There once was a certain woman who bore eleven children. Every day when she got up and cooked food the children ate it all and the mother did not get any of it. She pondered long about the matter, and went off to the plantation and spoke to the silk-cotton tree, saying, “I shall send my eleven children to come beneath you here to pluck pumpkins; and when they come, pluck off eleven of your branches and kill those children of mine.”

The silk-cotton tree said, “I have heard, and I shall do it for you.”

The mother then went home and said to her children, “You must go to the plantation beneath the silk-cotton tree; there are pumpkins there. Go pick them and come back.”

The children set off. They went and reached the silk-cotton tree. Number Eleven said, “Number One, stand still; Number Two, stand still; Number Three, stand still; Number Four, stand still; Number Five, stand still; Number Six, stand still; Number Seven, stand still; Number Eight, stand still; Number Nine, stand still; Number Ten, Stand still; and I Number Eleven, I have stood still.”

Number Eleven then addressed them saying, “Do you not know the sole reason why Mother said we must go and pick pumpkins?”

His brother’s answered, “No.”

Thereupon he said, “She has told this silk-cotton tree that, when we go there, he must pluck off branches and beat us. Therefore all of you cut sticks and throw them against this silk-cotton tree.”

They cut the sticks and threw them against the silk-cotton tree. Pim! pen! pim! pen! was the sound they made. The silk-cotton supposed that the children had come. He took off eleven of his branches and let them fall to the ground. Little Number Eleven said, “You have seen – had we gone on there, the silk-cotton tree would have killed us.”

They picked up the pumpkins and took them to their mother. She cooked them. And at once the children had eaten all! Their mother said, “Ah! as for this matter, I cannot bear it! I shall take these children and give them to the sky-god.”

The next morning, when things became visible, she went and told the sky-god all about it, saying, “The children to whom I have given birth eat so fast and so much that when I wish to eat, I can’t get anything. Hunger is killing me. Therefore, I implore you, let the children be brought and killed, so that I may get something to eat.”

The sky-god said, “Is that really the case?”

The woman said, “I am speaking with a head, the inside of which is white.”

So the sky-god picked out messengers, and they went and dug a large pit in which they placed broken bottles. The sky-god himself went and fetched a snake and a leopard, put them in the pit, and covered it over. And now the messenger went to call the children.

No sooner did they reach the place where the pit lay, than Number Eleven said, “Number One, stand still; Number Two, stand still; Number Three, stand still; Number Four, stand still; Number Five, stand still; Number Six, stand still; Number Seven, stand still; Number Eight, stand still; Number Nine, stand still; Number Ten, stand still; and I myself Number Eleven, I have stood still. You must pass here, but you must not pass there.”

His brothers said, “Why, when a wide path lies there, must we pass through the bush?”

Now, as they were going along, they all carried clubs. Number Eleven said, “Throw one of these clubs upon this path.” They threw a club upon the path, and it fell through into the pit. Yiridi was the sound of its fall. Number Eleven said, “There you are! You see! Had we passed there, we should all of us have died.”

So they took a bypath and went off to meet the sky-god. The sky-god had caused holes to be dug, covered over, and stools placed upon them, so that when the children came to sit on them, they would fall into the holes. Soon the arrived before the face of the sky-god. Hep spoke to them: “Stools are set there. You may go and be seated upon them.”

Then Number Eleven siad, “Who are we that we should be able to sit upon such very beautiful stools? So, sire, we are going to sit aside here.”

Thereupon the sky-god gazed at the children and he said to himself, “I shall send the children to Death’s village.”

The next morning, when things became visible, he called the children and said, “You must go to Death who lives yonder and receive from her a golden pipe, a golden chewing-stick, a golden snuff box, a golden whetstone, and a golden fly-switch.”

Number Eleven said, “You are our master, wherever you will send us, we shall go.”

The sky-god said, “Be off!”

So the children set out for Death’s village. When they arrived there, Death said, “Why, when no one must ever come here, have. you come here?”

They replied, “We were roaming. about and came here quite by chance.” Death said, “Oh, all right then.”

Now Death had ten children. With herself, they made eleven. When things began to disappear – that is, when it became dark – Death divided up the children one by one and gave one to each of her children, while she herself and Number Eleven went to rest. When it was dark, Death then lit up her teeth until they shone red so that she might seize Number Eleven with them.

Number Eleven said, “Death, I must not yet asleep.”

Death said, “When will you be asleep?”

Number Eleven said, “If you were to give me a golden pipe to smoke for a while, then I might fall asleep.”

And Death fetched it for him.

A little while later, Death again lit up her teeth in order to go and seize Number Eleven with them.

Number Eleven said, “Death, I am not yet asleep.’

Death said, “When will you be asleep?”

Number eleven said, “If you were to bring me a golden snuff box, I might go to sleep.”

And Death brought it to him.

Again, soon afterward, Death was going to seize Number Eleven.

Number Eleven said, “I am not asleep.”

Death said, “When will you asleep?”

Number Eleven said, If you were to go and fetch golden chewing-stick for me so that I might chew it for a while, then I might fall asleep.”

Death fetched it for him, A short time passed, and Death was about to seize him.

Number Eleven said, “Grandmother, I am not yet asleep.”

And Death said, “Then when will you be asleep?”

Number Eleven said, “Grandmother, if you were to go and bring me a golden whetstone, then I might sleep.”

And Death went brought it. Again, soon afterward, Death rose up once more.

Number Eleven said, “Oh, Grandmother, I said I was not yet asleep.”

Death said, “And what will be the day when you will be asleep?”

Number Eleven said, “If you were to go and take a calabash full of holes and go and splash water in it and boil some food for me to eat, then I might sleep.”

Death lifted up a strainer and went off to the stream. When she slashed the water into it, the holes in the strainer let it pass through. Now Number Eleven said to his brothers, “Rise up and flee away.” Then they rose up and fled, and Number Eleven went and cut a plantain stems and placed them where his brothers had lain and took cloths and covered them over.

Now Death was at the stream splashing water. And Male Death called to Female Death, saying, “Ho thee, Death!”

She replied, “Adwo.“

He said, “What are you doing?”

She replied, “Alas, is it not some small child whom I have got! When I am about to catch him, he says, ‘I am not yet asleep.’ He has taken all my things, and now he says, I must take a strainer and splash water.”

Male Death said, “Ah, are you a small child? If you pluck leaves and line the inside of the strainer and then splash water, would it not be all right?”

Female Death said, “Oh, how true!”

She plucked leaves, placed them inside, and splashed the water and went off. Number Eleven said, “Death, you have come already? Boil the food.” Death cooked the food; she lit up her teeth in order to kill Number Eleven’s brothers and cook them for food. When she went, she did not examine them carefully, and she herself killed all her own children.

The next day, very, very early, when things became visible, Death rose up and sat there by the fired. Number Eleven said, “Grandmother, a tsetse fly is sitting on your breast.”

Death said, “Fetch the fly-switch which is lying there and kill it for me.”

Number Eleven saaid, “Good gracious me! A person of your consequence – when a tsetse fly settles on you and a golden fly-switch lies there – you would use this only thing! Let me fetch the golden fly-switch and come and kill it.”

Death said, “Go and fetch it from the room.”

Number Eleven went and brought it. He purposely drove the fly away; he didn’t kill it. Number Eleven said, “Oh, today, where this tsetse fly will rest, there I shall rest with him.”

The number Eleven went to the room and took his bag in which lay the golden pipe and all the things. He said, “Grandmother Death, nothing will suffice save that I get the tsetse fly, put it in this bag, and bring it to you.”

Number Eleven set off – yiridi! yiridi! yiridi! He reached the end of the town and siad, “Ho, there, Grandmother Death! Pardon my saying so but if you were not a perfect fool, could I have found a way to escape, and could I have made you also kill all your children? As for me, I am going off.”

Death said, “You, a child like this! Wherever you rest, there I shall rest!”

Number Eleven leaped off – yiridi! yiridi! yiridi! and death, too, went to chase him.

As Number Eleven was going, he overtook his brothers who were sitting on the path. They were making a bird-trap. Number Eleven said, “Have you not gone yet? Death is coming, so let us find some way to escape.”

Now Death came upon them. Number Eleven took medicine and poured it on his brothers, and they went on top of a silk-cotton tree. And Death stood at the foot of the silk-tree. She said, “Just now I saw those children, and where have they gone?

Number Eleven was sitting above. He said to his brothers, I am going to make water upon her.”

His brothers said, “E! she is seeking us to catch us, and we have fled and come and sit here and yet you say, ‘I am going to make water on her.'”

Number Eleven would not listen, and he made water over Death.

Death said, “Ah, there you are! Today you have seen trouble.” Death said, “You, child, who are sitting up there, Kyere–he-ne, Kyere-he-ne!” Thereupon one of the children fell down. “Kyere-he-ne!” a second one fell down. Soon there remained only Number Eleven.

Death said, “Child, Kyere-he-ne!” and Number Eleven leaped and descended on the ground, kirim! And Death then went on top of the silk-cotton tree.

Number Elven said, “You, great big woman, you too, Kyere-he-ne!”

And death, also, came down, tum! She was dead.

Number Elven went and plucked medicine, rolled it between his palms, and sprinkle it on his brothers, and they rose up. Number eleven was going to throw the medicine awaye, when some of it dropped on Death, and Death awoke. She said, “You have killed me, and you have also awakened me. Today you and I will have a chase.”

They they all started to run off at once, kiri! kiri! kiri! Now Death was chasing them. As they were going, there lay before them a big river in flood. When Number Eleven and his brothers reached it, the brothers knew how to swim and they swam across. Number Eleven alone did not know how to swim. The children stood on the other side; they cried and cried and cried; their mouths became swollen up. As for Number Eleven, he turned into a stone.

Death reached the river. She said, “Oh, these children! You stand there! Let me get a stone and hit your swollen mouths.” Death, when she looked down, saw a stone lying there. She picked it up and threw it. As the stone was travelling, it said, “Winds take me and set me on the other side.” It alighted on the other side. Number Eleven said, “Here I am!”

Death said, “Ah, that child! I have no further matter to talk to you about. All I have to ay to you is this: Go and remain at home and change into one of the lesser gods, and, if anyone whom I wish to take comes to where you are, do you inform me. If I so desire, I will leave him and make you a present of him; but what I wish in exchange you must receive it for me.”

That is how the Abosom, the lesser gods, came into the world. They are descended from the small child Number Eleven.

[ ASHANTI ]

Nymame was married to Akoko, the barn-door fowl, but after a while he took to himself four other wives. Akoko, of course, retained her rights as head wife, and the other four wives obeyed her.

One day Nyame called the four newcomers together and asked each one what present she would give in return for his raised her above other women in the tribe. The first one promised that she would always sweep his compound for him and keep the place neat and tidy; the second said she would always cook for him and never complain when there were many visitors; the third agreed to spin cotton for him and to bring him all the water he might require; and the fourth one said that she would bear him a child of gold.

This last promise pleased Nyame, and every day he killed a sheep for this woman. But the child was long in coming. Just when Nyame’s patience was giving out. the woman conceived, and Nyame detailed Akoko to tend and care for her.

So Akoko took the woman into her hut and, when the time of delivery was at hand, Akoko told her that, whatever else she did, she was to be sure to shut her eyes when the child was born and not to open them until she was told to do so. The woman obeyed, and Akoko hurried out and brought back a big pot.

Now it happened that the woman bore twins. The first one to be born was made entirely of silver, and Akoko at once took the babe and placed it in the pot. The second child of gold, and Akoko placed it in the pot. The she hurried outside and found two frogs. Running with these, she placed them on the couch and then told the mother to open her eyes and see her children.

Then Akoko hastened out of the hut with the pot and ran with it as fast as she could to the far, far bush, where she found a dead odum tree. There she hid the pot with the two babies and then returned swiftly to Nyame’s compound, passing by his hut on the way. She told her husband that the children had been born and asked him to go with her to see his offspring.

Nyame at once arose and went to the hut where the mother was lying. To his consternation and anger, he found two frogs instead of the expected child of gold. He gave orders that the frogs were to be killed at once and that the woman should be sent into the furthermost corner of his kingdom.

Now Nyame has a certain hunter whose hut was situated in the far bush. He happened to be out hunting on the day the children were born and his chase led him to the odum tree. There his eye was attracted by the glitter of the golden child and he cried out, “Why, what is this?”

The children answered him, “We are the children of Nyame.” But he could not believe that.

He took some of the dust that had fallen from their bodies, however, and put it into his bag. Then he took up the children and carried them to his hovel. There he kept them secretly, not did he tell any man of what he had found.

And every time the hunter wanted money he would gather some of the children’s dust. Thus he became a very rich man. Instead of having a solitary hovel in the bush, he built a huge compound and round him there gathered a great town.

Now not very far away there lived Ananse. One day he went into the bush to gather some white ants for his fowls and he came across the new town. He was astounded to see that in the place where he expected a hovel there was so much wealth and so many people. His curiosity aroused, Ananse entered the town to learn how the change had come about. By sheer accident he espied the former hunter playing with the children. At once Ananse knew that the latter were the lost children of Nyame, and he hurried back home to send a message to their father. But the hunter has also seen Ananse, and he knew full well that that busybody would betray his secret. Therefore he called the children and told them that, as they claimed they were the children of Nyame, he proposed to take them to Nyame.

The next morning he prepared hammocks and fine clothes for the children and proceeded on the way to Nyame. On the road the children called their foster-father and told him that he must collect some stones withe which to play wari, as they themselves could not speak to their father, but that the stones would tell him the whole story.

The man did so, and they arrived before Nyame. There the hunter placed stools and asked Nymame if he would play a game of wari with him. Nyame agreed, but the silver child said, no, he himself wished to play, that the stones would tell the story for which they had come.

Then the silver child and Nyame sat down to the game and, as the stones went round and round the board, the golden child sang the story of their adventures from the time of their mother’s promise until their birth; he sang of the baseness of Akoko and of the kindness of the hunter who had fed them instead of killing them for their silver and gold.

Then Nyame knew them to be his children, and he sent straightway into the far, far bush to call back the woman whom he had exiled. When she arrived, she was dirty over and her hair was uncut and unkempt. Nyame himself washed the woman, and when she was clean and nice again he sent for Akoko.

Great was Nyame’s wrath. He tied the evil fowl Akoko, his first wife, by he foot to a stick and cured her. Then he threw her down from the sky and gave orders that every time the fowl wished to drink she would first have to raise her head to him and beg. Further, Nyame gave orders that every man would in the future sacrifice fowls as the ordinary sacrifices to the gods.

Are not these things done to this day?

As for the children – once every year they are washed , and dust from them falls upon the earth. Some falls on men, and these are the lucky ones who become wealthy.

[ KRACHI ]

In the beginning of days Wulbari and man and woman lived close together and there was so little space to move about in, man and woman annoyed the divinity, who in disgust went away and rose up to the present place where one can admire him but not reach him.

He was annoyed for a number of reasons. An old woman, while making her fufu outside her hut, kept on knocking Wulbari with her pestle. This hurt him and, as she persisted, he was forced to go higher out of her reach. Besides, the smoke of the cooking fires got into his eyes so that he had to go farther away. According to others, however, Wulbari, being so close to men, made a convenient sort of towel, and the people used to wipe their dirty fingers on him. This naturally annoyed him. Yet this was not so bad a grievance as that which caused We, the Wulbari of the Kassena people, to remove himself out of reach of man. He did so because an old woman, anxious to make a good soup, used to cut off a bit of him at each mealtime, and We, being pained at this treatment, went higher.

Established in his new setting, Wulbari formed a court in which the animals were his chief attendants. Everything seemed to run smoothly for a time until one day Ananse, spider, who was Captain of the Guard, asked Wulbari if he would give him one corn cob. “Certainly,” Wulbari said, but he wanted to know what Ananse wished to do with only one corn cob.

And Ananse said, “Master, I will bring you a hundred slaves in exchange for one corn cob.”

At this, Wulbari laughed.

But Ananse meant what he said, and he straightway took the road from the sky down to the earth, and there he asked the way from Krachi to Yendi. Some men showed him the road and Ananse set out. That evening he had gone far as Tariasu. There he asked the chief for a lodging, and a house was shown him. And when it was time to go to bed, he took the corn cob and asked the chief where he could put it for safekeeping. “It is the corn of Wulbari; he has sent me on a message to Yendi, and this corn cob I must not lose.”

So the people showed him a good place in the roof, and everyone went to sleep. but Ananse arose in the night and gave the corn to the fowls and, when day broke, he asked for the cob and lo! it was all eaten and destroyed. So Ananse made a great fuss and was not content till the people of Tariasu had given him a great basket of corn. Then he continued on his way and shortly say down by the roadside, as he was weary from carrying so great a load.

Presently there came along a man with a live fowl in his hand which he was bringing back from his field. Ananse greeted him and they soon become friends. Ananse said that he liked the fowl – in fact, he liked it so much that he would give the whole of his load of corn in exchange if the man would agree. Such a proposal was not to be met with every day; the fellow agreed, and Ananse went on his way carrying the fowl with him.

That night he reached Kpandae, and he went and saluted the chief from whom he begged a night’s lodging. This was readily granted and Ananse, being tired, soon went to bed. First, however, he showed his fowl to the people and explained that it was the fowl of Wulbari and that he had to deliver it to Yendi. They were properly impressed with this information and showed Ananse a nice, quiet fowl-house where it would be perfectly safe. Then all went to bed.

But Ananse did not sleep. As soon as he heard every one snoring, he arose and took his fowl and went outside the village and there sacrificed the poor bird. Leaving the corpse in the bush and placing some of the blood and feathers on the chief’s own doorpost, he went back to bed.

At cock-crow Ananse arose and began shouting and crying out that the fowl of Wulbari was gone, that he had lost his place as Captain of the Guard, and that the unfortunate village of Kpandae would most certainly be visited by misfortune. The hullabaloo brought everyone outside, and by this time it was daylight. Great indeed was the clamour when the people learned what the fuss was about, and then suddenly Ananse pointed to the feathers and blood on the chief’s doorpost.

There was no use denying the fact – the feathers were undoubtedly those of the unfortunate fowl, and just then a small boy found its body. It was evident to all that their own chief had been guilty of a sacrilege too dreadful to think about. They, therefore, one and all, came and begged Ananse to forgive them and to do something or other to divert the approaching calamity, which everyone thought must be inevitable.

Ananse at last said that possibly Wulbari would forgive them, if they gave him a sheep to take to Yendi.

“Sheep!” creid the people. “We will give you any number of sheep so long as you stop this trouble.”

Ananse was satisfied with ten sheep and he went his way.

He had no further adventures until he reached the outskirts of Yendi with his sheep. He was a little tired, however, and sat down outside the village and allowed his sheep to graze. He was still resting when there came toward him a company of people, wailing and weeping. They bore with them a corpse, and when Ananse saluted them and asked what they were doing, they said that a young man had died and that they were now carrying him back to his village for burial.

Ananse asked if the village was far, and they said it was far. Then he said that it was more than likely that the body would rot on the road, and they agreed. He then suggested that they should give him the corpse and in exchange he would give them the ten sheep. This was a novel kind of business deal, but it sounded all right and, after a little while, the company of young men agreed and they went off with the sheep, leaving their dead brother with Ananse.

The latter waited until nightfall and then walked into town, carrying with him the corpse. He came to the house of the chief of Yendi and saluted that nighty monarch, and begged for a small place where he could rest. He added:

“I have with me as companion the son of Wulbari. He is his favourite son, and, although you know me as the captain of Wulbari’s Host, yet I am only as a slave to this boy. He is asleep now, and as he so tired I want to find a hut for him.”

This was excellent news for the people of Yendi and a hut was soon ready for the favourite son of Wulbari.

Ananse placed the corpse inside and covered it with a cloth so that it seemed verily like a sleeping man. Ananse then came outside and was given food. He feasted himself well and asked for some food for Wulbari’s son. This he took into the hut where, being greedy, he finished the meal and came out bearing with him the empty pots.

Now the people of Yendi asked if they might play and dance, for it was not often a son of Wulbari came to visit them. Ananse said that they might, for he pointed out to them that the boy was an extraordinarily hard sleeper and practically nothing could wake him – that he himself, each morning, had had to flog the boy until he woke, and that shaking was no use, nor was shouting. So they played and they danced.

As the dawn came, Ananse got up and said it was time for him and Wulbari’s son to be up and about their business. So he asked some of the chief”s own children who had been dancing to go in and wake the son of Wulbari. He said that, if the young man did not get up, they were to flog him, and then he would surely be aroused. The children did this, but Wulbari’s son did not wake. “Hit harder, hit harder! creid Ananse, and the children did so. But still Wulbari’s son did not wake.

The Ananse said that he would go inside and wake him himself. So he arose and went into the hut and called to Wulbari;s son. He shook him, and then he made the startling discovery that the boy was dead. Ananse’s cries drew everyone to the door of the compound, and there they learned the dreadful news that the sons of their chief had beaten Wulbari’s favorite child to death.

Great was the consternation of the people. The chief himself came and saw and was convinced. He offered to have his children killed; he offered to kill himself; he offered everything imaginable. But Ananse refused and said that he could think of nothing that day, as his grief was too great. Let the people bury the unfortunate boy and perhaps he, Ananse would devise some plan by which Wulbari might be appeased.

So the people took the dead body and buried it.

That day all Yendi was silent, as all men were stricken with fear.

But in the evening Ananse called the chief to him and said, “I will return to my father, Wulbari, and I will tell him how the young boy has died. But I will take all the blame on myself and I will hide you from his wrath. You must, however, give me a hundred young men to go back with me, so that they can bear witness as to the boy’s death.”

The the people were glad, and they chose a hundred of the best young men and made them ready for the long journey to the abode of Wulbari.

Next morning Ananse arose and, finding the young men ready for the road, he went with them back to Krachi and from there he took them up to Wulbari.

The latter saw him coming with the crowd of youths and came out to greet him. And Ananse told him all that he had done and showed how from one single corn cob Wulbari had now got a hundred excellent young slaves. So pleased was Wulbari that he confirmed Ananse in his appointment as Chief of his Host and changed his name from Anyankon to Ananse, which it has remained to the present day.

Now Ananse got very conceited over this deed and used to boast greatly about this cleverness. One day he even went so far as to say that he possessed more sense than Wulbari himself. It happened that Wulbari overheard this, and he was naturally annoyed at such presumption. So, next day, he sent for his captain and told him that he must go and fetch him something. No further information was forthcoming, and Ananse was left to find out for himself what Wulbari wanted.

All day Ananse thought and thought, and in the evening Wulbari laughed at him and said, “You must bring me something. You boast everywhere that you are my equal, now prove it.”

So next day Ananse arose and left the sky on his way to find something. Presently he had an idea and, sitting down by the wayside, he called all the birds together. From each one he borrowed a fine feather and then dismissed them. Rapidly he wove the feather into a magnificent garment and then returned to Wulbari’s town. There he put on the wonderful feather robe and climbed up the treed over against Wulbari’s house. Soon Wulbari came out and saw the garishly colored bird. It was a new bird to him, so he called all the people together and asked them the name of the wonderful bird. But none of them could tell, not even the elephant, who knows all that is in the far, far bush. Someone suggested that Ananse might know, but Wulbari said that, unfortunately, he had sent him away on an errand. Everyone wanted to know the errand and Wulbari laughed and said, “Ananse has been boasting too much and I heard him say that he has as much sense as I have. So I told him to go and get me something.” everyone wanted to know what this something was, and Wulbari explained that Ananse would never guess what he meant, for the something he wanted was nothing less than the sun, the moon, and darkness.

The meeting then broke up amid roars of laughter at Ananse’s predicament and Wulbari’s exceeding cleverness. But Ananse, in his fine plumes, had heard what was required of him and, as soon as the road was clear, descended from his tree and made off to the bush.

There he discarded his feathers and went far, far away. No man knows quite where he went, but, wherever he went, he managed to find the sun and the moon and the darkness. Some say that the python gave them to him, others are not sure. In any case, find them he did and, putting them into his bag, he hastened back to Wulbari.

He arrived at his master’s house late one afternoon and was greeted by Wulbari who, after a while, asked Ananse if he had brought back something.

“Yes,” said Ananse, and went to his bag and drew out darkness. Then all was black and no one could see. Thereupon he drew out the moon and all could see a little again. The last he drew out the sun, and some who were looking at Ananse saw the sun and they became blind, and some who saw only a little of it were blinded in one eye. Others, who had their eyes shut at the moment, were luckier, so they lost nothing of their eyesight.

Thus it came about that blindness was brought into the world, because Wulbari wanted something.

[ KRACHI ]

Kwaku Ananse, the spider, once went to Nyankonpon, the sky-god, in order to buy the sky-god’s stories. The sky-god said, “I know I shall be able.” Thereupon the sky-god said, “Great and powerful towns like Kokofu, Bekwai, Asumengya, have come, but they were unable to purchase them, and yet you who are but a mere masterless man, you say you will be able?”

The spider said, “What is the price of the stories?” The sky-god said, “They cannot be bought for anything except Onini, the python; Osebo, the leopard; Mmoatia, the fairy: and Mmoboro, the hornets.” The spider said, “I will bring some of all these things, and, what is more, I’ll add my old mother, Nsia, the sixth child, to the lot.”

The sky-god said, “Go and bring them then.” The spider came back, and told his mother all about it, saying, “I wish to buy the stories of the sky-god, and the sky-god says I must bring Onini, the python; Osebo, the leopard; Mmoatia, the fairy; and Mmobo, the hornets; and I said I would add you to the lot and give you to the sky-god.” Now the spider consulted his wife, Aso, saying, “What is to be done that we may get Onini, the python?” Aso said to him, “You go off and cut a branch of a palm tree, and cut some string-creeper as well, and bring them.” And the spider came back with them. And Aso said, “Take them to the stream.” So Ananse took them; and, as he was going along, he said, “It’s longer than he is, it’s not so long as he; you lie, it’s longer than he.”

The Spider said, “There he is, lying yonder.” The python, who had overheard this imaginary conversation, then asked, “What’s this all about?” To which the spider rep;ied, “Is it not my wife, Aso, who is arguing with me that this palm branch is longer than you, and I say she is a liar.” And Onini, the python, said, “Bring it, and come and measure me.” Ananse took the palm branch and laid it along the python’s body. Then he said, “Stretch yourself out.” And the python stretched himself out, and Ananse took the rope-creeper and wound it and the sound of the tying was nwenene! nwenene! nwenene! until he came to the head.

Ananse, the spider, said, “Fool, I shall take you to the sky-god and receive the sky-god’s tales in exchange.” So Ananse took him off to Nyame, the sky-god. The sky-god then said, “My hand has touched it, there remains what still remains.” The spider returned and came and told his wife what had happened, saying, “There remain the hornets.” His wife said, “Look for a gourd, and fill it with water and go off with with it.” The spider went along through the bush, when he saw a swarm of hornets hanging there, and he poured out some of the water and sprinkled it on them. He then poured the remainder upon himself and cut a leaf of plantain and covered his head with it. And now he addressed the hornets, saying, “As the rain has come, had you not better come and enter this, my gourd, so the the rain will not beat you; don’t you see that I have taken a plantain leaf to cover myself?” Then the hornets said, “We thank you, Aku, we thank you, Aku.” All the hornets flew, disappearing into the gourd, fom! Father Spider covered the mouth, and exclaimed, “Fools, I have got you, and I am taking you to receive the tales of the sky-god in exchange.”

And he took the hornets to the sky-god. The sky-god said, “My hand has touched it; what remains still remains.”

The spider came back once more, and told his wife, and siad, “There remains Osebo, the leopard.” Aso said, “Go and dig a hole.” Ananse said, “That’s enough, I understand.” Then the spider went off to look for the leopard’s tracks, and having found them, he dug a very deep pit, covered it over, and came back home. Very early next day, when objects began to be visible, the spider said he would go off, and when he went, lo, a leopard was lying in the pit. Ananse said, “Little father’s child, little mother’s child, I have told you not to get drunk, and now, just as one would expect of you, you have become intoxicated, and that’s why you have fallen into the pit. If I were to say I would get you out, next day, if you saw me, or likewise any of my children, you would go and catch me and them.” The leopard said, “O! I could not do such a thing.”

Ananse then and cut two sticks, put one here, and one there, and said, “Put one of your paws here, and one also of your paws here.” And the leopard placed them where he was told. As he was about to climb up, Ananse lifted up his knife, and in a flash it descended on his head, gao! was the sound it made. The pit received the leopard and fom! was the sound of the falling. Ananse got a ladder to descend into the pit to go and get the leopard out. He got the leopard out and came back with it, exclaiming, “Fool, I am taking you to exchange for the stories of the sky-god.” He lifted up the peopard to go and give to Nyame, the sky-god. The sky-god said, “My hands have touched it; what remains still remains.”

Then the spider came back, carved an Akua’s child, a black flat-faced wooden doll, tapped some sticky fluid from a tree and plastered the doll’s body with it. Then he made eto, pounded some in the doll’s hand. Again he pounded some more and placed it in a brass basin; he tied string around the doll’s wasit, and went with it and placed it at the foot of the odum tree, the place where the fairies come play. And a fairy came along. She said, “Akua, may I eat a little of this mash?” Ananse tugged at the string, and the doll nodded her head. The fairy turned to one of the sisters, saying, “She says I may eat some.” She said, “Eat some, then.” And she finished eating, and thanked her. But when she thanked her, she doesn’t reply.” The sister of the first fairy said, “Slap her crying-place.” And she slapped it, pa! And she struck there. She said to her sister, “My hand has stuck there.” She said, “Take the one that remains and slap her crying-place again.” And she took it and slapped her, pa! and this one, too, stuck fast. And her fairy told her sister, saying, “My two hands have stuck fast.” She said, “Push it with your stomach.” She pushed it and her stomach stuck to it. And Ananse came and tied her up, and siad, “Fool, I have got you, I shall take you to the sky-god in exchange for his stories.” And he went off home with her.

Now Ananse spoke to his mother, Ya Nsia, the sixth child, saying, “Rise up, let us go, for I am taking you along with the fairy to go and give you to the sky-god in exchange for his stories.” He lifted them up, and went off there to where the sky-god was. Arrived there he said, “Sky-god, here is a fairy and my old woman whom I spoke about, here she is too.” Now the sky-god called his elders, the Kontire and Akwam chiefs, the Adonten, the Gyase, the Oyoko, Ankobea, and Kyidom. And he put the matter before them, saying, “Very great kings have come, and were not able to buy the sky-god’s stories, but Kwaku Ananse, the spider, has been able to pay the price: I have received from him Osebo, the leopard; I have received from him Onini, the python; and of his own accord, Ananse has added his mother to the lot; all these things lie here.” He said, “Sing his praise.” “Eee!” they shouted. The sky-god’s stories and I present them to you, kose! kose! kose! my blessing, blessing, blessing! No more shall we call them the stories of the sky-god, but we shall call them spider-stories.”

This, my story, which I have related, if it be sweet, or if it be not sweet, take some elsewhere, and let some come back to me.

[ ASHANTI ]

Mouse goes everywhere. Through rich men’s houses she creeps, and she visits even the poorest. At night, with her bright little eyes, she watches the doing of secret things, and no treasure chamber is so safe but she can tunnel through and see what is hidden there.

In olden days she wove a story child from all that she saw, and to each of these she gave a gown of a different colour – white, red, blue, or black. The stories became her children and lived in her house and served her because she had no children of her own.

[ EKOI ]