When I reached home that evening, it seemed like the whole world was upside down. I felt my head swell with hurt from the bee stings and sharp roots embedded in my feet. By the side of my bamboo bed, Nene and her dog sat, staring at me. She held my hand and squeezed softly.… Continue reading Diary of A Village Boy: The Leopard Spirit 6
Tag: folktale
Rainmaker’s Tale
When the green neighbourhood dance to the call of the wild one. Dark are the skies; darker even are the clouds that stalk the rain. The wind came swift and slow; rushing at times as petals of flowers dance. To the music of the coming rain; to lullabies that made heads bounce. And to the… Continue reading Rainmaker’s Tale
The Poet & The Peasant | O’ Henry
THE OTHER DAY a poet friend of mine, who has lived in close communication with nature all his life, wrote a poem and took it to an editor. It was a living pastoral, full of the genuine breath of the fields, the song of birds, and the pleasant chatter of trickling streams. When the poet… Continue reading The Poet & The Peasant | O’ Henry
Kindness: The Lion and The Mouse
Here is one of the oldest and best loved stories of kindness paid and repaid. From it we learn that compassion lies within the power of both the mighty and the meek. Kindness is not a feeble virtue. One day a great lion lay asleep in the sunshine. A little mouse ran across his paw… Continue reading Kindness: The Lion and The Mouse
The Man Who Never Lied
Hi everyone! How was your day? I have a story to share. So bring your seats and mats to the fireplace, listen attentively and may the nightingales sing us a lullaby when we retire to bed. Once upon a time there lived a wise man by the name of Mamad. He never lied. All the… Continue reading The Man Who Never Lied
Another Tale from the Wild Woods
There’s a land behind those ancient hills Hidden in the thick greened forest, One of mighty foliage, brushes & roots Dark green shrubs gather by the riverside Ripe fruits plunge into the quiet waters And fish schools scatter in excitement Brown and black crabs meet to get drunk Squirrels watch them, amused from treetops The… Continue reading Another Tale from the Wild Woods
Lullaby: Tale of the young Shepherdess
I will tell you a rhyme of the shepherdess who loved her sheep, She lives in the country and could sing her community to sleep Twinkle went stars nested far up the pregnant black sky, When black clouds float, the gathering rain storm sigh, “It will rain, but it might wait a little,” the young… Continue reading Lullaby: Tale of the young Shepherdess
Diary of a Village Boy: The Leopard Spirit 6 (Another Attack)
That night I had another attack. It was midnight and everybody was settled for some sleep. The moon was white, there were no stars and the evening brought mild breezes. Wild dogs and wolves howled from the hilly distance and the night was deafened in their terrifying noise. Night was nobody’s friend those days. Travelers… Continue reading Diary of a Village Boy: The Leopard Spirit 6 (Another Attack)
African Folklore
Folklore are tales, legends, superstitions of a particular ethnic population. In Igbo culture and other African societies, story telling is unique, such that it is a passage to transmit the tradition of a place from one generation to another. These tales convey the history, ancient messages and old knowledge. They teach morals and virtues to… Continue reading African Folklore
African morning
In the morning the mild golden sun rise above the huts and hills Painting the corn fields yellow and making the streams shimmer Upon flowing rivers it glitters, till the dead end below a tree root Big fishes stay ready to strafe up to pick insects off tree barks In the hamlets, dogs chased cats,… Continue reading African morning
Folklore: King Grisly Beard from Project Gutenberg
A great king of a land far away in the East had a daughter who was very beautiful, but so proud, and haughty, and conceited, that none of the princes who came to ask her in marriage was good enough for her, and she only made sport of them. Once upon a time the king… Continue reading Folklore: King Grisly Beard from Project Gutenberg
The Animal King
Do you know why there is no king in the animal kingdom? Here is a story narrating why. I wrote this poetale a longtime ago. Have fun. Once upon a time In a land far away, Across seven rivers And seven hills Lived a clan of animals They knew no strife No envy, no rivalry… Continue reading The Animal King
Self-Control: The Fox and the Crow
How is everybody today? What are you guys reading for the weekend? I’m compiling a new reading list, anyone willing to share or suggest a book? It’s almost bedtime here, but sleep can wait. I’m trying to study my guide to scholarship application. I have this bedtime tale to drop before I retire for the… Continue reading Self-Control: The Fox and the Crow
The Goose that laid the Golden Egg
You may agree with me that evenings are best for story telling. In Africa, evenings are valuable family time. Dinner or sitouts allow time to reflect on the days work: achievements and disappointments, and to tell tales. Tales don’t just act as lullabies but convey moral virtues (and vices) as well. Now when a story… Continue reading The Goose that laid the Golden Egg
Gather now… Come closer
Warm your hands, sit near the fire
It is a cold evening, is it?
Now pay attention to this poetale
I hope it helps warm you up
And trust it prepares you for a fine sleep
Once upon a time
In a land far away
Across seven rivers
And seven hills
Lived a clan of animals
Then there was no strife
No envy, no rivalry
Between the clan of animals
For then the strife held not
Cause there was no king
No ruler, no master of any sort
But animals who lived freely
Tilled their land as they wished
When they wanted to and so on
Then some stronger animals
Felt they could bully others
So many animals started trespassing
Some took others lands
Some marched on others crops
And some hijacked others wives
So, Anarchy decided to spread
Her blanket of no good
Upon the animal clan
Until the Cricket suggested
That all head homes should meet
To resolve this…
So during the meeting
Everybody sat down quietly
And waited for someone to talk
Mumblings filled the arena
Guilt of crimes wont let anyone speak
The mosquitoes, carefree buzzed aloud
‘Wait!’ the Cricket yelled
‘I greet you all’ he began politely
‘The way to solve this menace
Is to appoint a King who will rule us
Someone who will bring justice
And fairness to both big and small’
‘Nice idea’, his relatives called after him
‘Now I am the brain of the meeting
I should be allowed to nominate
My humble self as the King of the clan!’
‘What? Why?’ an angry Elephant trumpeted
‘You little thing, so minute, so irrelevant!
How dare you even think of that
When someone like me is here?
I should be the King undisputed!’
‘You all must be joking!’ laughed the Giraffe
‘How can you become the King
When you are just round like football
And can’t even move a leg higher?
No no no, it just doesn’t fit you
Well, take a look at me and my length
I interact with the moon
And when angry I ate her half!
I should be the King instead!’
The whole clan went dead with silence
They thought the Elephant would retaliate
So they waited for the worst to happen
But nothing happened…
‘Let me be the King’ the ape called out
‘None of you is so capable of tree climbing
And infact I can swing and dance up the skies
You don’t know this feeling of tree dwelling
The skies are my playground… Can’t you see?’
‘Talking about playground, you are out of it!’
The Eagle whined…
‘I live in mountain peaks
Where none of you can reach
Or dare reach and I am the master
Master of the blue clouds and wind
Make me your king!’
‘Talking about flying you are not alone in it’
A mosquito stood to talk
‘How many of you can sing in a human ear
And make him slap himself madly?’
‘No way, who speaks now?’ the Lion growled
‘The kingship belongs to I and the pride
The pride is strong and courageous
And can defend and take care of the clan
My roars frighten our enemies
My claws are fine killing machines!’
‘No sir, was it not one of your pride members
That slaughtered an innocent sheep the other day?
We can’t let you be our King’
Someone yelled from the crowd
‘So what do we do right now?’
Let us then nominate from those
Who showed interest in the position’
An elderly Parrot suggested
‘Please everyone should point at their candidate’
To the crowds surprise
Everyone pointed to their kith
The Giraffes to the Giraffes
The Apes to their kind
The Pride to the Lions
And so on…
And when no head way was made
Everyone nominated himself for Kingship
Since everyone was to be the King
They all left fighting and arguing
And so is the animal clan
In much confusion till this very day!
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The dark evening is serene and calm
Though the vampire bats hover up the skies
And the little crickets quiz all around…
Many sat for dinner for it was a long day
The farms, the ponds and the big market
The smell of dried cod soup pass thru the air,
It was a favorite among the villagers
And this smell always gave away people
For the village longthroats, a feast is imminent
But it is a pleasant smell, one I savor so much
Now and then, we hear someone yawn heavily
From nearby compounds, I assume it was out of tiredness
Sometimes the moon came out, sometimes it didn’t
When the moon came out, the children gather for moon-lit plays;
Hide and Seek, Sand games or a nice folk tale
To be told by the most elderly in the gathering
Soon the blast of a metal gong goes off
”Kookokoorokom… Koorokoorokom…!”
The hamlet retires to great silence
Crying babies stay put suddenly
For the masquerades of which Maama
Always spoke of has now appeared!
Even Maama was quiet, perhaps scared
For she also paid attention to the intruder
”The people of Amaigbo, the elders, the men
The women, the youth, the boys, the girls, everyone!
Listen, I have come oo… I have come again oo!”
The messenger will call out, loudly
Waking sleeping dogs and the heavy sleepers
With those words the messenger struck again
Mercilessly upon his metal gong, two more…
Then he settled into his long message…
Beating the metal gong on intervals,
It could be about the new yam festival
A special village or Kings service request
Cleaning of the nearby streams and rivulets
Or when a group of peoples attention is required
When the messenger exhausts his messages
He leaves quietly, hitting his gong noiselessly
Allowing the hamlet to go back to her life,
The women to return their attention to the soup
The men to continue sipping their palmwine
The boys and girls playing under the tree shed
And allowing the infants to resume their crying
Commentary.
This is a continuation of a poem I wrote some years ago. The messenger or town crier, as commonly called is an agent of the traditional society or kingdom. His role is to pass information across to the people, just like the duties of the modern day TeeVee or Radio.
KoKorokrom… A sound made by hitting the metal gong.
Amaigbo… An imagined place
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It has been long I left my village
And they must have felt my absence
For the moon still shone always
But then no one to tell the childrens tales
I missed seeing the grey bearded moon
I missed the serenity of the countryside
I missed seeing the birds circle the sky
And the calls of the wild when all is quiet
I missed friendly and homely smiles
I missed the wisdom the old folk gave me
And I missed walking thru the fields
Lonely and hopeful of seeing a wild animal
I missed eating smoke fish and melon balls
I missed feeling powerful for slaying a snake
In the farm and for demolishing loaves of garri…
Hmmm I missed it, mostly missed the quietness
Of the hamlet when all left for work or the farm
***
Now I went back for some rest
An escape from the city’s noise
Oh, I so hate the hustle bustle…
***
Nothing much changed…
Save from new growing trees
And old stubs halfcut from the middle
As usual the airs were welcoming
The evenings like a sweet paradise
And the people nothing new…
Save from new born babies
Suckling away at their mothers breast
Yelling wildly at slightest provocation
The trees have no fresh fruit
I have learnt I came when the harvest
Is done- well, I missed home so much
***
”Pay attention to this little tale
Of a land far far away…
Where stays a lake, quiet and calm
And on it, lived a duck and her family
Three ducks names- Daak, Deek and Duuk
They so much enjoyed the cool lake
The serenity which was unrivalled
In the whole land…
***
‘Quack quack Daak’ she began
Turning to the nearest duck
‘You have been friends
With the old grey Turtle
You know the Lakes’ waters
More than your siblings
But I pray, tell me
How many times would
Something happen to you
And you would learn?’
‘Quack quack mother
Sure I would learn, but only
When it happen, and all times!’
The first duck answered
Mother Duck nodded thoughtfully
And turned to the next duck
‘Quack quack Duuk, come closer
You are not scared of the weeds
You even fought off the black Eels
But tell me, my little brave one
How many times will you learn?’
‘Quack quack mother
But I can only learn If it happened to me’
Mother Duck nodded thoughtfully
And she turned to the last
‘Quack quack Little Deek
You are scared of all ripples
And the neighborhood fishes
You have made only few friends
I wonder, but let me know
How many times will you learn?’
‘Quack quack mother
I won’t learn from any misdids
I shall learn from others mistakes
I shall watch the Eels movements
And all crafty ripples upon the lake
That are not made by my kind
And I shall always be careful
For to survival, one must be cautious’
Commentary:
Well said Little Deek Duck! I guess but I think she is the wisest duck I ever saw in my life!
Sometimes, it is better to follow events with wits… Not falling victim/prey to what comes our way. learning from peoples past mistakes and not trying to repeat those. Being friendly and brave might not be enough to cushion challenges/problems/issues we face… We need to be cautious.
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The night fades slowly
Cloak of darkness fall
As the crickets prepare
For another night song
Bonfires lit the night
To keep the wild dogs off
The children set the stage
For a moon light folktale
And beneath the stars
The small hamlet waits
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Nothing compares to the sweet sleep
Of all good and hardworking shepherds
He retires with a fine and adorable smile
And to his bed of wool, he lays
Tuning into the local radio station
To listen to some old folk songs
Nodding almost silently to the rhythm
Smiling to the memories of the stressful day
And the little Lavender he found on the way
The night is quiet, warm and cosy
The moon is wearing a cute smiley
But to his lonely blanket he clings
As the duckling will to the Hens wings
And the air about is moist and fresh
This is his own warm and perfect nest
Thanks to the open wooden window
The light in the room is very low
And there is enough breeze to go around
Even the noisy brown crickets are ignored
The screeching of all strange insects-
The nomads of the quiet nights
Rent the air, disturbing companions
But the lonely Shepherd slept on
And soon a beautiful dream
One of fantasy; milk, honey a-swimming
Shall dawn upon his big and weary head
And so, in such times he laughs out aloud!
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A rat made friends with a bat
And they always fed together
But then the bat was jealous of the rat
When the bat cooked the food
It was always very good
And the bush rat will always ask
“How is it that when you make soup
It is so tasty?”
The bat will always hide in one excuse
Finding a way to do harm to his friend
But one day the bat decided to trick the rat
So when the rat asked after the soup
The bat replied, “I always boil
Myself in the water, and my flesh
Is so sweet, that the soup is good.”
He then told the bush rat that he
Would show him how it was done;
So he got a pot of warm water,
Which he told the bush rat was
Boiling water, and jumped into it,
And shortly afterwards came out again
When the soup was brought
It was as sweet and good as usual
As the bat had prepared it beforehand
The bush rat then went home and
Told his wife that he was going to
Make good soup like the bat’s
He therefore told her to boil some water
Which she did hurriedly
Then, when his wife was not looking
He jumped into the pot, and was very soon dead. When his wife looked into the pot
And saw the dead body of her
Husband boiling she was very
Angry and reported the matter to the king
Who gave orders that the bat should be caught
And made a prisoner for misleading the rat
Every one turned out to catch the bat
But as he expected trouble
He flew away into the bush and hid himself
All day long the people tried to catch him
So he had to change his habits,
And only came out to feed when it was dark
Perhaps that is why you
Never see a bat in the daytime.
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Let us dance while the moon shine
As we swerve about together
To see the stars as they glitter
Let us dance under the baobab
Besides the termites castle
And the grazing field for the cattle
When we dance under the baobab
And the moon light up the cloud is bright
All beautiful memories come alive in the night
Now let the wind flow about us
And let the kids gather for a tale
For such nights as this are rare
