West African Folk-Tales
by W. H. Barker and Cecilia Sinclair (page 7 of 17)
Returning to the village, he told the people there what had happened, and they helped to make a rubber-man. When evening came they carried the sticky figure to the farm, and placed it in the midst of the fields, to frighten away the thieves. Some of the young men remained with Anansi’s son to watch in one of the barns.
When all was dark, Egya Anansi (quite unaware of what had happened) came, as usual, out of his hiding-place to fetch more food. On his way to the barn he saw in front of him the figure of a man, and at first felt very frightened. Finding that the man did not move, however, he gained confidence and went up to him. “What do you want here?” said he. There was no answer. He repeated his question with the same result. Anansi then became very angry and dealt the figure a blow on the cheek with his right hand. Of course, his hand stuck fast to the rubber. “How dare you hold my hand?” he exclaimed. “Let me go at once or I shall hit you again.” He then hit the figure with his left hand, which also stuck. He tried to disengage himself by pushing against it with his knees and body, until, finally, knees, body, hands, and head were all firmly attached to the rubber-man. There Egya Anansi had to stay till daybreak, when his son came out with the other villagers to catch the robber. They were astonished to find that the evil-doer was Anansi himself. He, on the other hand, was so ashamed to be caught in the act of greediness that he changed into a spider and took refuge in a dark corner of the ceiling lest any one should see him. Since then spiders have always been found in dark, dusty corners, where people are not likely to notice them.
XI. ANANSI THE BLIND FISHERMAN
Anansi, in his old age, became a fisherman. Very soon after that his sight began to fail. Finally, he grew quite blind. However, still being very strong, he continued his fishing—with the help of two men. The latter were exceedingly kind to him, and aided him in every possible way. They led him, each morning, to the beach and into the canoe. They told him where to spread his net and when to pull it in. When they returned to land they told him just where and when to step out, so that he did not even get wet.
Day after day this went on, but Anansi—instead of being in the least grateful to them—behaved very badly. When they told him where to spread his net, he would reply sharply, “I know. I was just about to put it there.” When they were directing him to get out of the boat, he would say, “Oh, I know perfectly well we are at the beach. I was just getting ready to step out.”
This went on for a long time, Anansi getting ruder and ruder to his helpers every day, until they could bear his treatment no longer. They determined when opportunity offered to punish him for his ingratitude.
The next day, as usual, he came with them to the beach. When they had got the canoe ready, they bade him step in. “Do you think I am a fool?” said he. “I know the canoe is there.” They made no answer, but got in and patiently pulled toward the fishing-place. When they told him where to spread his net, he replied with so much abuse that they determined, there and then, to punish him.
By this time the canoe was full of fish, so they turned to row home. When they had gone a little way they stopped and said to him, “Here we are at the beach.” He promptly told them that they were very foolish—to tell him a thing he knew so well. He added many rude and insulting remarks, which made them thoroughly angry. He then jumped proudly out, expecting to land on the beach. To his great astonishment he found himself sinking in deep water. The two men rowed quickly away, leaving him to struggle.
Like all the men of that country he was a good swimmer, but, of course, being blind, he was unable to see where the land lay. So he swam until he was completely tired out—and was drowned.
XII. ADZANUMEE AND HER MOTHER
There once lived a woman who had one great desire. She longed to have a daughter—but alas! she was childless. She could never feel happy, because of this unfulfilled wish. Even in the midst of a feast the thought would be in her mind—“Ah! if only I had a daughter to share this with me.”
One day she was gathering yams in the field, and it chanced that she pulled out one which was very straight and well shaped. “Ah!” she thought to herself, “if only this fine yam were a daughter, how happy I should be.” To her astonishment the yam answered, “If I were to become your daughter, would you promise never to reproach me with having been a yam?” She eagerly gave her promise, and at once the yam changed into a beautiful, well-made girl. The woman was overjoyed and was very kind to the girl. She named her Adzanumee. The latter was exceedingly useful to her mother. She would make the bread, gather the yams, and sell them at the market-place.
She had been detained, one day, longer than usual. Her mother became impatient at her non-appearance and angrily said, “Where can Adzanumee be? She does not deserve that beautiful name. She is only a yam.”
A bird singing near by heard the mother’s words and immediately flew off to the tree under which Adzanumee sat. There he began to sing:
“Adzanumee! Adzanumee! Your mother is unkind—she says you are only a yam, You do not deserve your name! Adzanumee! Adzanumee!”
The girl heard him and returned home weeping. When the woman saw her she said, “My daughter, my daughter! What is the matter?” Adzanumee replied:
“Oh, my mother! my mother! You have reproached me with being a yam. You said I did not deserve my name. Oh, my mother! my mother!”
With these words she made her way toward the yam-field. Her mother, filled with fear, followed her, wailing:
“Nay, Adzanumee! Adzanumee! Do not believe it—do not believe it. You are my daughter, my dear daughter Adzanumee!”
But she was too late. Her daughter, still singing her sad little song, quickly changed back into a yam. When the woman arrived at the field there lay the yam on the ground, and nothing she could do or say would give her back the daughter she had desired so earnestly and treated so inconsiderately.
XIII. THE GRINDING-STONE THAT GROUND FLOUR BY ITSELF
There had been another great famine throughout the land. The villagers looked thin and pale for lack of food. Only one family appeared healthy and well. This was the household of Anansi’s cousin.
Anansi was unable to understand this, and felt sure his cousin was getting food in some way. The greedy fellow determined to find out the secret.
What had happened was this: Spider’s cousin, while hunting one morning, had discovered a wonderful stone. The stone lay on the grass in the forest and ground flour of its own accord. Near by ran a stream of honey. Kofi was delighted. He sat down and had a good meal. Not being a greedy man, he took away with him only enough for his family’s needs.
Each morning he returned to the stone and got sufficient food for that day. In this manner he and his family kept well and plump, while the surrounding villagers were starved and miserable-looking.
Anansi gave him no peace till he promised to show him the stone. This he was most unwilling to do—knowing his cousin’s wicked ways. He felt sure that when Anansi saw the stone he would not be content to take only what he needed. However, Anansi troubled him so much with questions that at last he promised. He told Anansi that they would start next morning, as soon as the women set about their work. Anansi was too impatient to wait. In the middle of the night he bade his children get up and make a noise with the pots as if they were the women at work. Spider at once ran and wakened his cousin, saying, “Quick! It is time to start.” His cousin, however, saw he had been tricked, and went back to bed again, saying he would not start till the women were sweeping. No sooner was he asleep again than Spider made his children take brooms and begin to sweep very noisily. He roused Kofi once more, saying, “It is time we had started.” Once more his cousin refused to set off—saying it was only another trick of Spider’s. He again returned to bed and to sleep. This time Spider slipped into his cousin’s room and cut a hole in the bottom of his bag, which he then filled with ashes. After that he went off and left Kofi in peace.
When morning came the cousin awoke. Seeing no sign of Spider he very gladly set off alone to the forest, thinking he had got rid of the tiresome fellow. He was no sooner seated by the stone, however, than Anansi appeared, having followed him by the trail of ashes.
“Aha!” cried he. “Here is plenty of food for all. No more need to starve.” “Hush,” said his cousin. “You must not shout here. The place is too wonderful. Sit down quietly and eat.”
They had a good meal and Kofi prepared to return home with enough for his family. “No, no!” cried Anansi. “I am going to take the stone.” In vain did his friend try to overcome his greed. Anansi insisted on putting the stone on his head, and setting out for the village.
“Spider, spider, put me down,” said the stone. “The pig came and drank and went away, The antelope came and fed and went away: Spider, spider, put me down.”