The Best of African Folklore

  CONTENTS

  Jabulani and the Lion

  Lungile and the Bewitched Buck

  Montuai and the Hyena

  The White Dove

  The Lion’s Pool

  The Tortoise and the Birds

  Half Child

  Umusha Mwaice the Little Slave Girl

  The Magic Anthill

  The Song of the Golden Birds

  “Look N’gai, no Fishes!”

  The Wizard’s Bride

  Kimwaki and the Weaver Birds

  The Bushbuck’s House

  The Chameleon’s Fall from Grace

  How the Ostrich got his Long Neck

  The Hyena and the Calf

  Wanjohi and the Bird

  “Cook, Eat and Carry Me”

  King Lion and King Eagle

  The Four Friends

  Sankatane

  The Lifting of the Curse

  Seeteetelane and the Egg-Child

  Thakane

  Hoatiti and the Goat Thieves

  The Story of Fudwazana and Gongongo

  The Twins and the Cannibal’s Feast

  The Crow and the Jackal

  The Python’s Bride

  The Rooster and the Swift

  The Punishment of the Faithless One

  The Founding of a Tribe

  The Guardians of the Dew Pond

  The Mischief Maker

  The Hare and the Reedbuck

  The Jackal Builds a Hut

  The Wicked Cannibal

  Nabulela

  JABULANI AND THE LION

  SWAZI

  Jabulani was pleased with life. He sang happily to himself as he walked through the forest. Soon he approached a big log trap built by one of the hunters in his village. A plaintive voice called to him as he passed, “Jabulani, my friend, please set me free. I am dying from hunger and thirst.”

  The boy was kind at heart, and always ready to help those in trouble – but this was a lion in the trap, and helping a lion was an entirely different matter. “If I let you out,” he said, “you’ll probably be so hungry that you’ll eat me!”

  “Oh no, I’d never do such a dreadful thing! I promise most faithfully I will not eat you. Now please have pity on me and let me out,” pleaded the lion.

  “Well,” said the tender-hearted boy, “since I have your faithful promise, I will help you.” So he lifted the heavy door that had fallen when the lion entered the trap, tempted in by the bait.

  The lion backed out and stretched his cramped limbs. Then he yawned, “Come along. I need a good long drink at the river before I eat you.”

  “But you promised!” the boy reminded him, now mighty scared.

  “Promises don’t count when you’re as hungry as I am,” was the lion’s answer as he bared his cruel yellow fangs.

  “But please,” begged Jabulani, “let’s be fair about this! Let’s ask all the other animals if it’s right for you to go back on your word. Let them decide.”

  “Oh, very well,” agreed the lion, and the two walked down to the river for the lion to have a drink. There they met a sad old donkey.

  “Friend donkey,” said the boy, “please give us your opinion. There is a desperate disagreement between Lord Lion and me. I found him securely caught in a trap and he begged me to set him free. He promised faithfully that if I did, he wouldn’t eat me. So I did set him free and now he says that he will eat me. Is this fair?”

  The donkey chewed thoughtfully for a few minutes before he replied, “Yes, it’s quite fair for him to eat you, for you humans have no pity on us animals. When I was young and useful to my master, he cared for me, and how cheerfully I carried his loads upon my back. He gave me good food, and treated me with kindness; but now that I am too old to work, he has driven me out to die of starvation, for my old teeth are too worn to cope with the tough winter grass. Why should humans deserve pity? I agree with Lord Lion. You should be eaten.”

  The lion was opening his mouth when the boy hurriedly pointed out, “That’s only one animal’s opinion. We must ask them all.” Rather grudgingly, the lion agreed.

  The next animal they met was a cow, and Jabulani told her what had happened. She shook her horned head angrily. “Humans!” she said. “You are all the same. We give our milk willingly for you to drink, and we even pull ploughs so you can plant your crops. But when our useful years are past, what happens? You kill and eat us, and use our hides for clothes. Surely it’s perfectly fair that you should now provide a meal. I agree with my lord the lion. You should be eaten.” And she pawed the ground with her hoof.

  “But there are other animals,” said the boy, now badly frightened, “the wild creatures. There are hundreds of animals and we’ve only heard two of them. You did agree we should ask them all.”

  “Oh, well,” grumbled the lion, “as you wish, but do hurry. I’m getting more hungry every minute. They’ll all be on my side.”

  Then down the path trotted another lion. Jabulani repeated his story.

  “Now listen, human,” roared the second lion. “Day by day my life is in danger from people like you. I can’t take a drink at the river without glancing over my shoulder all the time to be sure a spear is not hurtling towards me from some crafty hunter. How can we live in peace with worries like that? Surely, it’s quite fair for my brother to eat you!”

  “But please, friend lion – for you called me ‘friend’ before I released you,” begged Jabulani, trembling, “let’s ask the antelopes. They are wild animals too.” But one after the other the antelopes condemned the human race.

  “We live in fear of our lives,” they said, “because of your hunters and their dogs. All they want is to kill us because they are hungry. Isn’t it fair for you to provide a meal now for an animal who is hungry?”

  By this time poor Jabulani had given up hope of ever seeing his home again, since all the animals thought he should be eaten. Then he saw a jackal slinking along one of the animal paths that crisscrossed the forest. “Uncle Jackal,” he called, “of all the wild animals, you’re the only one who hasn’t given us his opinion.” Once more he went through the whole story of how he had set the lion free. “Is it fair that in return for my kindness, he should eat me?” Jabulani asked.

  The jackal thought for several minutes before replying. Then he shook his head and put on a very stupid expression. “It’s very difficult to make up my mind, Jabulani,” he said, “because I don’t understand how the lion came to be in the trap. Let’s go to the trap, all three of us, so I can see what you mean.” So the lion and Jabulani led the jackal to the trap.

  “Now,” said the jackal turning to the lion, “where exactly were you, when you called to Jabulani to help you? Were you actually inside the trap?”

  “Yes,” answered the lion, “I was inside the trap.”

  “But I can’t understand how, or why you got there. Show me how you got in.”

  The lion walked into the trap, but the jackal pretended he was still not satisfied. “Was the trap open or closed?” he asked.

  “Closed,” said the lion, snarling at the memory.

  “Well, close it, Jabulani, so that I can see exactly what you mean,” went on the jackal. The boy took the hint at once and, as the heavy door fell into place, the jackal said, “Good bye, Foolish One! This time you can stay there till you die. It certainly isn’t fair to reward good with evil, however hungry you are.”

  Jabulani thanked the jackal with tears in his eyes for saving his life so cleverly that the lion received his own fair reward.

  · · · · ·

  There is an old Swazi saying: No one is clever enough to eat the meat from his own back!

  LUNGILE AND THE BEWITCHED BUCK

 
SWAZI

  No girl was more beautiful than Lungile; and no girl was more loved by those around her. She was hard-working, too, so that her lobola, her bride-price, was high; so high, in fact, that none but the son of a chief could afford the hundred cows that her father demanded. But for some time now, there had been great activity and preparations in her father’s kraal, for she was to become the chosen “first wife” of the son of a wealthy neighbouring chief, and her wedding garment was almost ready for her to wear. For weeks her devoted father had been working on the ox-hide from which her wedding-dress was being fashioned. First he had pounded it with the utmost care until it was soft and supple; then had come the rubbing with charcoal and fat, to give the desired jet-black colour required for the wedding garment of every Swazi maid.

  This, of course, was only the beginning; now came her mother’s turn, and no one in all the land was more cunning in the cutting and shaping of a robe of such importance. To begin with, it had to fit snugly around the waist and hips, after which the real skill had to be shown in the graceful folds in which it hung about the knees; an expert’s work, indeed. But at last it was completed, and the bridal attendants were waiting only for the word from Lungile before they would creep silently away at dawn on the chosen day. No one must know the day or the hour of their departure, for goodbyes are avoided by a Swazi bride on the day she leaves her home.

  It was to be a long journey, but Lungile’s heart was full of gladness as the party left at cock-crow on a summer morning. Not only was she going to the home of a kind and noble chief, but her groom was good and handsome, and already she loved him dearly. Besides this, she was well aware that she was by far the most beautiful maiden in the land, so she felt sure of a warm welcome to her new home. Did she not grow the finest crops in her father’s land, and brew beer that was unequalled for miles around? That she was desirable had been proved beyond doubt, by the number of young men who had wanted to marry her. Life was indeed good, and joyful were the marriage songs that the party sang as they journeyed on their way.

  Yes, it was a long, long way, but eventually they reached the bridegroom’s kraal. There they were received with honour and songs of welcome, as they were shown into the spacious quarters that had been prepared for them. Lungile’s cup of happiness was full. And there was more to come: two beautiful jet-black oxen arrived. These were to provide the meat for the marriage feast. “The best,” the old chief had ordered, “in all my herd.”

  All was bustle and excitement on the following morning, as the men prepared the meat for roasting on the glowing embers that had been smouldering since dawn, and Lungile watched the preparations from her hut with pride. Juicy steaks were handed to the bridegroom’s mother, who in no time had them sizzling merrily upon the embers. Pots of the finest beer were arranged in the place set aside for the feast, and all was running smoothly when, to the horror of the chief’s wife, the meat began to leap and twist, as though objecting to the heat. Never before in her long life, had the old chieftainess seen such a dreadful happening, and she ran in haste to call her husband. But when she returned, she found that the skins, heads, and every morsel of the meat had vanished. Not even a spot of fat remained spitting on the embers.

  “This smells of witchery!” exclaimed the chief, looking suspiciously in the direction of Lungile’s hut but, calling for his son he said, “Send for the perfect white bull that came as your sister’s bridal price, ten moons ago. His purity should dispel all evil on an occasion such as this!” and the bridegroom lost no time in carrying out his father’s order.

  After her first gasp of dismay at what had taken place, Lungile calmed herself as she saw the beautiful white bull being driven in at the kraal gate. “Surely, no honour could be greater than this,” she thought with relief. And truly, it was a noble beast; no spot spoiled its perfect skin, and she watched delightedly as it tossed its long black horns, and picked its way delicately through the stubble – its hoofs as shiny black as its horns.

  It was not long before the lovely beast was killed and cut up, but this time the chief’s wife decided not to grill, but to boil the meat, and she therefore prepared an enormous pot of steaming water, and into it she plunged the noble beast’s head. Again all seemed to be going well, when out of the pot there suddenly jumped a young man as handsome as a prince. Just as suddenly, he turned into a cream-coloured buck, sprang over the fence that enclosed the kraal and disappeared into the nearby forest.

  “Send the witch home!” cried the chief in consternation. “She has brought disaster and disgrace upon our people. Drive the wicked girl back to her people; no son of mine will be married to a sorceress. See, too, that her father sends back the hundred fat cows that I paid for her lobola!”

  Poor Lungile tried to assure the chief and his people that she was innocent of any evil intentions towards either his family or his tribe – nor had she had anything to do with these strange happenings. However, all her tears were in vain and, with sticks and stones, the would-be bride and her attendants were driven from his land.

  It was a sad party that travelled the long way home, and for many weeks the broken-hearted girl kept to her hut, ashamed and dejected. But the months wore on, and then the years, until eventually her old light-hearted happiness returned to her, and once more she became the most hard-working maiden in the land. But news of the strange happenings at her wedding feast had spread throughout the country, and now no young men came to seek her hand, for none wished to risk such a happening again.

  One day, however, while she was hoeing the crops in her father’s land, she felt a strange presence near to her and, looking up, saw an incredibly beautiful cream-coloured buck watching her intently. “Where,” she wondered, “have I seen this animal before?” It came towards her and circled round the land she hoed. At first she took no notice, and continued with her work – but after a while she looked up again and there it was, apparently trying to attract her attention.

  “Maybe I could catch it,” she thought to herself, “it seems to be so tame.” She put down her hoe and went towards it. “It must be the lovely creature that ran into the forest at my wedding feast. I will see if I can kill it: that would be a fitting punishment for the mischief it has brought me.” And so the chase began.

  In and out of the criss-cross paths at the forest edge they dodged, with the buck keeping just out of reach all the time. Sometimes it allowed her to touch it, but never was she able to hold it. The lovely creature led her further and further into the forest, and more than once she was about to turn, for the evening was closing in – but each time the buck circled round and tempted her to follow, until at last it allowed her to catch it by the horns.

  For a delicate and elegant creature, it proved to be stronger than she had thought possible. However, she kept her grip, hoping, as it pulled her along the path, that she would meet a hunter from her kraal who would help her to capture the buck. But no help appeared, and soon she found that they were in more open country; huge forest-clad mountains with beautiful valleys between them stretched ahead and the girl realised that the shadows had lengthened alarmingly, so that if she did not return at once, she would be forced to spend the night in this lonely place.

  “This chase must stop!” said Lungile aloud and, releasing her hold of the buck’s horns, fled back along the path towards her home. After she had gone a short distance, she felt compelled to stop and look back. There, following her was the same lovely buck. It had such a sad, appealing look in its big brown eyes, that a feeling of great pity came over her. “Are you in trouble?” she asked. “Can I help you?” It never altered its position, so she walked up to it, and again caught it by the horns.

  “If you are prepared to help me,” the buck replied, “you must show no fear in what lies ahead of us, and do all that I ask of you,”

  “Surely this must be a magical buck,” thought the girl to herself, “for he speaks as one of us,” and aloud she answered, “I will do your bidding, lovely creature, because I can see t
hat you are in, trouble.”

  “Then follow me,” replied the buck as, turning, he picked his way delicately towards the forest clad mountains. Before long they came to a gurgling boulder-strewn stream, where Lungile started back in horror at the sight of a terrible ogre, who was sitting on one of the boulders. His enormous pointed eye-teeth hung over his bottom lip almost to his chin, and round his brow he wore a band of animals’ eyes. In one hand he held a rope tied round the neck of a hideous and enormous hyena.

  “Ah!” said the ogre, turning to the hyena, “We don’t need to go hunting today. Here is plenty of meat!” And he hastened forward to grab the buck. The buck, however, made no attempt to move and, as the ogre’s hand touched him, it turned into a handsome young man, who seized the wicked creature by the throat and threw him to the ground. The hyena, seeing his master overpowered ran, with its tail between its legs, screaming into the forest, never to be seen again. The young man meanwhile, during what seemed to the girl a struggle that lasted forever, finally strangled the dreadful ogre.

  As the ogre died, the circlet of animals’ eyes, which had fallen from his head, turned back into gentle buck. They now came crowding round to nuzzle and caress the young man, their master. “These are my people,” said the young man to Lungile. “For I am the son of a chief. Many years ago a wicked king turned me into a white bull to lead his herd of noble cattle, and all my people were turned into buck, to roam the forests of my kingdom until they and I were freed of the curse. You have set me free, and now, sweet one, we must rescue my people.”

  “Tell me what to do,” replied Lungile, her eyes shining with the love she already felt for this handsome young man.

  “You must stay among my people in this wild region, and every day you must go out to gather spinach, and you must call to them with this magic song:

  ‘Buck, buck, come down from the hills;

  Your leader is a man once again.

  He was changed to an animal, as you were:

  Come down and be changed into men!’”