Among Congo cannibals

Ideas concerning rebirth—Ideas concerning white men—A hippopotamus spirit—A prediction—Reticence of natives—Recited round the fire—The origin of man—The sun—A deluge—The destruction of the world—Fifteen folk-lore stories.

There were misty ideas, but no definite belief, concerning the rebirth of their deceased ancestors. A few years before Stanley descended the Congo there was a general belief extant among the Boloki that many of their ancestors would appear in another form, and yet would be recognizable by similarity of features to those whose appearances the spirits took. When the white men arrived this belief seemed to be confirmed by the fact that the natives often thought they saw a likeness in the features, walk, or gestures of some of the white men to dead men whom they knew. I myself have often been surprised and amused when a motion, a glance, or some little peculiarity among these folk has called vividly to mind some person I knew at home. There was one man I never met without having a certain uncle of mine recalled to mind, and another person—a girl—always by an indescribable something reminded me of a girl I knew in England.

When we came here in 1890 my colleague was thought to resemble a chief who had died some time before, and I was thought to be like another deceased chief belonging to a family that had a hippopotamus for its omen (not totem, that is another word); and this view was confirmed by my firing on two successive nights at a hippopotamus that came prowling about our beach, for the animal sent me a message.^[21]

We found a prediction extant that white men would come, and some of them would be like chiefs who had died; but this slight suspicion of a belief in reincarnation may, I think, be accounted for by rumours of the white men having filtered through from the coasts. The Boloki thirty-five years ago were a strong, war-loving people who travelled far and wide on the river; and slaves were bought and exchanged from widely different parts, and, of course, carried with them the news and rumours, true and false, of their last residences. This factor in the disseminating of religious belief, and the interweaving of those beliefs into what is often a patchwork system of belief, has not always been properly allowed for in dealing with the superstitions of African races.

Soon after we opened our station in August, 1890, I tried to procure some native stories from the boys, but failed in every attempt. I felt sure, however, that they had folk tales, and therefore persevered, though nearly two years passed before I was successful. One evening, in the early months of 1892, some boys sat on the floor of my house talking while I was busy writing. After a time I noticed that one was talking and the others listening intently. I made a mental note of the circumstance, and the next day I asked the lad to write out on a slate (for in the meantime we had taught them to read and write) the palaver he had told the boys on the previous evening. He did so, and I found it was a native story. I gave him a few brass rods, asked him to write some more, which he did; and in a short time I had four or five boys writing stories on my verandah, and very often one boy who knew a story, but could not write, sat and told it to one who could, and then shared the spoil. We have between sixty and seventy native stories, and most of them were handed down by one chief who, although he died long before we came here, was spoken of to us with respect on account of his wide knowledge of the ancient myths^[22] and customs. Most of the stories we printed in a book and used it as a reading-book in the classes. There were many stories about men, women, and animals, and to each story a moral was attached.

The stories were told on moonless nights around the village fires when it was too dark to dance and play, or around the camp fires when travelling and fishing. The stories relate the cunning way in which some animals outwit others—generally the smaller ones outwitting the larger and more cumbersome; that the biter is himself bit, and the bully overwhelmed with ridicule. Many of the stories try to account for the peculiarities observed in nature, as why birds build nests in certain ways, or have no nests at all; the enmity among the various animals; the presence of dogs and fowls in the towns; the cause of death and the origin of fire. Some stories would well illustrate the text: “Be sure your sin will find you out”; while others are absurdly comic, and many of them dirty.

A line from some of the stories was often used as a proverb, or to call up the situation described in the story as a warning to a person not to overreach another, or he himself may fall. No European elements were to be found in them, as they were procured before we could talk freely with the natives, and certainly before our teaching had in any way influenced their thoughts and modes of expression.

Many of the stories were recited for amusement, but most of them were told as true, even the amusing ones; and they undoubtedly embody the wit, wisdom, and philosophy of life. Some are only remarkable for the way in which they account for the present state of affairs in the physical and moral worlds; others give a clear insight into the mind of the native, and his view of the spirit-world; and these stories were at times narrated in their “palavers” to enforce a point and drive home a moral.

I did not meet, among the Boloki, with any stories or legends regarding the origin of man, of the sun, of a deluge, or of the destruction of the world. There were stories of folk with tails, but not of animal ancestors; of dwarfs and frightful monstrosities—all heads and no body—but not of giants. When the end of a rainbow touches a town a death is sure to occur there, and the bright red after-glow occasionally seen at sunset indicates the death of a chief. I have already given the legend about the moon having once been a python.

The following are a few typical stories,^[23] and in translating them I have kept as near the original as possible. No ideas have been added, and no plot has been altered, but the translator has tried to give in easy English a true representation of the stories.

It must be remembered that the morals appended to the stories were put there by the natives when they wrote them down for me; and when I was sitting with them around their fires and hearing them relate the stories I noticed that the moral was always given, and frequently formed the subject of comment, and of angry curses being called down on the one who was credited with starting such bad customs.

Libanza and his sister, Nsongo, started on their travels in the long ago, and as they journeyed Libanza changed himself into a boy covered with yaws. A man out hunting turned aside from his party of hunters, and meeting Libanza and his sister, he exclaimed: “I have found some slaves!” He thereupon took possession of them and led them to the hunting camp.

Their new master and the other hunters were there for the purpose of snaring monkeys, and although their master caught some, yet he was not very successful. So one day Libanza said to him: “Give me the snares, and let me try to catch some monkeys.”

But as he appeared to be such a poor, weak boy covered with yaws, the master laughed at him, and twitted him with his smallness. However, on being repeatedly asked, the master gave the boy the snares, and he caught thirty monkeys in a very little time, and brought them back to the camp to be divided among the hunters.

While the hunters were busy dividing the monkeys, Libanza and his sister took some meat and ran away. After journeying for a long distance they came near to a large town, and again Libanza turned himself into a boy covered with yaws.

The people of the town were pounding sugar-canes for making sugar-cane wine; but a man seeing them claimed them as his slaves, and brought them and sat them on the end of the large wooden mortar in which the other men were pounding up the canes.

After a time Libanza said: “Give me a pestle,^[24] so that I may crush the canes.” But the people laughed that so small a lad should make such a request.

However, after he had repeatedly asked, they gave him a pestle, and Libanza used it with such vigour that it snapped in two. They brought him two others, and taking one in each hand he pounded so strongly that they also broke; and thus he broke all they had in the town except the last one, and with that he ran away, and the people feared to follow him.

As they travelled, Nsongo caught sight of a person in the distance and wanted to marry him; but on being called the person would not come to her. So Libanza changed himself, first into a shell and then into a saucepan, and followed the man; but in these disguises Libanza was not able to catch the man for his sister because he ran away filled with fear.

Libanza then turned himself into the handle of an axe, and when the man came to pick up the handle, Libanza caught him and led him to his sister. Now this person had only one leg and simple stumps for fingers; and Nsongo, on a closer view observing these deformities, refused to have him for a husband.

Libanza and his sister, Nsongo, resumed their wanderings, and on passing a palm tree Nsongo saw a bunch of ripe palm nuts, and she implored her brother to ascend the tree and cut down the nuts. Libanza climbed the palm tree, and as he ascended it the palm tree grew higher and higher and higher, until the top was hid in the heavens,^[25] and there Libanza alighted, leaving his sister down below on the earth.

When Nsongo was left on the earth she heard a rumbling noise, which she thought was her brother, Libanza, scolding up above. She called a “wizard,” and asked him how she could rejoin her brother.

The “wizard” said: “You must call a Hawk, and tell him you want to send a packet to your brother, Libanza; and then tie yourself up into a packet and put yourself on the roof of a house, and when the Hawk sees it he will say, ‘That is surely the parcel I am to take,’ and the Hawk will carry you up above.”

Nsongo did as she was told by the “wizard,” and the Hawk saw the bundle and picked it up; but twice on the way the Hawk rested and tried to open the parcel, and would have done so, but at each attempt he heard a deep sigh proceed from the interior of the bundle, and desisted.

At last the Hawk reached the place where Libanza was, and said to him, “Here is a packet which your sister has sent to you.” Now when Libanza essayed to undo the parcel, out came his sister.

Libanza became a blacksmith, and there was in that country a person whose name was Ngombe, and because he swallowed people every day he was also called Emele Ngombe (Ngombe the Swallower).

When Libanza heard about this Swallower of people, he called his bellows blower, Nkumba (Tortoise), and they heated an ingot of iron. Now as the Swallower was passing the smithy he made the sound “Kililili,” and Libanza mocked him by saying, “Alalalala.” Ngombe the Swallower then asked: “Who dares to ridicule me?” And again he murmured, “Kililili.” And Libanza answered him by saying: “Ngalalala,^[26] I am anjaka-njaka lokwala la lotungi, Libanza, the brother of Nsongo.”

The Swallower went at Libanza with his mouth wide-stretched to gulp him down, and as he went his lower jaw dragged along the ground. Libanza stirred the molten metal, the Tortoise blew the bellows, and as the Swallower rushed forward with his mouth wide open Libanza threw the liquid metal right into the gaping jaws, and the Swallower of people fell dead.

There are several folk-lore stories that have crystallized for us their ideas concerning Libanza, and it is interesting to note that such stories are called Mabanza (plural form of Libanza), and these contain a statement of some of the doings of Libanza, whereas their word for fable, parable, story is mokulu. The common opinion was that Libanza lived on the earth, and was the first to go into heaven. His origin, life, and adventures as told in their folk stories are briefly as follows:

Libanza’s mother (names of father and mother were never given) gave birth first to elephants, the various kinds of bush animals, the different varieties of flies and insects, and to the amphibia; then his mother told him to come out, but before Libanza would do so he ordered his mother to scrape her finger-nails; when she had done this he threw out spears, shield, a chair covered with brass nails, and finally came out himself.

Libanza’s father, according to another folk story, was trapped and killed while stealing some nsafu fruit for his wife. And he acquainted his wife of his death by causing a fetish horn he had left with her to overflow with blood. As soon as Libanza was born he inquired about his father and the manner of his death, and set himself to punish the one who had killed him, which after a series of futile attempts he finally accomplished by slaying the murderer of his father. Then comes the story of his own adventures, which reach their climax in the destruction of the Swallower of people.

It is not at all improbable that Libanza is the name of some great chief who by his resource and courage delivered the people from great peril and oppression, and around whose name have gathered many myths, and to him is ascribed great magical power. In the original story much magic is performed to meet the various difficulties that arise, as changing himself into different shapes, making horns and saucepans move and speak, and resurrecting broken and dead animals. No moral qualities were ascribed to Libanza, but he was regarded as being very strong, and rich. When our steamer, the Peace, made her first journey up-river, the Boloki of Monsembe told me that they thought it was “Libanza going to Singitingi (Stanley Falls) to visit his sister Nsongo.” They could hear the noise of the engines, but as they could see no paddles they thought that “the river mingoli (water-spirits) were pushing the steamer along.”

A Fowl, on returning from a trading journey, hid one of his legs under his wing and said: “I sold my leg for two thousand brass rods in the towns I have been visiting.”

A greedy hippopotamus, hearing this, said: “If the Fowl could receive two thousand brass rods for his small leg, how much shall I receive for mine?” So calling some of his friends they entered a canoe and paddled down-river to the towns. On arriving, the leg of the Hippopotamus was cut off, carried ashore, and sold for a large number of brass rods.

When the Hippopotami returned to the canoe, after selling the leg, they discovered that their friend had bled to death, so they picked up their paddles in great anger and returned to their town.

On arriving at their town they sought out the Fowl and charged him with the death of their friend, for they said, “Because of your lying deception he went and sold his leg.”

In their anger they called on the Hawks and Kites to swoop down and carry off the chickens belonging to the Fowls; and they told the wild bush-cat that whenever he found the door of the Fowl-house open he was to creep in and kill the Fowls.

In this way so many Fowls were killed, that in defence the Fowls called on the Crocodiles to bite the Hippopotami and wound them to death; and they asked Man whenever he saw a Hippopotamus to hurl his spear at it and kill it. Thus, through the Fowl’s one deception, enmity, quarrels, and death were first introduced among the birds and animals.

Motu made a large garden, and planted it with many bananas and plantain. The garden was in a good position, so the fruit ripened quickly and well. Arriving one day at his garden he found the ripe bunches of bananas and plantain had been cut off and carried away.

After that he did not go once to his garden without finding that some of the fruit had been stolen, so at last he made up his mind to watch the place carefully, and hiding himself he lay in ambush for the thief.

Motu had not been in hiding very long before he saw a number of Cloud-folk descending, who cut down his bananas, and what they could not eat they tied into bundles to carry away. Motu rushed out, and, chasing them, caught one woman whom he took to his house, and after a short time he married her, and gave her a name which meant Favourite.

Although Favourite had come from the Cloud-land she was very intelligent, and went about her housework and farming just like an ordinary woman of the earth. Up to that time neither Motu nor the people of his village had ever seen a fire. They had always eaten their food raw, and on cold, windy, rainy days had sat shivering in their houses because they did not know anything about fire and warmth.

Favourite, however, told some of the Cloud-folk to bring some fire with them next time they came to visit her, which they did. And then she taught the people how to cook food, and how to sit round a fire on cold days.

Motu was very happy with his wife, and the villagers were very glad to have her among them, and, moreover, Favourite persuaded many of the Cloud-folk to settle in her husband’s village.

One day Favourite received a covered basket, and putting it on a shelf in the house she said to her husband, “We are now living with much friendship together; but while I am away at the farm you must not open that basket, if you do we shall all leave you.”

“All right,” replied the husband, “I will never undo it.”

Motu was now very glad in his heart, for he had plenty of people, a clever wife, and the villagers treated him as a great man. But he had one trouble: Why did his wife warn him every day not to open the basket? What was in that basket? What was she hiding from him? And foolish-like he decided to open it. Waiting therefore until his wife had gone as usual to the farm he opened the basket, and—there was nothing in it, so laughingly he shut it up and put it in its place.

By and by Favourite returned, and, looking at her husband, she asked him: Why did you open that basket?” And he was speechless at her question.

On the first opportunity, while Motu was away hunting, Favourite gathered her people, and ascended with them to Cloud-land, and never again returned to the earth.

That is how the earth-folk received their fire and a knowledge of cooking; and that is also how Motu through being too inquisitive lost his wife, his people, and his importance as a big man in the village.

Mbungi one day said to his wife: “Dig up some cassava, prepare it, and cut down some plantain, for we will go hunting and fishing.”

The wife did as she was told, and in a short time everything was ready for the journey. They put their goods into a canoe and paddled away to their hunting and fishing camp.

After resting, the man went and dug a hole and set his traps; and the next morning he found an antelope and a bush-pig in the hole. These he took to the camp, cut up, and gave to his wife to cook. By and by when all was cooked she brought the meat to her husband, and as she was taking her portion he said: “Wait, I will ask the forest-folk (or spirits) if you may eat it.”

He went and pretended to ask the forest-folk, and brought back a message that if she ate the meat the traps would lose their luck and catch no more animals. In this way the selfish husband had all the meat for himself and his wife went hungry.^[27] Mbungi found many animals in his traps, and the woman, because of the prohibition, did not have her share of them.

One day the woman made some fish-traps and set them, and on her return to the camp the husband wanted to know where she had been, but she refused to tell him. Next day she went to look at her traps and found many fish in them, which she brought to the camp and cooked. Mbungi, however, returned unsuccessful from his traps; but when he saw his wife’s fish he laughed and said: “Bring the fish here for me to eat.”

“Wait,” answered the woman, “I will ask the forest-folk if you may eat the fish.” And she brought back a reply that he was not to eat the fish, for if he did so the fish-traps would lose their luck.

It was now Mbungi’s turn to be hungry. Days and days passed and he caught no more animals; but his wife always had plenty of fish. He became very thin and angry. One day he drew his large knife, and cutting off the head of his wife he buried the head and the trunk together in the ground, and departed for his town.

Mbungi had not gone very far on his way when he heard a voice shouting: “Mbungi, wait for me, we will go together!” He wondered who was calling him, so he hid himself, and in a little time he saw the head of his wife coming along the road calling after him.

He went, and catching the head he cut it into small pieces and buried it again; but before he had gone far he heard it shouting: “Mbungi, wait for me, we will go together!” He cut and buried it again and again, but it was no use, it continued to follow and call after him.

Mbungi reached his town, and his wife’s family asked him: “Where is your wife?” “Oh, she is coming on behind,” he replied. They accused him of killing her, but this he strongly denied. While he was denying the charge of murder the head came right into the town; and when the family saw it they immediately tied up Mbungi and killed him.

This was how murder was first introduced into the world.

There was a time when all the birds and animals lived in the sky. One day it was very rainy and cold—so cold that they were all shivering. The birds said to the Dog: “Go down and fetch us some fire to warm ourselves.”

The Dog descended, but seeing plenty of bones and pieces of fish lying about on the ground he forgot to take the fire to the shivering birds.

The birds and animals waited, and the Dog not returning they sent the Fowl to hasten him with the fire.

The Fowl, however, on arriving below, beheld plenty of palm nuts, pea nuts, maize, and other good things, so he did not tell the Dog to take up the fire, and did not take any himself.

This is the reason why you can hear of an evening a bird that sings with notes like this, “Nsusu akende bombo! nsusu akende bombo!” which means, The Fowl has become a slave! the Fowl has become a slave!

And the Heron sometimes sits on a tree near a village and cries, “Mbwa owa! mbwa owa!” = Dog, you die! dog, you die!^[28]

This is why you hear these birds jeer at and abuse the Fowl and Dog, because they left their friends to shiver in the cold while they enjoyed themselves in warmth and plenty.

A Leopard had three young children, and she asked the Tortoise to take care of them while she was away hunting.

“Very well,” said the Tortoise, “I will nurse them for you.”

So the Leopard went hunting, and after a time she returned with some meat which she wished to give to her children.

“No, no, do not open the door,” whispered the Tortoise, “your children are asleep. Throw the meat in at the window.” The meat was passed through the window, and the Leopard went off hunting again.

While the Leopard was gone the second time, an Eagle came to the Tortoise and said: “Friend Tortoise, let us make blood-brotherhood.”

The Tortoise agreed, and the friendship was properly made. After a short time the Eagle asked the Tortoise for one of the children to eat, and one was taken, and they ate it between them.

By and by the Leopard returned again from the hunt with some more meat; but the Tortoise pretended that the children were asleep; so the meat was again put through the window, and off went the Leopard to hunt in the forest.

The Eagle then came and begged for another child, and receiving it he went and ate it on a high tree.

When the Leopard returned next time, she insisted on seeing the children, but the Tortoise said: “You stop there and I will show them to you at the window.”

The Tortoise then took up the only child left, and holding it at the window he said, “That is one.” He put it down and held it up again, and said, “That is two.” Then he showed it again at the window for the third time, and said, “That is three.” The Leopard, thereupon, went away satisfied.

The Eagle came again and asked for the “other child to eat.”

“What shall I do,” asked the Tortoise, “when the Leopard returns and finds all her children are gone?”

“Oh, I will take care of you,” said the Eagle reassuringly; “I will fly with you to a high tree.” The last child was given and eaten, and then the Eagle took the Tortoise to the branch of a very high tree.

Shortly after the Eagle had carried off the Tortoise the Leopard returned, and finding all her children gone she wept very loudly for some time; then looking about her she saw the Tortoise on the top of a tree.

The Leopard gnawed at the tree, and just as it was going to fall the Tortoise called out to his friend, the Eagle, to help him. The Eagle carried him to another tree. The Leopard gnawed that one; so the Eagle removed the Tortoise to another high tree; but the Leopard gnawed that also.

The Tortoise called for his friend, the Eagle; but the Eagle replied: “I am tired of helping you, take care of yourself,” and off he flew, leaving his friend in the lurch, and never returned again. The tree fell, and the Leopard killed the Tortoise. That is why the bush animals are afraid to hurt the Leopard’s children.

When the Tortoise and the Kite made blood-brotherhood the Kite said: “Friend Tortoise, now that we have become brothers, catch an electric fish for me.”

“Friend Kite,” replied the Tortoise, “when you see a skin floating on the river you will know that I have caught the fish you desire. Swoop down and take it; and, friend Kite, thou art one who lives in the air, tie up the wind and bring it to me.”

By and by the Tortoise killed an electric fish (nina), and set it floating on the river. When the Kite saw it he said: “Ah, there is the fish my friend Tortoise has sent me.” He thereupon dropped to the river, picked up the fish, and carried it away to a high tree, where he ate it.

The Tortoise waited a long time, but the Kite never brought him the wind; so seeing the Eagle one day fishing by the river bank he said to him, “Come here, friend Eagle,” and when the Eagle had alighted on a branch near by, the Tortoise continued: “Well, my friend the Kite and I made blood-brotherhood, and he asked me to send him an electric fish, and I asked him to bring me the wind, and he agreed to this bargain. I have sent him his fish, but he has not brought me the wind. When you see the Kite remind him of his promise.”

The Eagle met the Kite next day on the top of a tree and said to him: “When you make blood-brotherhood with a person you should keep your promise to him. Why don’t you take the wind to the Tortoise?”

“I have not yet tied it up,” said the Kite as he flew off.

The Tortoise waited, but the Kite not coming he went ashore, climbed to the roof of a house, and tied himself into a bundle like a parcel of fish.

The Kite, seeing the bundle and thinking it was some fish, he swooped down on it and carried it away to a tree, and while he was undoing the bundle the Tortoise said: “Friend Kite, you have deceived me, and you have broken your promise. Where is the wind you agreed to bring to me?”

The Kite was so alarmed that he dropped the Tortoise and flew away. And because of his broken promise to his friend he has lost the power to sail on the wind like the Eagle; but has to constantly flutter and flap his wings.^[29]

The Plantain-eater is a gaudy-plumaged bird, not quite so large as a Cockatoo. It is called by the natives Lukulukoko. Its notes are, Kulu! kulu! kulukoko! hence the natives say, “It is always talking about itself.”

All the birds built nests so that when it rained they could enter them and remain dry. The Plantain-eater, however, never troubled to build a nest, but when the rain fell in torrents he went to a neighbour and said: “Let me come into your nest out of the rain.”

But his neighbour answered him: “No, go and cut some palm fronds and build your own nest.”

The Plantain-eater, at this reply, went off crying: “Kulu! kulu! kulukoko! Wait until the rain stops, and then I will fetch fronds to build my nest.”

By and by the rain ceased and the neighbours called out: “Plantain-eater, the rain is finished, now get your fronds for nest building.”

But the Plantain-eater said: “I will stop where I am, and when it rains I will raise my shoulders and put my head under my feathers, and the rain will not hurt me.”

The next time it rained, however, he found it was very unpleasant to be out in it; and again he asked to be allowed to enter a neighbour’s nest, but he was driven off. Thus it always happened that when it rained he intended to build a house; and when it was fine he said he did not need a house, but would put his head under his feathers.

And that is why the Plantain-eater is seen jumping from branch to branch in the rain, trying to enter other people’s nests, making all kinds of promises in the rain, and only talking loudly and boasting in the fine weather of what he will do.

When the Python had given birth to all the snakes she said to them: “You have no poison now, but another day I will call you, and give to each of you a proper share of poison.”

After a time the day arrived, and the Python called all her children to receive the promised gift. The green snake, the viper, the whip-snake, the diamond-headed snake all arrived, and each received his share of the poison so as to defend himself from his enemies. Wherever these snakes went on a journey everybody jumped out of their way, for if they did not they were bitten and suffered much pain.

The Water-snake, however, instead of obeying his mother’s call, went off to the river to fish. By and by he became tired of fishing, and thought he would go and hear what his mother the Python wanted.

As he went he met the other snakes returning, and heard that they had received their gifts from their mother. On his arrival he asked her for his share of the poison.

But the Python said: “No, I called you, and instead of coming you went fishing, so now you have lost your share of the poison through disobedience.”

That is why the Water-snake is only laughed at when he bites, and no one thinks of moving out of his way, for he has no poison through disregarding his mother’s call.

The Squirrel and the Elephant met one day in the forest and had a big discussion about forest matters. At last the Elephant sneeringly said: “You are a Squirrel, you are only a little bit of a thing. Can you hold either my foot or my leg? No, you are too small to touch even one of my legs!”

“You may be a big thing,” retorted the Squirrel, “but can you keep on eating palm nuts as long as I can?”

After much talk they decided to collect bunches of palm nuts, and when all was ready they sat down to the eating contest. Before beginning, however, the Squirrel had secreted a number of his friends in the forest near by.

The Elephant began the contest by putting a bunch of palm nuts into his mouth; but the Squirrel took the nuts one by one and ate them. And when the Squirrel was full he made some excuse and slipped away, and another squirrel took his place. In this way Squirrel after Squirrel exchanged places with each other unnoticed by the Elephant, who continued to eat all the morning, and the big pile of palm nuts grew smaller and smaller.

At last the Elephant asked: “Are you full, friend Squirrel?”

“No,” answered the last Squirrel, “I feel as though I had only just begun.”

“Is that so?” grunted the Elephant. “Well, you are a wonderful little thing. Why, I am getting fuller and fuller.”

After that they went on eating again.

In the afternoon the Elephant asked again: “Friend Squirrel, are you full yet?”

“No,” replied the last Squirrel, “I have not eaten half enough yet.” And he took up some more nuts to eat.

The Elephant had not room for more than a sigh; and towards sunset he said: “I am full, and cannot eat any more palm nuts.”

Thus the Elephant confessed he was beaten, and ever after that he refrained from annoying and ridiculing his friends and neighbours because they were smaller than himself.

The natives are very careful not to taunt slaves about their condition, or to twit a person about poverty or lowly birth. It is considered to be the acme of rudeness to remind another that he is not so fine a fellow as you are, or as he thinks he is. Of course, folk often lost their temper and said bitter things to each other. The following story shows the punishment that fell to a man because in his anger he was rude to his slave wife.

There was a man once who built a house on an island and went fishing in its creeks and pools. He plaited a large number of fish-traps, and set them in good places for catching fish.

One morning he went to look at the traps and found one full of fish, and among the fish was a Lolembe.^[30] He took them to his house, and then went to another part of the island to visit some other traps; but on his return he found some food cooked and placed in a saucepan by the fire. In his surprise he called out, “Who has cooked this food?” but there was no answer. All night he pondered this wonder in his heart, for he knew he was alone on the island.

The next morning he pretended to go to his traps, but turning back quickly he hid himself behind his house and watched through an opening in the wall. By and by he was amazed to see the Lolembe turn into a woman, who at once began to cook the food, whereupon the man showed himself to her and said: “Oh, you are the one who cooked my food yesterday!”

“Yes,” she replied. They were married, and in due time the woman gave birth to two boys and a girl; and they lived with much contentment on the island.

One day the man said to one of his sons: “You come and help me with the fish-traps,” and away they went together to look at the various traps.

The lad was a lazy, disobedient boy who would not listen properly to what was told him, so when the father wanted to empty the water out of the canoe and told him to go to the right side, the boy went straight to the left side, because it was nearer to him than the other side. The father became very vexed, and beating him in his anger, he said: “You are too lazy and too proud to do what you are told. Do you know that your mother came out of one of these fish-traps, for she was only a Lolembe?”

The boy on hearing this went crying to his mother, and told her all his father had said. The mother soothed him, but in her heart she said: “My husband jeers at me because I am only a Lolembe, yet I have been a good wife to him; perhaps some other day he will call me worse names, and when we return to the town everybody will know that I came out of one of his fish-traps. I will return to my own place in the river.”

She thereupon fell into the river, and changing into a Lolembe she swam away. “Therefore,” says the native storyteller, “never taunt a person with being a slave.”

The next two stories are illustrative of the native reason for the loss of eternal life, or why people die, instead of continuing to live for ever on the earth.