Persons
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NOTE
African natives are sensitive about questions of equality and seniority. A certain term, “Mwĕra” (chum) may be addressed to other than an equal, only at risk of a quarrel.
A story of the trick by which Tortoise apparently proved himself the equal of both Elephant and Hippopotamus.
Observe the preposterous size of Elephant’s trunk! But everything, to the native African mind, was enormous in the pre-historic times.
Leopard was dead, after the accusation against him by Tortoise for killing the great Goat. The children of Leopard were still young; they had not grown to take their father’s power and place. And Tortoise considered himself now a great personage. He said to people, “We three who are left,—I and Njâgu and Ngubu, are of equal power; we eat at the same table, and have the same authority.” Every day he made these boasts; and people went to Elephant and Hippopotamus, reporting, “So-and-so says Ekaga.” Elephant and Hippopotamus laughed, and disregarded the report, and said, “That’s nothing, he’s only to be despised.”
One day Hippopotamus met Elephant in the forest; salutations were made, “Mbolo!” “Ai, mbolo!” each to the other. Hippopotamus asked Elephant about a new boast that Tortoise had been making, “Have you, or have you not heard?” Elephant answered, “Yes, I have heard. But I look on it with contempt. For, I am Njâgu. I am big. My foot is as big as Ekaga’s body. And he says he is equal to me! But, I have not spoken of the matter, and will not speak, unless I hear Ekaga himself make his boast. And then I shall know what I will do.” And Hippopotamus also said, “I am doing so too, in silence. I wait to hear Ekaga myself.”
Tortoise heard of what Elephant and Hippopotamus had been threatening, and he asked his informant just the exact words that they had used, “They said that they waited to hear you dare to speak to them; and that, in the meanwhile, they despised you.”
Tortoise asked, “So! they despise me, do they?” “Yes,” was the reply. Then he said, “So! indeed, I will go to them.” He told his wife, “Give me my coat to cover my body.” He dressed; and started to the forest. He found Elephant lying down; his trunk was eight miles long; his ears as big as a house, and his four feet beyond measure.
Tortoise audaciously called to him, “Mwĕra! I have come! You don’t rise to salute me? Mwĕra has come!” Elephant looked, rose up and stared at Tortoise, and indignantly asked, “Ekaga! whom do you call ‘Mwĕra’?” Tortoise replied, “You! I call you ‘Mwĕra.’ Are you not, Njâgu?” Elephant, with great wrath, asked, “Ekaga! I have heard you said certain words. It is true that you said them?”
Tortoise answered, “Njâgu, don’t get angry! Wait, let us first have a conversation.” Then he said to Elephant, “I did call you, just now, ‘Mwĕra’; but, you, Njâgu, why do you condemn me? You think that, because you are of great expanse of flesh, you can surpass Ekaga, just because I am small? Let us have a test. Tomorrow, sometime in the morning, we will have a lurelure (tug-of-war).” Said Elephant, “Of what use? I can mash you with one foot.” Tortoise said, “Be patient. At least try the test.” So, Elephant, unwilling, consented. Tortoise added, “But, when we tug, if one overpulls the other, he shall be considered the greater; but, if neither, then we are Mwĕra.”
Then Tortoise went to the forest, and cut a very long vine, and coming back to Elephant, said “This end is yours. I go off into the forest with my end to a certain spot, and tomorrow I return to that spot; and we will have our tug, and neither of us will stop, to eat or sleep until either you pull me over or the vine breaks.” Tortoise went far off with his end of the vine to the town of Hippopotamus, and hid the vine’s end at the outskirts of the town. He went to Hippopotamus and found him bathing, and going ashore, back and forth, to and from the water. Tortoise shouted to him, “Mwĕra! I have come! You! Come ashore! I am visiting you!” Hippopotamus came bellowing in great wrath with wide open jaws, ready to fight, and said, “I will fight you today! For, whom do you call ‘Mwĕra’?”
Tortoise replied, “Why! you! I do not fear your size. Our hearts are the same. But, don’t fight yet! Let us first talk.” Hippopotamus grunted, and sat down; and Tortoise said, “I, Ekaga, I say that you and I and Njâgu are equal, we are Mwĕra. Even though you are great and I small, I don’t care. But if you doubt me, let us have a trial. Tomorrow morning let us have a lurelure. He who shall overcome, shall be the superior. But, if neither is found superior, then we are equals.” Hippopotamus exclaimed that the plan was absurd; but, finally he consented.
Tortoise then stood up, and went out, and got his end of the vine, and brought it to Hippopotamus, and said, “This end is yours. And I now go. Tomorrow, when you feel the vine shaken, know that I am ready at the other end; and then you begin, and we will not stop to eat or sleep until this test is ended.”
Hippopotamus then went to the forest to gather leaves of Medicine with which to strengthen his body. And Elephant, at the other end, was doing the same, making medicine to give himself strength; and at night they were both asleep.
In the morning, Tortoise went to the middle of the vine, where at its half-way, he had made on the ground a mark; and he shook it towards one end, and then towards the other. Elephant caught his end, as he saw it shake, and Hippopotamus did the same at his end. “Orindi went back and forth” (a proverb of a fish of that name that swims in that way), Elephant and Hippopotamus alternately pulling. “Nkĕndinli was born of his father and mother” (a proverb, meaning distinctions in individualities). Each one, Hippopotamus and Elephant, doing in his own way. Tortoise smiled at his arrangement with each, that, in the tug, if one overcame, it would be proved by his dragging the other; but, if neither overcame, they were not to cease, until the vine broke.
Elephant holding the vine taut, and Hippopotamus also holding it taut, Tortoise was laughing in his heart as he watched the quivering vine.
He went away to seek for food, leaving those two at their tug, in hunger. He went off into the forest and found his usual food, mushrooms. He ate his belly full, and then took his drink; and then went to his town to sleep.
He rose in late afternoon, and said to himself, “I’ll go and see about the tug, whether those fools are still pulling.” When he went there, the vine was still stretched taut; and he thought, “Asai! shame! let them die with hunger!” He sat there, the vine trembling with tensity, and he in his heart mocking the two tired beasts. The one drew the other toward himself; and then, a slight gain brought the mark back; but neither was overcoming.
At last Tortoise nicked the vine with his knife; the vine parted; and, at their ends, Elephant and Hippopotamus fell violently back onto the ground. Tortoise said to himself, “So! that’s done! Now I go to Elephant with one end of the broken vine; tomorrow to Hippopotamus.” He went, and came on to Elephant, and found him looking dolefully, and bathing his leg with medicine, and said, “Mwĕra! How do you feel? Do you consent that we are Mwĕra?” Elephant admitted, “Ekaga, I did not know you were so strong! When the vine broke, I fell over and hurt my leg. Yes, we are really equal. Really! strength is not because the body is large. I despised you because your body was small. But actually, we are equal in strength!”
So they ate and drank and played as chums; and Tortoise returned to his town.
Early the next morning, with the other end of the broken vine, he went to visit Hippopotamus, who looked sick, and was rubbing his head, and asked, “Ngubu! How do you feel, Mwĕra?” Hippopotamus answered, “Really! Ekaga! so we are equals! I, Ngubu, so great! And you, Ekaga, so small! We pulled and pulled. I could not surpass you, nor you me. And when the vine broke, I fell and hurt my head. So, indeed strength has no greatness of body.” Tortoise and Hippopotamus ate and drank and played; and Tortoise returned to his town.
After that, whenever they three and others met to talk in palaver (council) the three sat together on the highest seats. Were they equal? Yes, they were equal.
Persons
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NOTE
In native African etiquette, a company of persons is saluted with the use of the verb in the plural; but only the oldest, or the supposed leader, if his name is known, is mentioned by name.
The native custom among polite tribes, is to leave a guest to eat without being watched.
The twitching of a muscle of an arm, or any other part of the body (called okalimambo) is regarded as a sign of coming evil. Compare Macbeth, Act 4, Scene 1.
“By the pricking of my thumb
Something wicked this way comes.”
The absurd and the unreasonable (e.g., the swallowing of a wife, goats, servants, etc.) are a constant feature of the native legends in their use of the impossible.
All native Africans have more than one name, and often change their names to suit circumstances. But, while all their names have a meaning (just as our English names, “Augustus,” “Clara,” etc.) those meanings are not thought of when denominating an individual; e.g., “Bwalo” which means canoe.
Leopards do not like to wet their feet.
Leopard wanted a new wife. So he sought for a young woman of a far country, of whom he heard as a nice girl, a daughter of one of the Kings of that country. He did not go himself, but sent word, and received answer by messenger. Neither the woman nor her father had ever seen Leopard. They knew of him only by reputation.
The King was pleased with the proposed alliance, and assented, saying, “Yes! I am willing. Go! get yourself ready, and come with your marriage company.” So Leopard went around and invited many other beasts, “Come! and help me get a new one!” They all replied, “Yes!” And they all started together for the King’s town.
When they had gone half-way, one of their number, a big forest Rat said, “Brothers! let us begin here to change our names, so that when we get to the town, we shall not be known by our usual names.” But Leopard refused, “No! I won’t! I stick by my old name. My name is Njĕgâ.” All the others said the same, and retained their own names.
But Rat insisted for himself, “I will not be called Ntori. I will be called ‘Strangers.’ My name is Agĕnda,” (the plural of ogĕnda which means “stranger”).
When they approached the town, the inhabitants, with great politeness, ran out to welcome them, shouting, “Agĕnda! Saleni, Saleni!” (Strangers! Welcome ye! welcome ye!) Rat turned to the company and said, “Hear that! you see they are saluting me as the leader of this company.”
Upon their entering the town, they were shown to the large public Reception-House; and the people said to them, “Now! strangers (Agĕnda!), march in!” Rat turned again to his companions, and said, “You see! they have again addressed me specially by name, asking me to take possession of this room.”
They all went in feeling uncomfortably; but Rat said to them, “Never mind! though this room was evidently prepared specially for me, I am not selfish, and I invite you to share it with me.”
After the visitors had all been seated, the people came to give them the formal final salutation, saying “Strangers (Agĕnda), mbolani! (long life to ye).” Rat promptly whispered to his companions, saying, “This mbolo is to me for you, I alone will respond to it.” So, only he replied, “Ai Mbolani! Ai.” (Mbolani is the second person plural of the irregular defective verb Mbolo equal to “live long.”)
The day passed. In the evening, the people brought in an abundant supply of food, and set it down on the table, saying, “Strangers (Agĕnda!), eat! Here is your food!” And they went out, closing the door, so that the guests in their eating should not be annoyed by spectators. Then Rat said, “You see! All this food is mine, though I am not able to eat it all.” He alone began to eat of it. When he had satisfied his appetite, he said, “Truly this food is my own, but I am sorry for you, and I will give you of it.” So he gave out to each, one by one, very small pieces of fish and plantain.
In the morning, the people thoughtfully sent water for the usual morning washing of hands and face. Rat hasted to open the door; and the slaves carrying the vessels of water, said to him, “These are sent to the strangers (Agĕnda).” So Rat took the water and used it all for himself.
This second day was a repetition of the first. The townspeople continued their hospitality, sending food and drink and tobacco and fruits; and making many kind inquiries of what “the Agĕnda” would like to have. Rat, received all these things as for himself; while the rest of the company felt themselves slighted, and were hungry and disgusted.
On the third day, the company said among themselves, “Njĕgâ told us that our visit was to last the usual five days; but we cannot stand such treatment as this!” And they began to run away, one by one. Even Leopard himself followed them, provoked at his expected father-in-law’s supposed neglect of him. But, before Leopard had gone, Rat went to the bride elect, and said, “I never saw such a party as this! They do not eat, and are not willing to await the Marriage Dance for the Bride on the fifth day.”
When they were all secretly gone, leaving Rat alone, he said to the woman, “I will tell them all to go, even my friend Njĕgâ whom I brought to escort me. But I will not go without you, even if we have not had the dance; for, I am the one who was to marry you.” And the father of the girl said to Rat, “Since they have treated you so, never mind to call them again for the Dance. You just take your wife and go.”
So the King gave his daughter farewell presents of boxes of clothing, and two female servants to help her, and a number of goats, and men-servants to carry the baggage.
Rat and wife and attendants set out on their journey. When they were far away from the King’s town, Rat exclaimed, “I feel okalimambo (premonition).” (He suspected that Leopard was somewhere near.) So he dismissed the men-servants, and sent them back to the King. And then quickly, in order to hide them, he swallowed the woman and the two maid-servants and all the boxes of clothing, and the goats.
Rat then went on, and on, and on, with his journey, until at a cross-roads, he saw Leopard coming cross-ways toward him; and he called out, “Who are you?” The reply came, “I am Njĕgâ. And who are you?” Rat answered, “Ntori.”
Then Leopard called to him, “Come here!” “No!” said Rat, “I am in a hurry, and want to get home—” And he went on without stopping. So Leopard said, “Well, I pass on my way too!” “Good!” said Rat, “Pass on!” And they went on their separate ways.
But Leopard, at a turn in his road, rounded back, and hasted by another path to get in front of Rat. When Leopard again saw Rat a short distance before him, he calls out, “Who are you?” The reply was “Ntori; and who are you?” Leopard answered, “I’m Njĕgâ. Stop on your way, and come here to me!” Rat replied, “No! you asked me once before to stop, and I refused. And I refuse now; I must pass on.”
Because of Rat’s unwillingness to stop, Leopard began to chase him, and to shout at him, “You have my wife!” Rat answered back, “No! I have no wife of yours!” “You lie! You have the woman with you. What makes your body so big?”
Rat ran as fast as he could, with Leopard close after him. Rat’s home is always a hole in the ground; and, as he was hard pressed in his flight, he dashed into the first hole he came to, which happened to be a small opening into a cave. But his tail was not yet drawn in and Leopard was so near that he seized it. Projecting from the mouth of the hole there was also the small root of a tree. Rat called out, “Friend Njĕgâ! what do you think you have caught hold of?” “Your tail!” said Leopard. Said Rat, “That is not my tail! this other thing near you is my tail!” So Leopard let go of the tail, and seized the root. Rat slid quickly to the bottom of the hole, and called out, “O! Njĕgâ! I did not think you were so silly! You had hold of my tail, and you let me go! You just look at your hand; you will see my tail-hairs clinging to it!”
Leopard went away in wrath; and, finding Frog at a near-by brook, he said to him, “Rângi! you just watch. I do not want Ntori to escape from that hole. Watch, while I go to get some fire, with which to burn him out.”
Shortly after Leopard had gone, Rat began to creep out. Seeing Frog standing on guard, he said, “Good Rângi! let me pass!” But Frog replied, “No! I have my orders to watch you here.” Then said Rat, “If that is so, why don’t you come close here, and attend to your duty? You are too far from this hole. If a person is set to watch, he should be near the thing he watches. As far as you are there, I could, if I tried, get out without your catching me. So, it is better for you to have a good look down this hole.” While Rat was saying all this, he was near the mouth of the hole; but, as Frog approached, he receded to the bottom, and went to the back end of the cave, where cayenne pepper bushes were growing. Frog came to the edge of the hole, and looking down, saw nothing.
During this while, Rat was plucking pepper-pods and chewing them, retaining them in his mouth. Returning again to the entrance, he saw Frog still watching, and he said, “Rângi! get out of my way, and let me pass. Let me out!” Frog replied, “I will not!” Rat asked, “Do you know me?” Frog replied, “Not very well.” Then Rat said, “Come near! Open your eyes wide, and take a good look at me!” As soon as Frog’s eyes were wide open, Rat blew the pepper into them. This so startled Frog that he fell back, his eyes blinded by the smarting; and Rat jumped out and ran away. Frog, heedless of his prisoner, was jumping about in pain; and, abandoning his post, crawled to the water of the brook not far away, and tumbled into it to wash his eyes.
Now, by this time, Leopard had returned with his fire. Seeing no one on guard, he called out, “Rângi! Rângi! where are you?” Frog, at the bottom of the brook, was still in agony with his eyes. He knew well that Rat was gone; but, in his vexation, he answered, “Ntori is there! Put in your fire!” So, Leopard put fire into the hole, and made a great smoke, but there was no sign of Rat.
After a long time, Leopard became tired at not finding Rat, and called out, “Rângi! Rângi! Where indeed is Ntori? He has not come out by this fire!” Then Frog answered, “Ntori is not there. I just lied to you in vexation of the pain I got through serving you.” So, Leopard was very angry and said to Frog, “You have deceived and fooled me! I will just come and eat you up!” Said Frog, “Good! come on!”
Leopard ran to the brook, but, as Frog was at the bottom, Leopard had first to drink all the water, before he could reach him. Leopard drank and drank. But, as soon as the water was nearly drunk up, Frog jumped out, and hopped away to an adjacent pond. There Leopard followed, and began to drink up that water also. He drank, and drank, and drank, until he became so full and his belly so swollen that his feet no longer touched the ground; and he fell over on his back, before he had entirely emptied the pond. He was in such great pain, in his swollen belly, that he was helpless, and cried out to passersby, “Please, open a little hole in my body, and let out this water!” But each of the passersby said, “No! I am afraid that after I have helped you, then you will eat me.”
At last, among those who passed by, came Crab. Leopard pleaded with him, “Igâmbâ! please! open my skin. Let out this water, so that I may live!” At first, Crab replied as the others, “No! I fear that after I help you, you will eat me.” But Leopard begged so piteously that Crab consented, and scratched Leopard’s skin with one of his claws. And the water spurted out! It came in so fast a current that it began to sweep Crab away. So Leopard cried out, “Igâmbâ! Please! do not let yourself be taken away! Catch hold on some root or branch!” Crab did so, holding on to a projecting root. When the water had subsided, and Crab was safe, Leopard was able to rise; and he said, “Igâmbâ! you have been kind to me; let me take you home, and I will be good to you; I will cook dinner, so we can eat together.” Crab agreed, and they went together.
Leopard began to cook a kind of yam called nkwa, making a pot full of it. (When it is thoroughly cooked, it is soft and sticky.) The yam being finally ready to be eaten, Leopard said, “We do not put this food out on plates, but we bring the entire pot, and every one will help himself from it with his hands.” Leopard thereupon began to take out handfuls of the nkwa, and to eat it. Crab tried to do the same, putting a claw into the sticky mass. But its heat burned his tender skin, and, in jerking his claw away, it stuck fast in the nkwa, and broke off. As soon as that happened, Leopard snatched up the claw and ate it. Crab protested, “Ah! Njĕgâ! you are eating my claw!” Said Leopard, “Excuse me! No, I thought it was nkwa.” So the dinner went on; Leopard greedily eating, Crab trying in vain to eat, and losing claw after claw, which Leopard in succession promptly ate.
Now, when Leopard had finished eating all the food, Crab’s claws were all gone, and he had not been able to eat at all, and was left hungry. So Leopard says to Crab, “Now, as you are so helpless, what must I do for you?” He hoped that Crab, in despair, would tell him to eat him. But Leopard really was not hungry just then; and, when Crab said, “If you will just put me into some shallow water for two months, then all my claws will grow all right again,” Leopard replied, “Good!” and he took Crab and placed him in a small stream of water.
The next day, Leopard, being now hungry to eat Crab, came to the water and called out, “Igâmbâ! Igâmbâ! have you your claws grown now?” The reply was, “Why! No! I told you two months yesterday, when you put me in here.”
On the third day, Leopard came again to the water, and cried out to Crab, “Have your claws sprouted? Have they grown again?” “No!” said Crab curtly.
Leopard continued thus day by day, vexing Crab with inquiries, as if anxious about his health, but really desirous of an excuse to eat him, yet ashamed to do so by violence, because of Crab’s kindness to him when he had the water-colic.
At last, Crab became tired of Leopard’s visits. Hopeless to defend himself if Leopard should finally use force, he gave up in despair, and said, “So! I see why you ask me every day. You know that I told you two months. If you are determined to eat me, come on, and end the trouble at once!” With this permission as an excuse, Leopard was glad. He stepped to the edge of the water and took away Crab for his dinner. That was the return for Crab’s kindness to him. After this, Leopard went out again to try to find Rat, but he never found him.
Places
Kingdom of the Hogs; The Forest; and Towns
Persons
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NOTE
“Inkula si nyo o’kângâ ’Ngângwe.”
This is a proverb expressing the obligation we all owe to some superior protecting powers.
The Hogs had cleared a space in the forest, for the building of their town. They were many; men and women and children.
In another place, a Hunter was sitting in his town. Every day, at daybreak, he went out to hunt. When he returned in the afternoons with his prey, he left it a short distance from the town, and entering his house, would say to his women and children, “Go to the outskirts of the town, and bring what animal you find I have left there.”
One day, having gone hunting, he killed Elephant. The children went out to cut it up and bring it in.
Another day, he killed Gorilla.
And so, each day, he killed some animal. He never failed of obtaining something.
One day, his children said to him, “You always return with some animal; but you never have brought us Ngowa.” He replied, “I saw many Ingowa today, when I was out there. But, I wonder at one thing; that, when they are all together eating, and I approach, they run away. As to Ingowa, they eat nkula nuts and I know where the trees are. Well, then, I ambush them; but, when I go nearer, I see one big Ngowa not eating, but going around and around the herd. Whether it sees me or does not see, sure when I get ready to aim my gun, then they all scatter. The reason that Ingowa escape me, I do not know.”
The Hogs, when they had finished eating, and were returning to their own town, as they passed the town of Elephant, heard mourning; and they asked, “Who is dead?” The answer was, “Njâgu is dead! Njâgu is dead!” They inquired, “He died of what disease?” They were told, “Not disease; Hunter killed him.” Then another day, when Ox was killed, his people were heard mourning for him. Another day, Antelope was killed; and his people were mourning for him. All these animals were dying because of Hunter killing them.
At first, the Hogs felt pity for all these other Beasts. But, when they saw how they were dying, they began to mock at them, “These are not people! They only die! But, as to us Ingowa, Hunter is not able to kill us. We hear only the report that there is such a person as Hunter, but he is not able to kill us.”
When Hogs were thus boasting, their King, Angângwe, laughed at them, saying, “You don’t know, you Ingowa! You mock others, that Hunter kills them?” They answered, “Yes, we mock at them; for, we go to the forest as they do, but Hunter does not touch us.” Angângwe asked, “When you thus in the forest eat your inkula-nuts, you each one eat them by his own strength and skill?” They answered, “Yes; ourselves we go to the forest on our own feet; we ourselves pick up and eat the inkula. No one feeds us.” Angângwe said, “It is not so. Those inkula you eat si nyo o’kângâ wa oma (they are eaten because of a person).” They insisted, “No, it is not so. Inkula have no person in particular to do anything about them.” Thus they had this long discussion, the Hogs and their King; and they got tired of it, and lay down to sleep.
In the morning, when daylight came, the King said, “A journey for nuts! But, today, I am sick. I am not able to go to gather nuts with you. I will stay in town.” The Hogs said, “Well! we do not mistake the way. It is not necessary for you to go.”
When they went, they were jeering about their King, “Angângwe said, ‘Inkula si nyo o’kângâ w’ oma’; but we will see today without him.” They went to the nkula trees, and found great abundance fallen to the ground during the night. The herd of Hogs, when they saw all these inkula, jumped about in joy. They stooped down to pick up the nuts, their eyes busy with the ground. They ate and ate. No one of them thought of Hunter, whether he was out in the forest.
But, that very morning, Hunter had risen, taken his gun and ammunition-box, and had gone to hunt. And, after awhile, he had seen the Hogs in the distance. They were only eating and eating, not looking at anything but nuts.
Hunter said in his heart, “These Hogs, I see them often, but why have I not been able to kill them?” He crept softly nearer and nearer. Creeping awhile then he stood up to spy; and again stooping, and again standing up to spy. He did not see the big Hog which, on other days, he had always observed going around and around the herd. Hunter stooped close to the ground, and crept onward. Then, as he approached closer, the Hogs still went on eating. He bent his knee to the earth, and he aimed his gun! Ingowa still eating! His gun flashed! and ten Hogs died!
The Hogs fled; some of them wounded. Those who were not wounded, stopped before they reached their town, and said, “Let us wait for the wounded.” They waited. When the hindmost caught up and joined the others, they showed them their wounds, some in the head, some in the legs. These wounded ones said, “As we came, we saw none others behind us. There are ten of us missing; we think they are dead.” So, they all returned toward their Town; and, on their way, began to mourn.
When they had come clear on to the town, Angângwe asked, “What news, from where you come?” They answered, “Angângwe! evil news! But we do not know what is the matter. Only we know that the words you said are not really so, that ‘nuts are eaten because of a certain person.’ Because, when we went, each one of us gathered by his own skill, and ate by his own strength, and no one trusted to any one else. And when we went, we ate abundantly, and everything was good. Except that, Hunter has killed ten of us. And many others are wounded.”
The King inquired, “Well! have you brought nuts for me who was left in Town?” They replied, “No; when Hunter shot us, we feared, and could no longer wait.” Then Angângwe said, “I told you that inkula are eaten because of a person, and you said, ‘not so.’ And you still doubt me.”
Another day, the Hogs went for inkula; and the King, remained in town. And, as on the other day, Hunter killed them. So, for five successive days, they went, the King staying in town; and Hunter killing them.
Finally, Angângwe said to himself, “Ingowa have become great fools. They do not consent to admit that nuts are eaten by reason of a certain person. They see how Hunter kills them; and they still doubt my words. But, I pity them. Tomorrow, I will go with them to the nuts. I will explain to them how Hunter kills them.”
So, in the morning, the King ordered, “Come all to nuts! But when we go for the nuts, if I say, ‘Ngh-o-o!’ then every one of you who are eating them must start to town, and not come back, because then I have seen or smelt Hunter; and I grunt to let you know.” All the Hogs agreed. They went on clear to the nkula trees, and ate, they stooping with eyes to the ground. But Angângwe, not eating, kept looking here and there. He sniffed wind from south to north, and assured them, “Eat you all! I am here!” He watched and watched; and presently he saw a speck far away. He passed around to sniff the wind. His nose uplifted, he caught the odor of Hunter. He returned to the herd, grunted “Ngh-o-o.” And he and they all fled. They arrived safely at town.
Then he asked them, “Who is dead? who is wounded?” They assured, “None.” He said, “Good!”
Thus they went nutting, for five consecutive days, they and their King, Angângwe only keeping watch. And none of them died by Hunter.
Then Angângwe said to them, “Today let us have a conversation.” And he began, “I told you, inkula si nyo o’kângâ w’ oma; you said, ‘Not so!’ But, when you went by yourselves to eat nuts, did not Hunter kill you? And these five days that we have gone, you and I together, and you obeyed my voice, who has died?”
They then replied, “No one! no one! Indeed, you spoke truly. You are justified. Inkula si nyo o’kângâ wa ’Ngângwe. It is so!”
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NOTE
An Argument in Evolution—When and How does Life begin?
Crocodile was very old. Finally he died. News of his death spread abroad among the Beasts; and his relatives and friends came to the Mourning. After a proper number of days had passed, the matter of the division of the property was mentioned. At once a quarrel was developed, on the question as to who were his nearest relatives.
The tribe of Birds said, “He is ours and we will be the ones to divide the property.” Their claim was disputed, others asking, “On what ground do you claim relationship? You wear feathers; you do not wear plates of armor as he.” The Birds replied, “True, he did not wear our feathers. But, you are not to judge by what he put on during his life. Judge by what he was in his life’s beginning. Look you! In his beginning, he began with us as an egg. We believe in eggs. His mother bore him as an egg. He is our relative, and we are his heirs.”
But the Beasts said, “Not so! We are his relatives, and by us shall his property be divided.”
Then the Council of Animals demanded of the Beasts on what ground they based their claim for relationship, and what answer they could make to the argument of the birds as to Crocodile’s egg-origin.
The Beasts said, “It may be true that the mark of tribe must be found, in a beginning, but not in an egg. For, all Beings began as eggs. Life is the original beginning. Look you! When life really begins in the egg, then the mark of tribe is shown. When Ngando’s life began, he had four legs as we have. We judge by legs. So we claim him as our relative. And we will take his property.”
But, the Birds answered, “You Beasts said we were not relatives because we wear feathers, and not ngando-plates. But, you, look you! Judge by your own words. Neither do you wear ngando-plates, you with your hair and fur! Your words are not correct. The beginning of his life was not, as you say, when little Ngando sprouted some legs. There was life in the egg before that. And his egg was like ours, not like what you call your eggs. You are not his relatives. He is ours.”
But the Beasts disputed still. So the quarrel went back and forth. And they never settled it.
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NOTE
1st—Ability to Speak a greater gift than ability in Walking, Flying, or any other Force.
2nd—Why Chickens live with Mankind.
All the Birds had their dwelling-place in a certain country of Njambi’s Kingdom. The pelicans, chickens, eagles, parrots and all other winged kinds all lived together, separated from other animals, in that country under the Great Lord Njambi.
One day, they were discussing together on the question, “Who is King of the Birds?” They all, each one, named himself, e.g., the Chicken said, “I!;” the Parrot, “I!” the Eagle “I!” and so on. Every day they had this same discussion. They were not able to settle it, or to agree to choose any one of their number. So, they said, “Let us go to Ra-Njambi, and refer the question to him.” They agreed; and all went to him so that he might name who was the superior among them. When they all had arrived at Njambi’s Town, he asked, “What is the affair on which you have come?” They replied, “We have come together here, not to visit, but for a purpose. We have a discussion and a doubt among ourselves. We wish to know, of all the Birds, who is Head or Chief. Each one says for himself that he is the superior. This one, because he knows how to fly well; that one because he can speak well; and another one, because he is strong. But, of these three things,—flight, speech, and strength, we ask you, which is the greatest?”
Immediately all the Birds began a competition, each one saying, “Choose me; I know how to speak!” Njambi silenced them, and bade them, “Well, then, come here! I know that you all speak. But, show me, each one of you, your manner of speaking.”
So Eagle stood up to be examined. Njambi asked him, “How do you speak? What is your manner of talking?” Eagle began to scream, “So-o-we! so-o-we! so-o-we!” Njambi said, “Good! Now call me your wife!” The wife of Eagle came, and Njambi said to her, “You are the wife of Ngwanyâni, how do you talk?” The wife replied, “I say, ‘So-o-we! So-o-we! So-o-we!’ ” Ra-Njambi said to Eagle, “Indeed! you and your wife speak the same kind of language.” Eagle answered, “Yes; I and my wife, we speak alike.” They were ordered, “Sit you aside.”
Then Ra-Njambi directed, “Bring me here Ngozo.” And he asked, “Ngozo, how do you talk? What is your way of speaking?” Parrot squawked, “I say, ‘Ko-do-ko!’ ” Ra-Njambi ordered, “Well, call me your wife!” She came; and he asked her, “How do you talk? Talk now!” The wife replied, “I say, ‘Ko-do-ko!’ ” Njambi asked Parrot, “So! your wife says, ‘Ko-do-ko?’ ” Parrot answered “Yes; my wife and I both say, ‘Ko-do-ko.’ ”
Njambi then ordered, “Call me here, Ugulungu.” He came, and was asked, “And how do you talk?” He shouted, “I say, ‘Mbru-kâ-kâ! mbru-kâ-kâ! mbru!’ ” Njambi told him, “Call me your wife!” She came, and, when asked, spoke in the same way as her husband. Njambi dismissed them, “Good! you and your wife say the same thing. Good!”
So, all the Birds, in succession, were summoned; and they all, husband and wife, had the same mode of speaking, except one who had not hitherto been called.
Njambi finally said, “Call Njâgâni here!” The Cock stood up, and strutted forward. Njambi asked him, “What is your speech? Show me your mode of talking!” Cock threw up his head, stretched his throat, and crowed, “Kâ-kâ-re-kââ.” Njambi said, “Good! summon your wife hither.” The wife came; and, of her, Njambi asked, “And, what do you say?” She demurely replied, “My husband told me that I might talk only if I bore children. So, when I lay an egg, I say ‘Kwa-ka! Kwa-ka!’ ” Njambi exclaimed, “So! you don’t say, ‘Kâ-kâ-re-kââ,’ like your husband?” She replied, “No, I do not talk as he.”
Then Njambi said to Cock, “For what reason do you not allow your wife to say, ‘Kâ-kâ-re-kââ?’ ” Cock replied, “I am Njâgâni, I respect myself. I jeer at all these other birds. Their wives and themselves speak only in the same way. A visitor, if he comes to their towns, is not able to know, when one of them speaks, which is husband and which is wife, because they both speak alike. But I, Njâgâni, as to my wife, she is unable to speak as I do. I do not allow it. A husband should be at the head; and in his wife it is not becoming for her to be equal with him or to talk as well as he does.”
Njambi listened to this long speech; and then inquired, “Have you finished?” Chicken answered, “Yes.”
Njambi summoned all the Birds to stand together in one place near him, and he said, “The affair which you brought to me, I settle it thus:—Njâgâni is your Head; because you others all speak, husband and wife, each alike. But, he speaks for himself in his own way, and his wife in her way; to show that a husband has priority and superiority over a wife. Therefore, as he knows how to be Head of his family, it is settled that Njâgâni is Head also of your Tribe.”
But, Njambi went on to say, “Though this is true, you, Njâgâni, don’t you go back again into the Forest, to your Kingship of the Birds. For the other birds will be jealous of you. You are not strong, you cannot fight them all. Lest they kill you, stay with me in my Town.”
Cock went to get his wife and children, and returned and remained there with Ra-Njambi. Therefore, the original bird to dwell among Mankind was the chicken.
When the other Birds scattered and went back to their own forest country without their king, they said, “Let it be so! We will not choose another King. Our King has left us, and has emigrated to another country, and has sat down in Njambi’s Town.”
So, the Birds have lived in the forest without any King.
There is another story which gives a different explanation of chickens being the first of birds to dwell among Mankind.
The Birds had no fire. They had to eat their food raw, and to shiver on cold days. In flying over the other countries, they saw Mankind using, in the preparation of their food, a thing which birds did not have. They observed that that thing seemed to add much to the comfort of Mankind. So, they chose Chicken, not as their King, but, because he knew so well how to speak, to go as their messenger, to ask Mankind to share that thing with them. Chicken left the Forest, and started on his journey, and came to the towns of Men.
He found so much food lying around, and it tasted so good because it had been touched by that bright thing which he heard people call “Fire,” that he delayed the delivery of his message. And Men were pleased with his usefulness in awaking them in the morning, as he called them to get up and make their fires. The situation was so comfortable, as Mankind allowed him to walk in and out of their houses at will, that he forgot his errand, and chose to stay with Men, and never went back to the Forest.
The birds, having no one else who united both audacity to act and ability to speak, never sent another messenger on that errand, and they remain without fire to this day.
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An event (the supposed death of the red antelope) is traced to its first cause (sleep) back of the immediate causes (the people who actually sought to kill him). Whence the proverb, “Eziwo a juwi na Antyâvinâ.” “Eziwo” is a familiar way of pronouncing Njiwo.
Antelope and Ox went to a town to dance Bweti (a certain spirit-dance). After the dance, Antelope, exhausted with the exercise, fell asleep in the Bweti-house. While he was there, certain persons made a plot to kill him. Ox heard of it, and came to warn him, calling gently, (lest he should be overheard and himself seized), “Njiwo! Eziwo!” But antelope did not hear, and Ox made no further effort, and ran away to his home in fear for his own life.
Then came Antelope’s wife, while he still slept, and loudly called him. He, only half-awake, grumbled, “What do you call me for? Let me rest. I’m tired by the dancing.” She persisted, “I call you because certain persons want to kill you.” But, he, still heavy with sleep, did not understand, and was not willing to rise, and went on sleeping. Then his wife, unable to arouse him, went to call other people to help her.
While she was away, his enemies came and tied him with ropes, and left him there tied, still sleeping, alone in the house. They locked the house, and went away, intending to return and kill him when he should awake. Before they came back, his wife returned with aid; and, with machetes and knives, they cut open the door, and found him with his limbs tied, and still sleeping. They roughly shook him, and he, half-conscious, asked, “What do you want here?” His wife replied, “I have come to carry you away.” So, she untied the ropes, and they lifted him and carried him away, still too sleepy to walk himself.
While all this was going on, the people of the town to which Ox had fled, asked him, “There were two of you who went to dance Bweti. You are here, but where is the other?” Ox, assuming that Antelope was dead, and not knowing what Antelope’s wife had done, told how he had been unable to waken him, and said, “Eziwo was killed while asleep.” Then the village people said regretfully, “Eh! Eziwo! Sleep has killed him!”
In the meantime, Antelope and his wife had reached the town, where the news of his death had preceded them; and the people wondered, saying, “Nyare reported that you were cut to pieces!” Then Antelope’s wife explained that he would have been killed, because Ox had not made every effort to arouse him from his deep sleep.
So the friendship of Ox and Antelope ended. And the proverb came, that, “Eziwo died of sleep.”