The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ikom folk stories from Southern
Nigeria, by Elphinstone Dayrell
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Title: Ikom folk stories from Southern Nigeria
Author: Elphinstone Dayrell
Release Date: June 11, 2023 [eBook #70959]
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IKOM FOLK STORIES FROM
SOUTHERN NIGERIA ***
ROYAL ANTHROPOLOGICAL INSTITUTE.
IKOM FOLK STORIES FROM SOUTHERN
NIGERIA.
BY
E. DAYRELL,
_District Commissioner, Southern Nigeria_.
OCCASIONAL PAPERS, No. 3.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY THE
Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland.
50, GREAT RUSSELL STREET, LONDON, W.C.
1913.
PREFACE.
These folk stories have been told to me by natives of the various
countries to which they relate in the Ikom district of Southern
Nigeria. In all cases they have had to be translated by an interpreter,
and frequently it has been found necessary to employ two. Some of the
stories are very old and have been handed down from one generation to
another, but it is most difficult, almost impossible, to judge with
any degree of accuracy how old they really are. The word “dowry” comes
frequently into these tales, and is used as meaning the amount paid
to the parents of the girl by the husband. In the introduction to my
_Folk Stories from Southern Nigeria_, published in 1910, Mr. Andrew
Lang suggests that the term “bride-price” would better express the
institution, and, no doubt, he is perfectly right. I have, however,
adhered to the old expression of “dowry” as it is in general use, and
is so well known on the “Coast.” When a man is asked how much “dowry”
he paid for his wife, he will frequently produce his “bush book,”
consisting of bundles of small sticks tied round with “tie-tie,” one
bundle for each year. He will then take one stick from a bundle, and
holding it up will say: “That is two calabashes of tombo I gave to the
father.” He will then place the stick on the ground and take another,
saying “This is one fathom of cloth I gave to the girl.” The next stick
may represent twenty yams given to the mother, and the following sticks
may mean twenty-five rods, a silk handkerchief, a bar of soap and some
bottles of gin. And so he goes on until the bundles are finished, the
value of each article being noted in order to ascertain the total
amount paid. The marriage customs vary considerably in different parts
of the district. In most of the Cross River towns above Abaragba there
is no restriction placed on young girls as to sexual intercourse,
but when they are married twenty-five pieces of cloth (value 5s. per
piece) would be paid as damages for adultery. There is, however, an
old custom existing between several towns that no damages can be
claimed for adultery. It may be of interest to the reader to state here
briefly the usual form of marriage in vogue in this district as the
point of several of the tales turns on the position of the woman with
reference to her husband or lover. I do not, however, propose to enter
into details, but merely to indicate what constitutes a binding form
of marriage in this part of the country according to native custom.
When a man takes a fancy to a young girl and wishes to marry her, he
informs the parents of his intention, and gives them presents. For
example, the mother would receive a piece of cloth, and the father a
piece of cloth and two bottles of gin. The brothers and sisters of the
girl would be given _tombo_ to drink, and in addition the sisters would
receive one fathom of cloth each. The man would work on the parents’
farm for some months, and the girl would receive small presents from
time to time. Later the mother would be given two bars of salt, one
spoon, one bar of soap, and twenty yams, the balance of the dowry being
paid on the completion of the marriage ceremony. The girl would go and
live with the man. If she did not prove satisfactory, she would be
returned to her parents, who would refund the amount of dowry received
up to date, and the girl would be given a present of about 8_s._; she
could then marry another man. If, however, she satisfied the man, he
would then have her circumcized by her parents, and the man would touch
her with camwood. Having done this he would hand the girl over to his
best friend to rub all over with camwood. The man would then build a
house for the woman, being helped with the mudding of the walls by
his sisters and the sisters of the girl. He would then buy two pieces
of cloth and one blanket, and hang them round the walls of the house.
While the girl was being rubbed with camwood the friends of the husband
would give her presents of sometimes four or five rods each, and his
best friend would fire off a gun in the compound where the girl was.
When the parents heard the gun, they would go in and say: “There is
your wife, we have handed her over to you.” The man would then tell
everybody that the girl was his wife. The girl would remain in one
room for about two weeks after the above-mentioned operation, until
the wound was healed, and then the man would give a feast to all his
friends, the cost of the food forming part of the dowry. The girl would
then go to live with her husband, and the ceremony would be completed.
There appears to be a considerable divergence of opinion between the
chiefs and the young men as to whom the children brought forth by a
woman before her marriage should belong. Most of the old chiefs say
that such children should go to the man who marries the mother and pays
the dowry, as children are a valuable asset. On the other hand, the
younger generation maintain that when the children are old enough to
leave their mother they should be handed over to their proper fathers.
This conflict of opinion is not difficult to follow, as the young men
are generally the fathers of the children born before marriage, and
the old chiefs who are wealthy are generally the husbands, and both
the putative fathers and the lawful husbands are anxious to possess
the children. It is a vexed question, and each case would be decided
upon its own merits, the opinion of the parents of the woman weighing
largely in the balance. This opinion is influenced to a great extent
by the value of the presents received from the young man and how much
he has helped the parents with their work on the farm. If the parents
were satisfied, they would probably say that the child or children
should belong to the father, but if, on the other hand, the presents
were not large enough, they would most likely urge that the children of
their daughter born before she was married should belong to her lawful
husband. It should be remembered that the feelings of the girl are in
no way considered, and she is handed to the man, as a wife, who is in
a position to pay the largest amount of dowry. It is therefore often
somewhat difficult to distinguish the difference between the dowry paid
for a girl on her marriage and the price which was formerly paid for
a slave, seeing that the inclinations of the girl are not consulted
and she has absolutely no say in the matter of a choice of husband.
When the dowry is paid she is taken away from her lover, together with
any children she may have had by him, and handed over to the husband
by her parents, the question of the rightful ownership of the children
being settled usually when they are old enough to leave their mother.
In the olden days when “might was right,” these children were taken by
the husband, who kept them by the “strong hand” if he were sufficiently
powerful; but there is a growing feeling amongst the younger chiefs
and the more intelligent trading classes that the children born before
marriage should be given to the father when they are weaned.
It will be observed on perusing some of these stories that in several
of them the greater part of the tale has nothing, apparently, to do
with the main object, which frequently might be dismissed in a few
sentences. But that will not surprise anyone who knows the native well,
as he can never come to the point at once, but must always first beat
about the bush. For example, a native will come to make a complaint
that certain goods belonging to him have been stolen and he wants
to have the thief punished. After the usual salutations have been
exchanged, he will make his complaint, which when translated by the
interpreter will be something like the following: “My father and father
(grandfather) catch one man goat and one woman goat. They done born two
piccane. One piccane done die and leff one piccane. Them piccane, them
leff, born two piccane. My father and father done die and him brother
take all them thing; but he be big hunter man and no care them goat too
much, so he done dash my father. My father catch one slave man, they
call ’im Okon and he good man, so my father dash him them two goat.
Okon catch wife and two piccane. One be mammie piccane they call ’im
Awa, she fine too much, when she done grow I marry her proper and take
her brother Abassi for make my head boy. Last moon I send him Calabar
for my canoe with twenty bag kernel and one puncheon palm oil. I tell
’im for factory and bring tobacco and cloth and gin. He done catch them
thing and one night he stop for one country, he no know how them call
him. Them people come and thief them gin for night time but he no look
them man cause he live for sleep, so I make them boy pay for them gin
and now I want catch them thief man.”
Anyone who takes the trouble to read these folk stories seriously will
notice that a great deal has to be taken for granted or understood.
Although I have made a special study of witchcraft, ju-ju, and poison,
and the various societies in this district for over nine years, I must
confess that I understand and _know_ for certain very little about
ju-ju. In fact, the more one learns about ju-ju the more hopeless it
seems. It must seem incredible to people at home that a man can die
because a ju-ju has been made against him--for example, two sticks
crossed on the path with, say, a rotten egg and a fowl stuck on a
stick, the man’s name having been “called.” And yet one knows of
numerous instances where men have died, and young, healthy men, too,
against whom such a ju-ju has been made. The man whose name has been
“called” and who has passed the ju-ju firmly believes in its power to
kill him, and he will go home, refuse to eat, and in a short time will
pine away and die. He will probably also just before he dies accuse
the man whom he thinks made the ju-ju of having witched him. It is
always possible, of course, in these cases, that poison may have been
administered, but it is most difficult to get any proof. No amount of
argument has any effect on the native mind, and you cannot convince the
man that a ju-ju, such as the one mentioned above, is harmless. They
generally reply: “Black man ju-ju no be strong enough to hurt white
man, but black man he go die one time.”
When I first came to this district, poisoning was rife, and human
sacrifices were of frequent occurrence. Whenever a chief died several
slaves were killed and buried with him, and it was no uncommon thing
for a whole family to accuse another family of witchcraft. They would
then resort to the usual trial by ordeal of burning oil and _essure_
(poison) bean, which would result in several deaths. These evil
practices have been practically stopped now, but the native belief in
witchcraft and ju-ju is just as strong as ever, although they know
quite well that to call a man a witch is an offence for which they will
get into trouble. As an instance of the native belief in the witch bird
(the owl), I would mention a case which came under my notice. Some few
years ago I happened to be having some bush cleared and some large
trees cut down on the station at Okuni. An owl was disturbed from one
of the trees which was covered with creepers, and flew out hooting.
One of the station labourers who knew a little English, said: “Poor
Okuni.” I at once asked him why he said so, and he replied, “When them
witch bird cry for day time, some man go die.” I said, “Nonsense,”
or something to that effect, and thought no more about it. Shortly
afterwards the eleven o’clock bell rang, and the boys went home for
food. When they returned at one o’clock to work, the boy who had spoken
about the owl said, “Man done die for Okuni when them witch bird cry.”
I then sent to the town and found that a man had died in the morning.
This was proof positive to the boy’s mind that whenever the owl hooted
in the daytime a man would die, and no amount of explanation would
alter his belief. It was a case of “I told you so.”
It is noteworthy that when you get over the watershed between the Cross
River and the Katsena (Niger), and into the Munchi country, ju-ju does
not seem to exist in the same way as it does further south. In the
year 1909, while I was Political Officer on the Anglo-German Boundary
Commission, I marched up through the Munchi country into Northern
Nigeria, and back again, being absent from my district altogether about
six months. During the whole of that time there was not a single death
in any of the Munchi or Domi towns where I stayed. It was so noticeable
that even the soldiers and carriers remarked upon the absence of
deaths, and could not understand the reason. It may have been that the
country was more healthy, and we may have been very fortunate, but
the fact remains that where there was no ju-ju there were no deaths,
and when we returned to the country of ju-ju deaths were of frequent
occurrence.
It has been suggested in one of the criticisms on my _Folk Stories
from Southern Nigeria_ that the native words should be given on one
side of the page, and a fairly literal translation on the other. This
would, however, involve a larger expenditure of time than I have at my
disposal. There are ten different languages spoken in this district,
and it would be extremely difficult to give exact translations of the
stories, particularly as some of them as told would be quite unfit
for publication. The stories have, however, been set down as nearly
as possible in the way they were related to me, the only alterations
made being those necessary to render the tales into simple English, as
bush English would not be understood, and certain passages containing
objectionable matter have been omitted.
In some of the stories it may be noticed that articles such as plates,
glasses, bottles of gin, brass pans, and pots have been mentioned,
also the use of locks and keys has been introduced into at least one
of the tales, although it is quite obvious that the above-mentioned
articles could not have existed in this country when the majority of
the stories were first related, I have written them down when they were
so translated by the interpreter. It is not difficult to understand how
some of the things crept into the stories. For example, demijons (which
are brought up river from Calabar filled with rum) are used every day
in most of the towns for tombo, and glass tumblers are also quite
common, and it is easily conceivable that a native, who is accustomed
to using these articles, in relating a story might say in his language
the equivalent for “The pourer-out then took the demijon of tombo
and poured some into a glass which he gave to the chief,” instead
of saying, “The pourer-out then poured some tombo from the calabash
into the drinking-horn which he handed to the chief.” The latter
translation would probably be far nearer to the original version. It
is also extremely doubtful whether brass rods, which are mentioned so
frequently, existed at the date of many of the stories. The approximate
date of the importation of rods into this country is probably known,
and cannot be more than about sixty years ago, and most likely
considerably less. The author is of the opinion that in the early
days there was no form of native currency in the Ikom district. At
the present time, rods are not used further north-east from Ikom than
Umbaji, and in 1909, whilst on the Anglo-German Boundary Commission,
he found that there was no form of native currency at Bassankwala, and
no substitute therefore, with the possible exception of a few native
forged iron hoes which found their way down from the north-west, and
had a fixed marketable value. But the use of these implements is
doubtless of a comparatively recent date, as nearly all the natives in
that part use wooden hoes lashed on to the bent handles with tie-tie.
In the country mentioned, all trade was and is still done by a system
of barter and exchange. The Umbaji people exchanging salt and _house
rats_ (which form an article of diet for the Bassankwala people, who
are cannibals) for palm oil and yams. The Bassankwala people admitted
to the author that they ate human beings, and had always done so, but
they asserted vehemently that they did not eat their own dead--these
they passed on to the next town, who sent them theirs in exchange.
Prisoners taken in fighting or people killed were also eaten, and,
from what the adjoining countries told the author, natives straying
into their bush were similarly treated. These people, however, all
promised, and were apparently perfectly sincere, at once to stop this
abominable practice, at the same time saying that they were unaware
they had been doing wrong, as they had never heard the white man’s laws
before.
It is perhaps noteworthy that these people, who are pure cannibals, all
file their teeth to a sharp point.
With reference to the eating of rats, it may be remarked that all the
natives in the Ikom district eat the bush rat, which is quite different
from the house or domestic species, but the Bassankwala people are the
only natives the author has met who eat the “common or garden” house
rat. The large fruit-eating bats, about which so many native stories
are told, are looked upon as a great delicacy, and at Insofan on the
Cross River, there is quite a trade done in them, one bat selling for
one rod or sixpence in English money. In the evening, just before it
gets dark, you can frequently see thousands of these bats flying off,
high up in the air, to their favourite feeding places. The way they
are obtained for food is simple and may be worth mentioning. On the
bank opposite to Insofan there are some very tall trees covered with
creepers, in which many thousands of these bats sleep during the day. A
few hunters go out with their long Dane guns and station themselves one
under each tree. Then when one man has found a thick cluster of bats,
he fires into them, and with luck brings down a few. (The author has
killed seven at one shot, with number 6 from a full choke 12-bore, at
the particular request of a chief who wanted them for food.)
Immediately the bats hear the gun fired, they desert the trees they
are sheltering in, and commence circling around in the air, flying
about in a most aimless and erratic sort of way, until, after about ten
minutes, they settle on a different tree. Then another hunter fires,
and so the game goes on. In connection with these creatures, it is
curious to notice the agitation amongst the birds, should one happen
to be disturbed in the day time. The same applies to the large eagle
owls, who are invariably chased by the smaller birds, whenever they
appear while the sun is up, but it is seldom the owl comes out in the
day time, and then he takes shelter in some thick covert as soon as
possible.
E. D.
IKOM FOLK STORIES FROM SOUTHERN NIGERIA.
BY
E. DAYRELL.
I.--HOW AN INKUM WOMAN ABANDONED ONE OF HER TWINS IN THE FOREST, AND
HOW IT WAS SAVED BY THE HAWK.
Awu was a native woman of Inkum, a town on the right bank of the Cross
River, consisting of five compounds separate one from another by about
half a mile of bush. Awu was a fine girl, but preferred to enjoy
herself as she liked rather than to get married, which would mean too
hard work. She used to walk from one town to another, and attend all
the dances and plays, as she was a good singer and dancer. She always
wore a cloth of the latest pattern, and a silk handkerchief round her
head, with plenty of hairs from the elephant’s tail round her neck,
and strings of beads round her waist. She also wore a piece of black
braid tied round each ankle, and some rings on her fingers. These are
the signs of a girl who is popular with young men. Awu had men friends
in every town she visited, but she never stayed long with any of them,
being what is called a “walking woman.”
At last she conceived, and when she was about eight months gone with
child she happened one day to go into the forest to gather firewood
to cook her morning food. While she was thus engaged a branch fell
from a tree and hit her on the belly, this immediately brought on her
confinement, and she gave birth to twins in the forest. The first born
was a girl, to whom she gave the name of Aro, and the second was a boy,
whom she named Agbor. When Awu found that she had given birth to twins
she was very much ashamed of herself, and was afraid to take both the
babies back to the town as they would be killed by the people, and she
would be turned out of the town and left to starve in the bush. She
therefore decided to take the first-born child Aro back with her, but
Agbor she left on the ground underneath a tree.
Very soon after Awu had departed, the driver ants discovered Agbor
and quickly covered him, commencing to eat him. The bites of the
driver ants made the child cry. All this time a hawk had been circling
around, high up in the air, searching for food, and when he saw Awu
had deserted her baby he swooped down and carried the infant off with
him to the top of a high tree. The hawk, seeing what a fine child
Agbor was, thought he would try to save his life, and immediately set
about removing the ants from Agbor’s body. He lit a fire and boiled
some water, with which he washed the child, and the ants very quickly
disappeared.
The hawk looked after Agbor until he grew up. One day Awu sent her
daughter Aro to get her some fire, and Aro, after wandering about,
eventually found herself at the hawk’s house, where she saw Agbor
sitting down.
Aro was so taken with Agbor’s good looks that she continued to stare at
him without speaking, until at last Agbor said, “Why do you look at me
like that?” but Aro did not reply, and picked up some fire, continuing
to stare at Agbor. Then he repeated his question, and added, “Do I
resemble either your father or your mother? If so, let the fire you are
holding go out,” and the fire went out at once. Aro then took up some
more fire, and Agbor put the same question to her again, and the fire
Aro was holding went out a second time. This was done three times, each
time with the same result. Then Aro ran home to her mother and reported
what she had seen, and said what a fine boy Agbor was.
When Awu, the mother, heard about the fire, she knew at once that Agbor
must be her son whom she had deserted and left to die in the forest.
She therefore made up her mind that she would go and see him. The
following morning, therefore, she rose at first cock crow and went to
the hawk’s house, where she found Agbor and took a great fancy to him.
Awu wanted to get Agbor away from the hawk and keep him for herself,
but did not quite see how it could be done.
At last she thought of the porcupine, who was well known throughout the
country as a clever and resourceful person, and went to him and told
her story.
Now, the porcupine was a lot caster, and when he had cast lots he
decided that the best thing that Awu could do was to go to a house and
lie down, pretending to be dead. The porcupine told her that, if she
did this, directly the hawk heard that she was dead he would send Agbor
to his dead mother’s side to mourn for her. Then Awu would be able to
seize him. The mother having paid the porcupine for his advice went
away, and did what she had been told to do. When the hawk heard that
Awu was dead he told Agbor that the next day he should go and cry at
his mother’s side, so, when the morning came, the hawk dressed Agbor up
and he started off to cry.
When he arrived at the house Agbor wanted to sit at the head of his
mother, but the people who had assembled would not allow this, and
told him to sit at Awu’s feet, which Agbor did. Directly he sat down,
his mother jumped up and seized him, and said she would not let him go
again.
Very soon afterwards, the hawk arrived on the scene to take Agbor away,
but his mother would not part with him. Then the hawk became angry, and
addressed the people, as follows:--
“Here is a ‘walking woman’ who, several years ago, gave birth to twins
in the forest, and, being naturally ashamed of herself, deserted her
baby boy, and left him on the ground to be eaten by the driver ants. I
saved the boy’s life and have brought him up and fed him. I now demand
that he shall be returned to me at once.”
When the people heard, this, they said to the hawk: “If you will let
Awu have her son back we will give you a slave in his place,” but the
hawk refused this offer indignantly.
Then they offered him cows, sheep, goats, and pigs, all of which the
hawk refused with scorn.
The people then suggested giving some cocks and hens to the hawk, to
which he replied that, although he would not accept them for Agbor,
they were getting nearer to what he possibly might accept.
At last the people offered him a large basket of eggs, whereupon the
hawk immediately closed the bargain, handed over Agbor to his mother,
and flew away with the basket of eggs in his claws.
The next morning early the hawk started off with his basket of eggs,
and left one egg in every house all round the country, until all the
eggs in the basket were exhausted. He then returned home in the evening
with the empty basket.
After a few months had elapsed, the hawk said to himself: “The time has
now come for me to take my revenge upon the people for taking my boy
Agbor from me.”
So he flew from town to town, taking chickens from every compound.
This is the reason why hawks always take chickens wherever they find
them, and in those days the people never thought of making any trouble
with the hawk, as he had a right to the chickens, but nowadays when a
hawk swoops down and seizes a chicken, the people shout out and try to
kill him, as they have forgotten the story of how the twin child Agbor
was redeemed by a basket of eggs.
This story was related by a native of Inkum called Abassi.--[E.D.,
25.5.10.]
II.--THE CUNNING HARE; OR, WHY THE TORTOISE HAS A PATCHED SHELL.
The hare (_asima bieso_, native name) was known to everyone as a very
cunning animal. He was very fond of meat, although he was unable to
kill anything himself. He therefore thought out a scheme by which he
would be able to obtain meat without any trouble.
The first thing the hare did was to call all the animals together,
and when they arrived, he said: “We ought to have a king over us,” to
which the animals agreed, and, after some discussion, the elephant
was chosen. A law was also passed, at the hare’s suggestion, that a
piece of ground at the roadside should be set aside for the king’s
own private use, and that if anyone was caught defiling this piece of
ground in any way he should be killed and eaten.
In the night time the hare went to the king’s private piece of ground
and made a mess there.
When the morning came he hid himself in the bush near the place, in
order to see who might be the first animal to pass the piece of ground,
so that he could give false information against him.
After he had been waiting for a short time, a bush cat passed on his
way to the farm, whereupon the hare jumped up and said: “Have you
visited the king’s piece of ground this morning?” Upon the bush cat
saying “No,” the hare ordered him to go there at once. He did so, and
returned saying that the place was very dirty indeed. The hare then
said: “How is that possible? I visited the place myself this morning,
and it was quite clean then. You must have defiled it yourself, and I
shall report you.”
The hare then ran into the town and told the people what he had seen.
The big wooden drum was then beaten, and when all the animals had come
together the bush cat was put upon his defence.
The bush cat told the people what had happened, and that he had nothing
to do with the matter. But the hare stood up as the accuser, and the
people decided that the bush cat was guilty, and the king ordered him
to be killed, and said that the meat was to be dried by Keroho and
brought to him in the morning.
Now, Keroho is a fruit-eating animal, who is very lazy, and sleeps most
of the day. He always seems tired, and after he has taken a few steps
he lies down, and sleeps for a time.
The hare had suggested to the king that Keroho should be told to dry
and guard the meat, and said to the king that, as Keroho only eat
fruit, he would not be likely to steal any of the meat.
In reality the hare suggested Keroho for a very different reason, and
that reason was that Keroho was a fat animal in good condition, and far
too lazy and sleepy to guard the meat properly.
When the evening came, Keroho made a fire and cut up the body of the
bush cat and set it out to dry. He then went to sleep.
The hare, being very greedy and fond of meat, wanted to have it all to
himself, so, when all the people had gone to bed, he slipped out of his
house by the back way, and very soon had taken the dried meat out of
Keroho’s yard and returned to his house, where he made a good meal, and
buried what he could not eat.
Early in the morning the hare went and beat the big drum to call the
animals together at the king’s house.
Keroho, hearing the drum, got up and went to the fire in his back yard,
where he had left the meat drying, and, to his intense astonishment,
found that it had vanished. He was very frightened at this, and went to
the meeting trembling in every limb. He tried to explain that he had
left the meat before the fire when he went to bed, but the hare got up
at once and said, “Do not believe him, most likely he has sold the meat
to get some money. I propose that Keroho be killed so that we shall not
lose our meat.”
All the people agreed to this, so Keroho was killed and cut up, the
meat being given to the bush cow to keep.
The hare, in order to make himself acquainted with the bush cow’s
house, waited until sundown, and then went to the bush cow’s house with
a large calabash of strong tombo. The hare was careful to drink only
a little himself, and very soon the bush cow had finished the whole
calabash.
That night the bush cow slept very soundly, and at midnight, when
nothing could be heard but the occasional hoot of an owl or the
croaking of the frogs in the marsh, the hare went very quietly and
stole the meat from the bush cow’s fire and took it home with him, as
before.
The following morning he beat the drum as usual, and the people met
together. The bush cow, failing to produce the meat, was killed by the
king’s order and his meat given to another animal to dry.
As usual, the hare stole the meat at night and the animal was killed
the next day. This went on until there were only seven animals left.
The meat of the last animal that was killed was handed over to the
tortoise. The tortoise at once placed his wife on guard over the meat,
and went off into the bush to cut rubber.
Now, the tortoise was looked upon as one of the wisest of all animals.
For some time it had seemed to him very curious that every night the
meat should disappear and another animal should be killed. He therefore
determined that, when it became his turn to dry and guard the meat, he
would take every precaution possible, and would try to catch whoever it
was who always removed the meat at night, as he had no intention that
his body should supply food for the remaining six animals.
Before going into the bush, he gave his wife strict injunctions not to
let the meat out of her sight.
When he returned in the evening, he cut up the meat, saying as he did
so: “Ah, there goes another poor animal. I wonder whose turn it will be
to-morrow, but it shall not be mine if I can help it.”
So he made a big fire and put the meat on, and then covered it all over
with the rubber he had brought back with him from the bush.
The tortoise then told his wife that he was tired, and went to bed
pretending to be asleep, but he had one eye open all the time, and that
eye he kept fixed upon the meat, as he was not going to take any risks,
knowing full well that, if the meat disappeared, as it had a habit of
doing, he himself would be the next victim.
When all was quiet, and the hare thought everybody had gone to sleep,
he went round to the back of the tortoise’s house and put his right
hand out to take the meat, but when his hand closed on the rubber, he
found that he could not remove it because the rubber was so sticky. He
tried his hardest to get his hand away, but without success. He then
called out softly, because he was afraid of waking the tortoise, “Let
me go! Let me go!” but the rubber never answered, and held on tighter
than ever. This made the hare angry, so he whispered to the rubber,
“Look here, if you don’t let my right hand go at once I will hit you
very hard with my left hand, and then you will be sorry.” He got no
reply, but thought he heard a laugh somewhere. The hare then hit the
rubber with his disengaged hand as hard as he was able, and that hand
also stuck fast.
Then the hare heard the tortoise murmur, “Yes, to-morrow I will
discover that rat who is always stealing the king’s meat.”
At length the hare became absolutely terrified, and kicked the rubber
hard with one of his feet, which became as fast as his hands were, and
very shortly the other foot also became caught up, so that he was held
quite securely.
When the morning came, the tortoise called his wife to help him, and
together they put the meat and rubber into a basket with the hare on
top, and carried them all to the king’s house.
When the drum was beaten, the people assembled as usual, and discussed
amongst themselves to whom the meat of the tortoise should be given
when he was killed. In the middle of the discussion, the tortoise
appeared carrying the meat with the hare on top.
The tortoise then charged the hare with attempting to steal the king’s
meat, and told the people of the trap he had set. The hare was found
guilty, and was ordered to pay a large number of brass rods, and he
was told that if they were not forthcoming, he would be killed, and
that his mother and sister would be killed with him, as he had been the
cause of the death of so many animals.
The hare begged for a little time to enable him to get the rods, which
was allowed to him.
He then ran home and got his mother and sister to come with him at once
to the foot of a big cotton tree, and, having got a rope round the
lowest branch, he very soon got to the top of the tree, where he built
a small hut for himself and his people.
The hare then went down to the lowest branch where the rope was, and
hauled his mother and sister up. He put them in the hut at the top of
the tree, and sat down himself next to the rope with a sharp knife in
his hand.
As the hare did not appear at the appointed time to pay the rods, the
people went to his house, and found that they had all disappeared. It
did not take long, however, to discover that he had taken refuge in the
cotton tree, so they all went there and found the rope hanging down.
Then they all began to climb the rope together, leaving the tortoise on
the ground, and just as he was about to commence to climb, the others
having already reached halfway, the hare cut the rope with one cut
of his sharp knife, and all the animals fell down upon the tortoise,
smashing his smooth shell into small pieces, and hurting themselves
very much. No one was killed, however, and they limped home one after
the other.
On the way they passed the tortoise’s house, so they told Mrs. Tortoise
that they had fallen on her husband from a great height, and that his
shell was broken into pieces.
On hearing this the mammie tortoise got her basket and went off to the
cotton tree. Having picked up all the pieces of her husband’s shell,
and having placed them in the basket, she lifted the tortoise and
carried them all home.
When she got inside she put all the little pieces of the shell together
and placed them on her husband’s back, where they grew quite strongly,
but the marks showed where the pieces were joined together, and that is
why you always find that the shell of a tortoise is covered in patches,
and not smooth as it was formerly.--[E.D., 26.5.10.]
_Note._
The Inkum people came from a country about five or six days’ march
north-west of the site of their present town, where hares abound. There
are no hares in the country now occupied by them on the Cross River.
This is one of their old stories, which they brought with them when
they were driven south by the Awala tribe, and is still handed on from
one generation to another.
Told by Abassi, an Inkum boy.--[E.D.]
III.--THE STORY OF IGIRI AND HER HUSBAND INKANG, WHO BROUGHT UP A
MUSHROOM BABY BOY, AND WHAT BECAME OF HIM.
Chief Inkang of Inkum was married to a woman named Igiri. She was a
fine well-made woman, and the chief was so fond of her that he would
not have any other wives.
Igiri was quite faithful to her husband, and never went with other men.
They lived together for several years without having any children, much
to their mutual grief.
Inkang then told his wife to consult the ju-ju man, to see what should
be done, in order that she might bear a son who would inherit his
father’s property and look after his mother in her old age. The ju-ju
man was consulted by Igiri, and the usual sacrifices of fowls and eggs
were made, but without any result.
When the time for collecting mushrooms arrived, which is the beginning
of the rainy season, about the month of May, Igiri went out with her
basket to collect mushrooms for their food, and her husband went with
her.
When they arrived at the forest they separated, Igiri going in one
direction and Inkang going off in another, but not so far away that
they could not hear one another shout.
Igiri went on gathering the mushrooms and putting them in her basket,
until at last she came across a very large mushroom which was fat and
white. Then Igiri said, “How I do wish that this mushroom would turn
into a boy baby, which we want so badly.”
The mushroom, who was kind-hearted, then took pity on Igiri, and
turned itself into a boy baby, much to the joy of the woman, who at
once picked the baby up and placed him in her basket with the mushrooms.
Without troubling to look for any more mushrooms, she put the basket on
her head and called out to her husband, saying she was going home at
once, and that he was to follow.
When she reached the house, she was so pleased at having got the baby,
that she asked Inkang to help her down with the basket. At this he was
rather surprised, as, although it is the custom for anyone near to help
the women to put down their heavy loads when they come in from the
farm, this would not be done with a light load like mushrooms.
Inkang therefore said to his wife, “What have you put in the basket to
make it so heavy that you want me to help you down with it? Is it not
mushrooms you have there?”
His wife replied, “Only help me with the basket, and you shall then see
what I have got.”
Inkang’s curiosity was immediately aroused, so he went to his wife
and helped her to place the basket carefully on the ground. Then they
opened the basket together, and, to the chief’s intense surprise and
joy, he saw a fat little baby boy lying smiling in the bottom of the
basket, half covered with mushrooms. He then embraced his wife, who
told him all that had happened in the forest.
Inkang then said, “We must hide the boy in the house until he grows up,
so that the people will not know what we have got.”
Igiri took great care of the child for the next six years, and he grew
up a strong boy.
When the planting season came round, which is towards the end of the
dry season, the chief and his wife used to go off every morning early
to their farm, returning in the evening. The boy was always left at
home, but the woman prepared food for him and placed it high up over
the fireplace, and showed the boy how to get at it by standing on a
native-made box.
The first day they went to the farm the little boy got his food down
and eat it, but did not notice that a small boy from the neighbouring
town was watching him. The next day the small boy from the town,
who was hungry (yams being scarce at that time), waited until the
mushroom boy had gone out, and then went softly in and stole all the
food, filling the calabash with water, which he replaced where he had
found the food. This happened for three days in succession, until the
mushroom boy became so hungry that he determined to go back to the
forest where he came from, and turn himself back into a mushroom again.
He was angry with Inkang and Igiri because he thought they were fooling
him, and, of course, he knew nothing about the thief boy who had stolen
his food each day.
On his way to the forest he met his foster parents returning from
the farm, and told them what his intention was. They did their best
to persuade him to return home with them, but he was obstinate, and
ran away to the place in the forest where he came from, and, having
arrived there, turned himself into a mushroom and disappeared for ever.
Since that time the mushroom has refused to take pity on women who have
no children, and he has never changed himself into a baby again.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--(E.D., 27.5.10.)
IV.--HOW ELILI OF INKUM DIED, AND WAS BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE AGAIN.
Elili and Aikor were both Inkum women, the wives of Chief Nyip. They
each had a female child by him.
Elili was the head wife and looked after the house, and for several
years everything went well, until at last Elili became sick, and, after
a short illness, died, and was buried.
Her daughter Oga was quite young when her mother died; her breasts were
only just beginning to get round, and she had not been circumcised.
On Elili’s death Aikor took charge of the house, and cooked all the
food. When it was time to hand the food round, Aikor always gave her
daughter Nagor the best food, and only gave a very small portion to
Oga, as she was a very jealous woman, and disliked Elili and her
daughter.
This went on for some time, until one day Oga took the food which was
not sufficient for her to her mother’s grave, and sat there crying and
calling for her mother until the evening came, when she went home. The
next day she went again and wept on the grave, until at last the grave
opened, and she could see the top of her mother’s head. Oga continued
to cry until sunset, and then she had to go home.
The following day, as soon as it was light, Oga started off again
for the grave, and cried more, and by sundown her mother’s head and
shoulders had appeared.
The day after, by constant crying, she induced her mother to come out
as far as her waist, and, after a few more days of persistent weeping,
she got her mother out altogether.
As it was dusk at the time, Oga led her mother to the back of the
house, and hid her in a small room which was used only for storing yams
and baskets. There she remained undiscovered for three days, and then
Oga went to her father and said, “If you will give me a good present, I
will show you my mother alive.”
Her father then gave her a piece of cloth, and Oga took him to the room
where Elili was hiding, and said, “Here is my mother, who I have got
alive again out of the grave.”
Chief Nyip was delighted to get his favourite wife back again, and they
lived together as they had done before.
Very soon after the return of Elili from the grave, Aikor died, leaving
her daughter Nagor in the charge of Elili and Oga. Elili then began to
revenge herself upon Nagor for the way Oga had been treated. Nagor was
made to do all the hard work of the house, and was also half starved.
This caused Nagor to go and cry on her mother’s grave. After crying
bitterly for three days, her mother began to come out of the grave,
and on the fourth day, when Aikor’s head and shoulders were showing
above the ground, Nagor was so anxious to get her mother out altogether
that she caught hold of her head and pulled with all her might, with
the result that she pulled her mother’s head off her shoulders. Nagor
then took the head and placed it in the same room where Oga had put her
mother Elili.
She then called her father to come, but when he saw his dead wife’s
head, he was very angry with Nagor, and told her to go and bury it
again in the grave. Instead of doing as she was told, Nagor threw her
mother’s head amongst the young palm oil trees. This caused them to
bear fruit which resembled a woman’s head in shape and size, and even
at the present time the young palm trees have bunches of fruit which
look like a woman’s head with the plaits of hair all round.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--[E.D., 27.5.10.]
V.--CONCERNING THE HUMAN SACRIFICES WHICH TOOK PLACE ON THE DEATH OF
CHIEF INDOMA.
Chief Indoma was a very powerful chief. It was he who led the Inkum
people to the site of their present town when they were driven out of
their own country by the Awalas. When he arrived at the Cross River, he
established the five compounds which still exist, and ruled over all
the people. They were very fond of Indoma, as he was a just man.
A few years after they had built their compound, the two adjoining
countries, Inde and Akparabong, made war against the Inkum, but Chief
Indoma, who was skilled in warfare, led his people so well and wisely
that both countries were driven back, and they have occupied the land
ever since.
Indoma had two sons by his wife Isibe, whose names were Agatin and
Ogum. When they were grown up, Chief Indoma died. All the country
people were very sorry, and a big play was held, and the mourning was
kept up for a long time.
Then a large and deep grave was dug, and a number of slaves were killed
by knocking them on the head with wooden clubs. Their bodies were
placed in the bottom of the grave, and Chief Indoma’s body was put on
top. The head chief then ordered four young men to be caught alive and
bound. One was placed under Indoma’s head as a pillow, another under
his feet to make him more comfortable, and the other two were placed
one on either side of the corpse, so that it was surrounded by living
boys.
Then the head chief remembered that Indoma had been very fond of a boy
named Edim, so they caught him, and, having tied him up, placed him in
the grave near the dead chief’s head, so that he and the other four
young men should be able to work for their master in the spirit land.
As the grave was very big and deep they put sticks across it, wedged
firmly into the sides, planks were then placed over the sticks, and the
planks were covered with sand.
By this time the grave was about half full, and the people left it
until the next day, when more slaves were being brought in from the
farms to be killed and put in the grave to fill it up.
When night time came, Edim, who had not been very securely fastened,
called to the other four boys, and, managing to get his teeth to the
tie-tie which bound the boy nearest to him, he bit it through, and the
boy who was then released undid Edim’s thongs, and together they freed
the other three boys. Edim then made a hole in the planks and sand, and
got out of the grave.
When he had helped the others out, they all ran down to the beach,
where they seized a canoe and paddled down river as hard as they could
go to Akuna Muna. When they got there they presented themselves to King
Egugo, and told him their story.
The King then took Edim as one of his boys, and, finding him to be
intelligent, made him his head canoe boy.
After five years had elapsed Edim had made a lot of money, so he
returned to Inkum with the other four boys, knowing that, even if he
were recognised, he would not be killed, as the people had filled the
grave with bodies the day after he had escaped.
Edim very shortly afterwards became one of the head men of the town
under Agatin and Ogum. He married some wives, and many children, and
lived to a good age.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--[E.D., 27.5.10.]
VI.--THE STORY OF THE WITCH WHO TRIED TO KILL HER HUSBAND; OR, WHY
NATIVE DOGS REFUSE TO OBEY THEIR MASTERS.
Chief Leku of Inkum married a woman called Achor, and lived with her
for some years.
At that time there was a very fine woman walking about the towns named
Akoba. She was a yellow (light skin) woman, and had many hairs from
the elephant’s tail, and beads round her neck. She did not wear any
clothes, as she preferred to walk about naked, so that everyone could
see her fine skin. Akoba had very large breasts, which hung down, but
this did not in any way spoil her beauty in the young men’s eyes.
Many of them, including chiefs, wanted to marry her, but Akoba refused
them all, as she made a lot of money out of them, and would not bind
herself down to one man.
When she saw that so many men were bidding for her, she got a calabash
and painted it different colours. Having placed the calabash some
little distance off, Akoba said that anyone who wanted to marry her
must hit the calabash with a small stone.
Many young men and chiefs tried who were anxious to possess her, but
did not succeed, as she had put a ju-ju on them.
At last, however, Chief Leku managed to hit the calabash with a stone,
and at once took Akoba home as his wife. He then called all the women
together and held a big play, fired guns off in the town, rubbed Akoba
with camwood, and told all people that she was his wife.
Akoba lived with Chief Leku for a little time, but very soon got tired
of him. So she made up her mind that she would kill him and resume her
former life. She said to herself, “It is very dull living with Leku all
the time. If I kill him, I can have any man I fancy and make plenty of
money, as all the young men want me, and are willing to pay, whereas
now I have to do all the housework, and work hard on the farm, and Leku
does not ‘dash’ me anything.”
Now, Chief Leku was a hunter, and made his living by killing animals
(bush cows, buck, and kobs) and selling their meat. He had five dogs
who were very clever, and had been taught to follow animals by scent.
When they were young, a ju-ju was made for them, and certain leaves
were mashed up and rubbed on their noses, which gave them very strong
smelling powers, and they could follow wounded animals in the bush,
which was most useful to Chief Leku.
The morning after Akoba had made up her mind to kill her husband, she
said to him, “I want you to come into the forest with me to cut some
palm nuts, but leave your hunting dogs behind as I do not like them.”
Chief Leku, suspecting nothing, agreed, and they started off together.
When they got to the palm tree, the chief put his climbing belt of
tie-tie round the tree, and, having secured it round his back, walked
up to the top and commenced to cut the leaves or branches off round the
nuts.
Akoba then beat her breast, and produced a sharp axe with which she
began to cut down the tree, at the same time calling out to her husband
that she was going to kill him. Very soon, the tree began to fall, but
was fortunately caught by another tree growing near. Then Leku climbed
into the other tree. Akoba, who was a witch, then started to cut down
the tree in which her husband had taken refuge.
So the chief called a bird to him and sent it off with a message to
his hunting dogs to come and rescue him. Immediately the dogs got the
message they started off to help their master, but the witch Akoba
caused a flood to overflow the path, so that the dogs could not track
her. At last one of the dogs jumped into the water and swam across, and
was very soon followed by the other four.
When they reached the foot of the tree the Chief told them to kill the
woman, so they all leaped on her, and bit her until she died.
Then the chief came down from the tree, and divided Akoba’s body into
five bundles, and told his dogs to carry them to his house, which they
did.
When they reached the house it was night time, so the chief went to bed
and told Achor what had happened to his new wife.
In the morning Achor saw the five bundles outside, and asked her
husband how he had managed to carry them all, but he refused to tell
her. So when night came and the chief went to bed, Achor said to him,
“I will not sleep with you unless you tell me how you managed to carry
those five bundles.” Now, Chief Leku was very fond of Achor, and
wanted her badly, so he gave in, and told her that his hunting dogs
had carried the bundles for him. Achor then went to bed, but the next
morning she rose early, and calling the dogs to follow her, she went to
the farm, where she collected five bundles of firewood and placed them
in a row. Then Achor said to the dogs: “If you can carry bundles for
your master, you can carry my firewood. Take those loads to my house at
once.”
The dogs did not answer, but picked up their loads and carried them to
the house. As each dog placed its load of firewood on the ground, it
dropped down dead. Then the chief came out and said to Achor, “Look
what you have done. All my hunting dogs are dead. This is what comes of
telling you that my dogs carried the bundles for me.”
Ever since that day dogs never speak or do anything for their masters,
although they can understand quite well. The reason the dogs will not
obey now is because they say that the chief broke their dog law when he
told his wife what they did for him.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--[E.D., 27.5.10.]
VII.--HOW TWO FRIENDS FELL OUT: THE SPIDER AND THE GRASSHOPPER.
Long ago the spider and the grasshopper were good friends.
Unfortunately the spider was intensely greedy, and this led to much
unpleasantness.
Now the spider wanted to go some distance from his house to marry a
wife in a strange country, so he called upon his friend the grasshopper
to accompany him. They started off together in the morning before the
sun was hot, and when they had gone some little way, the spider said
to his friend, “While we are away together, I want you to call me
‘Stranger,’ and I will call you ‘Dabi.’ We must not call one another
by our proper names, as I do not want the people to know who we really
are.” To this the grasshopper readily consented, little knowing what he
was letting himself in for.
Shortly afterwards they arrived at the first town, and were welcomed by
the chief. The grasshopper said he was called Dabi, and introduced his
friend as “Stranger.”
The chief then ordered food to be placed before them, but the spider,
whilst thanking the chief for his kindness, said: “Surely the custom
of the country is, when a stranger arrives in a town, to first of all
offer him ‘the peace dish,’ consisting of dried meat and kola nuts, to
show that he is welcome, and that there is peace between them.”
The chief replied, “Yes, there is certainly that custom here, but as
I thought you were hungry after your long walk, I ordered the food
to be brought at once.” He then told one of his slaves to bring the
dried meat and kola, and when it was brought, the spider eat all the
meat and kola except two nuts, one of which he returned to the chief,
and the other he gave to the grasshopper, saying, “You must wait, my
friend Dabi, for your food, as this meat and kola was brought for the
stranger, and your name was not mentioned.”
Later on the general supply of food was passed round, a certain amount
being set on one side for the strangers. This the spider also eat,
saying, “I am sorry, Dabi, but there is no food for you, as this was
brought for the stranger, and that is my name.”
The next day they resumed their journey, and when they arrived at the
town where the girl lived whom the spider was about to marry, he went
to his future father-in-law’s house, whose name was Tawn, and said,
“Tawn, I have come to marry your daughter.”
Now Tawn had a wife called Osegi, who was a very good-natured woman,
which was lucky for the grasshopper as things turned out.
When Tawn had embraced his future son-in-law, he ordered a cow to be
killed to welcome him. And when the people brought the food, they said,
“Here is the stranger’s portion.” Immediately the spider said to his
friend, “Did you hear that, Dabi? Your name was not mentioned, so you
have no right to this food, which is all for me, ‘the stranger.’” But
the grasshopper kept quiet and never said a word to anyone, although he
was very hungry.
The marriage between the spider and Chief Tawn’s daughter was
celebrated the following day. All the people were called together to
dance and play, guns were fired off in the town, and Chief Tawn killed
four more cows for the strangers who had come from a distance.
The grasshopper longed to eat the food, but did not see how he could
manage it, as he was known as Dabi, and his name was never called. The
spider therefore ate his own share and the grasshopper’s as well, while
the poor grasshopper sat down by himself, feeling very sad, and not
speaking to anyone.
When he had finished the food the spider went out to dance and play
with his new wife, but the grasshopper did not go, as he was very
hungry and weak, and not feeling at all up to singing and dancing.
After he had been alone for a little while, the Chief’s wife Osegi came
in, and seeing the grasshopper looking so miserable, went up to him and
said, “Why are you so silent and sad at my daughter’s wedding, when all
the other people are feasting and dancing?”
At this the grasshopper could contain himself no longer, and burst into
tears saying, “Three days ago, when we left our home, the spider asked
me to call him ‘Stranger’ and said he would call me ‘Dabi.’ During all
this time I have been starving, and I am very hungry indeed, as all
the food has been brought for ‘the Stranger,’ and the spider has eaten
it because my name is Dabi, and I was never mentioned.” Then Osegi said
she would tell the people what their proper names were so that when
the food was brought the grasshopper would have his share. Osegi then
went out and gave the necessary orders, and told her slaves to be most
particular to call the grasshopper’s name the next time there was food
so that he should be able to eat. In the afternoon this was done, but
when the spider heard his friend’s name called out, he was so angry
that he would not eat.
The second day the servants did the same, and the spider again refused
the food when it was brought. Early in the morning of the third day the
spider told his father-in-law that he was going home, and that he would
leave his wife for a time, and come back for her later.
Tawu then said he would make another feast to celebrate their
departure, and that he should like to see his son-in-law dance once
more before he returned home; so the people were called to another
play, and the chief milked one more cow for their food. When the food
was ready the spider said to his friend, “Come on, Dabi, let us go and
dance.” But the grasshopper refused and said, “No, you go and dance,
and I will join you later.” So the spider went by himself, leaving the
grasshopper in the room where the food was. Seeing there was no one
about, he took his outside skin off very quickly and hung it up on a
peg on the wall, making it look just like a living grasshopper; he then
went out and joined the dancers.
When the spider saw the grasshopper had arrived and was busily engaged
dancing, being very hungry he stole off by himself to the room where
the food was and put his hand into the pot. But, just as he was going
to take out a piece of meat, he happened to look up and saw the skin
of the grasshopper, which was so lifelike that it deceived him into
thinking that it really was his friend on the wall, so he pulled his
hand out of the pot and said, trying to laugh, “It is all right, Dabi,
my friend, I was not going to eat anything, I just came in to see what
the food was like.” He then went out again to where the people were
dancing, and to his great surprise he saw the grasshopper, where he had
left him, dancing and enjoying himself with some pretty young girls.
The spider could not understand how it was that the grasshopper had
managed to get back to the play so quickly, but, as he saw him there,
he was too hungry to trouble much about that, and went back again to
get the food he was so much in need of. Everything was quiet when
he returned, so he lifted the lid again, and took out a large piece
of yam, and had only taken one bite, when his eye was caught by the
grasshopper’s skin in the same place where he had seen it before. The
spider was amazed at this, and thought there must be some ju-ju in it,
so he put the yam down and ran out of the house, shouting as he went,
“All right, Dabi, I only thought I would like to taste the food to see
that it was good.”
But when he got to the dance he again saw, to his intense astonishment,
that the grasshopper was dancing away as merrily as before.
The spider then went up to his father-in-law and asked him to stop the
dance, as he wished to go home at once. This was done, and they all
went back to the chief’s house together.
Chief Tawu then gave both the spider and the grasshopper a dog each
as a present, and shortly afterwards they started off together on
their-return journey.
After walking a short distance outside the town, the spider was so
hungry that he stopped and killed the dog his father-in-law had given,
and very soon had eaten the whole of it.
He then tried to get the grasshopper to kill his dog, but he refused,
saying, “The dog was given to me by the chief as a present and not for
food. I shall take it home with me.”
When the spider had finished eating his dog, he put the skull of the
dog in his bag, and asked the grasshopper to go in front of him.
Shortly after this, the dog, scenting some game, dived into the bush,
and very soon returned to the path with a small bush buck in his mouth.
As the grasshopper had gone on in front and had not waited for his dog,
the spider took the buck, and, having cut its head off and put it in
his bag next to the dog’s skull, he sat down and eat the body.
When he rejoined the grasshopper later in the day, he produced his
bag, and took out the buck’s head, and told the grasshopper that his
dog’s skull was very clever, and had killed the buck. Although the
grasshopper knew quite well what had happened, he did not say anything,
but walked on again in front with his dog as he had done before.
That night they slept in the bush, and the next day, when they got near
the first town they had passed through when leaving home, the dog again
dashed off into the forest, and chased a bush cow which he bit very
badly in the leg.
When they reached the town, the spider told the people that the
grasshopper’s dog had chased one of the chief’s cows and bitten it
very badly. This made the people angry, and they all turned out with
sticks to beat the grasshopper, but when he saw them coming, he called
out to them and soon convinced them that his dog had not bitten the
chief’s cow, but had chased a bush cow and had wounded it badly. He
then offered to show the hunters where the place was, and they gladly
accepted his offer. The hunters then got their bows and arrows, and
having been shown the tracks of the bush cow by the grasshopper, they
had little difficulty in tracking it by its blood, and eventually
killed it.
The people then carried the meat back to the town and placed the horns
in front of their ju-ju. Half the meat was given to the grasshopper,
and the remainder divided amongst the people, the spider getting
nothing.
When the spider saw this he was vexed, and told the grasshopper that he
did not want him for his friend again. He then set himself to make a
net of web in order to revenge himself on the grasshopper, and has ever
since lived on insects.
N.B.--This story was given to me at Akparabong by a native, but there
would appear to be some doubt as to whether it is a local story or not.
A native from Cavally on the Kroo Coast affirms that he first told this
story which was afterwards related to me, and this boy certainly gave
me afterwards the main features of the story, but with a different
local colouring.
VIII.--HOW EWA ABAGI, AN INKUM WOMAN, WAS DROWNED IN THE CROSS RIVER,
AND HOW SHE WAS RESCUED BY THE YOUNG MEN OF INSOFAN.
In the olden days, Ewa Abagi lived at Inkum. She was very rich and was
considered to be a most beautiful woman. She made most of her money
by trading in palm kernels and camwood, but, as she was so popular
wherever she went with the young men of the country, she also made a
lot of money out of them, as, if they did not pay her well in advance,
she would have nothing to do with them.
She received many offers of marriage, but refused them all, until one
day a chief of Insofan named Awor sent a message to her that he wished
to make her his wife, as he had heard what a fine woman she was.
Ewa Abagi then sent word back to the chief that she could not marry him
just then as she was expecting to bear a son, but that, some time after
the child was born, she would go up the river to Insofan and marry him
as she had heard that he was rich and was a good man.
The child turned out to be a girl, and shortly after her birth, Ewa
Abagi bought a young slave woman called Mossim to look after her baby,
while she herself went to the different markets trading.
When the girl baby had become six years old, Ewa Abagi dressed herself
and her daughter up in their best clothes, and crossed over the river
to Okuni with the slave woman Mossim carrying her load. They then
proceeded to walk overland to Insofan.
On reaching the Abum River which is quite close to Insofan, Ewa Abagi
went to bathe, and took her little daughter with her, putting down her
cloth and beads on the ground. As the river was very shallow, it being
the dry season, they walked and waded down to the Cross River.
When she got there, she washed her daughter and then called upon Mossim
to scrub her back. The slave woman then came up behind her mistress,
and pushed her into the Cross River, where she at once disappeared.
When the little girl, whose name was Essere, saw that her mother had
gone, she began to cry, but Mossim said, “Do not cry. You must call me
your mother, and I will treat you well. When we get to the town, you
must not tell anyone that I am not your mother, or I will punish you
severely.”
She then dressed the child and put on the cloth and beads of Ewa Abagi
herself, having just tied up her own clothes into a bundle with some
stones and thrown them into the Cross River.
Mossim and the child then walked on to Insofan, and, when they got
there, the slave woman went to Chief Awor’s house and said, “I am Ewa
Abagi whom you wanted to marry, and this (turning to the little girl)
is my daughter Essere.” The chief welcomed her, but was not very
pleased, as he had expected to see a much finer woman from all the
reports he had heard of her beauty.
When the people of Insofan heard that the chief’s new wife had arrived,
many of them went to see her, as she was so well known by name. When
they saw Mossim, they were not greatly impressed by her looks, and said
so quite freely in very plain terms.
Now, one of the young men of the town, who had been down the river
trading, knew Ewa Abagi very well indeed, and, when he saw the slave
woman, he recognized her as the servant, so he told Chief Awor. The
chief said, “Very well, I hear what you say, and will not marry the
woman at present. We will wait for a time, and I will make enquiries.”
In the morning Mossim told the girl to go and get water from the
spring, and the little girl went off with the water pot on her head.
Essere, however, did not go to the spring as she had been told, but
went to the place where she had seen the slave woman push her mother
into the water. She then sat down and began to cry for her mother.
When Ewa Abagi heard her daughter crying, she came out of the river
and talked to her. She then painted her daughter with _okukum_,[1] and
having helped the child with the water pot, she returned to the river,
and Essere went home.
When she arrived at the house, Mossim asked her who had painted her
with okokum and why she had been so long getting the water from the
spring. The child did not answer, so the slave woman said to her,
“Don’t you be so long another time, or you will get into trouble.”
The next day Essere went to get the water at the same place. She
called for a long time, but her mother did not come out, as she saw a
man making tombo in a tree near at hand. At last, however, as she did
not like to hear her little daughter crying, Ewa Abagi came out very
quickly, helped Essere with the water pot on to her head, and went back
again into the river.
The man, who had been watching, saw Ewa Abagi and recognized her. He
therefore came down from the tree and went at once to the chief and
told him what he had seen.
The chief then told all the young men of the town to go early the next
morning to the place where Ewa Abagi had been seen and to try and get
her out of the river. He promised them that, if they succeeded in
bringing the woman to him, he would hold a big play and “dash” them
plenty of tombo and food.
The chief told Essere that, when she went in the morning to get the
water, if she wanted to get her mother back, directly she had got the
water out of the river she must take the pot back some little distance
into the bush.
When the morning came, the little girl went off with her pot, as
before, and having filled it with water, carried it back into the bush
some little way from the river, and then sat down, and called for her
mother to come and help her.
The young men, who had gone to the place before it was light, and who
had lined both banks of the Abum river, by the chief’s orders, were all
hidden out of sight, and, when Ewa Abagi came out of the water, they
immediately surrounded her and caught her before she could get back to
the river. They then carried her back to the chief.
The slave woman was then seized, and tied up to a tree, and, when the
morning came, the chief charged her with trying to kill her mistress.
She was found guilty, and was ordered to be killed as a sacrifice to
the water ju-ju.
Mossim was then handed over to the young men who had rescued Ewa Abagi,
and they took her to the place where she had pushed her mistress into
the river, and, having cut her head off, threw the head and body into
the river. This is one of the reasons why slaves are always killed and
put into the grave of their master or mistress when they die, as a
warning to other slaves not to try to kill their owners.
_Author’s note._
There is a firm belief amongst all the natives in the Ikom district
that the slaves who are killed and buried with their master will meet
him again in the Spirit Land, where the conditions of life will be the
same as they were on earth. The master will recognise his slaves and
they will work for him. They also believe that, when a chief arrives in
the Spirit Land, accompanied by these slaves, carrying the gin cloth,
rods, etc., which were placed in the grave, the people of the Spirit
Land-will say, “This is a chief coming. Look at his slaves, etc.”
Some years ago a road was being made through an old compound which had
tumbled down and disappeared, leaving no trace of any human habitation.
The road passed through an old grave of a chief who had been buried in
the house, and many things, including rods, bottles of gin and plates,
had been put in the grave. The natives who were working on the road
were afraid to touch anything in the grave, but a native foreman, who
came from another country where they held different beliefs, opened a
bottle of gin and drank some of it. When the natives saw that nothing
happened to him, they all rushed in and there was a regular scramble
for everything.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--[E.D., 1.6.10.]
Thomas, District Clerk, Inkom, told me this grave incident, and said
it happened in his presence some years ago at Calabar, when he was
time-keeper in the P.W.D.
IX.--THE STORY OF THE WAR BETWEEN INKUM AND ENFITOP.
When the Inkum people first came to the Cross River about one hundred
years ago, Chief Indoma established the five Inkum towns on the right
bank of the river, and Chief Awum took his people over to the other
side, and, having given the Enfitop people presents, asked them to
allow him to build his town there, and also requested them to give him
sufficient bush where he and his people could make their farms.
The Enfitop people eventually agreed to do this, and Chief Awum built
his town, which he called Aliese, and appointed a man called Osode to
be his second chief. Both these chiefs were under Chief Indoma of Inkum.
When the houses were finished and their farms made, Chief Awum called a
society to play, the name of the society being Eberambi.
It was one of the rules of the society that anyone wishing to join
must pay fifty rods, one goat, and five pots of tombo, which would be
divided amongst the members.
Then Chief Osode sent invitations to the young men of Enfitop to come
and join their society, and altogether about fifty of them became
members.
Now, when the young men of Enfitop joined and paid their goats, rods,
and tombo, Chief Osode divided up all the things they brought amongst
the Inkum members, and never gave the Enfitop boys their share.
This caused great dissatisfaction, and at last they became so vexed
that the Chief of Enfitop gave orders that for the future no more of
his boys were to join the Eberambi Society.
When Chief Awum heard this, it made him angry, so he made a scheme or
plan to rid the society of the Enfitop boys, who were no longer of any
use, as they had paid up their presents to the society.
The Chiefs Awum and Osode then went into the bush, and searched about
until they found an open space, which could be cleared without much
trouble. There was a big rock in the middle, and the members all began
working on the ground, and after a few days had it quite clear.
Chief Awum then told his young men to dig a very deep pit on one side
of the rock next to its deepest side, and, when it was finished, he
placed sharp stakes firmly in the ground with the points upwards.
A meeting of the members was called for the next evening, and the chief
told his young men to sit all round the rock.
When the Enfitop boys arrived, they all sat together a little distance
off, and one of their head boys was told to sit on the rock with his
back to the pit, which he could not see, as it was dark.
The singing and dancing then began, and the tombo was passed round,
but when it came to the turn of the man sitting on the rock, just at
the moment when he began to drink, one of the Inkum boys, who had been
instructed by the chief what to do, seized him by the ankles and
pushed him over backwards, so that he fell into the pit on the sharp
stakes and was killed at once. As it was quite dark and such a noise
was going on, no one missed the boy or saw what had happened.
Then, in the early morning, before it was light, the Inkum boys went to
the pit, and having taken out the body, covered the blood stains with
sand and carried the body back to the town. The body was then cut up
into small pieces and divided amongst the members of the society, who
lit fires and cooked and eat their portions.
That night Chief Awum said to Osode:--“Well! that accounts for one of
the members, and I hope soon that we shall have got rid of all of them.”
Chief Osode said that he thought the plan a very good one, particularly
as it brought them in a supply of food which was always welcome.
Then, for four nights running, the same thing was done, and the boy
who had been killed the previous night was divided up and eaten by the
Inkum members of the society on the following day.
On the sixth night, however, the Enfitop boys met together, and counted
their numbers. Finding that there were five of their members missing,
they could not understand what had happened, so they decided not to
attend the play that night.
This enraged the Inkum people, and the next day Chief Osode went to
Enfitop and told them that, as they had refused to attend the play,
they would not be members of the society any longer. So, after that,
the Enfitop boys did not go to the play again, and the Inkum people
lost their chance of getting any more of them for food.
After a short time had elapsed, Chief Awum consulted with Osode as to
how they should get some more Enfitop boys to eat. After thinking some
time, he said he thought the best way was to steal the children from
the town.
So the following morning the Inkum young men surrounded Enfitop, but
hid themselves in the bush, and waited there until all the men and
women had gone to their farms to work, leaving only the old people and
young children in the town.
When they had all gone, the Inkum men went very quietly into the town
from house to house, and stole all the children they could find and
carried them off. They did not take any of the old people as they were
not much good for food.
That night they had a great feast in the town.
When the parents of the children who had been stolen returned from
their farms they missed their little ones, and so they went and
complained to the head chief.
The next day he called all his people together, and they held a big
palaver to settle what should be done. At the meeting, one of the boys
who had been a member of the Eberambi society got up and said that five
of their members were missing, and he believed that it was the Inkum
people who had killed them, and that they had stolen the children as
well.
After a long discussion, it was decided to drive the Inkum people away,
and to send them back across the river again, so a message was sent to
Chief Indoma to tell his people to leave their town at Enfitop and go
over to the Inkum side.
Chief Indoma could not understand the reason of this message being
sent, so he replied that he certainly would not tell his people to
move, and that he would see what they could do.
When the Enfitop people had completed their preparations for war, the
head chief took one of his slaves to his ju-ju as a sacrifice, and the
blood was sprinkled all round the ju-ju, the chiefs dancing in it. The
body was then cut up and divided amongst the fighting men, who eat it.
The chief then addressed the ju-ju as follows:--
“You always help us in the time of trouble. Here are my fighting men.
I want you to make them strong and so that they will not receive any
wounds from their enemies. If you help me, when the war is over, I will
bring all the heads of the men we kill to you as tribute. I will also
bring the prisoners we capture and kill them before you as a sacrifice.”
The chief then put his hand into the ju-ju pot containing water, rotten
eggs, and mashed-up leaves and roots, and having stirred it well up,
the fighting men all came up to him one after another, and he smeared
them with the liquid on the forehead and breast.
After this ceremony was over, all the people went to the chief’s
compound, where he consulted his head ju-ju man as to what the result
of the war with the Inkum people would be. The ju-ju man then cast
lots, and told them that they would drive the Inkum people away,
killing many men and taking many men, women and children prisoners, but
he warned them that they must not commence the fight, as it was the
Inkum people who were in the wrong and had killed the Enfitop people.
They then armed themselves with bows and arrows, stones, and short
heavy throwing sticks sharp at both ends, so that one end or the other
would stick into their enemies. The next morning they surrounded the
town of Aliese, and very soon the Inkum men came out.
The first arrow was fired by an Inkum man named Osim, and at once the
fight became general. They fought for the greater part of the day,
until at last the Inkum men were beaten, many having been killed and
wounded. The survivors, including Chief Indoma, who was present at the
fighting, escaped into the bush, leaving the women and children and old
men at the mercy of the Enfitop people.
Most of the old men were killed, and the women and children were made
prisoners and taken to Enfitop.
That very night they held a big play, and the heads of all the men who
had been killed were placed before the ju-ju. Six of the best of the
prisoners were then killed in front of the ju-ju, and after their blood
had been sprinkled on the ground, the bodies were cut up and given to
the fighting men, who lit fires and boiled the flesh with yams, pepper
and salt.
While the food was cooking, a big dance was being held, and one of the
prisoners was placed on his back upon the ground in front of the ju-ju.
He was then staked securely to the ground, and a heavy wooden drum was
placed upon his stomach and was beaten with sticks while the fighters
were dancing.
When the food was sufficiently cooked the fighting men eat it, and
then, after drinking plenty of tombo, went to bed. The prisoner was
left on the ground all night with the heavy drum on top of him.
The next morning the head fighting man released the prisoner, and
having tied him up to a tree, cut his head off with his matchet. He
then dressed himself up in the long hair (mane) of a ram, wrapped a
leopard skin round his waist, painted his face, breast and right hand
with white chalk, and placed four feathers from the black-and-white
fishing eagle in his hair, one down the centre in front, one behind,
and one on either side. He then took the head of the man he had just
killed in his left hand, and holding his matchet in his right, he
danced all round the town, shouting out that they were great fighters,
and that the ju-ju had made them successful in the battle. When he
had been all round, he went into the open space in the middle of the
compound, and the women came up to him with presents; some would
present him with a fathom of cloth, but the poorer people would offer a
few rods, yams, or some salt. The body of the man was then divided up
amongst the chiefs, the head chief getting the right arm, shoulder and
breast for his share, and the head fighter was given the man’s heart to
eat.
All the heads were then collected and placed over a fire to singe the
hair off. They were then given to the head chief, who boiled and eat
the meat off them with his sons and people. The chief placed the skulls
on the ground of the room where he slept, so that the room was quite
paved with them. This was done so that the chief could put his feet on
them, to show that he had trampled on the enemies whom he had conquered.
The head of the man who was first sacrificed before the war commenced
was not eaten, but was left on the ground in front of the ju-ju as his
share.
To return to the Inkum people, who had escaped into the bush on the
night of the battle, as soon as it was dark, Chief Indoma called them
all together and asked his ju-ju man what he had done to make him so
unfortunate in the battle and to lose so many people. The ju-ju man
told him that Chief Awum and Chief Osode had caused all the trouble by
killing the Enfitop boys and stealing the children for food. He also
said that the Inkum people had gone to fight like women; they had not
consulted him (by which he lost a handsome present) neither had they
killed a slave as a sacrifice to their ju-ju.
Chief Indoma agreed with the ju-ju man, and said he would not forget
again, and that in the future when he went to war he would see that the
proper precautions were taken and the usual sacrifices made as had
always been done in the past.
He then spoke to Awum and Osode, saying “I am very angry with both
of you. Up to the present I have been known to all people as a good
fighter and leader, but I shall always be ashamed to meet the Enfitop
people now. You have done wrong. You have killed and eaten many of the
Enfitop people and told me nothing about it. When they sent a message
to me, I told them that I would not move my people across the river, as
I never thought they would fight against me, but now I am compelled to
do so, as they have either killed or taken as prisoners nearly all the
men, women and children of the town. I look to you to arrange how to
get me and the remaining people over the river in safety.”
Then Chief Osode stood up, and said that he could manage that quite
easily, as he was a ju-ju man, and would make a bridge for them out of
his body.
Now, in those days there was a big snake who used to live on the land,
and when he grew to be as long as a palm oil tree is high, he forsook
the land and lived in the small creeks and rivers, where he grew to a
tremendous size. The name of the snake was Ku Ku Barakpa.
In the early morning, Osode turned himself into the snake, and placed
himself across the river with his tail on the Enfitop side and his head
on the Inkum side, his back being out of water, so that the people
could cross over in safety. As soon as he had done this the survivors
of the Inkums, headed by Chief Indoma, walked over the snake’s body,
but, when the Enfitop people tried to follow them, the snake waited
until they were in the middle and then sank, leaving the Enfitop men to
drown. After two days their bodies floated and were picked up by the
Inkum people who carried them back to their town and eat them.
Chief Indoma blamed Chief Awum very much for what had happened, but he
praised Chief Osode for getting them back in safety across the river,
and also for his ingenious device in getting them some more human food
without any risk or fighting.
Told by Abassi of Inkum, 7th June, 1910.
X.--HOW AN INKUM BOY WAS DROWNED BY HIS COMPANIONS AND HOW THEY WERE
PUNISHED.
There was once an Inkum woman named Omegha, who was considered very
good-looking, but, curiously enough, no man had ever wanted to marry
her, although she was very popular and went about from one man to
another. She also went from town to town, showing off her beauty, in
the hopes that some man might fancy her and ask her to marry him.
At last she got tired of walking about, and returned home to live with
her parents. Her father was very fond of her, but often said that he
wished she had been a boy as she would then have been able to help him
with his work on the farm.
After Omegha had been living at home for a little time, her father said
to her, “I wish you would get a son who would help me on the farm when
he grew up.” Omegha replied that, although she slept with plenty of
men, she had never conceived. Her father then warned her that she would
never bear a child if she went on as she was doing, always changing and
sleeping with so many different men.
He then advised her to live with the same man for a whole month, and
then see what would happen. Omegha waited for a week, and then did
as she had been advised to do by her father, and, after a month had
elapsed, she found that she had conceived.
A few months after this, Omegha’s father died, leaving her mother and
herself in the house. Then her mother said to her “Now that your father
is dead, you must not go about as you did before, as there are only two
of us. You shall stay at home and I will look after you and the child
who is soon to be born.” They then wrapped the dead body up in mats,
and made a hole in a room at the back of the house, where they buried
the corpse.
Some time afterwards, Omegha gave birth to a son, whom she called Ogor.
The boy grew very fast, and after a time he was able to walk.
As Omegha was a poor woman, she used to take her little son with her to
the farm every day. But when Ogor was six years old, she got tired of
doing this, and used to leave him in the house with his grandmother,
who was very fond of him. Then Omegha used to go off alone, and visit
her numerous men friends.
Ogor had often been told by his mother not to go near the river, and he
was frequently warned not to play about with the other boys of his age
in the town, as they would surely lead him into mischief.
One day, while his grandmother was cooking, he heard the company of
small boys to which he belonged playing outside, so he stole out of the
house and joined them. When the boys saw who it was had come to play
with them, they asked him why he did not always come out and join them,
so he told them that his grandmother would not allow him to go out of
the house.
The boys then said they were hot from playing and were going down to
the river to bathe. They invited Ogor to go with them, but he refused
and ran home.
Before he reached the house, his mother, who was returning from
visiting one of her lovers, met him and gave him a sound flogging for
being so disobedient.
That night, the boys belonging to Ogor’s company, of whom there were
eight, met together and decided that Ogor had been very rude to them.
They therefore determined to punish him the next time they caught him.
A few days afterwards, Ogor again stole out of the house when his
grandmother was busy, and joined his companions who were playing in the
town not far from the beach.
When the play was finished, they all went down to the river to bathe,
and swam out to a sand bank in the middle of the river, it being the
dry season.
One of the boys had brought some strong tie-tie with him, and two
others went off and soon came back again with a heavy stone. Ogor
was then put on his back and securely fastened to the stone with the
tie-tie. He did not struggle or cry out, as he thought it was all done
in play.
When the boys had finished tying up their companion, they looked round
very carefully to see whether anyone was watching them, but, finding
there was no one about, they carried Ogor out into the river, and threw
him into the water where it was deep, and he sank at once. The boys
then swam back to the beach, and went off to their various homes.
Just about this time, Omegha returned home, and, missing Ogor, asked
her mother what had become of the boy. The old woman told her daughter
that Ogor had stolen out of the house as he had done on the previous
day, and she thought he had most likely gone to join the small boys’
company as she had heard them playing in the town.
Both the women then went out to look for the boy, but could not find
him or any of his companions, as they had all returned to their
parents’ houses. They searched everywhere for Ogor, but could not
find him, so at last Omegha thought of the porcupine, and made up her
mind to ask his advice as to what had happened to Ogor, and what was
the best thing to do to get him back again. She then walked to the
porcupine’s house and told him that she was in great grief as she had
lost her only son Ogor, and could not find out what had become of him.
Omegha then asked the porcupine to help her, which he promised to do.
He then went into his back room to consult his ju-ju, and, being very
clever, it did not take him long to find out what had happened to the
boy, so he soon returned to Omegha, and told her that her son had been
thrown into the river by his companions, and that the water ju-ju had
taken him to his house at the bottom of the deep pool in the river.
Omegha then went down to the beach with the porcupine, and, when
they arrived at the water’s edge, the porcupine, who was a very good
swimmer, at once dived into the river and swam to the water ju-ju’s
house. The porcupine then told the water ju-ju that he had promised to
help Omegha, and asked if the boy was there. The water ju-ju replied
that he had saved Ogor’s life as he was sorry for Omegha and her
mother, who were poor people, and only had this one boy.
He then said that he had no objection to returning Ogor to his mother,
and that the porcupine might take him away when he departed, but he
insisted that the boys who had thrown Ogor into the river should be
punished, and told the porcupine to tell the chiefs of the town that,
if they did not punish the boys very severely, he would seize everyone
who came into the river and keep them in his house for all time.
The water ju-ju also told the porcupine that he must take Ogor to his
mother when it was dark, and hide him in the house until the palaver
was heard, so that no one should know that Ogor was alive.
The porcupine waited until the evening came, and then, having thanked
the water ju-ju for his kindness, swam off with Ogor, and took him
to his mother’s house, taking care to go by the back way so that no
one should see them. Omegha was delighted to get her son back again,
and hid him away. She then thanked the porcupine, who went off to the
chiefs of the town and delivered to them the message from the water
ju-ju.
The chiefs at once sent the drummer round the town to tell all the
people to attend at the palaver house the next day, that no one was
to go to their farms, and that all the small boys of the town were to
attend.
In the morning, the chiefs took their seats, and the people sat down
all round them. The porcupine was then called upon to tell all the
people what had happened. So he stood up and said that Ogor, the son
of Omegha, had been thrown into the river by his companions, they
having first tied him up and fastened a heavy stone to him to make
him sink. They had then left him to drown, but the water ju-ju, being
kind-hearted, had saved him.
Ogor was next called, to the great astonishment of the eight boys who
thought he was dead. He pointed them all out, and told the chiefs which
of the boys had tied him up and those who had carried him and thrown
him into the river.
The head chief then said that all the eight boys were guilty of trying
to drown their companion, and that they should all be taken to the
beach and killed as a warning to other boys not to kill one another. He
also pointed out that the water ju-ju had threatened to seize all the
people who went into the river if the boys were not properly punished.
All the people agreed that it was a just sentence, but one chief,
called Eka, refused to allow his son, who was one of the eight boys, to
be killed, and said he would see what the water ju-ju could do.
All that night, the mothers of the seven boys cried bitterly; and
begged the chief not to kill their sons, but he told them that the
sentence must be carried out, as otherwise the water ju-ju would be
angry and kill many people.
The next day, the seven boys were taken down to the beach and killed,
and their fathers took their bodies home and buried them. The town then
mourned for three days.
The head chief then called the porcupine to him, and told him to go
to the water ju-ju and tell him that the seven boys had been killed,
but that Chief Eka had refused to allow his son to be killed, and had
defied the water ju-ju to do his worst.
So the porcupine set off and dived into the river and reported to the
water ju-ju all that had happened. The water ju-ju said the head chief
had done quite right to kill the seven boys, as, had he not done so, he
would have made the people suffer very much. He also said that he would
deal with Chief Eka’s son later on. Then the porcupine returned to the
land and reported to the head chief all that the water ju-ju had said.
When Chief Eka heard the threat of the water ju-ju he at once gave
orders to all his people that none of them were to go into the river,
but, that, if they wanted to wash, they must carry the water to their
houses for the purpose.
This was done for two years and nothing happened, but, in the
commencement of the third year, Chief Eka’s son, thinking he was quite
safe, thought he would like to bathe, so he went down to the river and
went into the water as far as his knees; he then washed himself and
returned home. As nothing had happened to him the first day, he went
down again in the afternoon when the sun was not quite so hot, and
jumped into the deep water, but the water ju-ju, who was waiting for
him, at once seized him and dragged him out of sight under the water.
The people who were bathing at the time, when they saw the boy
disappear at once, guessed that it must be the water ju-ju who had
taken him, so they went and told Chief Eka what they had seen. When he
heard what had happened, he went to the porcupine and asked him to go
to the water ju-ju, and offer him two slaves if he would return his
son. The porcupine agreed to go, providing Chief Eka gave him one slave
and 500 rods for his trouble. The chief willingly agreed to this, and
the slave and rods were brought to the porcupine’s house that very
night.
In the morning the porcupine went down to the river, and dived in as
he had done before, and swam to the water ju-ju’s house and told him
that Chief Eka offered to give him two slaves if he would release his
son. But the water ju-ju refused them, and said, “Tell Chief Eka, if he
wants to see his son, let him look in the river in two days’ time.” So
the porcupine went back and delivered the message to Chief Eka, who was
very sorry as he was so fond of his son.
Two days afterwards, Chief Eka went down to the beach, where he saw the
dead body of his son floating down the river, so he sent some men out
in a canoe and they brought back the dead body and it was buried.
Ever since that time, the people of Inkum believe, when anyone is
drowned and his body floats after three days without being eaten by
the fish or crocodiles, that the water ju-ju has killed the dead man
because he had done some evil thing.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--[E.D., 9.6.10.]
XI.--HOW A FATHER TRIED TO KILL ONE OF HIS SONS BUT FAILED.
Osewo of Inkum was a rich chief and had many slaves. He also had five
wives, four of whom had two children each, but the fifth wife whose
name was Agbor had no children. As a child did not come quickly to
Agbor the chief used to beat her and use her very badly as he thought
she might never have a child and then he would have paid all the dowry
and marriage expenses for nothing. Agbor bore all the ill-treatment
she received without complaining, and although her husband gave her
no money (rods) or food, she remained faithful to him. A year later,
however, she gave birth to a male child whom she called Agberamfe. This
did not alter the chief’s feeling in any way towards her, and he took
a violent dislike to the little boy. Up to the time the infant was one
year old he never gave the mother or child a present, and when, as he
grew up, the father saw his little son playing about the house he
never called him to come to him or dashed him anything as he did to
his other children. Up to the time when the baby boy could walk about
Chief Osewo never told Agbor to come and sleep with him but she never
complained to anyone. This caused the Chief to dislike her more than he
had done before, and he told some of his other wives that he believed
that Agbor was going about with other men. His servants, however,
told him that Agbor was quite faithful to him, but he would not be
convinced. After another year had passed, Osewo, having drunk a lot of
tombo one evening, sent for Agbor to sleep with him, and in due course
she conceived and gave birth to a little girl baby whose name was ’Nse.
Even this did not change the chief’s dislike to his son Agberamfe, and
by degrees he got to hate the boy, until at last, when the planting
season came round, he made up his mind to kill him, but he did not want
to do this in such a way that any one could blame him.
Osewo then called all his sons together and gave each of them a sharp
matchet, but to Agberamfe he gave a piece of iron. He then told the
boys that he would take them into the bush the next day, to the place
where he intended to make a farm, and that they should clear some
ground for him. The boys then went back to their different houses and
told their mothers what the chief had said. When Agberamfe saw his
mother he told her that his father had given each of his brothers a
matchet but that he had received only a piece of iron to work with
although he was the youngest of them all. Agbor at once thought that
her husband must have some evil design upon her son; so that night
she went to the place where her husband was going to make his farm
and saw the Queen of the White Ants. She told the Queen the whole of
her sad story, and said that she feared that her husband would try to
injure her son. Then the Queen of the White Ants asked her what she
could do to help her. So Agbor asked the Queen to send all her people
to the place where her son was going to work, and tell them to bite
through the roots of the grass and bush so that her son could make a
big clearing with his piece of iron without any trouble. This the Queen
promised to do, and Agbor thanked her.
Agbor then went to the rabbit[2] who was a great friend of hers, and
having told him her story, asked him to dig a hole underneath the bed
of her husband so that he could hide there and hear what the chief said
at night to his other wives in case he should be planning evil against
her son, and Agbor also asked him to tell her every morning what he
had heard. The rabbit then went off and dug a hole under the chief’s
bed so that he could hear all that passed in the room above him, and
when it was dark he went into the hole to listen. In the evening when
the chief’s favourite wife came to join him, the rabbit heard him tell
her that the next day he was going to take all his sons into the bush
to clear his farm, and that the one who was last in doing his share
of work would be killed, and that all the boys would be placed in a
line and he would tell them to clear the bush to where he would be
standing and that as he had given Agberamfe a piece of iron instead
of a matchet, he was certain to be last and would be killed. When
the rabbit heard this he went off and told Agbor, who was very glad
that she had arranged matters with the Queen of the White Ants. When
morning came Chief Osewo went into the bush calling upon his sons to
follow him, but Agbor went with her son. The chief then placed the
boys in a row and told them to clear the bush to the place where he
would be standing, and told them that the boy who finished last would
be killed as a warning to the others what would happen to them if they
did not work hard. He then went off 50 paces into the bush and gave the
signal to start. Agbor, however, had taken care to place her son in
the place where the white ants were, and he started off cutting right
and left with his piece of iron and everything fell before him so that
he very soon reached his father before the other boys had got so far
as half way. This made the chief very angry. So he called out that he
had changed his mind, and told his sons to stop working and go home
without finishing the work. Then for some time he did not try to injure
Agberamfe. But when the rainy season came he made another plan to kill
him, which he told his wife at night, fortunately in the hearing of the
rabbit, who told Agbor. The plan worked out as follows:--
Chief Osewo sent all his slaves to the other side of the river to cut
the leaves of the tombo palm to make roof mats with; they were also
to take some rats with them and catch a crocodile. When they returned
they were to place eight bundles of the leaves in a row along the road,
and they were then to put the crocodile on the ground and cover him
up with leaves for the ninth bundle. The slaves did as as they were
ordered, and after three days returned and reported to the chief that
everything had been done as he had directed. Then the chief called his
nine sons together and told them to go down to the beach one after the
other and bring up a bundle of the leaves, and they were then to start
making mats to repair the houses, but he told Agberamfe to go last
because he was the youngest. Agbor, who was waiting outside, then gave
her son some strong tie-tie which had been made into a running noose.
She also gave him a sharp spear and told him that he was to spear the
bundle before he went near it as there was a crocodile hidden beneath
the leaves. She also told him that if the crocodile showed his head
he was to cast the noose round him and tie him up securely. Agberamfe
then went down to the beach and threw the spear as hard as he could at
the bundle. He was fortunate in pinning the crocodile to the ground
and very soon it showed its head through the leaves, whereupon the
boy threw the noose round its jaws and made it fast to a tree. He
then withdrew the spear and stabbed the crocodile until it was dead.
Agberamfe then placed his bundle of leaves under the crocodile, and
having got it on to his head carried it up to the house and placed it
in front of his father. The chief was more angry than ever at this,
and determined to make another plan that would not fail. So when the
dry season came round he told his favourite wife at night time that
he had arranged with a blacksmith to kill the boy. That the next day
he would send Agbor’s son to blow the bellows, and that when the iron
was red hot the blacksmith would plunge it into the boy’s inside, and
that he would die in great pain. The rabbit, who was listening all
the time, told Agbor of the plan he had heard, and she warned her
son not to blow the bellows, but to watch the blacksmith carefully
In the morning Chief Osewo told his son to go to the blacksmith and
blow the bellows for him as he was making something for him. Agberamfe
went as he was told but he stood outside the shelter and watched the
blacksmith very carefully until he saw him pull the red hot iron out of
the fire and make a dart for him. He was quite prepared, fortunately,
and ran off home at once and told his father what had happened. His
father pretended to pity the boy, and told him that he would send him
the next day to his friend the leopard to look after him, and that he
should stay there for ten nights. In the evening Chief Osewo sent for
the leopard and told him that he was going to send his son Agberamfe
to him for ten days, and that during that time he must contrive to
kill him by stealth and send the boy’s skin to him so that he might be
quite sure that his son was dead at last. This time Agbor had no plan,
but she told Agberamfe to be very careful all the time he remained in
the leopard’s house. The boy started off the next day, and when he
arrived at the house he was much surprised to find that the leopard was
as rich as his father. After they had finished their evening meal the
leopard told Agberamfe to sleep with his sons, but the boy suspecting
that the leopard had designs upon his life, waited until the leopard’s
sons had gone to sleep and then having placed a log in his bed went
outside to sleep. The leopard came in the middle of the night, when it
was so dark that he could not see very distinctly, and killed the boy
he thought was Agberamfe, but he was mistaken and killed one of his
own sons instead. The leopard was very angry when he found what he had
done, so that the next evening he shut the boy up in the goat house.
But Agberamfe very soon undid the fastening and got out, closing the
door behind him. He then went to sleep in the same place where he had
slept the previous night. About midnight the leopard brought fire and
burnt the house down, thinking that he had made certain of the boy this
time. But when the morning came Agberamfe greeted the leopard as usual,
much to his surprise. The leopard then went to the house he had burnt,
and found that he had destroyed all his own goats, leaving the boy
still uninjured. This annoyed the leopard so much that he determined to
take the boy back to his father and not to try and kill him any more as
each time he tried he did something to damage himself. The leopard then
returned the boy to his father, and said he could not kill him as he
was too cunning.
By this time, Agberamfe had grown into a fine good-looking young man.
Some little time after the leopard had tried so unsuccessfully to kill
the boy, the Chief thought he would make a trial to see which of his
sons liked him best. So the next day he told his wives not to wake
him as he was not feeling well. He woke up in the middle of the day
and refused to eat until the evening. He then told his wives to sleep
in their own houses as he was ill. In the morning he pretended to be
very weak. He shut his eyes and held his breath from time to time. The
boys, thinking their father was about to die, began to dispute amongst
themselves as to what share of their father’s property each should
take. But Agbor’s son sat beside his father’s bed the whole day. When
the night came the Chief saw that Agberamfe was looking sad, and told
him to go home to his mother, but the boy would not go, and told his
father that he was too fond of him to leave him and let him die alone.
So he stayed all that night with his father while his brothers were
laughing and playing outside, and the Chief clearly saw that they did
not care in the least that he was ill.
The following morning, the Chief got up from his bed, and having called
all his people round him, explained the trial he had made, to see which
of his sons loved him the most. Osewo also told him of the behaviour
of his sons when they thought that their father was dying, and that
Agberamfe had stayed by his side and looked after him all the time,
although he had so often tried to kill him. The people then advised the
Chief to divide his property into two shares, so that when he died, one
share should belong to Agbor’s son, who would be able to look after his
sister; and the other share would be divided amongst the other eight
boys. This the Chief did.
_Moral._--It is not the one who makes the fire to boil the koko yams[3]
who is most likely to eat them. And it is not always the ones you love
most who will care most for you.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--[E.D., 10.6.10.]
XII.--CONCERNING THE OKUNI WITCHES AND CANNIBALISM.
In Okuni, a long time ago, there dwelt a chief called ’Ndabu. He was
considered to be a rich man in that part of the country, and was the
owner of numerous slaves. He also had a large farm and many canoes.
Chief ’Ndabu was, however, not a happy man, as all the time he was
young he never had a son who should inherit his property when he
died. On this account, he married thirty wives, but none of them had
a child. At last, the Chief consulted a ju-ju man, and gave him a big
“dash.” The ju-ju man then made ju-ju, and finally told the Chief that
the only wife he had, by whom he could get a child was a woman called
Iya Agagim. He advised the chief to pull down all the houses where
his other wives lived and to send them away. He should then build an
entirely new house for Iya Agagim, and make a sacrifice of a white goat
and a white fowl, to which he should add a white piece of cloth which
should be tied up inside the door of the new house. The ju-ju man told
the chief not to sleep with anyone until the house was built, and that
then Iya Agagim was to go into the river and wash herself all over, and
having thrown away all her old clothes, she was to put on a new cloth
before she joined her husband so that she would be an entirely fresh
woman. When the chief heard this, he was very pleased, and went home.
Having called all his wives together, he told them what the ju-ju man
had advised him to do, and although he was very sorry to part with
them, still they would all have to go as he was determined to get a son
if possible. That night all the wives cried bitterly. The following
day the chief sent to his farm for yams which he gave to his wives,
and many rods as a dash; he then sent them back to their respective
parents. Iya Agagim was also sorry to lose her old companions. When
they had all departed the chief pulled down all the houses where they
had been living, and then built a new house on a different piece of
ground. When this was completed he made the sacrifices as he had
been directed to do by the ju-ju man. Iya Agagim then went down to
the town beach on the Cross River and washed herself very carefully.
She then threw all her old clothes away and walked back to the house
where she put on a new cloth and joined her husband. After a month had
elapsed she found that she had conceived and told her husband, who was
delighted at the good news.
The chief then called a play for all the young men and young women of
the town, and told them what had happened. He also gave them plenty to
eat and drink so that they might rejoice with him in his good fortune.
Chief ’Ndabu then went to the ju-ju man, taking many presents with him,
and having thanked him for his good advice which had turned out so
well, he then asked how many children he would have by his wife; and
when the ju-ju man said he would have twenty-one children, he was very
glad and went home, but he did not tell his wife. The chief then sent
his slaves off to the farm to make it larger, as in the future he would
have to make provision for a larger household. From the time Iya Agagim
conceived, the chief kept her in the house, as he was afraid that if
she met any of his former wives they might be jealous, and try to do
her some injury.
In due course, the woman gave birth to a boy baby, and the chief held
another big play which lasted for three days and nights, and much tombo
was drunk. Then the chief went again to the ju-ju man, and having
given him a big “dash,” asked whether the boy would live. The ju-ju
man said that he would live, and that some day one of his sons would
discover something which the Okuni people had never heard of or known
before. Then the chief went home. Altogether Iya Agagim gave birth to
twenty-one children, and the last boy who was born was called Amoru.
The chief then knew that his wife would not bear any more children.
As they grew up, whenever he went to his farm, Chief ’Ndabu used to
take all his children with him, and there were many people in the town
who were very jealous of him on account of his large family. At last,
some of the townspeople met together and decided to get rid of the
chief and all his family. One of the Okuni chiefs, called Elullo, who
was a witch, said that he was willing to go to Chief ’Ndabu’s house
at night and see what he could do, but he was afraid of the ju-ju
which the chief kept in a corner of the house, as it was very powerful
against witches and might kill him. At last, he thought of a plan, so
he went to one of Chief ’Ndabu’s former wives, who was called Elilli,
and asked her what sort of ju-ju her former husband had to protect
him against witches. Elilli then asked him why he wanted to know,
so the chief told her that they were tired of Chief ’Ndabu and all
his family, and wanted to kill them, but that they were afraid of his
ju-ju. Elilli said that she was also very jealous of Iya Agagim having
so many children, and that as she was a witch herself she would like
to join with Chief Elullo and kill the whole family. Elilli said that
the safest way to dispose of them all was to put a witch into Amoru
the last born, and that he would take them to his father’s house so
that they would not then do anything contrary to the chief’s protecting
ju-ju. Chief Elullo then invited Chief ’Ndabu to dine with him, and
asked him to bring his wife and all his children. The chief gladly
accepted the invitation and Elullo prepared large quantities of palm
oil chop and tombo for his guests. One portion of the food he set aside
for the boy Amoru, and this portion was bewitched. In the evening Chief
’Ndabu came with his family, and they all enjoyed their dinner. But
the prepared food had been given to Amoru who eat it. After they had
dined, they all went home and, shortly afterwards, went to bed. During
the night, Chief Elullo turned himself into a witch-bird (the owl) and
went to ’Ndabu’s house, where he called the boy whom he had witched.
By this time a lot of witches had arrived, and when Amoru came out he
was surprised to see so many people. Chief Elullo then cautioned the
boy never to tell anyone what he saw, and then took him to the place
where they cooked human food, and gave him a piece of flesh and some
yam to eat. Amoru eat the yam, but took the flesh home and hid it. He
hid the meat inside his mother’s fire-place, and covered it over with
pots. Although he never spoke about what he had seen, he could not help
wondering how it was that he could go in and out of the house when all
the doors were fastened. The next night when he heard the witches play
in the town, he was compelled by the witch inside him to go and join
them, and found when he got to the cooking place that a man had been
killed and hung up to the branch of a tree by his neck. Chief Elullo
told the boy that they were going to eat the dead man as they had
eaten the man the previous night, and that he should have his share
as before. Amoru was very frightened when he saw what was done, but
dared not say anything. The dead man was then cut up and cooked with
yams. When the food was sufficiently cooked it was divided amongst the
witches who sat down and eat it, but Amoru only eat the yam and took
the meat home and hid it in the same place. Every night for a month and
a half the boy attended the feast of the witches, and either a man or
a woman was always killed and eaten; but Amoru always took his piece
of flesh home and placed it with the other meat. All this time Chief
’Ndabu had been making sacrifices to his ju-ju to protect him against
witchcraft, and he used to call all his sons together to sit round the
ju-ju while the sacrifices were being made, but Amoru sat outside as he
was afraid to go near his father’s ju-ju on account of the witch in him.
One night when the boy went to the feast the witches told him that it
was his turn to provide a body for food, but Amoru said he was too
young and had no one to give. Then Chief Elullo said, you have a father
and mother and plenty of brothers and sisters, we shall be pleased to
eat any of them. But still the boy refused, saying that he was much
too fond of his people to have them killed for the witches’ food. Chief
Elullo replied that he could not help his feelings, and that, Amoru had
seen a man or woman killed every night for a month and a half, and that
he had received his share although the people who had been killed and
eaten were the dear relations of some of the witches. Amoru then begged
the witches to have another round and that when it came to his turn
again he would give either his father or mother up to be eaten. To this
they all agreed, and they went on in their usual way killing and eating
a man or a woman every night: but Amoru never eat his share. The witch
people used to play every night from the time other people went to bed
until cock crow when they were obliged to go home. When the time came
for Amoru to supply a man to be eaten, he began to get frightened. So
at last he made up his mind to tell his eldest brother, whose name was
Nkanyan, all about the witches and the difficulty he was in. Amoru then
got his big brother to go into the bush with him so that no one could
hear what he said, and then told him how he had been made a witch in
secret and was compelled to attend the meetings where the dead bodies
were eaten, but he explained that he had not eaten any of the human
flesh, having hidden it in the fireplace. Amoru then said, “the time
has now arrived when I have to produce a man or a woman for the witches
to eat, and they want my father or mother or one of us children, but
as I do not want to give them anyone I thought I would get you to help
me as you are big and strong.” At first Nkanyan could not believe his
young brother’s story, so Amoru brought him to the place where he had
hidden the meat, and showed it to him asking him not to tell anyone as
he had thought of a plan. Amoru then told his brother to lie down in a
bed opposite the door, but that he was not to go to sleep. He was to
arm himself with a matchet, and when he heard the witches coming he was
to stand at the head of his bed with the matchet in his hand and his
arm raised ready to strike. Amoru also said, “one of the witches will
present the calabash holding ‘the night’ three times, and on the third
time you must smash the ‘night’ calabash[4] with your matchet, and it
will at once become light.” He told his brother to be brave and not to
make a noise or tell anyone until the calabash was broken. He must then
call out to the people who must catch the witches and tie them up.
Amoru told Nkanyan that when the time came he would hide under one
of the beds, but the witches would run outside, and could be easily
distinguished from the other people, as they would be all naked.
That evening, after all the people had gone to bed, the witches met as
usual for their feast and play, and Amoru went and joined them. Chief
Elullo said it was Amoru’s turn to provide a body for food and asked
him who he was going to give. Amoru replied that he would give them
his eldest brother Nkanyan. The chief then told the people to take the
night calabash with them, and to bring Nkanyan out of his father’s
house, but Amoru asked Elullo to lead the people, as he was the chief
of the witches. To this the chief agreed, and Amoru showed the way to
his father’s house, and having opened the door showed them the bed
where Nkanyan was supposed to be sleeping.
Then the man presented the “night” calabash towards Nkanyan three
times, but as he held it out for the third time, Nkanyan hit it with
his matchet and smashed it to pieces with one blow. Directly this had
been done, it became light at once, and all the witches were discovered
naked, and at once started screaming and running away, trying to hide.
But Nkanyan called out in a loud voice for everyone to come out and
seize the witches, and very soon they were all caught and securely
fastened up. The people then took the witches to the palaver house, and
Chief ’Ndabu sent word to the other chiefs that they would be tried at
once.
The big wooden drum was then beaten to call the people together. The
people of the town were much surprised that the night had been so
short, but when they heard that the night calabash had been broken and
the witches captured, they were very glad, and went to have a look at
them.
Chief ’Ndabu told the chiefs what had happened in his house the
previous night.
When all the people had assembled, it was noticed that there were very
few chiefs present as most of them and the head men had joined the
witches’ society.
Amoru was then called upon to give evidence. He told the people all
that had happened and the number of people he had seen killed and
eaten. He also produced the basket of human flesh which had been given
him as his share.
Nkanyan also told the chiefs and people how the witches had come to
kill him, but he had broken their ju-ju calabash and turned the night
into day, when all the naked witches were caught.
The chiefs then went outside to consult as they were afraid to talk in
front of the witches. When they returned they ordered the witches to be
tied up to trees and burnt alive, but Chief Elullo, being the leader
was tortured and kept alive for some time. They cut small bits of flesh
from him, and cooked it before his eyes. They then made him eat his own
meat. After a time he died in great agony. His body was then burnt all
except the skull which would not burn, so the people cut it into pieces
with an axe and threw the broken pieces on the fire. The basket of meat
which Amoru brought was also burnt.
The sons and daughters of the witches were sorry to lose their parents,
but they were glad that all the witches in the town had been caught and
disposed of.
The chiefs then consulted together as to how they should get the witch
out of Amoru. They decided that he should be sent to a ju-ju man named
Ewo who could take witches out of people, and they agreed to pay his
charges, which amounted to one slave, between them.
So Amoru went to Ewo, the ju-ju man, and he took the witch out of his
heart and put it under a rock.
When the boy returned to Okuni, he told the people that he was quite
cured and was no longer a witch man.
The chiefs were very glad to hear of this, and sent Amoru round the
towns, when he received many presents of cloth, rods, and tombo.
The people then collected all the ashes of the witches who had been
burnt and threw them into the river, saying they had got rid of all the
witches in their town.
The chiefs then ordered two cows to be killed to make a feast, and a
big play was held.
A month later Chief ’Ndabu died and his funeral was attended by all
the chiefs and people of the town. His body was dressed up in his best
clothes and it was made to sit up in a chair, some of his wives fanning
it to keep the flies off. It was kept there for three days, and the
chiefs sat round the dead body and eat their food, but each mouthful
was first offered to the dead man to eat. Those people who were very
fond of ’Ndabu went so far as to touch his mouth with the food before
they eat it.
The body was then wrapped up in sleeping mats and buried, and many rods
and pieces of cloth were placed in the grave.
Nkanyan then took the place of his father and looked after his mother
and brothers and sisters, who lived in peace and died natural deaths
without being troubled by witches.
Told by Ennenni, an Okuni woman.--[E.D., 16.6.10.]
XIII.--OF CHIEF AMAZA, HIS WIFE ACHI AND THE TORTOISE.
Achi was a fine-looking Okuni woman, the wife of Chief Amaza. He was
very fond of her and would not have any other wives.
She lived with her husband for some time, and eventually conceived. The
chief then told his wife that she was not to go out of the house as she
might give birth to the child when there was no one about to help her.
About this time a ju-ju man called Nkendeng was driven out of the Okuni
towns into the bush near Insofan because he used to kill people with a
poison called Ekpinon.
When the dry season came, it was the custom of the Okuni women to go
into the bush to the small rivers, and having dammed them up with
sticks and clay, they would bale the water out and catch the fish.
As a rule they stayed out in the bush for several days, and on these
occasions the married women were accompanied by their husbands, and the
young women would have their men friends.
As Achi was skilful at catching fish, she begged her husband to allow
her to go, but he refused on account of her condition. Achi was,
however, determined to go and bothered her husband so much that at
last he consented and they started off together.
Chief Amaza did not take any of his slaves with him as he did not
wish to stay more than two days in the bush on account of his wife’s
condition.
When they arrived at the river, which was close to where the ju-ju man
lived, they found that most of the people had already dried their fish
and were returning home. The chief then begged his wife to go back with
the other people to the town as he was afraid of the ju-ju man. But
Achi refused, and said she had taken a lot of trouble to come all the
way from Okuni and she would not go back without some fish. When the
chief saw that his wife was determined to stay, he made a bush shelter
for them both to sleep in.[5]
Amongst the people who came to the fishing was the tortoise, who
had made his shelter near the source of the stream. He did not fish
himself, but he brought his drum with him and a large bag. In the
evenings the tortoise used to play his drum very skilfully for the
people to dance, and as a reward they used to give him dried fish,
which he put in the bag.
The next day the few remaining people packed up their fish and returned
to Okuni, but the tortoise remained behind, as he hoped to get some
fish out of Achi and her husband.
Achi and her husband went fishing that day, and caught a lot of fish
between them, which they dried on sticks in the smoke of the fire at
night.
The next morning Achi was not feeling well, so she told her husband to
go and fish by himself. Achi was quite alone, when suddenly she felt
pains, and shortly afterwards the child she was expecting was born. She
then called for her husband to come and help her, but he could not hear.
The ju-ju man, however, had heard the child cry, and came to Achi at
once and assisted her by boiling water for her to wash with. He then
took the child up and washed it, and placed it on some soft dry leaves
on the ground.
He then asked Achi what she would give him as a reward for the trouble
he had taken. But Achi said “I have nothing to give you. Wait until my
husband returns.” But the ju-ju man said, “I know what you are thinking
of, you want to put me off with a present of some fish, but I do not
intend to accept anything of the sort. Nothing will content me but the
head of your baby, which I intend to give to my Ekpinon ju-ju.” When
Achi heard this she began to cry, and while she was crying her husband
came in, but no sooner did he see the ju-ju man than he threw his load
of fish on the ground and ran off to the nearest farm as fast as he
could go.
Shortly after this the tortoise came down to see what was the matter,
and he found the ju-ju man preparing to cut the baby’s head off,
and Achi weeping and imploring him to spare her new-born baby. The
tortoise then asked the ju-ju man some questions, and at last agreed
that he should take the baby’s head, but that he should leave the
body. He then reminded the ju-ju man that, when anyone was going to be
killed, it was the custom to beat the drum and march the victim to the
slaughter place. The ju-ju man agreed that there was such a custom, so
the tortoise went off and fetched his drum.
Very soon afterwards he returned, and commenced to play and sing, and
he played so well that the ju-ju man felt compelled to dance. The
tortoise then beat his drum louder and louder, and faster and faster,
telling the ju-ju man to dance further off, as he would hear the
drum better. He did so, but very soon returned to see that Achi and
her child was safe. He continued to dance a little way off, and then
returned two or three times, until the tortoise told him that he could
dance as far off as he liked, as he was there to look after Achi. He
then went further away each time until the sixth time, coming back
always to look at the child.
The tortoise told Achi that, the next time the ju-ju man danced away,
she was to pick up her baby and cover it with her cloth, and then run
by the nearest path, which he pointed out to her, to a farm which was
not far off, and where he thought her husband had gone to.
When the ju-ju man had gone some little distance, Achi picked up
her baby, and ran off as fast as she could go. The ju-ju man then
returned, and the tortoise drew in his head and legs into his shell,
but the ju-ju man was so angry at losing the baby that he picked up
the tortoise and carried it home. He then placed the tortoise on the
ground in front of his ju-ju, and drove a stake through his body, and
said to the ju-ju, “This is the man who stole Achi’s baby from me, and
prevented me from making a human sacrifice for you, so you must take
him instead.”
Achi reached the farm safely, and found her husband, who took her away
at once to Abijon, a town about five miles inland from Okuni. He then
consulted a lot-caster called Aja as to the baby’s future, and asked
him whether the child would live or die as the ju-ju man had seen him.
Aja placed his mats on the ground, and having sat down with his legs
crossed, he cast lots. He soon discovered that the tortoise had
sacrificed himself for the child, and that the child would therefore
live, but he warned the chief that the Ekpinon ju-ju walked about when
the sun was high up in the sky, and that he must never allow the child
to go out in the middle of the day, as the ju-ju would kill him. The
chief, with his wife and child, stayed three months at Abijon, and then
returned to Okuni.
Since that time tortoises have always been sacrificed to the Ekpinon
ju-ju, and the Okuni people always warn their children never to go out
in the middle of the day, when the sun is high up, as they might meet
the Ekpinon ju-ju without knowing it, and when they returned home they
would get sick and die.
Told by Ennenni, an Okuni woman dancer.--[E.D., 17.6.10.]
XIV.--THE FATE OF AGBOR THE HUNTER, WHO KILLED HIS WIFE AND CHILDREN.
Agbor was an Okuni man, and was married to a woman named Awo, by whom
he had two children, but they were both girls, much to his annoyance,
as he wanted a boy who would be able to help him with his work when he
grew up.
Agbor was a hunter and a trapper, and it was his custom to set traps
all along the road to the boundary where the Okuni farms joined up
with Insofan. Every morning he would start off with his bow and arrows
to inspect his traps and take out anything he found in them, and
sometimes, if he were lucky, he would shoot a buck or bush pig.
When he returned in the evening, Agbor used to worry his wife and tell
her that he wanted a son, until at last Awo told her husband that, as
she did not appear to be lucky with her children, he had better save up
and buy a slave who could help him. This Agbor did, and after a time
he managed to buy a slave called Edim. The slave always went with his
master into the bush, and helped him with his trap-setting and carried
the heavy loads.
One day Agbor caught a small bird in one of his traps, so he took it
out very carefully and carried it home. He then made a cage for it,
and fed it with seeds. Agbor warned his wife and two children that
they were on no account to touch the bird, as he was very fond of it,
and did not want any harm to happen to it. Then, for some time, Agbor
took much trouble in taming the bird, and taught it to sing. In the
evenings, when he returned from hunting, he used to take the bird round
to some of the chiefs and head men of the town, and the bird used to
sing to them. This pleased the chiefs so much that they used to give
Agbor presents of tombo and yams.
One day, while Agbor and his slave Edim were absent in the bush
hunting, one of Awo’s daughters opened the cage and let the bird fly
away.
When the hunter returned, he found that his pet bird had gone, and
he was very angry indeed, so he asked his wife who had let the bird
go, and Awo told him. Agbor then got a cutting whip, and flogged his
daughter very severely until the blood ran. Awo was much annoyed with
her husband for beating the child, so she packed up all her things, and
said she was going to return to her parents and would take her children
with her. But Agbor would not let her go, and told her to go to bed and
take her children with her.
Agbor then got his matchet, and having sharpened it on a stone, went
into the house and cut his wife’s head off, and then killed his two
children. When he had done this he was frightened, and ran away into
the bush and hid himself.
The next morning at daylight Edim the slave went to wake his master as
usual to go out and visit the traps, but he found that the hunter was
absent. Edim then opened the door of Awo’s room, and looked in. There
he saw the floor was covered with blood, and the three dead bodies were
lying together on the bed.
Edim then ran out of the house shouting, and told the people of the
town what he had seen, and that Agbor was not in the house. The people
then went to the house to look at Awo and her children, and the father
and brothers of Awo at once armed themselves and set off into the bush
to find Agbor.
After searching for some time they found him setting one of his traps,
so they surrounded and caught him; then, having tied him up securely
with his hands behind his back, they brought him into the town and
handed him over to the head chief.
The chief asked Agbor who had killed Awo and the two children, and he
replied that he had done so as they had made him angry. He told the
chief that one daughter had let his pet bird fly away, and when he
flogged her the mother had threatened to leave him and to take the
children with her. The chief told Agbor that he had no right to kill
his wife and children, and sentenced Agbor to be killed by degrees.
He was then led away and tied up to a post in the middle of the town. A
man with a sharp knife then cut off Agbor’s left hand. But Agbor said
nothing, much to the disappointment of the people, who wished to hear
him shout. So the torturer said, “Do you feel any pain, Agbor?” and he
replied “No.” After a short time the man cut off Agbor’s right hand,
and as he still remained quiet, the man asked him, “How do you feel
now, Agbor?” He replied as before, that he did not feel any pain. Then
they cut off his left foot, and still Agbor remained quiet.
The people were not at all satisfied with this, so they lit a fire and
put Agbor’s right leg into it. The pain of the burning was so great
that Agbor screamed with agony, but the people laughed and told him
that he was now feeling what death was like, and to remember how he had
killed his wife and children. Agbor implored the people to kill him at
once, but they refused, and left him tied up to the post, where he died
during the night from loss of blood.
When Agbor was dead, the father of Awo claimed his head, so it was cut
off and given to him, and the body was buried.
He then buried the head for two weeks, until the ants and maggots had
removed the flesh. He then dug the skull up again, and placed it on the
ground outside the door of his house.
Then, every morning when he went out, he would hit the skull with his
chewing-stick which he cleaned his teeth with, and say, “Ah, you killed
my daughter, but I conquered you.”
From that time, whenever the Okuni people go to war, they put the
skulls of their enemies whom they have killed on the ground, so that
they can show them to all people as the heads of their enemies whom
they have slain, and they always hit them with their chewing-sticks
when they go out in the morning, saying, “I conquered you; I conquered
you.”
Told by Ennenni of Okuni.--[E.D., 19.6.10.]
XV.--WHAT HAPPENED AT OKUNI WHEN ANYONE WAS KILLED BY ACCIDENT.
Many years ago there were two small boys living at Okuni, named Ori
Namfup and Ori, they were great friends and always used to play
together. One day in the rainy season when the native pear trees were
covered with fruit, Ori said to his friend let us climb up to the top
of two of these pear trees, and when we are high up we can play at
stoning one another. They very soon climbed up to the highest branches
of the trees, collecting the fruit as they went, and started throwing
them at one another, when suddenly Ori lost his hold and fell to the
ground, breaking his neck. Ori Namfup was very frightened, and ran into
the town and told the people that Ori had fallen from a tree, and was
dead. His friends then came and carried the body of Ori to the head
chief. When the father of Ori heard that his son was dead, he went
to the chief and demanded that Ori Namfup’s father should give him
two slaves to replace the son he had lost. But the chief refused, and
said that as Ori had been killed accidentally it was not right that
two slaves should be given as compensation. But Ori’s father being
obstinate and very headstrong, insisted upon his claim so fiercely
that the chief gave in and ordered the slaves to be paid. Ori Namfup’s
father then bought two slaves and handed them over to Ori’s father, in
order to settle the matter and so that there should be no bad feeling
between them.
The chiefs then made a law that, for the future, whenever a man killed
another by accident, he should pay two slaves to the father of the dead
man, but he should not be killed as he would have been if he had killed
the man on purpose.
Told by Ennenni of Okuni.--[E.D., 19.6.10.]
XVI.--HOW OGHABI POISONED HIS FRIEND OKPA AND FAMILY, OR WHY A HOST
SHOULD ALWAYS EAT FIRST FROM THE FOOD WHICH HE GIVES TO HIS GUESTS.
Oghabi and Okpa both lived at Inkum. They had always been great friends
since they were boys, and when they grew up they made farms in the same
place and used to feed together. As they became richer they bought
slaves and canoes and lived in separate houses, each man having one
wife. At last Oghabi became tired of the farming work and told his
friend that he was going to be a hunter. He said that by his hunting he
hoped to grow richer, as he intended to go from town to town and sell
the meat of the animals he killed while Okpa could be looking after the
farm.
For some time all went well with Oghabi, and he made a lot of money by
selling his dried meat, but one day he went into the forest with two of
his slaves and met with misfortune. He had hunted all day, and killed
several buck, and when the evening came he skinned the animals, and
having cut them in half placed the meat over the fire to dry in the
smoke. He then went to sleep with the two slaves.
During the night a large python came and took one of Oghabi’s legs in
his mouth and swallowed it up to the thigh.
Okhabi woke up in great fear and yelled for help, he tried to stand up
but could not do so, as his leg was down the snake’s throat. He then
called for his hunting knife which one of the slaves gave him, the
other slave called Odo snatched a burning stick from the fire and ran
off to call Okpa to come and help. But before Okpa arrived Oghabi had
cut the snake’s mouth and body right down with his hunting knife and
released his leg. The leg was so swollen and inflamed that he could
not walk. Okpa arrived shortly afterwards with his wife and together
with the help of the slaves they carried Oghabi and the meat he had
killed back to his house. Okpa then went home with his wife, but the
next morning he went to enquire after his friend, and having stayed a
short time he went home again. Later in the day Okpa’s wife came to
see Oghabi and had a conversation with his wife. She said she thought
there must be something wrong about what had happened the night before
as it was not usual for a snake to try and swallow a man, she therefore
advised Oghabi’s wife to consult a ju-ju man upon the matter. After
she had gone home Oghabi’s wife told her husband what Okpa’s wife had
said, and Oghabi agreed and sent off for the ju-ju man at once. When
the man came he consulted his skull and then said: “It was your best
friend who sent the snake to kill you but I will not mention his name
unless you promise to revenge yourself upon him.” As Oghabi only had
one good friend he did not want to promise what the ju-ju man asked,
but his wife, who had great faith in the ju-ju man, at last persuaded
him to pass his word. The ju-ju man then said, “It was your friend Okpa
who sent the big snake to swallow you as he is envious of your being a
hunter and making more money than him.” Oghabi would not believe this
at first, but his wife convinced him after much argument that what the
ju-ju man had said was true. From that day Oghabi grew to hate his
friend, and when he recovered from the injuries he had received from
the snake he began to plot as to how he should revenge himself upon
Okpa and his wife. At last he decided to poison them as he did not wish
to kill them openly with a matchet. Having got some strong poison from
the ju-ju man he told his wife to prepare palm oil chop for Okpa and
his family. While she was getting the food ready Oghabi went out and
made some tombo, and when he returned he divided the tombo into two
calabashes, one large and one small. Into the large calabash he placed
some of the poison, and the remainder he put in the palm oil chop. He
then got ready and went with his wife to Okpa’s house taking the two
calabashes of tombo and the palm oil chop with him. When they arrived
Okpa received them gladly and ordered food to be prepared at once. When
the food was ready Okpa and his wife sat down and eat it and drank the
tombo from the small calabash. Oghabi then told Okpa and his wife that
they could eat the food which they had brought for them, and when they
had finished they could drink the tombo in the big calabash. Okpa and
his wife then called their children together and sat down and eat the
poisoned food and drank the tombo, but Okpa’s youngest son would not
eat or drink anything.
When they had finished Oghabi said he should go home but Okpa begged
him to stay. Oghabi, however, refused and started off home with his
wife. When they had reached half way and were sitting down to rest,
Okpa’s youngest son came running up to them and implored them to return
with him and help his father as they were all very ill and in great
pain. Oghabi said, “run back home at once and tell your father that I
will come directly I have been home, and will bring some medicine which
will make them vomit and they will then get well.”
But Oghabi never went back to Okpa’s house until the next morning, when
he found they were all dead except Okpa’s youngest son who was crying.
Oghabi was very glad at what he saw, and the boy noticed that Oghabi
did not cry, so he went and reported everything to the chief.
The chief sent for Oghabi and his wife and called the chiefs of the
town together to hold palaver. The boy told them how Oghabi had brought
food for his people the previous night and that he was the only one
who had not eaten any, and all the others had died soon after Oghabi
left the house. He also told the chief that Oghabi and his wife had
not eaten any of the food, and that when he saw his friend and all his
family were dead that he had not cried. The chief then asked Oghabi
whether he had tasted the food he brought for Okpa, and Oghabi replied
that he had done so and that his wife had cooked and eaten some of the
food. As there was no one besides the boy to give evidence the chief
said he could not treat Oghabi as a poisoner. He therefore took him to
his ju-ju and made him swear that he had not killed Okpa, and that if
he had the ju-ju should kill him. Oghabi’s wife swore also.
The chief then sent word all round the towns that as Okpa and his
family had been poisoned, for the future whenever anyone gave another
person tombo, foo-foo, palm oil chop, or anything else to eat or drink,
they must first partake of it themselves, to show that it was not
poisoned.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--[20.6.10.]
_Author’s Note._
It is a universal custom throughout the district that when food or
drink is brought for strangers the provider of the food should first
taste it, to show that it is not poisoned.
In connection with the above it may be of interest to note the
formalities which are invariably observed whenever tombo is brought for
people to drink, even when there are only a few present.
The “pourer out” (Ka-ammum (Ingor) pour drink) takes the demijon or
calabash of tombo in his right hand and places it on his knee, then he
takes a glass or small calabash in his left hand and having poured a
little tombo into the glass he presents it to the chief or the head man
present, who makes a little speech asking God (Ossor wor) to be good
to them to prevent their children from dying, and to give them good
yam crops, etc. He then throws the tombo on the ground. Having handed
the glass back, it is filled and given to the chief’s small boy, who
stands behind him, to drink. The “pourer out” then pours out a glass
and drinks it himself. After that the next glass is given to the chief
who throws it on the ground as a libation to the dead ancestors, then
the glass will be filled again, and the chief drinks it.
The tombo is then poured out glass after glass and handed round until
there is only one glass left in the calabash and that is drunk by the
chief’s small boy who drank the first glass, he leaves a little in the
bottom of the glass and gives it to the chief who throws the contents
on the ground to propitiate the evil spirits.
The reason that the glass is presented with the left hand of the
“pourer out” is, that formerly the natives were afraid of being seized
by the hand, when they held out the tombo, by some man who would seize
them on behalf of a third person who owed him a debt, and if they held
the glass out in their right hand and were caught by it they could not
get at their knives which are worn on their right side, to protect
themselves. On all other occasions things are given and taken with the
right hand as the left hand is looked upon as “unclean” for certain
reasons, and it is considered in consequence an insult to offer or take
anything with the left hand. Natives eat their food with their right
hands only.--[E.D., 20.6.10.]
XVII.--HOW CHIEF ALANKOR AND ALL HIS FAMILY WERE KILLED BY A BIG FROG,
OR WHY THE COCK CROWS AT DAWN.
A long time ago, Chief Alankor was one of the head chiefs of Ikom, he
was rich and powerful. This chief had five wives and several children
by each, but he disliked them all with the exception of the last born
whose name was Eba. Wherever he went, whether it was into the forest to
fell timber for making canvas, or to visit neighbouring towns, he used
to take his little son with him and spoil him in many ways.
When all the people were working, including the women and children
on the farm, Eba always stood with his father in the shade of a tree
throughout the heat of the day, and when it was time to go home in
the evening, and all the others were carrying heavy loads, some of
firewood, and others of food, Eba only carried his father’s bag,
containing his snuff and horn. After the bush had been cut and burnt,
and the ground prepared for the farm the Chief waited until some
heavy rains had fallen, and then proceeded to distribute the yams for
planting. Eba carried the yams round for the others to plant. As he
was putting the yams into the basket, he took a great fancy to one
particular yam-tail which he thought he would like to take home and
eat, so he placed the yam-tail behind the tree where his father was
standing, and then took the remaining yams out to the people on the
farm to plant. When the work for the day was finished, and it was time
to go home, Chief Alankor called his people together and started off,
Eba carrying his father’s bag as usual, but he entirely forgot his
yam-tail which he had left behind the tree until they got half way
home. Eba then told his father, that he wished to return to the farm as
he had left something behind which he wanted to get.
His father told him that it was most unusual for anyone to return to
the farm after the work was over as it was well known that anyone
going back might meet some evil thing. But Eba said he was not afraid,
and as his father did not like to refuse his favourite son anything
he allowed him to go, and told his people to sit down and wait until
Eba came back. Eba then hurried back to the place where he had left
his yam-tail, but when he got there he found the yam-tail was turning
itself into a frog, which grew larger and larger every moment. Eba was
very frightened, but continued to look at the frog until suddenly he
caught its eye, when he dropped down dead.
Chief Alankor waited for some time for Eba, and as he did not come,
sent two of his slaves back to fetch him, and then went on with the
rest of his people.
Soon after they reached the house, food was brought for the chief, but
he could not eat anything as he was anxious about his favourite son,
and was expecting him to return with the two slaves every minute. When
it became dark, as they did not return, Alankor sent four more slaves
after the other two, and told them to search the farm all over for his
son, but they did not return either.
The chief became more anxious as it got later, and there were no signs
of any of the people he had sent out, so just before midnight he sent
eight more slaves with fire-brands, to help in the search. When the day
was about to break, and there was no message from any of his people,
Chief Alankor became thoroughly frightened, and called the rest of his
slaves together, and having armed them with bows and arrows to protect
themselves, he sent them off after the others and warned them to be
very careful how they went. As nothing was heard from the last lot, the
chief armed himself and his sons, and told his wives that he was going
himself to look for Eba and the slaves who were lost.
He then started off. As the chief did not return, the wives and
daughters went out to the farm to look for him and try to find out what
had happened to everybody, thus leaving the house deserted except for
the cattle and the fowls. When the morning came, the cock went to the
cow, the sheep and goats, and said, “As our master is missing we should
all go and look for him.” So they started off, the cow leading the way,
followed by the goats and sheep, and then came the hens and chickens,
but the cock stayed some distance behind them all.
When they reached the farm, the cock flew up to the top of a high tree
to watch and see what happened to everybody. On looking round the farm
he saw the bodies of Chief Alankor and all his family, including the
slaves, lying on the ground apparently dead. Some little distance off
he saw a creature like a gigantic frog covered with hair, sitting down
with its head bent down, as he watched the cow and other animals walked
past the monster, and as they looked in its eyes they fell down dead,
one after the other.
The cock was very frightened, and flew down from the top of his tree
and ran off as fast as he could to his friend the rabbit, and told him
what had happened to his master and all his household, including the
animals and hens.
The rabbit said that he thought he could bring the Chief and all his
people back to life again, but they must be very careful not to let the
frog look at them as if he did they would surely die. They then set off
together for the farm, but they went by a different path so as to come
in at the back of the frog. The rabbit then began burrowing, and the
cock went into the bush and cut some strong tie-tie one end of which
he made fast to a tree. He then sat down to wait for the rabbit. After
a time, the rabbit came out and said that he had burrowed away until
he had come just under where the frog was sitting, and that he had
made holes so that they could get at both his hind legs without being
seen. The rabbit then led the way into the hole, and the cock followed
dragging the tie-tie with him. When they got to the place where the
evil monster was, they tied both of his legs very securely with the
tie-tie, and then went back by the way they had come. When they got to
the mouth of the hole, the cock cut a small piece of tie-tie and flew
to the top of a tree, taking great care not to look in the direction of
the frog.
He then tied his head in such a way that he could not catch the frog’s
eye. The rabbit remained in the hole so that he could not see or be
seen. The cock then called out to the frog to make all the people come
to life again at once or else he and the rabbit would kill him.
The frog tried to jump away, but found that he was helpless as both of
his hind legs were fast. Then the frog promised to cure the people,
but begged the cock and the rabbit not to kill him but to throw him
into the water to drown, this they agreed to do. The frog then pointed
to some leaves growing near and told the cock to gather them, and to
squeeze the juice into the eyes of the people and animals, and they
would all wake up. The cock and the rabbit then untied the frog and
threw him into the river: they then returned and squeezed the juice of
the leaves into the eyes of all the people and animals, and they woke
up immediately, none the worse for their experience but very frightened.
They all went home and were shortly afterwards joined by the cock and
the rabbit. The chief then asked who it was that had redeemed him from
death with all his household? When he heard it was the cock and the
rabbit, he appointed the cock to be the head man of the house, and gave
him power to wake everybody at daylight and tell them it was time to go
and work. As a reward to the rabbit, the chief pointed to his farm and
said, “you can eat as much as you like of the yams, cassava, and of the
palm-nuts which fall to the ground, and take them home and nobody will
take them from you.”
From that day, the frog lived in the water, and seldom came to land
except for food, and, ever since, the young of the frog have had tails
which show that they come from the frog which was made from the tail of
a yam.
Told by Ewonkom, an Ikom woman.--[E.D., 22.6.10.]
XVIII.--HOW THE RIVER CAME INTO EXISTENCE; OR, WHY A CRAB HAS NO HEAD.
When the Creator made the earth he appointed the elephant ruler of
the world. In those days there were no rivers but the Creator made a
pond for the elephant to drink out of. One day the elephant told his
friends, the hawk and the crab, that he was going to hunt in the forest
on a certain day. When the appointed day arrived the elephant and the
hawk went off with their bows and arrows, and having surrounded a part
of the forest, commenced to hunt.
Now the crab was a poor thing and could not walk fast, neither could
he use a bow and arrow, so he took a long net with him into the forest
and waited for the animals to run into it. When an animal which had
been wounded by the elephant or the hawk ran into the net it very soon
became entangled in the meshes of the net. The crab then went up to
the animal and killed it with a stick; having thrown the arrow away he
would put the animal on one side as his own.
At the end of the day the elephant had killed five buck and the hawk
three, but the crab had secured ten animals all much bigger than
himself. When the hunt was over the elephant told the hawk and the crab
to bring to him all the animals they had killed, but when he saw that
the crab had killed ten animals to his five he was very angry and told
the hawk to put him down on the ground and cut his head off.
But the crab begged the elephant so hard to forgive him, and offered to
give up the animals he had killed, that at last the elephant trumpeted:
“Go!” in a very loud voice, and the crab went, leaving the ten animals
behind him.
The crab was very angry at losing all the meat, so he thought he would
revenge himself upon the elephant. He therefore crawled along sideways
to the elephant’s house, and told the elephant’s wife that the place
where they had been hunting was very cold and that her husband wished
her to make him some good soup and that she was not to forget to put
plenty of peppers in it.
The mammie elephant did as she was told, and the crab went down to the
elephant’s pond and filled it up with earth, so that there would be no
place where the elephant could drink. When he had finished he dug a
small hole where the pond had been and buried himself in it.
Shortly after this the elephant returned home, carrying the meat, and
bringing his friend the hawk with him. The elephant’s wife then brought
the soup she had made, and the elephant and the hawk sat down together
and finished it.
When the meal was over, the elephant told his wife to bring some water
for them to drink, as the soup was so hot from the peppers that he had
become quite thirsty, but his wife said that she had not got any water
that morning, so they had better go to the pond, as it was not so far.
The elephant went down to the pond but found to his intense surprise
and disgust that there was no water, and that the pond was full of mud.
At this he was very angry and went home and told the hawk.
Then the hawk, who was also very thirsty, went down to the pond with
the elephant, and together they dug the mud out until at last they came
across the crab. The elephant at once guessed that it was the crab who
had filled up his drinking pond, and being in a furious rage, he cut
the crab’s head off and threw him into the pond.
The water came back into the pond at once and both the elephant and the
hawk had a good drink and wash. After a time he thought that if he left
the crab in the water that he would fill the pond up again, so he told
the hawk to dig away at the lower end, so that the water could flow out
of the pond. The hawk did as he was told and made a running stream.
This stream became larger and larger until it grew into a big river.
The crab then went into the river, but having no head he could not see,
so he went to the fish and asked him to cure his wounds and give him a
pair of eyes to see with. The fish cured his wounds after a time, but,
having no eyes to spare, he sent the crab on to his friend the prawn.
The prawn got some eyes, which he placed on the shoulders of the crab,
and they grew there, so that he could see quite well, but the crab has
never had a head since that time.
Told by Ewonkom, an Ikom woman.--[E.D., 22.6.10.]
XIX.--WHY THE MIST RISES FROM THE WATER.
Ogbaja of Ikom was the son of Chief ’Njum, and his mother was called
Nara. Chief ’Njum was a poor man, but he had a farm and a few slaves to
work for him. When Ogbaja grew up, he became a hunter, and being a good
shot with his bow and arrows he nearly always succeeded in bringing
back some meat, which he took to his father.
One year the season was so dry and the sun so hot that Chief ’Njum
could not plant his yams in time, and when he did plant them it was too
late, and there was a very bad crop in consequence.
When the food began to get scarce, Chief ’Njum told his son to go
hunting every day to supply meat for everybody.
Ogbaja went out every morning with his bow and arrows, and generally
returned in the evening just before it was dark, carrying the animals
he had killed. He also used to bring some bush mangoes with him as
well, as they were useful for making soup.
His father always sent Ogbaja to the chiefs every day with a small
piece of meat and one mango for each, and after a time they got to know
him quite well.
Just at that time there were eight wicked people who had been driven
out of the town. Some of them were witches and others were poisoners,
but one of them was a cripple, and could only scramble along on his
hands and knees. These people were not allowed to make farms, so they
were forced to live on the fruits and seeds which they found in the
forest.
Ogbaja knew all about these men, and was afraid to meet them, so he
always gathered mangoes at a time when he knew they would not be near
the tree.
One day Ogbaja’s mother Nara said she wished to go with him to gather
some fruit, but he told her that she could not go, as the witches were
dangerous men and might kill her.
Nara, however, made up her mind to go, so she put ashes in Ogbaja’s
bag which he always carried, and made holes in the bottom, so that she
could follow him.
Ogbaja got up early in the morning, and took his bow and arrows with
him to hunt; then as he went along he left a trail of ashes behind him,
which Nara followed, and at last came to the mango tree, where she
found Ogbaja picking up the fruit.
Her son said “Why do you come here? If you had waited at home, I would
have brought you some fruit.” But his mother told him that she wanted
to get the fruit herself, and commenced gathering the mangoes and
eating some of the ripe ones.
Ogbaja said, “I cannot take you home, as I must go out hunting to get
food. I will therefore leave you at the top of the tree, where you will
be safe from the wicked men, but you must be careful to keep very quiet
and not move when they come.” He then helped his mother up the tree,
and left her sitting on a branch, telling her that he would return the
same way after he had finished hunting, late in the afternoon, and take
her home. He then went away.
At midday when the sun was high up, the witches came and started to
pick up the mangoes, but they left the cripple underneath the tree.
When they had finished, they told him they were going to the stream to
get water and would return to him later.
Nara was very frightened when she saw the witches, and kept quite
quiet, but when she saw them go down to the stream she thought they had
all gone, so she moved about in the branches and looked all round.
This movement soon attracted the attention of the cripple, who was
lying on his back, and he looked up and saw Nara sitting on the branch.
Shortly afterwards the seven bad men returned with the water, and after
he had taken a drink he told the others what he had seen in the tree.
They looked up and saw Nara, so one of the witches climbed up the tree
and threw her down. She was killed at once, and they cut the body up
and divided it and took it home to eat. The cripple claimed the head
for his share. As he was unable to walk, he crawled along the path on
his hands and knees, rolling the head in front of him.
When Ogbaja returned to the mango tree after his hunting to take his
mother home, he could not find her, but on looking about on the ground
he saw the bloodstains where his mother’s body had been cut up, and
at once knew that she must have been killed by the witches. He never
gathered any fruit, but returned home empty-handed.
Ogbaja was far too frightened to go to the place where the bad men
lived to look for his mother, so he went home, feeling very sad.
When he returned, Chief ’Njum asked him what had become of his mother,
but Ogbaja’s heart was so full of grief that he could not answer. Then
his friends Bojor and Osobia came and asked him why he grieved so much.
So he told them what had happened, sobbing all the time.
His father, in the meantime, had sent to call another chief called
Agborleku, who was a very wise man, to consult with him as to what was
the best thing to be done.
When Agborleku arrived, Chief ’Njum told him what had happened to
his wife. Then Chief Agborleku sat for a long time without speaking,
considering what was the best way to get rid of these wicked men.
At last he told Chief ’Njum not to do anything for two months, as, by
that time, the witches would think they were quite safe.
He was then to prepare a big feast and make plenty of strong tombo,
half of which was to be made from the tombo drawn from the top of the
tree and the other half from a tree which had been cut down. He was
then to mix the two lots of tombo together. Cows would then be killed
and goats, and all the people of the country, including the witches,
would be invited to attend the feast which would be given in honour of
the chief’s dead wife.
A certain house would be set aside for the witches to sleep in, and
they were to be given plenty of tombo to drink, so that they would
sleep well. When they were fast asleep, they would be covered up with
dry palm leaves and then burnt to death.
Chief ’Njum agreed that this was a good plan, and commenced making
preparations for the feast. When they were completed, a man was sent to
the eight witches with a message from Chief ’Njum, that he would like
the people who had been turned out of the town to take part in the big
feast he was giving in honour of his dead wife.
When the man had gone, the cripple tried to persuade the other witches
not to go to the feast, as he said that the people of the town would
be certain to revenge themselves upon them for the death of Nara, but
the witches did not agree with him, and said that it was impossible for
Chief Njum to know that they had killed his wife, as no one had seen
them do it, and they did not think he would ask them to a feast if he
wished to harm them. They also said that they had not had a good feed
for a long time, so, in spite of the entreaties of the cripple, they
decided to go.
When the day of the feast arrived, the seven evil men carried the
cripple to the town, and at once began to eat as much as they could,
and drank large quantities of the strong tombo. But the cripple eat
very little, and did not drink any of the tombo, as he was suspicious
of the people.
Very soon, the seven witches were quite drunk, and lay down in the
house which had been set apart for them, and went fast asleep. The
cripple also lay down and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, but
in reality he was wide-awake and very watchful.
When Ogbaja saw that all the witches had gone to sleep, he covered them
all over, very softly, with dry palm leaves, and, having set fire to
them, went out and fastened the door.
The seven men were burnt to death, as they were too drunk to escape,
but the cripple managed to crawl into a large water-pot which was kept
in the room for drinking-water, and the fire did not hurt him, as he
only kept his mouth just out of the water.
When the house was burnt down, Ogbaja went inside to see that all the
witches were dead, and counted the bodies, but could only find seven.
He thought he must have made a mistake, so he counted them again out
loud, one, two, three, up to seven, and the cripple called from his pot
after him the numbers up to seven. Ogbaja could not understand this,
so he counted the bodies again aloud, and again the cripple copied
him. Ogbaja then called the people in with hoes, and they dug up the
ground, but could not find the eighth body. Ogbaja then counted the
bodies again, and the people listened carefully; the cripple answered
as before, and they guessed from the direction the voice came from that
the last of the witch-men must be in the water-pot, so they looked
in and found the cripple. They dragged him out of the pot at once,
and said, “As you do not seem to like to be killed with fire, we will
kill you with the water-pot you took refuge in.” They then dragged the
cripple down to the waterside, where they made a large fire, and put
the water-pot into it. The cripple begged them not to put him in the
fire, but no one answered him. When the pot was red-hot, it was taken
out of the fire and placed over the cripple’s shoulders. He was then
pushed into the river. The red-hot pot caused steam and mist to rise
from the water, and it is still to be seen when the mornings are cold
that mist rises from the river, and people say that this is caused
by the red-hot pot which was placed over the shoulders of the wicked
cripple when he was thrown into the water and the steam still continues
to rise.
Told by Ewonkom, an Ikom woman.--[E.D., 23.6.10.]
XX.--HOW IBANANG OKPONG AND HER MOTHER WERE SWALLOWED BY A MAN-EATING
DRUM, AND HOW THEY ESCAPED FROM ITS INSIDE.
Years and years ago the Ikom people had never seen the large wooden
drum called ’Ndofu. This drum was made out of the trunk of a hard-wood
tree and hollowed out with a long slit at the top. When this drum was
beaten with two soft pieces of wood, the sound carried for a great
distance. This drum was used for dances and for calling the people
in from the farms when there was any big palaver on, or if the town
were going to be attacked. Messages could also be sent to anyone who
understood the beat of the drum.
About this time, many people from the surrounding towns and countries
disappeared and were never seen or heard of again, until at last it
became known that one of these wooden drums lived in a town in the bush
not far from Ikom, and if anyone strayed into the wooden drum’s town
by accident he was swallowed alive and was never seen again. The people
of Ikom therefore warned their children never to go by themselves to
the farms unless they knew the road very well indeed, as if they took
the wrong path and went to the town where the wooden drum lived, they
would be swallowed up and would disappear for ever.
In those days a man called Okongo Osim lived at Ikom. He had a very
beautiful wife whose name was Inkang Ezen. They only had one child,
Ibanang Okpong by name, and both the father and mother were very fond
of her. They took great care of the little girl, never allowing her to
go about by herself, and frequently warned her about the bad ju-ju who
lived in the bush and eat people. Ibanang, however, did not pay much
attention to what her parents said, and, as she was never allowed to go
out to the farm, she grew to be very discontented.
The parents arranged that they would never go to their farm together,
so one day Okongo Osim would go to the farm and leave his wife to look
after their daughter, as she could help in the cooking and get water
from the river. The next day the father would stay at home to look
after the girl and his wife would go to the farm.
This went on for some time, until at last Ibanang became very
dissatisfied, as she had never been to their farm and wanted to see
what it was like very much. So she waited until the day when her mother
had gone to the farm and she was left in charge of her father.
Ibanang then said she was going down to the river to get water to
boil the yams in, but, instead of doing as she proposed, she left her
water-pot on the ground outside the house, and ran off along the path
which she knew her mother always took to go to the farm.
After she had gone for a little distance outside the town, Ibanang came
to a place where the path divided and, not knowing which way to go,
she took the path which led to the right, and ran on until she came to
a cripple sitting on the side of the path beneath a tree. He greeted
her and offered her some kola. But Ibanang was in a hurry to find her
mother, and would not stop. She ran on and paid no attention to the
cripple, who shouted after her that she ought to go back, as the path
did not lead to her farm.
After she had gone a little distance she was out of breath, so she
stopped to rest for a time. While she was resting, a small wooden drum
came up and spoke to her. He offered a kola nut, which she refused, and
he then told her to go back, but Ibanang would not listen to him and
said she was looking for her mother. She then ran on and passed several
more wooden drums, each one bigger than the last; they all told her to
return, but she was obstinate, and still ran on until at last she came
to a clearing in the bush where there was an enormous wooden drum held
up by forked sticks and resting on the ground.
As the girl had never seen anything like this drum before she went up
quite close to it. The drum then said to her: “What are you doing in
my town? No one is allowed to come here, and if anyone does come, they
never go back again.”
The girl then began to be afraid and looked round to see how she could
escape, but the path she had come by had closed up and there was no way
out, as she was entirely surrounded by thick bush.
She then listened and could hear singing and dancing going on, but the
sounds seemed to come from the inside of the drum, and, although she
looked round everywhere, she could not see anybody.
While she was wondering where the sounds came from, the big drum opened
his lips wide and swallowed her up. She slid down his throat and fell
into a big compound where there were many people singing and dancing.
Ibanang did not know any of the people, but they were those who had
disappeared from the surrounding towns for some years.
She then asked some of the people why they did not go back home; so
they told her that the only way was to climb up and cut the heart
and liver out of the drum, but they could not do that as they had no
matchets or knives.
This made the girl very sad, but, as she could not see any other way
out of the place, she made up her mind to enjoy herself, and sang and
danced with the rest of the people.
When Ibanang’s mother returned from the farm her husband told her that
Ibanang had escaped from the house and had gone to the farm. But her
mother knew that she must have lost her way, as she had not been to the
farm and guessed at once that she had gone to the town of the wooden
drum, where she would be killed. She then abused her husband as much as
she dared for not looking after their child properly, and pulled her
hair down and cried all the night.
Inkang Ezen told her husband that in three days’ time she would set
out to find Ibanang, and that if she did not find her she would never
return. The next two days Inkang Ezen spent in borrowing native razors
from her friends and sharpening them.
Then on the third day she started off, when there was no one about,
with the razors in her cloth, and went by the road leading to the town
of the wooden drum.
She had not gone far when she met the cripple, who was always in the
same place from morning until sunset. He offered Inkang Ezen some kola,
as he had done to her daughter, but she refused to take it. Then the
cripple called her back and said she was on the wrong road and that if
she went further she would never return; but the woman told him she did
not care, as she was looking for her daughter, who had disappeared.
She went on, and met the small drum, who also offered her kola, and
tried to persuade her to go back, but she would not listen to him.
After that, she passed drum after drum, until at length she arrived at
the big drum, who asked her why she had come, so Inkang Ezen said she
was looking for her daughter Ibanang, and would like to go to the same
place where she had gone.
Then the big drum took her up, and, having opened his big lips wide, he
swallowed Inkang Ezen in the same way as he had swallowed her daughter.
When she went down the drum’s throat and reached the compound, she came
across several people she did not know, but, on looking round, she saw
her daughter, and ran to her and embraced her.
She talked to Ibanang for some time, until the people came up and spoke
to them. Inkang Ezen told them that Ibanang was her daughter, who had
lost her way in trying to find their farm. She also told them that she
had found out how to escape from the drum before she came, and had
brought some sharp razors to help them to cut their way out. When the
people heard this, they were so glad that they danced and sang all the
night through.
In the morning Inkang Ezen gave her razors to the men, and they at once
climbed up into the drum, and commenced cutting the drum’s heart out,
bit by bit.
When they began to cut, the drum felt a great pain in his inside, and
made such a noise that all the small drums and the cripple came to
enquire what the matter was. When they came, the big drum told them
that he had a bad pain in his heart, and thought that the people he had
swallowed must be trying to cut their way out. He then asked them if
they could do anything to help him, but the small drums said they could
do nothing.
All this time the men inside the drum were cutting away at his heart
and liver with their razors, until at last the drum got up from his
seat, and fell over dead.
When the drum fell down, Inkang Ezen told the men to work hard and cut
their way out. They cut their way through the drum’s heart and liver,
and then made an opening in his lips big enough for a man to crawl
through. One man got out, and told the people inside that it was quite
light.
Then all the people came out of the inside of the drum one after
another, including the goats and other animals that the drum had
swallowed.
Everyone praised Inkang Ezen very much for the way she had delivered
them, and asked her to show them her house, so that they would know
where to find her in the future. She was very glad to do this, and took
all the people to her husband’s house.
When they arrived, a report was sent round the whole country that the
big wooden drum, the destroyer of men, was dead.
Then the men went to the home of the big drum with axes, and cut the
drum into pieces and carried them to Inkang Ezen’s house.
After the body of the drum had been eaten up, the bones were preserved.
They bored holes in the leg bones, and took the marrow out. The bones
were then used to beat the drums with at dances and in times of danger.
The people who had escaped from the drum’s inside each took one of his
bones and departed to their different towns, where they all made big
wooden drums like the one which had swallowed them.
Told by Ewonkom, an Ikom woman.--[E.D., 23.6.10.]
XXI.--WHY THE HEAD OF THE MALE GOAT SMELLS SO STRONG.
There was once a male goat who cut a large cotton-tree down and then
burnt it. When it was quite dead, mushrooms began to grow on the
trunk. Now these mushrooms are very good in palm-oil chop, and the
goat thought he would like to eat them. Unfortunately, just before
he gathered them, the elephant went to the tree and rooted them all
up. When the goat saw what the elephant had done, he was vexed, so he
went and told the elephant that he had cut down the tree and burnt
it in order to grow the mushrooms for his food, and as the elephant
had spoilt them all, he demanded fish or meat to make soup, as
compensation. The elephant said he did not care much for either fish
or meat, and had none to give, so he gave the goat some beans instead.
The goat was satisfied at receiving this present from the elephant, and
took the beans home to his house and left them in a calabash on the
floor. During the night, while the goat was asleep, a rat came into the
house and eat all the beans up.
When the morning came, the goat, missing his beans, guessed that the
rat had eaten them, and told him that he must pay for the beans he had
stolen. The rat said he was willing to do so, and gave the goat one
of his small children. The goat took the young rat home and put it on
the ground just outside the house. He then sat down to watch, and very
soon a hen came along who, being very hungry, swallowed the young rat.
The goat at once told her that she must pay, so the hen gave him one
of her chickens. The goat allowed the little chicken to run about, and
went out himself to get some food. While he was gone, the hawk, who was
hovering round, soon caught sight of the chicken, and swooped down and
carried it off and eat it. A sheep, who had been watching, told the
goat, when he returned, what had happened to the chicken, so the next
morning the goat went to the hawk and demanded payment. But the hawk,
having nothing to pay with, gave the goat one of his feathers out of
his wing to settle the matter, and said that those particular feathers
were much liked by the young men, who were fond of dancing, and also
by the fighting-men, as they put them in their hair for decoration and
then danced round the town. The goat was not very satisfied with this,
but as he did not see any way to get anything else out of the hawk, he
had to pretend that he was contented, and took the feather home.
Next day, hearing there was a big play being held at Inde, and that
all the young men who had returned from fighting, were gathered there,
he went over, taking his feather with him. When he got to the town he
put the hawk’s feather on the ground in a place where everyone could
see it, and then went for a walk round the town, eating a few freshly
fallen leaves from the ju-ju tree as he went.
After a time he returned to where the people were dancing, and found,
as he had expected, that his feather had been taken. It did not take
him long to discover his hawk’s feather, which was in the hair of one
of the fighting-men. The goat went up to the man and told him that the
feather was his, and asked for payment, so the man took the goat to
his house and gave him one yam in satisfaction of his claim.
The next day the goat went one day’s march inland from the river,
where yams were unknown, and found that all the people were planting
koko yams, which are very inferior in every way. The goat then asked
the people why they grew koko yams, which were poor things to eat, and
showed them the big yam he had received from the fighting man from
Inde. The goat told the people that in the country he came from they
always planted the proper yams, and the koko yams were only used in the
hungry season when food was scarce. The goat then put his yam on the
ground and pretended to go away as if he had forgotten all about the
yam, but he did not go far, and watched to see what might happen.
Very soon the owner of the farm, thinking he would like to grow some
of these big Inde yams, took the yam up and, having cut it, planted it
in the ground. When he had finished, the goat went up to him and said,
“Where is my yam?” The farmer said he thought the goat had forgotten
all about the yam, so he had planted it, but he was willing to pay, so
he told one of his wives to bring a ball of camwood, which he gave to
the goat.
The next day the goat went on into a country where the people did not
use camwood as a part of the marriage ceremony, and went from house to
house looking for a girl who had just been circumcised and was about to
be married. At last he found one, so he went into the house and asked
the woman if she were going to be married, and she said, “Yes.” So the
goat said, “How is it you are not rubbed with camwood?” and showed
her his ball, saying, “In my country no woman can be properly married
unless she is rubbed all over with camwood.” The girl replied, “In our
country we have no such custom.” So the goat left the ball of camwood
in the house and went out for a little while. On his return he found
that the parents of the girl had taken his camwood and rubbed their
daughter all over with it. As usual, the goat demanded payment, and the
mother of the girl gave him a sleeping-mat.
In the morning the goat went on to the next town, taking the
sleeping-mat with him. He went to the chief’s house, and, having had
some food, placed his mat on the ground and went to sleep on it.
The next day one of the chief’s slaves died, and when the people were
going to bury the body, the goat, observing that they wrapped it up in
plaintain leaves, at once said, “In my country, when anyone dies, they
are wrapped up in sleeping-mats.” He then went out for a walk. When
he returned he found that, as he expected, his sleeping-mat had been
taken; so he went to the chief and asked for payment. But the chief
replied, “You said that it was the proper custom to bury dead bodies in
sleeping-mats, so we took yours to bury the dead slave in. If you have
any complaint to make or wish to be paid, you had better settle with
the dead body.”
So the goat went to the corpse and asked it to give back his mat or
else to pay him for it, but he received no reply.
The next day the goat went again, but again got no answer. On the
third day, when the dead body did not reply, the goat became so angry
that he charged the dead body as hard as he could, and butted it with
his horns again and again. By this time the corpse had become quite
putrid, and as the goat’s horns tore the body his head was covered
with bad-smelling blood. When he had revenged himself sufficiently he
returned to the town, and the people told him that he smelt very badly
of dead bodies. The goat replied that in every town he had visited
he had always been paid for anything belonging to him which had been
taken, but that in this town the chief had referred him to the dead
body of the slave, and as the corpse refused to pay he had butted it
with his horns, and the smell seemed to stick to him. Ever since that
time the man-goat’s head has had a strong smell.
Told by an Okuni woman.--[28.6.10.]
XXII.--A STORY OF THE GREAT FAMINE.
In the days of the great famine, when all men and animals on the land
were starving, the alligators and the fish in the river had plenty to
eat, and the parrots and bats were also well off for food. The parrot
used to fly off very early every morning with his family to an island
in the river where there were plenty of palm-trees, and return in
the evening carrying his bag of palm nuts with him. All the people
were very jealous of the parrot in consequence, and wanted to kill
him and all his family. The hare (Nchigga) was very curious to know
how it was that the parrot always managed to get food, so he went to
him pretending to be a great friend of his, but could never find him
at home in the daytime, so he went in the evening and met the parrot
returning home carrying his bag, full of palm nuts as usual. The hare
asked the parrot where he got all the palm nuts from, and said he would
like to go with him. But the parrot said that the hare could not go,
and that he was only able to take his own family to the place where the
palm nuts grew.
The hare then went home, but made up his mind to go with the parrot,
so that very night he hid himself in the parrot’s bag. At daylight the
parrot put his bag round his neck and flew off with his family to the
island. He then began to gather the palm nuts, and to fill up his bag.
Now the palm-tree where the parrot was overhung the river, and the
hare, thinking he would pay the parrot out for refusing to bring him,
made a hole in the bottom of the bag so that the nuts dropped through
into the water as fast as the parrot put them into the bag. When the
parrot began to eat some of the nuts, the hare eat some also, and when
the parrot dropped the kernel the hare dropped his at the same time
through the hole in the bag. The parrot did not notice this, as he
thought that some of his family were also eating close at hand, so he
continued to put nuts into the bag, but could not understand why it was
that the bag did not get full. At last the parrot thought there must be
a hole in the bag, so he looked inside and found the hare there.
Then the parrot said, “My friend, what are you doing in my bag? Did I
not tell you that I would not take you to the place where I got my food
from? You must have hidden yourself in my bag without my knowledge.” He
then pulled the hare out of the bag, and having placed him on the top
of the palm-tree, flew off to the next tree, where he was joined by the
rest of his family, to whom he related the way in which he had punished
the hare, and shortly afterwards they all flew home, leaving the hare
on the island.
The hare managed with some difficulty to climb down the tree, but when
he reached the ground he was afraid to cross over to the land from
the island, as he thought the alligators or big fish might catch him.
He looked all round the island for a place to make his house in, but
it was all wet, as the river was high; so the next day he determined
to swim across the river, and risk being eaten. But before the hare
started he threw some small bits of dried stick into the river and
watched the fish come up and look at them. When he saw that he was
bigger than the fish, he said, “They cannot eat me,” and without much
fear jumped into the water and began to swim across.
The fish came round the hare and saluted him, saying, “Go on your way
in peace.” Just as he got near the land, however, he came across a
large female alligator, who asked him where he came from and where he
was going. When he said that he was swimming from the island towards
the land the alligator caught him, saying, “I want you to do me a
service first, and then I will let you go.”
She then took the hare to her house at the bottom of the river, where
she introduced him to her husband, and said, “This man can paint our
children, and make them look nice to all people.” At this time the
alligators were grey-coloured without any markings, and had for some
time been wanting to change their colouring.
Then the hare said, “I see you have many young alligators here, and I
will paint them all for you, but you must not look at me while I am
doing it. I will paint one of your children every day and show it to
you, but you must first of all build me a house, into which you must
put all your children, with plenty of food and firewood.”
The next day the alligators built the house, and did everything the
hare told them, a small hole being left in the wall of the house so
that the hare could show the alligators each child as he painted it.
The hare then went into the house and shut the door carefully. That day
he painted the alligators’ eldest son with long-dark stripes across his
body, and when he had finished he held the young alligator up to the
hole for his parents to see, and asked them if they were satisfied.
The old alligators told the hare that he had painted their son very
well, and they were pleased. So the hare put the young alligator on the
ground and closed the hole.
That evening the hare killed one of the young alligators and eat it.
The next day he held up the alligator he had already painted to the
hole for the old ones to see, and then put it down again, closing the
hole as before. When night came he again killed another young alligator
and eat it. The same thing happened every night until the hare had
eaten all the young alligators except the one he had painted and showed
to the parents each morning.
The hare then told the alligators that he had finished painting all
their children, and wanted to go home, but he told them that they must
not go into the house until after he had gone, as if they did his ju-ju
would be broken and all the painting would be spoiled. He also asked
them to allow him to be rowed across the river by an iguana, who is
deaf and cannot hear anyone shouting.[6]
The alligators agreed to this, and told the iguana to bring his canoe
and paddle the hare across the river. They then gave the hare presents
of fish and yams, and said good-bye to him. The hare then got into the
canoe and pushed off, and the iguana commenced to paddle him over.
When they had gone a little distance the father alligator went to the
house where the hare had been, and when he looked in he found only
his eldest son who had been painted, so he asked him where the other
children were, and his son replied that the hare had eaten one of his
brothers or sisters every night until he was the only one left. When
the alligator heard this he was wild with rage, and went up the bank
and called to the iguana to bring the hare back; but as he was deaf,
the iguana took no notice. When the hare heard the alligator shouting
and waving from the bank, he attracted the iguana’s attention and made
him understand that the alligator was so pleased at the good work he
had done that he wished the iguana to row faster, so he paddled harder
than before.
Seeing that the canoe did not return, the alligator dived into the
river and swam after the canoe, but before he could catch it the
hare had jumped to the land and ran up the bank. The alligator then
scrambled up the bank to where the hare was sitting, and asked him
why he had killed and eaten his children, and told the hare he should
kill him. The hare acknowledged that he had done wrong, but asked the
alligator not to kill him at once, as his body was so small it would
not be worth eating. He then advised the alligator to dig a pit and put
sharp stakes, with their points upwards, in the bottom. The hare said,
“If you do this, and then throw me up in the air as high as you can, so
that my body will fall into the pit on the sharp stakes, then I shall
die in great pain, and in three days’ time my body will be much swollen
and will then be better worth eating.” The alligator thought this a
good plan, and agreed to what the hare said, so he dug a pit and put
the sharp sticks in the bottom. The alligator then threw the hare into
the air as high as he could, and he fell into the pit, but was careful
not to be caught on the sharp sticks. The hare then commenced to scream
with pain, pretending to be in great agony. So the alligator said,
“Now I have got you, you cunning hare!” and walked away to the river.
The alligator then swam home and told his wife, who was mourning her
children, of the revenge he had taken upon the hare.
The next morning he went to the pit to see if the hare had grown any
larger, but when he looked in he found that the hare had disappeared.
He then made enquiries from some other animals about the hare, and they
told him that he was alive and they had seen him running home.
When the hare got home, he went to the parrot and told him what had
happened to him, and warned the parrot that he should do his best to
kill him for leaving him on the palm-tree to the danger of his life,
unless for the future the parrot lived by the waterside, as that was
where he got his food from. Then the parrot was frightened, and moved
his house to the top of a high tree on the island. Ever since that time
the parrots have made their nests on high trees on islands, and when
they are flying high up in the air you can hear them laughing at the
hare, saying, “We are out of your reach, you cannot harm us now.” And
even at the present time you can see that the young alligators have
stripes across their bodies, but the skin of the old ones, which is
very rough, does not show the marks made by the hare, except on the
tail part.
Told by Ennenni, an Okuni woman.--[28.6.10.]
XXIII.--WHY EDIDOR KILLED HER HUSBAND AND HER LOVER.
Edidor was a very pretty Okuni girl. She was a good dancer and singer,
and won the love of plenty of young men, but although she liked to
enjoy herself with them, she would not marry any of them. At last,
however, she met a man called Ode, to whom she took a great fancy, and
married him. Ode was a fine young man, and many women wanted him, but
he would have nothing to do with them, and did not marry any other
wives, as Edidor asked him to look upon her alone. Ode had three
children by Edidor, the first-born being a boy, and the other two girls.
After a time Edidor got tired of Ode and ran away to one of the Inde
towns, leaving her children with her husband. She went about from one
man to another as she had done before she was married, and attended all
the dances and plays until at last Ode heard where she was. He then
took his three little children to his father-in-law, asking him to look
after them for him, as he was going to Inde to try and get Edidor to
return to him. The old man did not want Ode to get his daughter back,
as he preferred her to walk about and go with different young men, as
in that case he would receive numerous presents from them, whereas
Ode, having paid his dowry, never gave him anything. He therefore sent
a message secretly to Edidor informing her that her husband was going
to look for her, and advising her to try and kill him, so that the
children would become his property, as he knew his daughter would not
want to look after them.
When Ode was ready he got into a small canoe and started down river for
Inkum, but he had only gone a little distance when the canoe sank, and
Ode swam to the shore. He looked upon the sinking of the canoe as a
bad omen and a warning to him not to go that day.
When he returned home his friends encouraged him to make another
attempt to get his wife back, and advised him to take a larger canoe,
which would not be so likely to upset. Ode started off in a big canoe
the following morning; but when he got to the other side of the river
he heard a kingfisher making a noise on his right-hand side, in a
bush overhanging the river. Not knowing what this omen might mean, he
stopped at Okanja, which is only a little way lower down the river on
the same side as Okuni, and went to see a friend of his who was known
to be clever at reading signs, and told him that the kingfisher had
made a noise on his right-hand as he was going down the river. The man
then said to Ode, “What kind of a child did you first get when you were
married?” And Ode told him that his first-born child was a boy. Ode’s
friend then said, “Your good fortune depends on your left.[7] You will
meet with much opposition where you are going, and you will not bring
back what you are going to seek.” So Ode returned to his canoe and
paddled on with much suspicion in his heart. He landed at Inkum, and
went to see a friendly chief called Aigonga, to whom he told his story
and asked him for help. The chief gave Ode one of his boys to show him
the way overland to Inde and they started off together.
Unfortunately for Ode, his wife Edidor had consulted a ju-ju man called
Ekum at Inde, who had a very powerful medicine which enabled him to see
what was going to happen, and this man told Edidor that her husband was
on his way to catch her and take her home, and that if she wanted to
stay at Inde she should hide herself at once.
When Ode arrived at Inde he searched all over the towns, but could not
find his wife. He then asked some of the people what had become of her,
and they told him that the previous day she had been seen talking to a
very powerful ju-ju man, and that if he were wise he would leave his
wife alone and go home at once, as his life was probably in danger.
But Ode would not go home, and got an Inde boy to show him the place
where the ju-ju man lived. Ode then asked Ekum what had become of his
wife Edidor. Ekum did not at first reply, but gave Ode one sharp stick
and one blunt stick, and after a time said, “Touch your body with the
sharp stick and also with the blunted one; if you feel any pain with
the sharp stick, go home at once and do not bother me any more; if
you do not feel any pain, come to me to-morrow morning and ask me any
questions you like concerning your wife.”
The Inde boy who had gone with Ode, directly they had gone a little
distance from the house, strongly urged Ode to go home, as the sticks
the ju-ju man had given to him were known to be very dangerous, and if
he went there again Ekum would probably either poison him or call upon
the lightning to kill him, which he was quite capable of doing. The
boy also said that by far the best thing Ode could do was to ask his
father-in-law to help him to recover his wife, and not to come to Inde
himself again. Ode thought the advice good, and returned to Okuni with
the two sticks Ekum had given him; these he gave to his father-in-law,
telling him what had happened, and at the same time asking him to try
to get Edidor back for him. When he saw that Ode’s life had been in
danger and that he had escaped, the old man repented, and told Ode
to stay at Okuni and he would try to make Edidor return to him. He
therefore sent a messenger to Inde to tell Edidor to return at once to
Okuni. But Edidor was enjoying herself too much, and had no desire to
return to her husband. The ju-ju man also had taken a fancy to her,
and when he found that Edidor’s father had been trying to persuade his
daughter to return to her husband, he put some ju-ju into her food
which made her take an intense dislike to her husband. When Edidor’s
heart had turned and she found that she hated Ode, Ekum made some
strong poison, which he gave to Edidor and told her to put it in her
husband’s food, and that when he was dead she should return and marry
him.
The next day Edidor started off for Okuni, taking the poison with her,
and intending to kill her husband on the first opportunity, but when
she reached the house Ode produced their three children and talked to
her very kindly until her heart was cold. Edidor then lived with Ode
for a month, until the ju-ju man, finding she did not return to him,
made another strong ju-ju, which at once made Edidor want to go back
to him at Inde. She therefore packed up her things, and was starting
off for Inde when Ode seized her and said she was not to go. That very
night Edidor put half the poison Ekum had given her into Ode’s food. He
then became very ill, and died after two days.
Ode was buried by his relations, but Edidor only mourned a very short
time and then ran off to Inde, where she joined her lover. Ekum was
very glad to get her back again, and called all his friends together.
He then killed a goat, and they had a big feast, and he told all the
people that Edidor was going to be his wife.
During the night Ekum asked Edidor to marry him properly, but she asked
him to wait for a time until she knew all his ways and habits, and she
promised she would then marry him. For some little time after this
Edidor went about with different men, but Ekum always found her out,
and when she returned to him he would tell her what she had been doing
and the name of the man she had been with. This made Edidor afraid,
but she dare not leave Ekum altogether, as he might get the lightning
to kill her or cause his ju-ju to catch her. Then Ekum again asked
Edidor to marry him, and she agreed to do so, but said that before
the ceremony took place she wanted to join his ju-ju, so that she
might know everything and not be afraid. Ekum was pleased at this, and
showed Edidor all the ju-ju he had, and explained them to her. When
he had finished, Edidor was so frightened that she ran away and left
Ekum. Ekum, however, looked into his ju-ju pot and saw at once where
she was, so he sent a messenger, who seized her and brought her back.
Then Edidor made up her mind to kill Ekum, so she went to his ju-ju pot
which he always looked into when he wanted to know where she had gone
or what she was doing, and broke it. She then cooked the food and put
the half of the poison Ekum had given her for Ode into the food and
gave it to Ekum to eat; he died the next day. Before Ekum was dead,
Edidor ran back to her father’s house at Okuni.
When the Inde people found that Ekum was dead, they at once knew that
Edidor must have killed him, as she had run away. They therefore went
to Okuni to have the palaver judged. When all the chiefs and people had
met together, Edidor was accused of having poisoned Ekum, her lover.
Edidor then stood up and told the chiefs that Ekum had made her poison
her husband, and that when she found his ju-jus were so powerful; she
broke them, and gave half the poison Ekum had given her for her husband
to him in his food, and that he had then died at once.
After considering some time, the chiefs decided that they would not
punish Edidor, and said that “The stone Ekum had thrown had returned
and hit him.”[8]
The chiefs then said that for the future, whenever a man had a poison
ju-ju or other powerful medicine, he should not tell any of his wives
or any other women, because if they wished to run away from their
husbands they would first of all break their ju-jus and then poison
them.
Told by Ennanni, an Okuni woman.--[1.7.10.]
XXIV.--HOW ’NYAMBI PUNISHED CHIEF OGA FOR TRYING TO COMMIT ADULTERY
WITH HIS WIFE OBIM.
There was once a fine strong man living at Okuni, whose name was
’Nyambi. He was a good dancer, drum-beater and singer, and these
qualities, combined with his good looks and fine manly beauty, won him
the admiration of many of the young Okuni girls. He knew many of them,
but never asked them to marry him.
At last, when ’Nyambi was about twenty-five years of age, he met a
girl at a big dance, to whom he took a great fancy, and whom he wished
to marry. So he went to her parents, and, having given them the usual
presents, told them that he wished to marry their daughter Obim. The
parents, however, were unwilling, and told ’Nyambi that they had
already promised Obim as a wife to Chief Oga.
When Obim heard this, she told her parents that she would never marry
Chief Oga, as he was too old, and she intended to marry ’Nyambi, who
was such a fine young man, and she was very fond of him. The parents
did their best to persuade Obim to marry Chief Oga, as they would
receive far more presents and a bigger dowry from him than if they
allowed her to marry ’Nyambi, who was not a rich man. Obim, however,
was obstinate, and absolutely declined to have anything to do with the
chief, so at last her parents consented to her marriage with ’Nyambi.
Then Obim and ’Nyambi took an oath that, when they were married, they
would never part from one another, and they would both try to help each
other and upset any ju-ju that Chief Oga might make against them, as
they knew him to be a most revengeful man.
’Nyambi then bought the usual presents for the parents and collected
the dowry, which he handed to Obim’s father and mother, and rubbed the
girl with camwood. She was then circumcised and kept in one room until
the wound had healed.
When the gun was fired off and Obim was declared to be ’Nyambi’s wife,
Chief Oga was very vexed, and, although he wanted to speak to Obim, he
dared not do so openly, as he thought the people might laugh at him if
they saw him going after a woman who had only just been married, seeing
that he had so many wives already himself. So, when it was dark, he
went to Obim and told her that if she came to him he would make her
very happy, as he had plenty of slaves who would do all the hard work
and she would not have to toil in the sun. Obim, however, would not
listen to him, so in the end the chief went away more vexed than before
and more determined than ever to get hold of Obim, somehow or other.
That night Obim told her husband of the advances made to her by the
chief, and they agreed not to take any notice, but to be very careful
for the future.
The next day Chief Oga consulted a ju-ju man as to the best way to turn
Obim’s heart, so that she would hate ’Nyambi and come to him. The ju-ju
man, after casting lots, told the chief that it would be quite easy to
make Obim leave ’Nyambi and go to him, and that all the chief would
have to do would be to give Obim some tombo to drink, which he would
prepare with a strong medicine in it. The ju-ju man then made the tombo
and put a ju-ju into it, and the chief, having given him a big present,
took the tombo to his house, and sent word to Obim that he wished to
speak to her.
When Obim arrived, the chief offered her some of the tombo to drink,
but she refused to touch it. Chief Oga tried his best to make her
drink, but Obim would not do so, and said she had merely come to hear
what he might have to say. Oga then tried again to persuade Obim to
leave her husband and go to him, but Obim refused as before.
Finding this plot had failed, the chief went again to the ju-ju man and
told him that Obim had refused to drink the tombo. He then asked the
ju-ju man to poison ’Nyambi so that he might get hold of his wife, and
when he had given him another big present, he went home.
The next day, the ju-ju man joined the society to which ’Nyambi
belonged, and went to all the dances, looking for an opportunity to put
the poison he had prepared into ’Nyambi’s drink, but he could never
succeed in making ’Nyambi drink anything, as, whenever he went to a
dance or a play, Obim made him promise not to drink anything at the
dancing place and she would have drink ready for him when he returned
home. This probably saved his life, as the ju-ju man was unable to
poison him, so after a time he went to Chief Oga, and told him that the
year of ’Nyambi’s death had not yet arrived, and he could do nothing
with the young man.
Chief Oga then for twelve months did not try to do anything more to
kill ’Nyambi, but sat down and waited until the proper time should
arrive when he would be able to revenge himself upon ’Nyambi and take
Obim away.
However, he frequently sent messengers to Obim, asking her to sleep
with him, but she always refused. At last Obim became so annoyed at
these repeated messages, that she told her husband what was going on
between herself and Chief Oga, and advised him to revenge himself in
his turn. She advised ’Nyambi to pretend to go down river to sell some
camwood and she would then allow the chief to come to her at night
when ’Nyambi should come in and surprise them together. Obim also told
her husband that she hoped he would cut a certain part off the chief’s
body, which would punish him properly and prevent his troubling her for
the future.
’Nyambi thought the plan a good one, so he put some camwood into his
canoe and told the people that he was going down river to trade, and
did not expect to return for some few days. He then started off but did
not go very far.
Directly the chief heard that ’Nyambi had gone, he sent a messenger
to Obim, asking her to sleep with him that night. But Obim told the
messenger to tell his master that she could not come to him, but that
he might come to her alone at night, and he was to be careful not to
let anyone know what was going on between them.
Chief Oga was so glad when he got Obim’s message that he at once went
down to the river and washed himself. He then went home and put on a
fine cloth and had food before it was dark. After that he sat down and
waited as patiently as he could until all the people in the town had
gone to sleep.
When he thought it was quite safe and no one would see him, he went
very quietly to Obim’s house and knocked softly on the door. Obim let
the chief in, and then fastened the door, telling him to lie down and
that she would join him later on. Oga asked Obim to come to him at
once, but she told him to wait a little, as all the people had not then
gone to bed.
Very soon Chief Oga dropped off to sleep, so Obim went to the door very
quietly and undid the fastening.
Not long afterwards, ’Nyambi opened the door and found Chief Oga asleep
in his wife’s bed; so he fastened the door securely, and, having got
his knife ready, made the fire blaze and woke the chief up.
When Oga awoke he saw ’Nyambi standing over him with his knife pointing
at his breast. ’Nyambi told him to be quiet and not to make a noise or
he would kill him at once.
He then said, “I find you as a thief and one who would commit adultery
with my wife. I will not receive any present from you; I do not
want to kill you, but I intend to take one of two things from your
body, and, if you refuse, I shall kill you at once.” On hearing this,
Chief Oga was very much frightened, as he was no match for ’Nyambi in
strength; so he lay there for some time, thinking of his life, his
wealth, and his wives, until at last he asked ’Nyambi what it was he
wished to take from his body so that he might go.
’Nyambi said, “I intend either to take your eyes out, which will
prevent your looking at pretty girls any more, or else I will cut a
certain part of your body off, which will stop your doing them any harm
in the future.”
Oga said he could not part with his eyes, so at last he consented to
’Nyambi’s cutting the part off his body, provided he promised not to
kill him and to let him go.
’Nyambi promised, and having told Oga not to make a noise, he cut the
thing off, and turned the chief out of his house. Chief Oga then went
home, but did not tell anyone what had happened to him. He was in such
pain all the night that he was unable to sleep, and when the morning
came, he asked one of his wives to boil some water and bring it to him.
She did as she was told, and the chief went into the back-yard and
bathed and dressed the wound.
He then sent one of his boys to call ’Nyambi to him. When ’Nyambi
arrived he did not go inside the house, but stood a few paces from the
door, as he thought that Oga might try to do him some injury; but the
chief said he did not intend to hurt him and that he might safely come
inside. Chief Oga then implored ’Nyambi not to tell any of the young
men of the town what he had done to him, and begged him to keep it
secret until the day of his death. ’Nyambi promised, and went home and
told his wife.
The chief’s wound took many days to heal, and at night, when his wives
came to him, he had to send them away, saying he was not well. This
went on for some time, until at last his wives got tired of being alone
and began to desert him and go to other men, and very soon he was left
with only boys in the house.
The chief then sent for all his wives to hear his last words. When they
arrived, he said, “My dear wives, I am not angry with you for leaving
me, for love of women has caused me to lose the dearest part of my
body. But I will ask one favour of you, and that is, when I die you
will all come and cry and mourn for me, as is usual. Then you will know
why I did not sleep with you.”
The women then asked the chief what was the matter with him, so he
pointed to his waist, and said he had great pain there, and was unable
to move that part of his body. He then told them all to go away.
Chief Oga lived for a few more years and then died. His wives, who had
by that time all married other men, got permission from their husbands
to go and mourn for Chief Oga.
When the people took the chief’s body into the back-yard to wash it,
they found that a certain part of his body had been cut off. His wives
were very much surprised when they saw what had been done to their late
husband, as, during his lifetime, he had been quite all right. They
therefore went and told the chiefs of the town. The chiefs then came
and inspected the body, and afterwards met in the palaver house to try
and find out who had mutilated Chief Oga. The drum was beaten and the
young men of the town were told to attend the meeting.
Directly ’Nyambi heard the drum, he called all his company to his
house, and told them what he had done to Chief Oga. He also told them
that what he had done was for the good of all people, and asked them to
support him at the meeting, and if it came to a fight, that they should
all be on the same side.
When they had heard the whole story, the members of ’Nyambi’s company
agreed to back him up, and as they were the principal fighting-men of
the town they went to the palaver house without much fear.
When all the people had arrived, the oldest chief of the town stood up,
and said, “I have seen to-day what I have never seen before since I
was born. Chief Oga, whom you all know, died this morning, and I went
to look at his body. I then saw that a certain part of his body was
missing. Now I want to know who did this thing, and what became of the
missing part of the late chief. I shall be glad if any young man of the
town who knows anything about this palaver will inform me.”
Then ’Nyambi stood up and questioned the chief, as follows: “What
will be done to the man who did this? Will he be killed or will he be
allowed to go free?” The chief replied that the man would certainly
be killed, if he had mutilated Chief Oga by force without a very good
reason, but that if they considered he was justified in his action, he
would be allowed to go free.
Then ’Nyambi told the people that he had done this thing, and addressed
them as follows: “When I married my wife Obim, while she was still in
the circumcision house, Chief Oga went to her and tried to persuade her
to go to him. After that he frequently sent messages to her, asking her
to sleep with him, but she always refused. Again, when I was absent,
Chief Oga went to my house to sleep with my wife, but I returned and
caught him lying asleep on her bed.” ’Nyambi then asked the question,
“What do you do when you catch a thief in your stack of yams?” And the
head chief replied, “He is tied up to a tree, and left there to die.”
’Nyambi then said that he treated Chief Oga as a thief, but he took
pity on him, and instead of killing him, he gave him his choice whether
he would have his eyes put out or have a certain part of his body cut
off. The late chief chose the latter alternative, so he performed the
operation. He then called his wife Obim, who brought on a calabash the
part of the dead chief’s body, which had been cut off and dried in the
sun, as proof of what he had said.
’Nyambi then asked the chiefs whether he was justified in the course he
had taken or not; and the chiefs, after consultation, agreed that he
had done right.
A law was then passed that, if a husband caught another man in his
house having connection with his wife, he could do whatever he liked
with him in the house, but once the man was outside the house, he
should not be molested, and the case should be decided before the
chiefs.
But the chiefs also added, that the man who was caught committing
adultery might defend himself as well as he could, and would not be
punished for so doing.
Told by Ennenni, an Okuni woman.--[22.7.10.]
XXV.--HOW TWO BENDEGA YOUNG MEN CHANGED THEIR SKINS.
Bendega is a town on the right bank of the Afi River, which runs into
the Cross River opposite to Abaragha.
In this town many years ago there lived two young men called Abang
and Oga ’Ngigor. Abang was famous for his personal beauty, and was
recognized as the best wrestler, dancer, singer, and drum-beater in
the country. Abang was never allowed to leave the town by his parents,
as they thought he might be killed or get into trouble with other
young men of his company, but in spite of this his fame as a singer
and dancer, and stories of his manly beauty, had spread through all
the neighbouring towns, and many people wanted to see him, but as he
was a dutiful son he stayed at home and did not accept any of the
numerous invitations he received from the various countries to attend
their plays and dances, although he was frequently offered quite large
numbers of rods and other presents to go. Needless to say, all the
young girls of the country wanted to marry him, but he looked after
himself very well and kept away from the women in general, having his
own particular friend to whom he was on the whole fairly faithful. Oga
’Ngigor had also been a good wrestler, singer and dancer, until he
caught a bad sickness which covered his whole body with sores. These
sores were so bad that Oga could not walk about, and his body smelt so
disgustingly that the people would not let him come near them. He was
very poor, and consequently was often starving, as he was unable to go
about and beg for food. While Oga was sitting down in his house feeling
sad and miserable, he sometimes thought of Abang, who belonged to his
company, and envied him his good looks and his popularity. So one day
Oga went to Abang and asked him to change skins with him for a short
while, as he would like to know what it felt like to be as strong and
handsome as Abang was. He did this as he had made up his mind to run
away in Abang’s skin and go round the country, where he knew the people
would be certain to give him many presents. After he had flattered
Abang for some time, he took off his skin and placed it on the ground
and asked Abang to do the same so that they could change skins for a
short time.
At first Abang refused, as he did not like the idea of putting on the
dirty skin, so he asked Oga if the sores hurt. Oga at once replied
that the sores never hurt him, and he only sat down so that the people
should not look at him. Then Abang took his skin off and put on Oga’s,
and Oga got into Abang’s skin as soon as he was able.
Now when Abang got into Oga’s skin he was unable to walk, and was
obliged to sit down. Oga knowing this, directly he had got into Abang’s
skin, ran down to the beach, and, jumping into a canoe, paddled himself
across the Afi River, and ran off along the road to Akparabong as fast
as he could go, leaving Abang sitting on the floor of the house calling
to him to return at once and change skins. But Oga ran on without
heeding his cries, until at last he arrived at the Akparabong farms.
When he got near the town one of the natives of the country, through
whose farm the path passed, told him that Chief Ojong Egussa was dead,
and that his funeral was being kept at ’Nkanassa compound, where a big
play was going on and much drinking and feasting.
This was good news for Oga, as he felt certain of a good reception,
so when he came to the small stream just outside the town, where the
people always wash on their return from their farms in the evening, he
took off his cloth and had a good wash. He then washed the cloth he
had been wearing, and put on his best one, which belonged to Abang, so
as to make a good impression on the people. As soon as he was ready he
went to the house where the funeral was going on, and told the people
that he was the celebrated Abang from Bendega, whom they had wanted to
see for such a long time. The people and chiefs were very glad to see
him, and asked him to play and sing for them, which he did. The people
were so pleased at having Abang to play for them, and admired him so
much that when the funeral was over the chief presented him with some
cases of gin, cloth and rods, and gave him some boys to carry his loads
on the road to Ikom.
Oga then started off, and arrived at Adaginkpor early in the afternoon.
He went to the head chief, who was an old man, and told him that he was
Abang from Bendega, and that he was going round the country to visit
the people. The chief welcomed him, and said he had often wished to
see him, as many people spoke of his personal appearance and his good
qualities. Oga stayed at Adaginkpor for a few days, during which time
dances were held every night, as the moon was full, and all the people
came in from their farms to see Abang and hear him play and sing.
When Oga left the town he received many more presents from the people,
and the young men’s company carried his loads into Ikom, which is not
far from Adaginkpor, and is a large town on the right-hand of the Cross
River. The people of Ikom had heard from Adaginkpor that Abang was
going to visit them, so they were ready for him, and gave him a big
feast, and held a play which lasted several days, Oga taking his part
in the playing, dancing and singing, as before. When he left Ikom, Oga
was given more presents, and the chief lent him a large canoe and some
paddles to take him to Okuni, a town a little lower down the river on
the other side. Oga did the same at this town, and then went on to
Okanga, and after a few days walked along the river bank to Enfitop. At
each of these towns he received presents, and when he got to the next
town, which is called ’Nporo Osilla, he crossed the big river again,
and went through the Inde country, where all the people turned out to
meet him, and when he left they gave Oga many yams and other presents,
so that when he started off for the next town, which is called Inkum,
he had a large number of carriers carrying his loads, which by this
time had become very numerous.
Unfortunately for Oga, the chief of Inkum had heard from Abang’s
parents that Oga had changed skins with their son and that he was
travelling about the country collecting dashes in Abang’s name. When
the chief heard that Oga had come, he at once sent a message to Abang’s
parents requesting them to come to Inkum as soon as possible and to
bring their son with them. The chief then greeted Oga and persuaded him
to stay on from day to day, and told him that a play was being brought
from Bendega.
When the people from Bendega came near the town of Inkum, Abang, who
was disguised in the dress of an Egbo and covered from head to foot in
a very fantastic costume, sent some boys to Oga with a message telling
him to come out and meet them. Oga was so proud at hearing that a play
had come all the way from Bendega to escort him to the town that he
willingly went out to meet them, not knowing that the real Abang had
come with them.
When Oga arrived at the place where the people who had brought the play
were resting in the shade of some large trees which grew by the side
of the path, Abang stood up, and having thrown the Egbo dress on one
side, he took off Oga’s skin and placed it on the ground, at the same
time telling Oga to do the like. At first Oga refused, and begged Abang
not to shame him before all the people, but Abang insisted upon having
his own skin back again, so Oga was forced to exchange. The people then
knew that they had been deceived by Oga and that he had taken their
presents wrongly. They told the real Abang that they were sorry they
could not give him any more presents, and that the best thing he could
do was to help himself from the things which had been given to Oga in
his name. Abang however, was kind-hearted, and allowed Oga to keep all
the presents he had received, as he was very poor and he was sorry for
him having such a wretched body and being all covered with sores. And
now whenever people are asked to change their skins they always refuse,
but sometimes they will lend their best cloth to a friend.
Told by Abbassi of Inkum.--[22.7.10.]
XXVI.--CONCERNING THE JU-JU AGAINST ELEPHANTIASIS, OR HOW THE HARES
LOST THEIR LONG TAILS.
Okpa was a ju-ju man living at Okuni many years ago, and the name of
his ju-ju was ’Nda.[9] The old man continually made sacrifices to his
ju-ju of goats and fowls and all the young men of the town brought him
presents as sacrifices so that they should not get the disease, which
is very common throughout the country. Whenever a sacrifice was about
to be made, all the people who belonged to the society used to meet
together and sit down all round the ju-ju, but as the law of the ju-ju
was that no man should open his legs, the people always tied their
knees and ankles together with tie-tie, because if anyone opened his
legs he would at once get elephantiasis.
Once while the people were feasting and playing round the ju-ju,
the hare came along with his fine tail, and seeing them all eating
goat’s-flesh, fowls, foo-foo and yams, he asked Okpa if he might join
in the feast, as the hare was very greedy and could never resist eating
anything he saw. Okpa told the hare that he might join in the feast,
but that when he had finished eating he must make the usual present
to the ju-ju, and that if he went way without paying something very
bad would happen to him. The hare agreed to this, and sat down amongst
the people and took his share of all the food; but as he was enjoying
himself so much he did not notice that the people were sitting in
rather a peculiar fashion, so he sat down in the ordinary way with his
legs open. When the food was finished the ju-ju man tied one of the
young green shoots from the palm-tree round each of the members of the
society. He then dipped his hand into the ju-ju pot, and having touched
them one after the other on the forehead and breast, he told them to
depart. But he did nothing to the hare, and when he came to where he
was sitting he called upon the newcomer to go and bring the usual
present of a goat or a fowl to sacrifice to the ’Nda ju-ju. The hare
said he had nothing to give just then, and got up to go away, but found
that a certain portion of his body had swollen to such a size that it
touched the ground when he stood up. He then saw that he had caught the
Elephantiasis, and asked Okpa to cure him of the disease, but the ju-ju
man said he could not help him until he had made his proper sacrifice
to the ’Nda ju-ju.
As the hare was very poor he was in a great state of mind as to how
he should pay, and although he begged hard Okpa would not listen to
him; so at last he made up his mind to consult his wife, and started
off, dragging the Elephantiasis with him. On the road he planned how
he should get rid of the disease and at last asked the Elephantiasis
to leave him for a little time, as he wanted to relieve himself. The
Elephantiasis replied that the hare could relieve himself quite well
without his going away, so the hare was compelled to do so; he then
returned to the path again.
After he had gone a short distance further the hare thought he would
try another trick to get rid of the disease, so, seeing some rubber
vines growing near with ripe fruit, he said to the Elephantiasis, “I
am still very hungry, are you not hungry also? I want to climb up and
get that ripe rubber fruit, but cannot do so as you are so heavy. If
you will stop on the ground I will climb the vine and throw the rubber
fruit down to you, and you can gather it and put it in the bag, and
then we shall have plenty to eat on the road.”
So the Elephantiasis, who really was hungry, agreed to stop on the
ground, and the hare, relieved of the great weight, at once climbed
the rubber vine and commenced to throw down the fruit, which the
Elephantiasis gathered and put in the bag. As the hare gathered the
fruit he threw it further and further away from the vine, and the
Elephantiasis rolled himself away after it until at last he had gone
some distance from the tree, so the hare slid down to the ground, and
ran towards his home as fast as he could go.
When the Elephantiasis got back to the vine he called out to the hare,
but as he did not receive any answer he guessed the hare had run home,
so he rolled himself along the path after the hare, but although he
was nearly round he could not travel nearly as fast as the hare, who
was a very swift runner indeed. The hare therefore reached his house
some time before the Elephantiasis, and at once called out to his wife
and told her to go and stay with a neighbour of his for a few days as
he was running away from a man, and his enemies were following him to
kill him or take him prisoner, and he feared that they might catch
her. His wife then packed up her things and went off to their friend’s
house, and the hare having said that he would probably be absent for
some days, ran off in another direction, leaving his home deserted, so
that when the Elephantiasis arrived he found no one about the place.
The hare took a path which led through some farm, and after a time came
across some people who were clearing the ground for their new farm.
He went up to them, and having told them a long story about the cruel
enemy he was running away from, begged them to hide him and cover him
up with leaves and branches so that he should not be discovered. As the
people were sorry for the hare, they agreed to do what he asked, and
put him in a heap of rubbish where he could not be seen; they then went
on with their work.
Shortly afterwards the Elephantiasis rolled himself up to where the
people were working and asked them whether they had seen the hare pass
that way, but the people told him that the hare had not called at their
farm. Then the Elephantiasis said, “Oh, I see you want to deceive me,
for I tracked him as I came along the path; but let me tell you the
hare is a great friend of mine; unfortunately he has long legs and can
run fast, whereas I have no legs and can only roll along slowly, and
thus got left behind.” But the people still maintained that they had
seen nothing of the hare. Then the Elephantiasis got angry, and said to
the people, “If you do not tell me at once where the hare is, I will
jump on you and you will have to carry me for the rest of your lives.”
At this the people were frightened, as they knew the disease well, and
did not wish to have it with them always, so they pointed out the heap
of rubbish where the hare was hiding, and the Elephantiasis rolled off
towards it.
Now all this time the hare had been listening, and when he saw the
Elephantiasis coming towards him he jumped out of the heap and ran away
as fast as he could go. He ran for some distance, and passed another
farm, but did not go in, as he thought the same thing might happen to
him there. He went on and on until he thought the Elephantiasis must
be a long way behind, and it would be safe to stop for a time, so
when he came to a small compound where the people were having their
evening meal he went in and told them that he was being chased, and
that the enemy were following him. When the people heard this they
stopped eating, and having collected all their food they put it in the
Egbo house and told the hare to stop there. They then armed themselves
with bows and arrows to protect their homes from the enemy. The hare
told them to go some little distance from the Egbo house, so that they
should not be driven back upon him at once. He then sat down and eat
the people’s food.
For some time the people stood waiting for the enemy to appear, but
they saw no signs of anyone until the Elephantiasis rolled up to them,
when the hare called out “The enemy has come.” At this one of the men
raised his bow and arrow and was about to shoot when the Elephantiasis
said, “Don’t shoot, I am not your enemy; I am looking for my friend,
the hare, and I want you to show me where he is.” The people said he
had not come that way, but the Elephantiasis replied that he had just
heard the hare’s voice, and again threatened to jump on one of the
men if they did not show him where the hare was hiding. The people
then called upon the hare to come out of the Egbo house, but instead
of doing so, he ran away in the opposite direction, and went down to
a stream where he knew a land crab lived. When he got to the hole he
found the old mother land crab at the entrance, and told her his usual
story, asking her to help him, as the men always gave him up, and he
promised to reward her if she drove his enemy away or killed him. The
mother crab agreed, but told the hare that she had young ones in one
branch of the hole, and that he might go in and sit down in another
part until the fight was over. So the hare went into the hole, and the
old mother crab stood at the entrance with her large claws open ready
and waiting for the enemy.
Not long after this the Elephantiasis rolled himself down to the
stream, where he met the mother crab, looking very fierce, and asked
her if she had seen the hare.
The crab replied, “Yes, the hare is in my house, but I never give
strangers up to their enemies.”
When the Elephantiasis said he was a friend of the hare, the crab said,
“I don’t care whether you are a friend or an enemy, I am not going
to give the hare up.” This made the Elephantiasis very angry, and he
threatened to jump on the crab. But the crab said, “I am not at all
afraid of you. You can try if you like, and then you will see what will
happen.”
At this the Elephantiasis rolled himself back a few paces, and then
went for the crab. The old crab was ready for him, and nipped him so
severely with her sharp pincer-like claws that water came from his
inside and he yelled with pain.
The hare then shouted out to the crab to fight well, and that when she
had killed the Elephantiasis they would both make a good meal off him.
When the Elephantiasis heard this he became more furious than ever, and
rolled back again, and then made another attack on the crab. The crab
then pinched him so severely that he burst and died, at which the hare
was very glad.
When the mother crab told the hare that she had killed the
Elephantiasis he told her to drag the body to the stream and wash it.
Then the mother crab called for her knife, which the hare gave her out
of the hole. The crab then dragged the Elephantiasis to the stream,
where she cut him up and washed him properly. She then carried the meat
back into the hole.
During the time the old crab had been fighting the Elephantiasis, the
hare had been very busy, and had killed and eaten three of the crab’s
children, and then threw their shells behind the fireplace near to
where the old crab used to keep her salt. When she returned the hare
told her that they should cook and eat his dead enemy, so he made up
the fire, and the flesh was put into a pot to boil. While the meat
was cooking the crab went to get some salt, and to her horror saw the
shells of three of her children on the ground where the hare had thrown
them. Having put the salt into the pot she went into the next hole
where she had left her children, to count them. But the hare, seeing
that trouble was likely to come, and not liking the idea of being
nipped by the crab’s strong claws, with which she had just killed his
enemy, took the pot off the fire and ran away with the meat.
When the mother crab returned vowing vengeance on the hare, she found
he had gone and had taken her pot with the meat in it; and although she
shouted to him several times to come back she got no answer.
The hare ran on some distance with the pot of meat, on the road to his
house, and when he thought he was safe from pursuit he sat down on an
ant-hill, with his tail down a hole. Having looked round everywhere
carefully to see that no one was following or watching him, he
commenced to eat the flesh of his late enemy. All this time the ants
were busy building their house, and while the hare was eating his food
the ants had covered half his tail and had bitten it through.
When he had finished his meal the hare felt that something was wrong
with his tail, so he jumped away from the ant hill, and found to his
disgust that he had left half his tail behind him where the ants had
bitten it through. When he saw what had happened he did not like to
return to his wife at once, as she might deny him, so he waited until
it was dark and then joined his wife. She was very glad to see her
husband again, and asked him about the war party he was running away
from.
The hare said, “All the trouble is now over, as I have gone through the
ceremony of the war ju-ju, and the chief cut me on the tail so that in
future I shall never die from war or fighting in any way.” And as it
was then dark the hare’s wife lit the lamp,[10] but the hare hid his
tail in the darkness so that his wife could not see it, as the wound
had not healed up.
When the evening meal was over, the two hares retired for the night,
but when his wife had put the lamp out, the hare told her that if she
wanted to get up during the night or light the lamp she must wake him
up first, as otherwise his war ju-ju would be spoilt.
Now the hare was tired after all his running, and very soon he was fast
asleep, so when his wife was certain that he would not wake up easily,
she got out of bed very quietly and lit the lamp, as she was extremely
curious to know what the ju-ju man had done to her husband’s tail. When
she saw that the hare had lost half his tail, she was ashamed of him,
and began to cry. Then the hare woke up and began to abuse his wife,
saying that she had spoilt his ju-ju and would have to pay a great deal
to make it right again. After a violent quarrel they eventually went
to sleep; but in the morning at first cock-crow the hare’s wife got up
and packed up all her things, saying that she was going away to find
another husband, as she could not possibly live with a hare who had
lost half his tail, whether it had been cut by the ju-ju man or not.
The hare then said, “You have no sense. It will not help you at all to
leave me, as all the other hares have had the same thing done to them
on account of the war ju-ju. You had much better stay with me.” But his
wife was not satisfied, and told her husband that she should go out and
see for herself whether what he had said was true; so she started off
along the path to the nearest hare’s house.
Directly she was out of sight the hare ran through the bush as fast as
he could to the house his wife was bound for, and as she was carrying a
heavy load he got there some little time before her. He then told his
friend that his wife had left him because he had lost part of his tail,
and was on her way to see whether he had also lost his. The hare then
asked his friend to step into his back room and allow him to speak to
his wife from the door when she came. His friend gladly consented to
help him, and soon after he had gone inside the hare’s wife appeared
and put down her load. The hare then stood up in the doorway, facing
his wife, and calling her by name said, “Ekanga, where are you going
with that load? Are you leaving your husband?” And his wife said,
“Yes.” The hare then said, “What is the matter?” and she replied, “My
husband has lost his tail, and told me that it had been cut on account
of the war ju-ju, and that all the other men-hares have also had their
tails cut, so as I do not like to live with a hare who has no tail, I
have come to see if he told the truth.”
The hare then said, “We have all passed through the same ju-ju and had
our tails cut off; look and see.” He then turned round and showed her.
His wife then went on from one hare’s house to another, but each time
her husband went on in front of her and deceived her in the same way,
until at last she got tired and turned back to go home. The hare then
ran quickly home, and jumped into bed, and when his wife appeared he
said, “So you have returned. You are a foolish woman, and you can go
or stay as you please, I do not care.” But his wife said that she was
satisfied that her husband had spoken the truth, as all the hares she
had seen had had their tails cut off, so she had resolved to turn back.
The next day the hare called all his company together, and told them
that he had nearly lost his life the previous day on account of his
long tail, as he had sat down on an ant heap with his tail down one of
the holes, and some animal inside had caught hold of it and tried to
pull him inside to kill him, but to save his life he had cut his tail
off with a knife, and he strongly advised them to do the same. To this
they all agreed, and cut their long tails off in order to escape from
any enemy who might try to catch them by the tail, and ever since the
hares have had no tails, as when the men-hares went home they made
their wives and children follow their example, telling them that it
was done for their good by the war ju-ju to prevent them from dying in
battle. On account of the hare’s wife lighting the lamp to look at her
husband’s tail and thus spoiling his war ju-ju, it has been a custom
ever since that when men are going to fight they will never trust their
wives with their war ju-ju, and they will not sleep with them or eat
any food which they have cooked with their hands until the fighting is
over.
Told by Ennenni, an Okuni woman.--[26.7.10.]
XXVII.--HOW A CRUEL INKUM CHIEF WAS POISONED BY HIS SLAVES, AND HOW HIS
SON HANGED HIMSELF ON ACCOUNT OF THE EXPENSES OF HIS BROTHER’S FUNERAL.
At Inkum in the olden days there dwelt a chief called Erim. He was very
wealthy, having many slaves, both male and female, and a large farm.
He was known throughout the country as a cruel man and a hard master.
Most of Chief Erim’s wealth was made by selling camwood and the large
yams grown on his farm. The chief made a rule that each woman slave
should bring him at the end of every seven days twelve balls or cakes
of camwood. If any of them failed to do so, he tied them up to a tree
and they were given fifty lashes on the back with a heavy whip made of
twisted skin. They were also made to pay the value of the number of
balls of camwood which they had failed to make. This meant that all the
women slaves had to work very hard indeed, and they could get no help
from their husbands in any way, as at first cock-crow all the men were
sent off to the farm to work, and were not allowed to return until the
evening. Very frequently the men slaves were severely flogged by order
of the chief, if he were not satisfied with the amount of work done
on the farm, or if they annoyed him in any way. In consequence of his
cruel treatment of them, all his slaves hated Chief Erim, and although
they were much in fear of their master they often planned to kill him.
Now Chief Erim had only two wives; one was an Okuni woman, by whom he
had a son called Odoggha Eyu, and the other was a native of Inkum,
whose son’s name was Oga Erim. The chief was very fond of both his
sons, and never allowed them to do any work on the farm. He gave them
plenty of food and good cloths, and they grew into strong young men.
There was one thing, however, that vexed Chief Erim, and that was that
Odoggha Eyu was his eldest son, and he knew that when he died Odoggha
Eyu would return to Okuni, which was his mother’s birthplace. The chief
therefore made up his mind that his youngest son, Oga Erim, should
inherit his property, and for several years taught him how to rule the
people with a strong hand and to punish them severely if they did not
work, as that was the way he had become rich.
When the two sons had grown up, the slaves made a plan to kill Chief
Erim, whom they hated so much. The head slave waited until the day came
for the women to bring their camwood to be counted, and then told his
wife to keep back three balls of camwood, so that if the chief flogged
her, he would be able to give a good reason to the other slaves why
they should kill their master. When all the women slaves had brought
their camwood, the chief told the head slave to count the cakes as
usual. He did so, and told Chief Erim that his wife had only brought
nine cakes of camwood instead of twelve, as she had been very busy in
the house and had had a lot of other work to do. The head slave also
said that ever since he had been married his wife had always brought
the right number of cakes, and as this was the first time she had
failed to do so he begged the chief not to punish her. But Chief Erim
was angry, and said that the head slave’s wife ought to know better and
should set a good example to the other slaves. He then had her tied up
to a tree, and she was given fifty lashes, the blood running down her
back on to the ground, the woman becoming unconscious from the pain.
She was then released and water having been thrown over her she was
carried to her house, where she was placed on the sleeping-mat.
The next day the woman was made to pay for the three missing cakes of
camwood, and the chief told the other women slaves that the punishment
the woman had received should be a warning to them and make them work
harder.
The head slave washed the wounds on his wife’s back, and put some
mashed-up leaves on the sore places to stop the bleeding and heal the
cuts. When he saw what a terrible flogging his wife had received, his
heart was full of rage against Chief Erim, so that very night he went
to every slave, and they all agreed to kill their master. The head
slave then went to a clever poisoner who lived not far away, and bought
two powerful ju-jus; one would give the person against whom the ju-ju
was made the “dry cough” (consumption), and the other would give him
paralysis. He then hid the ju-jus, as they had decided to wait some
time after the woman had been flogged before they gave the poison to
the chief, so that no suspicion should be attached to them of having
poisoned their master. All the slaves went about their work as usual
until the time arrived for the new yams to be dug, at which season it
was customary for the people to give presents to their chiefs. The head
slave then went into the bush and made a calabash of strong tombo. He
then called Chief Erim’s name, and having put the two ju-jus into the
tombo, told the ju-ju to kill Chief Erim and not to harm anyone else.
Having bought twenty-five yams and one cock, he took them, together
with the calabash of tombo, and gave them to Chief Erim as his present.
The chief thanked him for his dash, and told his small boy to pour out
the tombo. The first glass was given to the head slave, who had brought
the tombo, and he threw it on the ground, asking Ossorwor (God) to
bless Chief Erim with plenty of wealth and long life. The “pourer-out”
drank the second glass, and Chief Erim drank the next, the tombo was
then passed round until it was finished, but the head slave poured the
last glass, which had the remains of the poison in it, on the ground in
front of the ju-ju, which was in the middle of the compound; this he
did when the Chief Erim’s back was turned so that he could not see.
About a month afterwards the ju-ju began to work, and Chief Erim felt
sick; he coughed all day, and one side became useless so that he could
not walk. He wanted to go to the ju-ju man to ask him what was the
cause of his sickness, but being unable to move about he sent for his
head slave and told him to go to the ju-ju man and tell him to come to
his house so that he could consult him.
When the head slave came, he said to Chief Erim, “I have been your
slave ever since I was a small boy. Surely you can trust me. Let me
go and consult the ju-ju man on your behalf, and he will tell me what
you should do in order to get well again. You have only to give me
your loin-cloth, and then when he has seen it he will know what is the
matter with you after he has cast lots.”
Chief Erim agreed to this, and told his head slave to take two boxes of
rods and some fowls as a present to the ju-ju man. The head slave kept
the fowls and rods for himself, and did not go near the ju-ju man, but
the next day he went to his master and said that he had consulted the
ju-ju man, who had said that the chief’s life was in danger, and that
he had been poisoned by his Okuni wife, who wanted her son to inherit
her husband’s property. If Chief Erim wanted to get better, he should
at once send the wife and her son to Okuni, as they were both witches,
and that in three months’ time he would be quite well again. The ju-ju
man also said that if it had not been for the small ju-ju in the middle
of Chief Erim’s compound, who had been fighting the witches for him,
he would have been dead long before. The chief should therefore make a
sacrifice of a white cock and a goat to the ju-ju for his help.
Chief Erim then told his wife to go back to Okuni and take her son with
her. He also told the head slave to sacrifice the white cock and the
goat to the ju-ju. This was done, but instead of getting better, chief
Erim died in less than a month, and his son Oga Erim inherited his
father’s property.
When the chiefs of Inkum heard of the disease which Chief Erim had died
from, they made an order that the body should be buried in a deep grave
in the bush, that the funeral should not be kept as usual, and that no
one was to mourn for the dead chief, as the sickness he had died from
was a very dangerous one, and if anyone cried for him they would get
the disease. The chief’s body was therefore buried without any of the
customary funeral rites, which saved Oga Erim a large amount of money.
It did not take the slaves long to realize that they were very little
better off for the death of their late master, as Oga Erim carried
on much in the same way as his father had. The first woman slave who
failed to bring her twelve cakes of camwood was given forty lashes
instead of fifty, but Oga Erim said that he was young yet, but that as
he got older he would be much more severe and punish the people far
more cruelly than his father had ever done, as he intended to be very
wealthy, and they would have to work much harder than they had done
during his father’s lifetime unless they wished to be badly punished.
One day when he was vexed with a slave, he tied him up to a tree and
led the driver ants to him, so that he died in great agony. After a
time things became so bad that the slaves decided that they must kill
Oga Erim, but they did not like to do so at once, as they thought that
the Inkum people might suspect them, in which case they would be
tortured in many different ways, so they resolved to wait two years
before they revenged themselves upon their cruel master.
As the time went on Oga Erim became harder on his people, and some of
the slaves were flogged and tortured almost every day; he seemed to
take great delight in their sufferings, and spent much time in devising
new forms of torture.
When Chief Erim had been dead two years, the head slave called all
the other slaves together, and said that the time had arrived when
Oga Erim must die, as he did not think that they would be suspected
if they were careful. The slaves then discussed the best way to kill
Oga Erim. One of them said, “Let us make him blind in both eyes,” but
the others would not agree, and said he should be killed at once, as
if he were only blind he would know what was going on and would still
be able to punish them. At last it was decided to poison Oga Erim, so
the slaves brought a very strong poison made from the horns of a ram
and some of the hair from the mane cut into small pieces. They then
called Oga Erim’s name and told the ju-ju to kill him and not to harm
anyone else. The poison was then placed in Oga Erim’s food and a few
hours after he had eaten it he began to vomit and spit blood; so when
the sun was going down he called for the head slave and asked him to
get him some medicine to cure him. The slave advised his master to
leave the compound and go to his farm-house until he got well, as he
thought that someone must have put a ju-ju in the ground where he was
lying, which caused him to be sick. As Oga Erim was unable to walk,
the head slave ordered four slaves to carry their master to his farm.
In the middle of the night Oga Erim died in great pain, and one of the
slaves at once ran off and told the head slave what had happened. He
told all the slaves to be quiet and not to tell anyone until he gave
them permission, as the head slave knew that directly Odoggha Eyu
heard of his brother’s death he would at once come to Inkum to keep
the funeral and take all the goods which were formerly his father’s.
The head slave then went to the body of Oga Erim and got the keys of
the houses where all the rods and other valuables were kept. When he
got back to the town, he opened the store where all the rods were, and
having called all the slaves together, he divided the rods amongst
them all, and then locked the door again. He then went to the house
where Oga Erim kept his walking-sticks, brass pans, pots and other
expensive articles, and having opened the door, divided these things
up and locked the door. After this the head slave divided up the cows,
goats, sheep, pigs and fowls between them all, but he left five cows in
the compound so that the funeral might be properly kept. He then told
some of the slaves to carry their master’s body to the town, but before
this was done he warned all the slaves to be very careful not to keep
any of their dead master’s property in their own houses, as they might
be accused of stealing, so he advised them all to send their things
to their different friends’ houses where they could be kept for them
without anyone knowing. A messenger was then sent to Odoggha Eyu to
tell him that his brother was dead. The chiefs were also informed, and
many people came to mourn, the women throwing themselves on the ground
weeping.
When Odoggha Eyu heard that his brother Oga was dead, he called his
company together to go with him to Inkum, and remembering how wealthy
his father had been, he hired many slaves to carry the property back to
Okuni. He also borrowed a large number of rods to provide a big feast
at the funeral and to give his friends and the slaves he brought with
him plenty to eat and drink.
When Odoggha Eyu arrived at Inkum, he asked the head slave to hand the
keys of his brother’s house to him, so that he could satisfy himself
that everything was in order. But the head slave told him that it was
the custom for him to bury the dead body first, and that after the
feast the keys would be handed over; he also added that everything in
the house was as his brother Oga had left it, and that all the doors
were locked. Odaggha Eyu then bought five slaves, promising to pay
for them after the funeral; these slaves he killed and placed in the
grave with his brother. The five cows which remained in the compound
were also killed, and their heads were put in the grave. The bodies
of the cows were given to the people to eat. Many men and women came
to the funeral, as it was known that Oga Erim was rich, and Odoggha
Eyu provided food and drink for them all, and the feasting, dancing
and singing was continued for five days and nights. The grave was then
filled in and beaten down, and the outside was polished. The head slave
then handed the keys to Odoggha Eyu, who went first of all to the house
where his father always kept his rods; when he opened the door and went
inside there were no rods to be seen. Odoggha Eyu stood there silent
for some time, wondering what had become of all his father’s wealth and
how he could manage to pay all the debts he had incurred on account of
the funeral expenses. At last he asked the head slave what had become
of all the rods which his father formerly possessed, and whether his
brother had spent them all. The slave replied that he had received
nothing himself, but suggested that the spirit of his late father had
taken all the rods away.
After this Odoggha Eyu sent to the house where the brass pans, jugs,
plates and other valuables used to be kept, and opened the door, only
to find that it was as empty as the other house. Then he threw the keys
down on the ground in despair and went away. He told his company what
had happened, and advised them to go home at once, as he was unable to
provide any more food and drink for them. Then the owners of the five
slaves who had been killed went to him and demanded payment, and the
other people to whom he owed money worried him all day, until at last
he resolved to kill himself rather than go home in shame and debt.
Odoggha Eyu then asked where his father was buried, and when he was
shown the place he went back to the house and sat down, waiting until
it became dark. That night he got a rope and hanged himself on the
branch of a tree overhanging his father’s grave. His debtors, who were
looking everywhere for him, could not find him, and thought he must
have run away, but two days later his dead body was discovered hanging
to the tree.
Ever since that time it has been a custom, whenever a person is absent
when a sick relative dies and wishes to bury him, he first of all finds
out how much property there is before he buys things for the funeral,
so as to be quite certain that there will be enough to pay for all the
expenses of the burial. If a man was poor, very few people would attend
the funeral, but if he were rich many people would come. Hence the
saying, “A small ju-ju has a small sacrifice, and a big ju-ju has a big
sacrifice.”
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--[1.8.7.]
XXVIII.--HOW THE FROG BEAT THE BUSH BUCK IN A RACE, AND WON HIS
DAUGHTER AS A WIFE.
Long ago, when the men, animals, and birds were living together, there
was a bush buck who was fine and strong; he was also a very quick
runner. This bush buck had a daughter whose skin shone like a bright
red stone. She was much admired by all the men and animals, and many of
them wanted to marry her, and spoke to her father on the subject, but
he placed such a high dowry on his daughter that no one was rich enough
to pay it.
At last some of the young men, who were very anxious to possess the
pretty daughter of the bush buck as a wife, asked the father to reduce
the amount of dowry to such an amount as they would be able to pay.
As the bush buck was very fond and proud of his daughter and did not
want to part with her, he refused to reduce the dowry, but told the
young men and animals that he would give them all another chance of
winning his daughter, and that was, if any one could beat him in a
race he would hand his daughter over to the winner as his wife without
any dowry at all. In making this offer the bush buck thought he was
perfectly safe, as it was well known that he was a faster runner than
anyone in the country.
A day was appointed for the races to be held, and a long straight
course was cut. It was decided that the races should be run from one
end of the course to the other and back again to the starting-point,
and the first one to get back would be declared the winner.
When the day for the race arrived a large number of men and animals
met, and the course was lined with spectators on both sides as far as
the eye could see. Several young men who were noted for their speed and
many swift-running animals competed for the bush buck’s daughter, but
they were all beaten by the bush buck. After several races of this kind
had been held, the fame of the pretty daughter of the bush buck spread
far and wide, and many other men and animals came from distant parts to
try and win her, but without success.
One day, when the bush buck’s daughter went down to the spring to get
drinking-water, she met a young frog, who fell in love with her and
decided to ask her father’s consent to their marriage. But before
he did so the frog called all his company, who were very numerous,
together, and told them that he intended to try and win the bush buck’s
daughter, and that he would race her father. At this all the other
frogs laughed, and said that the bush buck would have finished the
course before the frog had jumped one pace.
The young frog allowed his companions to enjoy their laugh, and when
they were quiet again he said, “I have a plan, and if you will all
help me I am certain to win the race, and when I have got the bush
buck’s daughter for my wife I will give you a big feast, and it will
be a great score to us to win her where everybody else has failed.” He
then said to his company, “Are we not all alike?” And they answered
all together, with one croak, “Yes.” The young frog then told them his
plan. As they all knew, the conditions of the race were that the two
competitors were to start together and run to the end of the course,
and then return to the starting-point, and the one who returned first
would be the winner. All the young frogs were to go out in the early
morning and hide themselves in holes at intervals along the whole of
the course and one frog was to be at the turning point. Whenever the
bush buck called out, one of the frogs was to answer him and pretend he
had been running all the time.
All the frogs agreed that the plan was a good one, and promised to
help their companion to win the race. When he had thus arranged
everything to his satisfaction, the young frog went to the bush buck
and challenged him to race for his daughter. But, although the bush
buck laughed at the idea, he had to consent to run, and the race was
arranged for the following day along the usual track, and the first
home to be the winner.
Early in the morning all the frogs took up their positions along
the course, and the young frog jumped on to the course where the
starting-place was and waited for the bush buck to arrive. By this
time many people had arrived to watch the race, and soon the bush buck
joined the frog, and the signal to start having been given they both
jumped off together. But the frog returned to his hole, and the bush
buck raced off alone as fast as he could go. When he had gone about
half the distance the bush buck called out, “Where are you, frog?”
and one of the frogs at once answered, “I am here, are you tired of
running?” And the bush buck said, “Yes, I am tired. Let us run back,
and the first in shall be the winner.” So he turned round and started
off again. When the bush buck got near the starting-place the frog
came out of his hole, and directly the people saw that he had got back
before the bush buck they declared the frog to be the winner, much to
the disgust of many of the young men, who were watching the race, and
who cursed the frog for his luck in winning such a fine wife. When
the bush buck arrived he was much out of breath from running, and was
greatly surprised at being beaten by the frog, but as he had passed his
word that he would give his daughter to the winner, he handed her to
the frog.
The frog then took his beautiful wife to his house near the spring,
where they had a big play; and after the dancing was over the frog
gave all the members of his company who had helped him to win the race
quantities of food and tombo, which had been prepared for them. The
young frog then went into the water, and called upon his wife to follow
him. She went into the stream until the water came up to her neck,
but, being naturally very timid, she was afraid to go further, and
struggled back to the bank, where she said to her husband, “If you wish
to live with me you will have to come on to the land, as I cannot live
in the water.” So the frog came out and joined his wife, but he only
lived with her for a very short time, as the pretty bush buck walked so
fast he could not keep up with her. Very soon she strayed away into the
forest, where she met a fine young bush buck, and, forgetting all about
the frog, went off with her young lover. One day when she went to the
spring to draw water the frog called out to her to return to him, but,
as she refused to do so, the frog lost his wife for ever whom he had
won so cleverly.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--[E.D., 11.8.10.]
XXIX.--WHY A PYTHON NEVER SWALLOWS A TORTOISE.
In the days when the elephant was king over all the beasts of the
forest, it was the custom for all the animals to go once a year and
make the elephant’s farm for him. They cleared all the bush and
planted his yams and plantains. On these occasions the elephant always
entertained the animals, and when the work was finished the elephant
gave them food. Now, although the python never did any work on the
farm, he always attended the feasts and, being very greedy, eat more
than his share of the food. This annoyed the tortoise so much that he
stood up at the feast and abused the python before all the people,
saying that he did not work, and then came and eat a large quantity
of the food which had been provided by the king for the people who
made his farm and planted his yams. The python was therefore compelled
to leave the food and go home as he was unable to work, but he made
a vow to revenge himself upon all the people. When the next season
arrived and it was time for the farms to be made, all the people went
as usual to make the elephant’s farm and plant his yams, &c., but as
the elephant had had such a very bad crop the previous year, he told
the people he was very sorry, but that he was unable to supply them
with food that year as he had no yams or plantains to give them. But
in the evening, when the work was done, he gave them tombo to drink,
and then told them to go. When the python heard this he said, “Now
the time is come when I can revenge myself upon the tortoise and the
other people who would not let me eat the king’s food last year.” So
he went off into the bush, taking his wife with him, and together they
gathered large numbers of soft palm nuts. They also collected other
nuts and fruit and made them into heaps by the wayside where they
knew all the people would pass on their way home from working on the
elephant’s farm. Just before it got dark the animals began to arrive
at the spot where the python had collected his nuts and fruit, and,
being very hungry, they asked the python to allow them to eat some of
his palm nuts. The python said, “Certainly, you can help yourselves,
but remember if you do, when I am hungry I shall follow you and
swallow you up when I catch you.” When the animals heard this they were
frightened, and although they were very hungry, they passed on and left
the fruit untouched. The tortoise was the last to arrive, and when he
saw the palm nuts he shouted out, “Hallo, python, I am hungry, may I
have some of your fruit?” The python then reminded him how he had been
insulted at the king’s feast, but added, “If you are hungry you may
take some palm nuts, but when I am hungry I shall swallow you.”
So the tortoise, not liking the idea of being swallowed by the python,
passed along as the other animals had done. But he had not gone far
when his hunger tempted him to return and eat the fruit. When he saw
the python the tortoise said, “I want to eat the fruit as I am hungry,
but, if you swallow me, my body is small and mostly shell so that your
hunger will not be satisfied. If you will give me the palm nuts I will
allow you to eat all the other animals except our king the elephant.”
So the python replied, “How can you give me all the animals for food,
seeing that they do not belong to you?” The tortoise then told the
python that he would go and stay with the different animals, and he
would expect him every morning after rain had fallen during the night;
he would then go off into the bush, so that when the python came to
swallow him he would not be there, and he could satisfy his hunger
with the animal he, the tortoise, had been staying with. The python
agreed to this arrangement and allowed the tortoise to eat the palm
nuts. When he had satisfied his appetite, the tortoise told the python
he was going to stay the night with his friend the bush buck, and then
went away. That night there was heavy rain. So in the morning the
tortoise went off into the bush, leaving the bush buck to be eaten by
the python. After this the tortoise went from one animal to another,
and many of them were swallowed by the python, but the tortoise always
escaped. And that is why pythons do not eat tortoises now.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--[E.D., 11.8.10.]
XXX.--THE GAME OF HIDE-AND-SEEK AS PLAYED BY THE HAWK AND THE BUSH COW.
In the days when all the animals and birds lived together they were
always on friendly terms, even the eagles and hawks did not molest the
hens and ducks. At that time the eagle was king over all the birds,
and a very small grey-coloured antelope was made king of the animals.
This antelope was appointed king because he was so cunning, and always
knew when danger was near, having a very fine sense of smell and keen
eyesight. The hunters were never able to kill him, because when they
saw him, which was very seldom, it would be when he went to a pool to
drink; then they would wait for the antelope to put his head down to
the water, but this he never did, as he drank through small holes in
his feet. He would then smell the hunters while they were watching him,
and run away before they could kill him.
The eagle was elected king of the birds because he lived higher up in
the air than any of the other birds, and could thus direct them better.
One day the eagle went to the antelope and challenged him to play at
a game of hiding between the birds and animals. He chose the hawk to
represent the birds, and the antelope selected the bush cow on the
animals’ side. They arranged that one should hide himself in the bush
and the other should try to find him, but that if he failed to do so,
the one hiding would be considered the winner and the loser would have
to pay a large number of rods as a forfeit.
The first day the hawk was told to hide in the forest and the bush cow
had to find him. So in the early morning the hawk flew off to where
he knew there was a very tall tree covered with creepers. He then hid
himself in the densest part and went to sleep. All day long the bush
cow wandered about trying to find the hawk, but without success, and
when the evening came he was quite tired and went home and reported his
bad luck to the antelope. Later in the evening the eagle took the hawk
to the antelope’s house and said that as the bush cow had been unable
to find him, he was the winner, to which the antelope agreed and paid
over the rods to the eagle. The antelope was not satisfied, so they
arranged to have another match; but the same thing happened and the
antelope had to pay again.
On the third day the antelope said to the eagle, “It seems to be very
easy to hide; let the bush cow go and hide and the hawk look for him.”
The eagle agreed to this, and the match was for the same number of
rods. As soon as it was light enough to see, the bush cow went off
into the forest until he came to a favourite swamp of his where he lay
down and wallowed in the mud, leaving only a little of his head and
back exposed to view. The hawk circled round and round and, knowing
the habits of the bush cow and having very sharp sight, he very soon
caught sight of the bush cow, so he swooped down and took a mouthful
of hair and flew back to the eagle and reported that he had found the
bush cow, and produced the hair as proof. That night the antelope had
to pay again, and by this time he had lost quite a lot of money, so
he arranged with the eagle that the hawk should hide the next day and
the bush cow should try again. When the eagle had gone, the antelope
told the bush cow that he was very angry indeed with him, and that if
he failed to find the hawk again he would make him repay all the money
he had lost to the eagle. The hawk flew off the next morning, and very
shortly afterwards the bush cow dashed off into the forest to look for
him. As the hawk had always won so easily, he thought he would have
some fun with the bush cow, so he left the shelter of his tree and
circled up high in the air. The hawk very soon caught sight of the bush
cow rushing about through the forest, so he flew down very quietly
behind the bush cow and perched himself on the horns of the bush cow
quite softly. For some time the bush cow ran about in all directions
searching for the hawk, until at last, as he could not find him, he
thought the hawk must have gone home, so he charged back again through
the bush to the hawk’s house and at times the hawk had to follow him
by flying as the bush was so thick, but when the country was open he
quickly settled quite softly on the bush cow’s horns again. As the
bush cow went through the town he saw several different birds, and
asked each of them as he passed whether they had seen the hawk about
anywhere, but although they could all see the hawk perched on the bush
cow’s horns, no one answered him. When he reached the hawk’s house, the
bush cow searched everywhere for him, but finding he was not there, he
rushed out again and went round another part of the town to see if he
could find him. On his way he passed several cocks and hens, and asked
them where the hawk was, but they only laughed at him. The bush cow
then asked them again, but they continued to laugh. At last he became
so angry that he threatened to trample on them if they did not tell
him. So the cock said, “What you are looking for is sitting on your
head; if you wave one of your arms over your head you will find what
you want.” The bush cow would not believe the cow at first, and all
the birds continued to laugh at him. At last, however, the bush cow
did as the cock suggested, to find out if what he had said was true,
and at once the hawk flew up and was seen by the bush cow who at once
galloped off and told the antelope that he had found the hawk and had
very nearly caught him with his hoof. The eagle was then sent for, and,
although he grumbled very much, had to pay the amount of the bet.
That night the hawk told the eagle that it was the cock and hens who
told the bush cow to wave his arm over his horns, otherwise he never
would have been found. So the eagle sent for them and said, “It was you
who told the bush cow where the hawk was hiding and in consequence I
have had to pay a large amount to the antelope as a punishment; for the
future I shall allow the hawk to always kill your children whenever he
can catch them.” Now at this time the cocks and hens, who were related
to the bush fowls, used to live with them in the same place, and when
the eagle told them that the hawk would kill their chickens, they made
up their minds to go and live with the men. When the bush fowls heard
this they begged the cock and hen not to do so, and told them that the
men would kill and eat them, but the cocks and hens replied that they
would rather take their chance with the men than have their chickens
killed by the hawk in the bush. The following morning, therefore, the
cocks and hens set off with their children, carrying a piece of bark
with them and told the other people they were going to get some fire.
When they got to the men’s houses they looked about and found that
there was so much to eat and they were so comfortable that they at once
decided to stay, and have lived with the men ever since, while their
cousins the bush fowls live in the bush. The hawks still continue to
kill the chickens, but the cocks and hens always run and take shelter
when they see the hawk coming. In the early morning before the sun
rises you can always hear the bush fowls calling to the cocks and hens
to come back and live with them, and shortly afterwards you can hear
the cocks answering them, saying that they prefer to live in safety
with the men.
Told by Abassi of Inkum.--[E.D., 4.1.11.]
XXXI.--CHIEF KEKONG’S DAUGHTER ’NDERE WHO MARRIED A PYTHON.
Chief Kekong was a very rich Okuni chief. He lived many years ago at
the time when the Okuni people never eat the cat-fish, as they thought
it was a part of the water ju-ju, having such a smooth skin.
Chief Kekong had a wife named Nyam, who was a fine woman, and they had
a daughter called ’Ndere, who was much sought after by the Okuni chiefs
and other rich men in marriage, partly on account of her beauty, and
partly for her father’s wealth. ’Ndere was very vain of her personal
appearance, and although her parents frequently tried to get her to
marry, she always refused.
About this time a python lived at Okuni. He was a very fine fellow, and
wanted to marry ’Ndere so that he might inherit her father’s property,
but having no hands and feet he knew he would stand no chance of
winning a girl who had refused so many offers. He therefore consulted
another python, who advised him to go into a far country and try to
borrow from different men a head, feet and hands, white teeth, and a
fine face and nose, but that he should keep his own eyes. The friendly
python told him that if he did this and returned to Okuni and asked
’Ndere to marry him, it was very likely that she would do so.
The next day the python set off to a distant country, where he was
unknown, and went to a chief called Kaku. The python said that,
although he was a stranger, he hoped the chief would help him as far
as he could. Then Chief Kaku asked the python what he wanted and how
he could assist him. So the python said, “I want to marry ’Ndere, the
daughter of Chief Kekong of Okuni, but, as I have no hands or feet, she
will not look at me. I therefore want you to lend me a face, teeth,
arms and legs, so that I would appear to her as a stranger, and she
would then marry me.”
Now the python was not aware that Chief Kaku had already asked ’Ndere
to marry him, and that she had refused to do so, as if the python had
known this he would have gone to somebody else. The python promised
the chief that if he would lend him the different parts of the body
which he required he would return them all to him after he had married
’Ndere. Chief Kaku thought the matter over, and as he was very anxious
to obtain ’Ndere as a wife for himself, he decided to do as the python
asked, having determined that when the python returned the borrowed
limbs he would have him killed and take ’Ndere as his wife, whether she
liked it or not. The more Chief Kaku thought of the plan, the easier
it seemed; so he sent for all his young men, and took a head from one,
arms from another, legs from a third, and fine white teeth from a
fourth, and so on, until at last the python was complete.
Chief Kaku gave the python one young boy to accompany him back to
Okuni, and the following day the python set off on his journey, wearing
all his borrowed limbs. When he arrived at Okuni he looked nicer than
any of the other Okuni young men; his long neck and small eyes, white
teeth and the fine colour of his body appealed to ’Ndere when she saw
him, and she at once took a great fancy to him.
Very soon after his arrival the python asked Chief Kekong to allow
him to marry his daughter ’Ndere, and when the chief asked him who
he was and where he came from, the python replied, “I am the son of
Chief Kaku, who lives over there,” pointing to where the sun rose at
the back of the house. Then Chief Kekong, who knew Chief Kaku, as he
had tried to marry ’Ndere but failed, called for some palm wine, which
was brought and given to the python. Chief Kekong said he would think
over what the python had said, but warned him that ’Ndere had already
refused his father. He said, however, that if his daughter agreed to
marry him, he would allow her to do so. The python was then given food
to eat and a room to sleep in during the night.
That night, when everyone had gone to sleep, Chief Kekong woke his wife
up and called ’Ndere to come. He then told her that the python wanted
to marry her, and asked ’Ndere what her wishes were. Although ’Ndere
intended to marry the python, she did not wish her parents to know what
her thoughts were, as she was an obstinate and disobedient girl. ’Ndere
then said to her mother, “Tell me what you think I should do.” ’Nyam
replied, “I do not wish you to marry this man, and would prefer that
you should marry an Okuni man, because if anything happened to you we
should be near, and in the case of sickness we would try to help you,
whereas if you marry this stranger you will go far away, and we shall
not be able to do anything for you.” ’Ndere said, “Yes, my mother, I
hear what you say. Now what does my father say?” Chief Kekong replied,
“If you love this young man, whom you have never before seen, and go
away with him as his wife, you may be sold as a slave, as you are such
a fine girl, or you might possibly be killed; and although I am Chief
of Okuni, I have no power in Chief Kaku’s town, and should not be able
to help you. As you are my only child, I do not want you to marry this
stranger, but I want you to remain at Okuni with me.”
’Ndere then answered her parents as follows:--“I have always refused,
up to the present, to marry all the men you have asked me to marry, but
I am going to marry this man. You must therefore hand me to Kaku’s son
as his wife, and I will go off with him to his country. If you refuse
to do this, I will go outside into the bush and hang myself.”
Her parents tried their best to persuade ’Ndere to change her mind, but
she was obstinate, and continued to threaten to hang herself if they
refused to do what she wanted; they therefore left her until the next
morning.
When the morning came, the python went to Chief Kekong and asked him
for his decision with regard to his daughter. The chief called ’Ndere
to him and asked her what her wishes were on the subject. ’Ndere said,
“I am willing to marry this young man, and will go with him to his
country.”
The python then sent the small boy who had come with him to Chief Kaku,
asking him to send the dowry, and after a few days the boy returned,
bringing with him rods, cloth, camwood, and palm-oil. The chief then
handed his daughter to the python, and after she had been rubbed all
over with camwood and oil she was taken to the python’s room. She was
then circumcised and kept in a room for three days; after that she was
able to walk, so ’Ndere told the python that she was then willing to go
with him to his country, and the following morning they set off from
the town, walking very slowly.
It was not until after they had walked for two days that they reached
Chief Kaku’s town, and when he saw them he was so glad that he at once
had a goat killed in front of ’Ndere and sprinkled the blood over her
feet. The chief then had a plentiful supply of food brought, which was
given to the python and his wife, and a room was appointed for their
use.
When the evening came, all the men and women were called together to
dance and sing, the chief giving them plenty of palm wine to drink and
doing everything he could think of to show ’Ndere that the python was
his son. As soon as the play had commenced, Chief Kaku told the python
to come to his house, so that ’Ndere was left in the house which had
been set apart for the use of her husband and herself. The chief then
asked the python to return all the different limbs and other parts of
the body which he had borrowed from the different young men of the town
as he had promised to do. But the python begged to be allowed until
midnight before he returned the things he had borrowed, saying, “My
wife and I have only just arrived, and it would be a shameful thing if
I have to join her crawling on my belly.” The chief agreed to allow the
python until midnight, and the python then went off to join his wife in
their house.
When midnight came the python got up and went to the chief’s house and
returned the different portions of the young men’s bodies which he had
borrowed. He then returned to ’Ndere in his natural form of a python,
but when she saw him she denied that he was her husband. During the
remainder of the night the python tried to convince ’Ndere that he was
the man she had married, but she sat up the whole night and refused to
have anything to do with him.
As soon as it was light ’Ndere went with the python to the chief’s
house, and asked him whether the python was his son whom she had
married. The chief answered her that the python was his son, and that
she was his wife. He also said that his son was going to return to
Okuni the following day, and that she would have to accompany her
husband. ’Ndere was not at all pleased to see her husband going about
on his stomach, and refused to sit near him all the day. When night
came she went into a separate house and would not let the python in.
That night Chief Kaka gave orders to four of his young men to arm
themselves with sharp matchets, and to lie in wait on the road to
Okuni. He told them to kill the python and to bring ’Ndere back to him.
This the young men promised to do, and set off before it was light,
telling no one where they were going.
After the python and his wife had had their early morning food, they
started off for Okuni, but when they arrived at the first water
outside the town where the road branched off to the farm, the python,
remembering that ’Ndere had refused to marry Chief Kaku, thought it
very probable that the chief would cause him to be waylaid and his
wife taken away from him. He therefore determined to follow the farm
road, which, although much longer, he thought would probably be safer;
he thus missed the four men who were lying in wait for him.
Towards the evening the four young men returned to the town and
reported to the chief that ’Ndere and her husband had not passed along
the road which they were guarding. Chief Kaku then guessed that they
must have taken the farm road, and had probably arrived safely at
Okuni. Although the python had escaped the trap which the chief had set
for him, he had no intention of letting him go, and now that he had
seen ’Ndere again he was more determined than ever to possess her for
himself, and at once began to plan how he should kill the python and
induce ’Ndere to marry him. As he could not send his young men to Okuni
to kill the python and take ’Ndere away by force, as that would mean
war between the two countries, for which he was not prepared, seeing
that the Okuni people were very powerful, he determined to wait and
lay another trap for the python. The chief knew that ’Ndere was very
dissatisfied at having a snake as a husband, and would probably be glad
to marry him, although he was rather old, rather than continue to live
with the python, providing the python could be got rid of. He therefore
decided to wait until the dry season came round, when the python would
go to his farm, and might be killed without causing any trouble. But
the first thing he had to do was to get ’Ndere to agree to come to him,
so he sent off two of his young men to watch the python’s house, and
told them to pretend they came from a distant country. He sent messages
by these men to ’Ndere, telling her to do everything her husband told
her to do, and that when the time arrived for making the new farms he
would have the python killed, and she could then come and marry him.
The young men went to Okuni as they were ordered, and, after watching
for some time, at last met ’Ndere alone at the spring, where she was
getting water, and gave her the messages from the chief. ’Ndere, who
hated the python, agreed to help, and said she would be glad to marry
anyone who would get rid of the python; so the young men returned and
told the chief what she had said.
When the time arrived for making the farms, the python took all his
people out into the bush, but as they had no matchets or arms to use
them with, all they could do was to roll themselves about in the grass
and then burn it. Every morning when the python and the rest of his
people went to the farm, ’Ndere followed later, bringing the foo-foo
and soup in calabashes. The python would not allow her to go so far
as the farm, as he told her she was such a fine girl that if the
other pythons saw her they would certainly be so envious of him that
they might kill him in order to get her for themselves. He therefore
showed her a place where she was to bring the food; here he had made a
string of snail shells hung on sticks, and told ’Ndere to rattle them
when she brought his food, and that he would come to her. The first
day the pythons went to work on the farm ’Ndere brought the food and
rattled the snail shells as she had been directed to do, and very soon
afterwards the python came and took the calabashes away to the place
where they were working, telling ’Ndere to wait until he had finished
eating. When he had eaten all the food he returned to the place where
he had left his wife, and found her waiting for him. He then said, “My
good woman, you have done well, you hear my voice properly,” and having
given her the empty calabashes, ’Ndere returned to her home.
This was done for two days, and on the third day ’Ndere said she would
like to go to the farm to see the people working, but the python would
not let her, so she sent a word to Chief Kaku that the python went to
the farm every day. The chief then sent four of his young men, who hid
themselves at the place where ’Ndere brought the food for her husband.
When she had shaken the string of snail shells, the python soon
appeared, and the men who were ready sprang up, whereupon ’Ndere ran
away, in order to deceive her husband. The four men then attacked the
python with sticks, and soon killed him; they then cut off his head and
his tail, and carried them back to Chief Kaku, leaving the food on the
ground where ’Ndere had placed it. The other pythons who were working
on the farm, missing their companion very soon, went to see what had
become of him, and found his dead body with the head and tail missing,
near the food. As they could not discover who had killed the python,
they met together and decided that for the future they would not make
any more farms or live in the towns, as the men were jealous of them on
account of the python having married ’Ndere. They therefore now live in
the bush and hide themselves.
When ’Ndere appeared before Chief Kaku, he received her quite calmly,
without any feasting or dancing, as he did not wish his people to
suspect that he had murdered her husband. But after a few days had
passed, Chief Kaku sent privately to Chief Kekong and told him that he
had caused the python to be killed, and intended to marry ’Ndere. He
also sent a large amount of dowry to the chief. Now in Chief Kaku’s
country there was a stream full of cat-fish (Akpambi), but no one ever
caught them, and when the people went to the stream to get water the
fish would look at them without any fear. ’Ndere, hearing of this,
went to the stream with a basket, and the fish seeing her, came close,
so she began to sing softly to them, when more fish came. Then ’Ndere
caught two of the fish with her basket, and took them home and cooked
them for food, but none of the girls in the house would eat them, as
they all said that if they did so they would die. ’Ndere, however, was
not afraid, and eat the fish, which she found to be good food, and the
soup was very sweet. She also took some to Chief Kaku, and said, “If
you love me, you will eat my fish; but if you refuse, then I shall know
that you do not care for me, and I shall not marry you, but will return
at once to my father at Okuni.” But the chief said, “No one ever eats
that fish, as it has a smooth skin and is part of the water ju-ju. If
anyone eats that fish, he will surely die.” Then ’Ndere said, “Yes, my
parents also will not eat this fish, but there is always one man who
starts back first from the farm, and then the other people follow. I
have eaten the fish and found it good, and have not died. If you eat
it with me you will not die, and if we live to see the next sunrise
to-morrow, all the people will follow our example and will eat the
fish.” The chief then agreed, and said, “I will eat the fish with you,
and if we die we shall be treated as husband and wife in the spirit.”
They then sat down together and eat the cat-fish.
When the chief had finished his share he prepared himself for death,
and having called his people together, told them what should be done in
case he should die. ’Ndere and the chief then retired for the night,
and the chief slept quietly, without any trouble, until the morning.
When he woke up and found that he was quite well, he sent ’Ndere out
again with her basket to catch more of the fish, as the soup was so
sweet. So ’Ndere went down to the stream once more and caught a lot of
fish, which she brought back to the house and cooked as before. Then
the chief called his friends together, and told them about the cat-fish
and what good food it was. When the people heard that the chief had
eaten the cat-fish and had not died, they thought they would like to
try some for themselves, so they all had some of the fish which ’Ndere
had cooked. When they had eaten it they found it so good that when they
returned home they at once sent their wives out with baskets to catch
some of the fish. And thus it became the custom for the women to go out
in the dry season with their fishing-baskets to catch the cat-fish.
This custom was started by ’Ndere.
Told by Ennenni, an Okuni woman.--[E.D., 5.1.11.]
XXXII.--HOW AGBOR ADAM BROKE THE HUNTING LAW OF OKUNI, AND HOW HE WAS
PUNISHED.
In the dry season, many years ago, Chief Akum Alobi of Okuni ordered
all his people to go out hunting. They were to surround a certain
portion of the forest and set fire to the bush, then, as the animals
came out, they were killed. At the same time, the women were sent to
bale out the pools in the streams and to catch the fish.
The hunting law was that, during the hunting time, the men might eat
the meat of the animals they killed, but they were not allowed to eat
any fish, and the women might eat fish only, and not eat any meat from
animals killed hunting.
While the hunting was going on, a man called Agbor Adam went to his
wife, Iza Kakem, and asked her to give him some fish to eat, as he was
tired of nothing but meat. The woman refused to do so, saying that the
hunting law was so strong that, if they broke it, they would certainly
be killed. But Agbor Adam, seeing that there was no one within sight,
told his wife that it would be quite safe, as no one would know, and
that, if she gave him some of her fish, he would give her one of the
animals he had killed. The woman then gave her husband a fish, and he
told her to go to the place where he kept the animals he had killed and
take whichever she fancied. So Iza Kakem, having looked over all the
animals, selected a monkey, and took it to the bush shelter where she
was sleeping, and cooked and eat it. Her husband also eat the fish.
Now, all that had passed between these two people had been observed
by a bird called Aictor, who was sitting in a tree and could see
everything that happened.
Aictor was a native of the Ingor country, and could not speak the Okuni
language, and, at that time, the Okuni people could not understand
Ingor, as they were not on friendly terms with them, so that, when the
bird sang in the Ingor language, no one could understand what he said.
After Agbor Adam had eaten the fish, he returned to the hunting
shelter, where the men were all sitting down, not noticing that the
bird had been following him all the time.
Aictor then perched himself on the chief’s shoulder, and called out in
the Ingor language, “Agbor Adam, Agbor Adam, you have broken the law
made by Chief Akum Alobi between hunting-men and fishing-women, and you
know that whoever breaks this law will be killed.”
Aictor shouted so loud that the men, who had never heard a bird talking
in their hunting camp before, began to ask among themselves what he was
saying, but as they did not understand Ingor, they could not tell one
another. They could only hear Agbor Adam’s name being called out. They
therefore went to the chief and asked him to tell them what the bird
was saying, but even the chief himself was unable to explain, and told
the men not to trouble about what the bird said, but to continue with
their hunting, and that when they returned to the town he would call
upon the lot caster for an explanation.
The men then went out hunting again, but all day long Aictor followed
them, calling out Agbor Adam’s name, and saying he had broken the law.
When the hunters returned to the camp in the evening, they cut up the
animals which had been killed during the day, and placed the meat in
the smoke of the fires to dry. The skins were pegged out on the ground,
and covered with wood ashes.
Later in the evening, the chief called Agbor Adam to him, and asked him
if he could explain what the bird had been saying, but he could not do
so, and said he would like the lot caster to be consulted when they
returned to Okuni. The chief agreed, and said that they would all go
back in three days’ time.
Early the next morning, Aictor perched himself on the topmost branch of
the highest tree in the hunting camp, and started to call Agbor Adam’s
name as loudly as he could. This so frightened Agbor Adam that, while
the other men were hunting, he withdrew himself quietly from the party,
and, having found his wife, told her that the whole of the previous day
the bird had called his name and had started to call him again that
morning. Agbor also said he was so frightened that he had come to ask
her to run home with him, and he would then consult the lot caster as
to what should be done before the chief arrived, as he felt certain the
bird must have seen what they had done and would tell everybody.
His wife then began to pack up her smoked fish, but, before she
had finished Aictor came and sat on a tree near to where they were
standing, and called out “Agbor Adam! Agbor Adam! Yesterday I caught
you breaking the chief’s hunting law by eating fish, and now I find you
running away from the hunting party.”
Although Agbor Adam could not understand what the bird said, he
suspected something of the truth, so, having fitted an arrow to his
bow, he aimed at the bird, thinking that if he could only kill him the
trouble would be finished, but Aictor flew away.
When Iza Kakem had packed the fish into a load for carrying, her
husband helped her to place the load on her head, and they started off
with the woman in front, Agbor Adam following close behind.
They walked on for some distance, until they arrived at a stream called
“Keruba Ketor” (“deep hole, near the town,” a place where women wash
their bodies) and then Agbor suggested that they should rest for a
while and wash. The woman placed her load in the forked branches of a
tree near the stream, and, stepping into the pool, commenced to drink
out of her hands. She had not finished drinking when they heard the
bird calling out, “Agbor Adam! Agbor Adam! You are running away, but
you will be found out.” When Agbor heard the now familiar voice of the
bird, he looked round everywhere, but, as he could not see Aictor, he
was frightened, and told his wife to pick up her load at once. Then
they waded across the stream and began to run. They continued to run
until they reached the second water, called “Ogboga Kedegha” (“the
water with deep places”). Here the woman said she was going to wash, as
she was so hot and tired. Aigbor also said he would wash, so they took
off their cloths and stepped into the water, but they had only just
started to wash themselves when the bird called out again, “Agbor Adam!
Agbor Adam! Now you are half-way home, and, if you do not kill me, you
will be found out.”
Both Agbor and his wife were now thoroughly frightened, and, jumping
out of the water, snatched up their cloths, and ran naked along the
path until they reached the shade of a large tree, where they stopped
and tied their cloths on.
Then the woman began to abuse her husband, saying, “You have been the
cause of all this running and trouble,” but Agbor told her that when
he eat the fish and broke the hunting law he never thought he would be
found out.
They then started off again, and walked as far as the third water,
called “Ofat elikatt,” (“the slippery water”; so called because the
stream runs so fast over the stepping-stones that it causes a person’s
foot to slip).
Having rested for a little while, they started off again, but had only
gone a few steps when the bird once more attracted their attention by
calling Agbor’s name. This time Aictor was saying, “Turn round and look
at the little stream as it will be for the last time.” As they did not
understand what the bird said, they started off to run again, and did
not stop until they reached the small stream quite close to the town,
which is called “Ezi Ifom” (“the water where the cows drink”).[11]
Here at last they managed to wash without any interruption from the
bird, and when they were ready they walked on into the town, which they
found almost deserted, as all the men and women were absent hunting and
fishing.
When they arrived at their house, however, they found that Aictor
had got there before them, for they saw him sitting on the top of a
palm-tree, and when they came near they could hear him calling out,
“Agbor Adam! Agbor Adam! Here shall I stay in the town until Chief
Alobi and the hunters return, when I will tell them that you have
broken their hunting law and you will be killed.”
Agbor and his wife then ran into their house and shut the door
carefully behind them. Agbor told his wife that when night came he
would go and get a supply of food, but that she was not to let anyone
in and not to answer anybody who called. He also said that when he got
food he would return, and that if there was no one about outside trying
to catch him, he would knock at the door and she could then let him in.
During the next two nights, Agbor went out as soon as it was dark and
got as much food as he could into the house and then fastened himself
securely in.
When the chief returned to the town with his hunters, he sent some men
to call Agbor, but although they knocked at his door for a long time
and called both Agbor and his wife by name, they received no reply.
When the morning came, the chief sent for the animals to come in, and,
as the elephant was the biggest and strongest, he chose him. He then
told the elephant that he was to get hold of Agbor Adam, but he did
not wish him to be killed, as he only wanted to find out why the bird
Aictor had been calling his name and why he had left the hunting party.
So the elephant went to Agbor Adam’s house and, having broken the door
open, dragged him out with his trunk, and brought him before the chief.
Directly Aictor, who was sitting near the chief on a palm-tree, saw
Agbor, he began to call his name, and said he had broken the hunting
law.
As no one could understand the bird, the chief sent to Uman compound
for a woman named Iman, who was a native of Abijon, and could,
therefore, speak Ingor.
When she arrived, she told the chief and the people what the bird was
saying, which was “Agbor Adam! Agbor Adam! Chief Alobi passed a law
that women should not eat animals killed by the men in hunting, and
that the men should not eat the fish caught by the women. But your
wife eat a monkey which you had killed and you eat a fish caught by
your wife, and then, when I called your name, you ran away with your
wife and left the hunting party, but I followed you all the way, and
although you tried to kill me, I am here to give evidence against you,
as I promised.”
When Chief Alobi heard this he rose up in anger, and stamped his foot
on the ground, saying, “Surely Agbor Adam shall die this day. For,
first of all, he disobeyed my hunting law, and then he deserted the
hunting party. Is there anyone present who does not agree?” But no one
answered.
Then Chief Aboli pointed to the palm-tree on which Aictor was perched,
and told Agbor Adam that he should be hanged there, but, first of all,
he should climb up and down the tree six times, and when he got to the
top for the seventh time he should place his head in a noose and hang
himself.
When Agbor’s wife heard this, she ran and threw herself at the chief’s
feet, and, beating her breasts and tearing her hair, she implored him
to spare her husband, but the chief walked away from her.
Agbor then climbed up to the top of the tree and came down again. This
he did six times, but when he had got to the top of the tree for the
seventh time, and was just going to hang himself, Chief Ossima ’nkom of
Yammi appeared, and called upon him to stop, saying, “I am the oldest
and biggest chief in the town, and am going to beg for you.”
He then went to chief Alobi and said, “If a man kills another man he
should be hanged, but if he breaks the hunter’s law he disobeys a
chief’s order; he should be fined and not killed, and I think 260 rods
would be a proper fine.”
To this Chief Aboli agreed, and thus Agbor Adam’s life was saved, so he
climbed down the tree again and paid the fine.
From that time the people who disobeyed a chief were made to pay a fine
in tombo, goats, or sheet, according to the order.
Told by Ennenni, an Okuni woman.--[E.D., 6.1.11.]
XXXIII.--HOW ESSAMA STOLE HER FATHER’S GOAT IN THE FATTING-HOUSE, AND
HER BROTHER WAS PUNISHED FOR IT.
In the olden days at Okuni, when the women were circumcised, they were
kept in the fatting-house for a long time and given plenty of food to
eat. There was a wealthy chief at that time living in Okuni, called
Okim. He had a daughter named Essama and a son called Ode. The chief
was very fond of both his children, and when Essama grew up he bought
a male goat and had it cut to make it grow bigger, so that when his
daughter was circumcised and kept in the fatting-house he would be able
to give her the goat to eat. Both the goat and Essama grew up together,
until the time arrived for the girl to be circumcised and kept in the
fatting-house. Then Chief Okim told his son Ode that he was to be his
sister’s attendant while she was kept in the house, and that he was to
look after the goat.
Essama stayed in the fatting-house for several months, until one day
several of the girls of her company came to visit her. As she had
nothing to give them to eat, she at last thought of her father’s goat,
which was being kept for her, but she dared not kill it while her
brother Ode was in the house. She therefore sent him down to the river
with a basket, and told him to fill it with water and bring it back to
her. Ode did as his sister told him and took the basket down to the
river, but he found that the water ran out of the basket almost as
quickly as it went in; he therefore remained at the water-side some
time. This gave Essama a chance to kill and cook the goat, which she
ate with her company. Essama reserved a leg, some of the soup, and a
yam, which she placed in a pot and hung over the fire to keep warm for
Ode when he returned from the river.
It was late when Ode came back to the house, and he told his sister
that he was sorry he could not fill the basket with water. He then
asked her where the goat was. Essama replied that she had not seen the
goat walking about anywhere since he had gone down to the river, and
advised him to search everywhere for him. Ode did so, but failed to
find the goat. When he came back and told his sister, she pointed to
the pot and said, “There is your food,” so Ode took the pot down, but
as he did so some of the soup fell over him out of the pot, as it was
quite full. He then sat down and began to eat. While he was eating,
his father returned from the farm, and, missing the goat, asked Ode
what had become of it. When he heard that the goat could not be found,
the chief made a great palaver with Ode, who began to cry. His father
then said he was convinced that someone must have stolen the goat, and
that all his people, including his son and daughter, would have to go
through the ordeal of crossing over the river on a rope, to find out
who had stolen the goat. So the next day all the people assembled, and
the spider was called upon to settle the palaver, as he was the chief
man who settled these trials.
The spider went across the river, spinning his web as he went, and then
returned to the side where the people were standing. The spider then
told each man and woman to say before they started to cross the river,
“If I stole Chief Okim’s goat, let the rope break with me when I get to
the middle; but if I am not a thief, let me cross over in safety.”
One after the other the people crossed over the river on the spider’s
web quite safely, until at last there were only left Essama and her
brother. Ode went before his sister, and when he reached the middle of
the river the web broke, and he fell into the water, disappearing at
once.
The chief then began to lament, saying his goat had been stolen, and
now his son was drowned. He then told the people to go into the river
and try to recover Ode’s body. The young men at once dived in and
searched everywhere, but could not find any trace of Ode.
As his son had been drowned, the chief would not allow his daughter to
cross the river, and returned home with his people very sorrowfully.
Chief Okim then ordered his people to tie up a bundle in a cloth to
represent his son, and all people were ordered to mourn. A deep grave
was then dug, and ten men were killed to accompany the Chief’s son to
the spirit-land. The bodies of the ten men were then put in the grave,
and the bundle representing the dead Ode was placed on top. The grave
was then filled in, whilst drums were being beaten and farewells to
the chief’s son were being shouted by the people. Several goats were
killed, and a big feast was held, and the chief commanded all people to
mourn for one year.
When the year of mourning was over, Chief Okim decided to build a new
house, so he sent his boys to the river-side to get tie-tie. While
they were engaged in drawing the tie-tie from the trees, one man named
Oyonga heard a voice calling out, “Who is drawing the tie-tie there?”
He stopped pulling and looked round everywhere, but as he could not see
anybody, he went on pulling again at the tie-tie. The voice then called
out again, saying, “Tell my father to bring a white goat, a white ram,
a white cock, and a white chicken to the river-side and sacrifice them
to the river ju-ju, and tell him that if he does this I shall be set
free.” Oyonga then asked the voice who it was speaking, and the voice
replied, “I am Ode, Chief Okim’s son who was lost, as when I took the
pot down some of the soup made from my father’s goat, which my sister
had stolen, fell over me, so that when I tried to cross the river on
the spider’s web it broke by the ordeal and I was lost in the water.”
Oyonga then ran back to the town and told the chief what he had heard.
When Chief Okim heard what Oyonga had to say, he was vexed, as he did
not believe him, so he ordered him to be tied up to a tree and given
fifty lashes. Oyonga pleaded with the chief in vain, and he was flogged.
When Oyonga had sufficiently recovered from the flogging he had
received, he begged the chief to go with him to the river where he
had heard the voice; at first the chief refused to go, but after much
persuasion he consented. When they got to the place Oyonga pulled at
the tie-tie, and the voice at once called out, “Who is pulling there?
Have you told my father to bring the white goat, ram, cock, and chicken
to sacrifice to the ju-ju?”
When the chief heard his son’s voice he went back to the town and got
all the animals and birds as quickly as possible, and having brought
them down to the water-side, sacrificed them to the river ju-ju. When
the sacrifice was completed, the chief told all his young men to go
into the river with a net; in case his son should not be able to get
out of the water, they could then fish him out.
Very shortly the river ju-ju threw Ode up, and he tried to swim, but
one of the men in a canoe pulled him out of the water and brought him
to the bank. The people then beat drums and escorted the chief and his
son back to the town, singing as they went.
As soon as they arrived, the whole of the townspeople came out with
presents of various articles and gave them to Ode. Chief Okim then gave
a great feast, and killed many cows and goats, and there was a big play
and dancing in the town. When the play was over Chief Okim asked his
son what he had found out while he was with the river ju-ju, and Ode
replied that the river ju-ju made him understand that it was his sister
Essama who stole the goat, but, as the ordeal found the scent of the
goat on him, he disappeared in the water. Then Chief Okim called out
Essama’s mother and told her what her daughter had done, nearly causing
him to lose his son altogether. The chief and his wife had a quarrel,
which ended in his fining her 1,200 rods, which was the price of a
slave, and said that the whole of her family would have to help to pay.
The rods were brought to the chief, and half the amount was given to
Ode. The people then decided that it was because Essama was kept so
long in the fatting-house which caused her to kill the goat, and they
agreed that for the future girls should only stay in the fatting-house
for a few days, as they would then not be tempted to steal and bring
shame upon their families.
Told by Ennenni, a dancing-woman of Okuni.--[E. DAYRELL, 14.1.11.]
QUOMODO EVENIT UT PENIS PRIMUM CUM VAGINA COIIT.
Penis autem olim rure solus habitabat, hand procul a Testiculis, amico
ejus, qui magus erat valde peritus, atque fundum proximum incolebat.
Ultra tamen praedia Penis villam parvam habebat Vagina. Penis forte ad
villam Vaginae vagatus, et fame afflictus, illam palmae nuces, quas
nuper in horto collegerat, rogavit, scilicet quod ipse totam diem in
agro laborasset nec sibi cibum parare potuisset. Nec abnuit Vagina,
sed se pauperem esse dicebat, et Penem debitum reddere alio tempore
opportere. Quo pacto Penis cum nucibus abiit. Paullo postea Vagina haud
procul ab aedibus Penis ligna capite ferebat, et, debiti memor, domum
ejus aggressa, “Esurio” inquit “O Penis, cum totam diem haec ligna
collegi, nec mihi cibum parare potui. Redde igitur nuces quas debes.”
Penis tamen noluit, et Vagina iterum vehementius nuces postulabat;
deinde, cum se nihil profiteri sentiret, ligna in terram irata dejecit,
seque insuper prostravit. Unum autem e lignis quod peracutum erat
Vaginam inter crura altius vulneravit, gravique dolore afflixit.
Quod visum Penis aegre ferebat, atque ligno extracto et vulnere aqua
perluto Vaginam domum duxit. Haec tamen interdum, magno dolore pressa,
lamentari non desinebat, quod maxime Penem pigebat, qui eam penitus
amabat, etiamsi nuces debitas reddere noluerat. Itaque Penis domum
regressus servum jussit in villam Vaginae properare atque vulneri
medicamenta adhibere. Quo facto servus, cum Vagina nihilominus inter
gemitus vociferabat se vehementer dolentem sanari a Pene opportere,
qui causa malorum fuisset, ad Penem regressus ea quae dixerat Vagina
nuntiavit. Quae audita Penis diu meditatus statim ire amicum suum,
Testiculos, consultum statuit, qui maxime sapiens diceretur. At
Testiculi, de Vaginae vulnere certior factus, dixit Penem Vaginam
sanare posse si verbis suis obtemperet; et Penis laetus se velle
omnia facere quae necesse essent asseverabat. Eo autem tempore Penis
nunquam erectus fiebat. Itaque Testiculi “Liquore” inquit “te implebo
ita ut erectus fias; deinde i ad Vaginam teque in vulnus insere; quo
facto te paene foras extractum iterum atque iterum in vulnus impelle,
dum tandem liquorem quo te implevi in vulnus vomes.” “At si quidam”
inquit Penis “inimicus mihi gladio instabit jam in vulnere condito,
inopinantem interficere poterit.” “Bono animo es” inquit Testiculi
“ego enim a tergo vigilabo pro te ne quid infaustum accidat.” Itaque
Penis ad Vaginam properavit et omnia quae amicus jusserat perfecit. At
Vagina medicinam sibi magnopere profuisse dixit, et Penem precata
est ut omni quaque nocte veniret eodem modo vulnus sanaturus. Paucis
itaque diebus Vagina convaluit, sed rima alta in corpore manebat. Ex eo
tempore etiam Testiculi et Penis in uno juncti sunt, ita ut Testiculi,
quoties Penis Vaginam videat, eum liquore implet per quem validus
fit. At si quid incommodi Vagina habeat, vel alio sit qui vehementius
rixetur, tum Penis erectus non fit, nec rimam intrare potest.
(Told by Ennenni, a singing and dancing girl of Okuni. May 18th, 1911.)
[Illustration: _Plate I._
FIG. 1.--CARVED WOODEN DRUM AT INKUM. (THE MAN-EATING DRUM.)
FIG. 2.--CARVED WOODEN TABLE USED IN JU-JU DANCES FROM INKUM.
FIG. 3.--STONE JU-JU AND CARVED WOODEN PILLAR: EGBO HOUSE IN
BACKGROUND.]
[Illustration: _Plate II._
FIG. 1.--CHIEF INDOMA OF INKUM, SON OF THE POWERFUL CHIEF INDOMA, ABOUT
WHOM SEVERAL STORIES ARE TOLD.
FIG. 2.--CHIEF INDOMA’S COMPOUND.
FIG. 3.--SKULLS IN HEAD CHIEF’S HOUSE AT ABRAGHA. THE CHIEF ALWAYS SAT
WITH HIS FEET ON THE SKULLS. HE WAS THE HEAD OF THE INFAM JU-JU.]
LONDON:
HARRISON AND SONS, PRINTERS IN ORDINARY TO HIS MAJESTY,
ST. MARTIN’S LANE, W.C.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _Author’s Note._--Okukum is the juice extracted from a fungus like
a very small mushroom. It is painted on to the skin with a small stick,
and is a fight brown liquid paste. Curious designs are made all over
the body, the lines running parallel. The paste is then allowed to dry
for about a day, and eventually rubs off. By this time the acid has
eaten into the skin, and the dark marks remain, showing the pattern
for several months. They cannot be washed off by water. The Okuni and
Infoit people call this fungus _oboma_ and the Boki people _katium_.
The indigo black markings last less than a week, and the Okuni people
call it _ebim_.
[2] A sort of burrowing bush rat.
[3] _Author’s Note._--Koko yams are cooked for several hours. They are
boiled in three different waters, and so that each water is steamed
away before the fresh water is added. The yams are then left in the pot
until the following morning. The ordinary yam is cooked and eaten at
once.
[4] The “night” calabash was used by the witches when they were going
to kill anyone for their feasts, as it prolonged the night, and the
Okuni people still believe when the nights are unusually long that the
witches are out with the “night” calabash and are killing people.
[5] These shelters are made out of palm leaves and are quickly put
together, but they do not keep out the rain. They are, however,
sufficient for the wants of the natives in the dry season.
[6] The native hunters say that if you shout at an iguana he does not
move or take any notice, but if you point at him and whisper, “Look,
there is an iguana,” he will run away at once. An iguana never runs
more than about fifty yards at a time; he then stops to get his breath.
If you find him again he will be killed easily, as he cannot run so far
a second time; there is, therefore, a second saying amongst the hunters
that “A first run is a run for life, and when you are in danger you
should run as far as you can before you stop to rest, as when you run
the second time you will not be able to go so far.”
[7] The natives believe that when a man whose first-born child is a boy
happens to hit a toe on his right foot against a stone on his way to a
town, that he will be badly received at that town, but if the toe which
is hit by the stone is on his left foot, then the people will welcome
him and treat him kindly.
[8] The origin of this saying is, that a man seeing a fine bird sitting
on the branch of a tree threw a stone at it, but the stone hit the
branch, and as the man was standing underneath the stone came back and
hit him.
[9] “’Nda” in the Infor and Inde languages means “elephantiasis.”
[10] The native lamp was of earthenware, with a fibre wick in palm-oil.
[11] The four streams mentioned in this story are still called by the
same names, and are well known to the inhabitants of Okuni.
Transcriber's Notes:
Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.
Perceived typographical errors have been changed.
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