Are you not bush pigs?

And the beasts said, “Oh! We have heard.”

Thereupon the beasts and the Across-the-Stream people fought. The beasts destroyed the village until there remained only about ten people. These begged for mercy and told the beasts that they had right on their side. The beasts listened, and then informed the people, saying, “A case already stated is not difficult to understand. Now if you and we are to live together, we taboo all allusion to our origin. If you ever think of or mention it again, then we will ask you to point out to us the very thicket whence we came to this place, that we may return thither.”

And the people said, “We will never so such a thing again. What we have done has caused our tribe to be ruined; we shall never do so again.”

So they caused a public proclamation to be made by beating the odawuro gong to the effect that now one should ever tell of another person’s origin, lest the disclosure should cause the town to be ruined.

[ ASHANTI ]

THERE WAS ONCE a certain man called Hate-to-Be-Contradicted, and because of that, he built a small settlement all by himself and went to live in it. And the creature called the duiker went to visit him, and he walked with him and sat down at the foot of a palm tree. Then some of the palm nuts fell down. The duiker said, “Father Hate-to-Be-Contradicted, your palm nuts are ripe.”

Hate-to-Be-Contradicted said, “That is the nature of the palm nut. When they are ripe, three bunches ripen at once. When they are ripe, I cut them down; and when I boil them to extract the oil, they make three water-pots full of oil. Then I take the oil to Bantu to buy an Bantu old woman. The Bantu old woman comes and gives birth to my grandmother who bears my mother who, in turn, bears me. When Mother bears me, I am already standing there.”

The duiker said, “As for that, you lie.”

And Hate-to-Be-Contradicted took a stick and hit the duiker on the head, and killed it.

Next the little antelope came along. Hate-to-Be-contradicted went off with it and sat under the palm tree, and the same thing happened. And thus it was with all the animals. Finally, the spider, went and fetched his cloth and his bag, slung the bag across his shoulders, and went off to visit Hate-to-Be-Contradicted’s kraal. He greeted him: “Father, good morning.”

Hate-to-Be-Contradicted replied, “Y’aku, and where are you going?”

He replied, “I am coming to visit you.”

And he took his stool and placed it under the palm tree.

Hate-to-Be-Contradicted said, “Cook food for the spider to eat.”

And while it was cooking, Spider and Hate-to-Be-Contradicted sat under the palm tree. Some of the palm nuts fell down, and Spider took them and placed them in a bag. This he continued to do until his bag was full. The food was brought, and Spider Ate. When he had finished eating, some of the ripe palm nuts again fell down, and Spider said, “Father Hate-to-Be-Contradicted, your palm nuts are ripe.”

Hate-to-Be-Contradicted said, “It’s their nature to ripen like that; when they are ripe. When they are ripe I cut them down, and when I boil them to extract the oil, they make three water-pots full of oil and I take the oil to Ashanti to buy an Ashanti old woman.. The Ashanti old woman comes and gives birth to my grandmother who beats my mother so that she in turn beat me. When Mother beats me. I am already standing there.”

The Spider said, “You do not lie. What you say is true. As for me, I have some okras standing in my farm. When they are ripe, I join seventy-seven long hooked poles in order to reach them to poles them down, but even then I cannot reach them. So I lie on my back, and am able to use my penis to pluck them.”

Hate-to-Be-Contradicted said, “Oh, I understand. Tomorrow I shall come and look.”

The Spider said, “Surely.”

While the spider was going home, he chewed the palm nuts which he had gathered and spat them out on the path. The next morning, when things began to be visible, Hate-to-Be-contradicted set out to go to the spider’s village. Now when the spider had arrived home the day before, he had gone and said to his children, “A certain man will come here who hates to be contradicted, and when he arrives and inquires for me, you must tell him that yesterday I had to take it to a blacksmith to be repaired and, as the blacksmith could not finish it at the time, I have now gone to have the work finished.”

Not long afterward Hate-to-Be-Contradicted came along. He said, “Where has your father gone?”

They replied, “Alas, Father went somewhere yesterday, and his penis got broken in seven different places. So he took it to a blacksmith, but he could not finish the job at the time, and Father has gone to have it completed. You, father, did you not see the blood on the path.”

Hate-to-Be-Contradicted said, “Yes, I saw it.” He then asked, “And where is your mother?”

The spider’s child replied, “Mother, too – yesterday she went to the stream, and her water-pot would have fallen and broken had she not saved it from doing so by just catching at it in time. But she didn’t quite finish saving it from falling and has returned today to do so.” Hate-to-Be-contradicted did not say anything.

Now Spider arrived. He said, “Cook some food that Hate-to-Be-Contradicted may eat.” As the children were cooking the food, they used only one single little perch but an immense quantity of peppers. They made the soup-stew very hot. When they had finished, they set it down before Hate-to-Be-Contradicted. Hate-to-Be-Contradicted ate. Now the peppers pained him; he wanted to die. He said to one of Spider’s sons, Kanfari, where is that water?”

Kanfari said, “Ah, the water which we have here in our water-pot is of three different kinds. That belonging to Father comes first, that of mother’s co-wife is in the middle, and that belonging to my mother is at the bottom of the pot. I must draw for you only the water belonging to my own mother and if i do not take great care when drawing it, it will cause a tribal dispute.”

Hate-to-Be-Contradicted said, “You little brat, you lie.”

Straightway Spider said, “Beat him so that he dies.”

Hate-to-be-Contradicted said, “Why should they beat me so that I may die?”

The spider said, “You say you hate to be contradicted, and yet you have contradicted some one. That is why I say they must beat you so that you may die.’

So they beat Hate-to-be-contradicted until he died. The Spider cut up his flesh in little pieces and scattered them all about.

That is why many persons who hate to be contradicted are to be found in the tribe today.

[ ASHANTI ]

THERE WAS ONCE UPON A TIME an old man who lived in a kraal with his neighbors. And this old man had a wife and a small child, and he possessed a very fine ox.

One day he said to himself, “How shall I slaughter my ox?” And he said aloud to his wife, “My child! I will call the men and tell them that I am going to move. We can then slaughter our ox all by ourselves.”

His wife agreed and, in the evening, the old man blew his horn as a signal to his friends that he had something to tell them. His neighbors came together, and he told them that he wished to move, as the air did not agree with him. The others consented, and in the morning he saddled his donkeys, separated his cattle from the rest, and started off, accompanied by his wife, who was carrying the child.

When they had gone some distance, they halted and erected their kraal, after which they rested.

At dawn on the second day the old man called his wife and asked her why they had not yet slaughtered their ox. The woman replied, “My husband! How shall we manage to slaughter the ox? There are two things to be considered – the first is that we have no herdsman and the second that I am carrying the baby.”

The old man then said, “Oh, I know what we will do. I will stab the ox in the neck, then I will leave you to skin it, and I will carry the child to the grazing ground. But when you have skinned the animal, roast some meat so that it will be ready on my return.”

The old man then killed the ox, after which he picked up his bow and grass, and went to drive back the cattle, for they had wandered far. But when he returned to the spot where he had left the child, he was unable to find it, so he decided to set fire to the grass. “When the fire reaches the child, it will cry, ” he thought, “And I will run to the place and pick it up before it is burned.”

He made a fired with his fire-sticks, and the fire travelled to where the child was . He ran to the spot, but when he reached it, he found that the child was dead.

The old man had left his wife in the morning skinning the ox. And while she was skinning it – she had just reached the dewlap – the knife slipped, and she stabbed herself in the eye. She went and lay down, and the birds came and finished the meat.

After the child was burned, the old man drove the cattle to the kraal, and when they were opposite to the gate, he heard his wife weeping, and saying, “Oh my eye!’ He therefore asked her who had told her the news.

“What news?” she inquired.

“The child has been burned,” he replied.

The woman exclaimed, “Oh, my child!”

The old man then asked where his meat was, and his wife informed him that the birds had eaten it, whereupon he cried out, “Oh, my meat!”

They both wept, the old man crying, “Oh my meat!” and the woman, “Oh, my child! Oh my eye!”

Look well at these people. It was for their greed that they were punished. They lost their child and their ox, the woman lost her eye, and they had to return in shame to their former home.

[ MASAI ]

LET US TELL another story; let us be off!

“Pull away!”

“Let us be off!”

“Pull away!”

There were two brothers, the Intelligent Man and the Fool, and it was their habit to go out shooting to keep their parents supplied with food. Thus, one day, they went together into the mangroves swamp, just as the tide was going down, to watch for the fish as they nibbled at the roots of the trees. Fool saw a fish, fired at it, and killed it. Intelligent Man fired also, but at nothing, and then ran up to Fool and said, “Fool, have you killed anything?”

“Yes, Intelligent Man, I am a fool, but I killed a fish.”

“Indeed, you are a fool,” answered Intelligent Man, “for when I hit the fish that went your way, so that the fish you think you killed is mine. Here give it to me.”

The fool gave Intelligent Man the fish. Then they went to their town, and Intelligent Man, addressing his father, said, “Father, here is a fish that your son shot, but Fool got nothing.”

The mother prepared and cooked the fish, and the father and Intelligent Man ate it, giving none to Fool.

Then they went again; and Fool fired, and with his first shot killed a big fish.

“Did you hear me fire?” said the Intelligent Man.

“No,” answered Fool.

“No?” returned Intelligent Man. “See, then, the fish I killed.”

“All right,” said Fool, “Take the fish.”

When they reached home they gave the fish to their mother and , after she had cooked it, Smart Man and this father ate it, but gave none to Fool. As they were enjoying the fish, a bone stuck in the father’s throat. Then Intelligent Man called to Fool and bade him go for a doctor.

“No,” said Fool, “I cannot. I felt that something would happen.” And he sang:

“Every day you eat my fish,

You call me, Fool,

And would let me starve.”

“How can you sing,” said Intelligent Man, “when you see that our father is suffering?”

But Fool went on singing:

“You eat and eat unto repletion;

A bone sticks in your throat;

And now your life is near completion,

The bone is still within your throat.

“So you, Intelligent brother, killed the fish,

And gave the fool to eat?

Nay! but now he’s dead perhaps you wish

You’d given the fool to eat.”

While Fool was still singing, the father died. Then the neighbors came and joined the family circle, and asked Fool how it was that he could go on singing now that his father was dead.

And Fool answered them saying, “Our father made us both, one intelligent man, the other a fool. The Fool killed the food, and they ate it, giving none to the Fool. They must not blame him, therefore, if he sings while they suffer. He suffered hunger while they had plenty.”

And when the people had considered the matter, they gave judgment in favor of the Fool, and departed.

The father hied, and so had been justly punished for not having given food to the Fool.

He who eats fish with much oil must suffer from indigestion.

And now I have finished my story.

Tomorrow may you chop palm-kernels.

[ BANKONGO ]

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 ]