Zanzibar Tales
Zanzibar Tales
Told by Natives of the East Coast of Africa
Translated from the Original Swahili
By
George W. Bateman
Illustrated by Walter Bobbett
Chicago
A. C. McClurg & Co.
1901.
Copyright
By A. C. McClurg & Co.
A.D. 1901
To My Readers.
Thirty years ago Central Africa was what people who are fond of airing their learning would call a terra incognita. To-day its general characteristics are pretty well known. Then, as now, the little island of Zanzibar, situated just south of the equator, on the east coast, was the starting place of all expeditions into the interior, and Unguja (pronounced Oon-goo′jah), the big town of that island, the place where the preparations for plunging into the unknown were made.
At that period these expeditions consisted, almost without exception, of caravans loaded with beads and cotton cloth, which were exchanged among the inland tribes for elephants’ tusks and slaves—for Unguja boasted the only, and the last, open slave-market in the world then.
The few exceptions were a would-be discoverer now and then, or a party of rich white men going to hunt “big game;” that is, travelling hundreds—aye, thousands—of miles, and enduring many hardships, for the momentary pleasure of holding a gun in such a position that when they pulled the trigger the bullet hit such a prominent mark as an elephant or a lion, which was living in its natural surroundings and interfering with no one.
Between you and me, I don’t mind remarking that many of their expeditions ended, on their return to Unguja, in the purchase of a few elephants’ tusks and wild animal skins in the bazaars of that thriving city, after the method pursued by unsuccessful anglers in civilized countries.
But even the most successful of these hunters, by reason of having followed the few beaten paths known to their guides, never came within miles of such wonderful animals as those described by the tribesmen from the very center of the dark continent. If you have read any accounts of adventure in Africa, you will know that travelers never mention animals of any kind that are gifted with the faculty of speech, or gazelles that are overseers for native princes, or hares that eat flesh. No, indeed; only the native-born know of these; and, judging by the immense and rapid strides civilization is making in those parts, it will not be long before such wonderful specimens of zoölogy will be as extinct as the ichthyosaurus, dinornis, and other poor creatures who never dreamed of the awful names that would be applied to them when they were too long dead to show their resentment.
As to the truth of these tales, I can only say that they were told to me, in Zanzibar, by negroes whose ancestors told them to them, who had received them from their ancestors, and so back; so that the praise for their accuracy, or the blame for their falsity, lies with the first ancestor who set them going.
You may think uncivilized negroes are pretty ignorant people, but the white man who is supposed to have first told the story of “The House that Jack Built” was a mighty poor genius compared with the unknown originator of “Goso, the Teacher,” who found even inanimate things that were endowed with speech, which the pupils readily understood and were not astonished to hear; while “Puss in Boots” was not one-half so clever as the gazelle that ran things for Haamdaanee. It would be a severe task to rattle off “Goso” as you do “The House that Jack Built.”
Don’t stumble over the names in these tales; they are very easy. Every one is pronounced exactly as it is spelled, and the accent is always on the last syllable but one; as, Poon′dah, the donkey; Haam-daa′nee, etc.
Finally, if the perusal of these tales interests you as much as their narration and translation interested me, everything will be satisfactory.
George W. Bateman.
Contents
List of Illustrations
Zanzibar Tales.
I.
The Monkey, the Shark, and the Washerman’s Donkey.
Once upon a time Kee′ma, the monkey, and Pa′pa, the shark, became great friends.
The monkey lived in an immense mkooyoo tree which grew by the margin of the sea—half of its branches being over the water and half over the land.
Every morning, when the monkey was breakfasting on the kooyoo nuts, the shark would put in an appearance under the tree and call out, “Throw me some food, my friend;” with which request the monkey complied most willingly.
This continued for many months, until one day Papa said, “Keema, you have done me many kindnesses: I would like you to go with me to my home, that I may repay you.”
“How can I go?” said the monkey; “we land beasts can not go about in the water.”
“Throw me some food, my friend.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about that,” replied the shark; “I will carry you. Not a drop of water shall get to you.”
“Oh, all right, then,” said Mr. Keema; “let’s go.”
When they had gone about half-way the shark stopped, and said: “You are my friend. I will tell you the truth.”
“Why, what is there to tell?” asked the monkey, with surprise.
“Well, you see, the fact is that our sultan is very sick, and we have been told that the only medicine that will do him any good is a monkey’s heart.”
“Well,” exclaimed Keema, “you were very foolish not to tell me that before we started!”
“How so?” asked Papa.
But the monkey was busy thinking up some means of saving himself, and made no reply.
“Well?” said the shark, anxiously; “why don’t you speak?”
“Oh, I’ve nothing to say now. It’s too late. But if you had told me this before we started, I might have brought my heart with me.”
“What? haven’t you your heart here?”
“Huh!” ejaculated Keema; “don’t you know about us? When we go out we leave our hearts in the trees, and go about with only our bodies. But I see you don’t believe me. You think I’m scared. Come on; let’s go to your home, where you can kill me and search for my heart in vain.”
The shark did believe him, though, and exclaimed, “Oh, no; let’s go back and get your heart.”
“Indeed, no,” protested Keema; “let us go on to your home.”
But the shark insisted that they should go back, get the heart, and start afresh.
At last, with great apparent reluctance, the monkey consented, grumbling sulkily at the unnecessary trouble he was being put to.
When they got back to the tree, he climbed up in a great hurry, calling out, “Wait there, Papa, my friend, while I get my heart, and we’ll start off properly next time.”
When he had got well up among the branches, he sat down and kept quite still.
After waiting what he considered a reasonable length of time, the shark called, “Come along, Keema!” But Keema just kept still and said nothing.
In a little while he called again: “Oh, Keema! let’s be going.”
At this the monkey poked his head out from among the upper branches and asked, in great surprise, “Going? Where?”
“To my home, of course.”
“Are you mad?” queried Keema.
“Mad? Why, what do you mean?” cried Papa.
“What’s the matter with you?” said the monkey. “Do you take me for a washerman’s donkey?”
“What peculiarity is there about a washerman’s donkey?”
“It is a creature that has neither heart nor ears.”
The shark, his curiosity overcoming his haste, thereupon begged to be told the story of the washerman’s donkey, which the monkey related as follows:
“A washerman owned a donkey, of which he was very fond. One day, however, it ran away, and took up its abode in the forest, where it led a lazy life, and consequently grew very fat.
“At length Soongoo′ra, the hare, by chance passed that way, and saw Poon′da, the donkey.
“Now, the hare is the most cunning of all beasts—if you look at his mouth you will see that he is always talking to himself about everything.
“So when Soongoora saw Poonda he said to himself, ‘My, this donkey is fat!’ Then he went and told Sim′ba, the lion.
“Miss Poonda, I am sent to ask your hand in marriage.”
“As Simba was just recovering from a severe illness, he was still so weak that he could not go hunting. He was consequently pretty hungry.
“Said Mr. Soongoora, ‘I’ll bring enough meat to-morrow for both of us to have a great feast, but you’ll have to do the killing.’
“‘All right, good friend,’ exclaimed Simba, joyfully; ‘you’re very kind.’
“So the hare scampered off to the forest, found the donkey, and said to her, in his most courtly manner, ‘Miss Poonda, I am sent to ask your hand in marriage.’
“‘By whom?’ simpered the donkey.
“‘By Simba, the lion.’
“The donkey was greatly elated at this, and exclaimed: ‘Let’s go at once. This is a first-class offer.’
“They soon arrived at the lion’s home, were cordially invited in, and sat down. Soongoora gave Simba a signal with his eyebrow, to the effect that this was the promised feast, and that he would wait outside. Then he said to Poonda: ‘I must leave you for a while to attend to some private business. You stay here and converse with your husband that is to be.’
“As soon as Soongoora got outside, the lion sprang at Poonda, and they had a great fight. Simba was kicked very hard, and he struck with his claws as well as his weak health would permit him. At last the donkey threw the lion down, and ran away to her home in the forest.
“Shortly after, the hare came back, and called, ‘Haya! Simba! have you got it?’
“‘I have not got it,’ growled the lion; ‘she kicked me and ran away; but I warrant you I made her feel pretty sore, though I’m not strong.’
“‘Oh, well,’ remarked Soongoora; ‘don’t put yourself out of the way about it.’
“Then Soongoora waited many days, until the lion and the donkey were both well and strong, when he said: ‘What do you think now, Simba? Shall I bring you your meat?’
“‘Ay,’ growled the lion, fiercely; ‘bring it to me. I’ll tear it in two pieces!’
“So the hare went off to the forest, where the donkey welcomed him and asked the news.
“‘You are invited to call again and see your lover,’ said Soongoora.
“‘Oh, dear!’ cried Poonda; ‘that day you took me to him he scratched me awfully. I’m afraid to go near him now.’
“‘Ah, pshaw!’ said Soongoora; ‘that’s nothing. That’s only Simba’s way of caressing.’
“‘Oh, well,’ said the donkey, ‘let’s go.’
“So off they started again; but as soon as the lion caught sight of Poonda he sprang upon her and tore her in two pieces.
“When the hare came up, Simba said to him: ‘Take this meat and roast it. As for myself, all I want is the heart and ears.’
“‘Thanks,’ said Soongoora. Then he went away and roasted the meat in a place where the lion could not see him, and he took the heart and ears and hid them. Then he ate all the meat he needed, and put the rest away.
“Presently the lion came to him and said, ‘Bring me the heart and ears.’
“‘Where are they?’ said the hare.
“‘What does this mean?’ growled Simba.
“‘Why, didn’t you know this was a washerman’s donkey?’
“‘Well, what’s that to do with there being no heart or ears?’
“‘For goodness’ sake, Simba, aren’t you old enough to know that if this beast had possessed a heart and ears it wouldn’t have come back the second time?’
“Of course the lion had to admit that what Soongoora, the hare, said was true.
“And now,” said Keema to the shark, “you want to make a washerman’s donkey of me. Get out of there, and go home by yourself. You are not going to get me again, and our friendship is ended. Good-bye, Papa.”
II.
The Hare and the Lion.
One day Soongoo′ra, the hare, roaming through the forest in search of food, glanced up through the boughs of a very large calabash tree, and saw that a great hole in the upper part of the trunk was inhabited by bees; thereupon he returned to town in search of some one to go with him and help to get the honey.
As he was passing the house of Boo′koo, the big rat, that worthy gentleman invited him in. So he went in, sat down, and remarked: “My father has died, and has left me a hive of honey. I would like you to come and help me to eat it.”
Of course Bookoo jumped at the offer, and he and the hare started off immediately.
When they arrived at the great calabash tree, Soongoora pointed out the bees’ nest and said, “Go on; climb up.” So, taking some straw with them, they climbed up to the nest, lit the straw, smoked out the bees, put out the fire, and set to work eating the honey.
In the midst of the feast, who should appear at the foot of the tree but Sim′ba, the lion? Looking up, and seeing them eating, he asked, “Who are you?”
Then Soongoora whispered to Bookoo, “Hold your tongue; that old fellow is crazy.” But in a very little while Simba roared out angrily: “Who are you, I say? Speak, I tell you!” This made Bookoo so scared that he blurted out, “It’s only us!”
Upon this the hare said to him: “You just wrap me up in this straw, call to the lion to keep out of the way, and then throw me down. Then you’ll see what will happen.”
Bookoo and the hare started off immediately.
So Bookoo, the big rat, wrapped Soongoora, the hare, in the straw, and then called to Simba, the lion, “Stand back; I’m going to throw this straw down, and then I’ll come down myself.” When Simba stepped back out of the way, Bookoo threw down the straw, and as it lay on the ground Soongoora crept out and ran away while the lion was looking up.
Soongoora crept out and ran away while the lion was looking up.
After waiting a minute or two, Simba roared out, “Well, come down, I say!” and, there being no help for it, the big rat came down.
As soon as he was within reach, the lion caught hold of him, and asked, “Who was up there with you?”
“Why,” said Bookoo, “Soongoora, the hare. Didn’t you see him when I threw him down?”
“Of course I didn’t see him,” replied the lion, in an incredulous tone, and, without wasting further time, he ate the big rat, and then searched around for the hare, but could not find him.
Three days later, Soongoora called on his acquaintance, Ko′bay, the tortoise, and said to him, “Let us go and eat some honey.”
“Whose honey?” inquired Kobay, cautiously.
“My father’s,” Soongoora replied.
“Oh, all right; I’m with you,” said the tortoise, eagerly; and away they went.
When they arrived at the great calabash tree they climbed up with their straw, smoked out the bees, sat down, and began to eat.
Just then Mr. Simba, who owned the honey, came out again, and, looking up, inquired, “Who are you, up there?”
Soongoora whispered to Kobay, “Keep quiet;” but when the lion repeated his question angrily, Kobay became suspicious, and said: “I will speak. You told me this honey was yours; am I right in suspecting that it belongs to Simba?”
So, when the lion asked again, “Who are you?” he answered, “It’s only us.” The lion said, “Come down, then;” and the tortoise answered, “We’re coming.”
Now, Simba had been keeping an eye open for Soongoora since the day he caught Bookoo, the big rat, and, suspecting that he was up there with Kobay, he said to himself, “I’ve got him this time, sure.”
Seeing that they were caught again, Soongoora said to the tortoise: “Wrap me up in the straw, tell Simba to stand out of the way, and then throw me down. I’ll wait for you below. He can’t hurt you, you know.”
“All right,” said Kobay; but while he was wrapping the hare up he said to himself: “This fellow wants to run away, and leave me to bear the lion’s anger. He shall get caught first.” Therefore, when he had bundled him up, he called out, “Soongoora is coming!” and threw him down.
So Simba caught the hare, and, holding him with his paw, said, “Now, what shall I do with you?” The hare replied, “It’s of no use for you to try to eat me; I’m awfully tough.” “What would be the best thing to do with you, then?” asked Simba.
“I think,” said Soongoora, “you should take me by the tail, whirl me around, and knock me against the ground. Then you may be able to eat me.”
The lion continued rubbing on a piece of rock.
So the lion, being deceived, took him by the tail and whirled him around, but just as he was going to knock him on the ground he slipped out of his grasp and ran away, and Simba had the mortification of losing him again.
Angry and disappointed, he turned to the tree and called to Kobay, “You come down, too.”
When the tortoise reached the ground, the lion said, “You’re pretty hard; what can I do to make you eatable?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” laughed Kobay; “just put me in the mud and rub my back with your paw until my shell comes off.”
Immediately on hearing this, Simba carried Kobay to the water, placed him in the mud, and began, as he supposed, to rub his back; but the tortoise had slipped away, and the lion continued rubbing on a piece of rock until his paws were raw. When he glanced down at them he saw they were bleeding, and, realizing that he had again been outwitted, he said, “Well, the hare has done me to-day, but I’ll go hunting now until I find him.”
So Simba, the lion, set out immediately in search of Soongoora, the hare, and as he went along he inquired of every one he met, “Where is the house of Soongoora?” But each person he asked answered, “I do not know.” For the hare had said to his wife, “Let us remove from this house.” Therefore the folks in that neighborhood had no knowledge of his whereabouts. Simba, however, went along, continuing his inquiries, until presently one answered, “That is his house on the top of the mountain.”
Without loss of time the lion climbed the mountain, and soon arrived at the place indicated, only to find that there was no one at home. This, however, did not trouble him; on the contrary, saying to himself, “I’ll hide myself inside, and when Soongoora and his wife come home I’ll eat them both,” he entered the house and lay down, awaiting their arrival.
Pretty soon along came the hare with his wife, not thinking of any danger; but he very soon discovered the marks of the lion’s paws on the steep path. Stopping at once, he said to Mrs. Soongoora: “You go back, my dear. Simba, the lion, has passed this way, and I think he must be looking for me.”
But she replied, “I will not go back; I will follow you, my husband.”
Although greatly pleased at this proof of his wife’s affection, Soongoora said firmly: “No, no; you have friends to go to. Go back.”
So he persuaded her, and she went back; but he kept on, following the footmarks, and saw—as he had suspected—that they went into his house.
“Ah!” said he to himself, “Mr. Lion is inside, is he?” Then, cautiously going back a little way, he called out: “How d’ye do, house? How d’ye do?” Waiting a moment, he remarked loudly: “Well, this is very strange! Every day, as I pass this place, I say, ‘How d’ye do, house?’ and the house always answers, ‘How d’ye do?’ There must be some one inside to-day.”
When the lion heard this he called out, “How d’ye do?”
Then Soongoora burst out laughing, and shouted: “Oho, Mr. Simba! You’re inside, and I’ll bet you want to eat me; but first tell me where you ever heard of a house talking!”
Upon this the lion, seeing how he had been fooled, replied angrily, “You wait until I get hold of you; that’s all.”
“Oh, I think you’ll have to do the waiting,” cried the hare; and then he ran away, the lion following.
But it was of no use. Soongoora completely tired out old Simba, who, saying, “That rascal has beaten me; I don’t want to have anything more to do with him,” returned to his home under the great calabash tree.
III.
The Lion, the Hyena, and the Rabbit.
Once upon a time Sim′ba, the lion, Fee′see, the hyena, and Keetee′tee, the rabbit, made up their minds to go in for a little farming. So they went into the country, made a garden, planted all kinds of seeds, and then came home and rested quite a while.
Then, when the time came when their crops should be about ripe and ready for harvesting, they began to say to each other, “Let’s go over to the farm, and see how our crops are coming along.”
So one morning, early, they started, and, as the garden was a long way off, Keeteetee, the rabbit, made this proposition: “While we are going to the farm, let us not stop on the road; and if any one does stop, let him be eaten.” His companions, not being so cunning as he, and knowing they could outwalk him, readily consented to this arrangement.
Well, off they went; but they had not gone very far when the rabbit stopped.
“Hullo!” said Feesee, the hyena; “Keeteetee has stopped. He must be eaten.”
“That’s the bargain,” agreed Simba, the lion.
“Well,” said the rabbit, “I happened to be thinking.”
“What about?” cried his partners, with great curiosity.
“I’m thinking,” said he, with a grave, philosophical air, “about those two stones, one big and one little; the little one does not go up, nor does the big one go down.”
The lion and the hyena, having stopped to look at the stones, could only say, “Why, really, it’s singular; but it’s just as you say;” and they all resumed their journey, the rabbit being by this time well rested.
The lion, the hyena, and the rabbit go in for a little farming.
When they had gone some distance the rabbit stopped again.
“Aha!” said Feesee; “Keeteetee has stopped again. Now he must be eaten.”
“I rather think so,” assented Simba.
“Well,” said the rabbit, “I was thinking again.”
Their curiosity once more aroused, his comrades begged him to tell them his think.
“Why,” said he, “I was thinking this: When people like us put on new coats, where do the old ones go to?”
Both Simba and Feesee, having stopped a moment to consider the matter, exclaimed together, “Well, I wonder!” and the three went on, the rabbit having again had a good rest.
After a little while the hyena, thinking it about time to show off a little of his philosophy, suddenly stopped.
“Here,” growled Simba, “this won’t do; I guess we’ll have to eat you, Feesee.”
“Oh, no,” said the hyena; “I’m thinking.”
“What are you thinking about?” they inquired.
Said the hyena, “I’m thinking.”
“I’m thinking about nothing at all,” said he, imagining himself very smart and witty.
“Ah, pshaw!” cried Keeteetee; “we won’t be fooled that way.”
So he and Simba ate the hyena.
When they had finished eating their friend, the lion and the rabbit proceeded on their way, and presently came to a place where there was a cave, and here the rabbit stopped.
“H’m!” ejaculated Simba; “I’m not so hungry as I was this morning, but I guess I’ll have to find room for you, little Keeteetee.”
“Oh, I believe not,” replied Keeteetee; “I’m thinking again.”
“Well,” said the lion, “what is it this time?”
Said the rabbit: “I’m thinking about that cave. In olden times our ancestors used to go in here, and go out there, and I think I’ll try and follow in their footsteps.”
So he went in at one end and out at the other end several times.
Then he said to the lion, “Simba, old fellow, let’s see you try to do that;” and the lion went into the cave, but he stuck fast, and could neither go forward nor back out.
In a moment Keeteetee was on Simba’s back, and began eating him.
After a little time the lion cried, “Oh, brother, be impartial; come and eat some of the front part of me.”
But the rabbit replied, “Indeed, I can’t come around in front; I’m ashamed to look you in the face.”
So, having eaten all he was able to, he left the lion there, and went and became sole owner of the farm and its crops.
IV.
The Kites and the Crows.
One day Koongoo′roo, sultan of the crows, sent a letter to Mway′way, sultan of the kites, containing these few words: “I want you folks to be my soldiers.”
To this brief message Mwayway at once wrote this short reply: “I should say not.”
Thereupon, thinking to scare Mwayway, the sultan of the crows sent him word, “If you refuse to obey me I’ll make war upon you.”
To which the sultan of the kites replied, “That suits me; let us fight, and if you beat us we will obey you, but if we are victors you shall be our servants.”
So they gathered their forces and engaged in a great battle, and in a little while it became evident that the crows were being badly beaten.
As it appeared certain that, if something were not done pretty quickly, they would all be killed, one old crow, named Jeeoo′see, suddenly proposed that they should fly away.
Directly the suggestion was made it was acted upon, and the crows left their homes and flew far away, where they set up another town. So, when the kites entered the place, they found no one there, and they took up their residence in Crowtown.
One day, when the crows had gathered in council, Koongooroo stood up and said: “My people, do as I command you, and all will be well. Pluck out some of my feathers and throw me into the town of the kites; then come back and stay here until you hear from me.”
Without argument or questioning the crows obeyed their sultan’s command.
Koongooroo had lain in the street but a short time, when some passing kites saw him and inquired threateningly, “What are you doing here in our town?”
With many a moan he replied, “My companions have beaten me and turned me out of their town because I advised them to obey Mwayway, sultan of the kites.”
When they heard this they picked him up and took him before the sultan, to whom they said, “We found this fellow lying in the street, and he attributes his involuntary presence in our town to so singular a circumstance that we thought you should hear his story.”
Koongooroo was then bidden to repeat his statement, which he did, adding the remark that, much as he had suffered, he still held to his opinion that Mwayway was his rightful sultan.
This, of course, made a very favorable impression, and the sultan said, “You have more sense than all the rest of your tribe put together; I guess you can stay here and live with us.”
So Koongooroo, expressing much gratitude, settled down, apparently, to spend the remainder of his life with the kites.
One day his neighbors took him to church with them, and when they returned home they asked him, “Who have the best kind of religion, the kites or the crows?”
To which crafty old Koongooroo replied, with great enthusiasm, “Oh, the kites, by long odds!”
This answer tickled the kites like anything, and Koongooroo was looked upon as a bird of remarkable discernment.
When almost another week had passed, the sultan of the crows slipped away in the night, went to his own town, and called his people together.
“To-morrow,” said he, “is the great annual religious festival of the kites, and they will all go to church in the morning. Go, now, and get some wood and some fire, and wait near their town until I call you; then come quickly and set fire to the church.”
Then he hurried back to Mwayway’s town.
The crows were very busy indeed all that night, and by dawn they had an abundance of wood and fire at hand, and were lying in wait near the town of their victorious enemies.
So in the morning every kite went to church. There was not one person left at home except old Koongooroo.
When his neighbors called for him they found him lying down. “Why!” they exclaimed with surprise, “are you not going to church to-day?”
“Oh,” said he, “I wish I could; but my stomach aches so badly I can’t move!” And he groaned dreadfully.
“Ah, poor fellow!” said they; “you will be better in bed;” and they left him to himself.
As soon as everybody was out of sight he flew swiftly to his soldiers and cried, “Come on; they’re all in the church.”
Then they all crept quickly but quietly to the church, and while some piled wood about the door, others applied fire.
They found him lying down.
The wood caught readily, and the fire was burning fiercely before the kites were aware of their danger; but when the church began to fill with smoke, and tongues of flame shot through the cracks, they tried to escape through the windows. The greater part of them, however, were suffocated, or, having their wings singed, could not fly away, and so were burned to death, among them their sultan, Mwayway; and Koongooroo and his crows got their old town back again.
From that day to this the kites fly away from the crows.
V.
Goso, the Teacher.
Once there was a man named Go′so, who taught children to read, not in a schoolhouse, but under a calabash tree. One evening, while Goso was sitting under the tree deep in the study of the next day’s lessons, Paa, the gazelle, climbed up the tree very quietly to steal some fruit, and in so doing shook off a calabash, which, in falling, struck the teacher on the head and killed him.
When his scholars came in the morning and found their teacher lying dead, they were filled with grief; so, after giving him a decent burial, they agreed among themselves to find the one who had killed Goso, and put him to death.
After talking the matter over they came to the conclusion that the south wind was the offender.
So they caught the south wind and beat it.
But the south wind cried: “Here! I am Koo′see, the south wind. Why are you beating me? What have I done?”
And they said: “Yes, we know you are Koosee; it was you who threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. You should not have done it.”
But Koosee said, “If I were so powerful would I be stopped by a mud wall?”
So they went to the mud wall and beat it.
But the mud wall cried: “Here! I am Keeyambaa′za, the mud wall. Why are you beating me? What have I done?”
And they said: “Yes, we know you are Keeyambaaza; it was you who stopped Koosee, the south wind; and Koosee, the south wind, threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. You should not have done it.”
But Keeyambaaza said, “If I were so powerful would I be bored through by the rat?”
So they went and caught the rat and beat it.
But the rat cried: “Here! I am Paan′ya, the rat. Why are you beating me? What have I done?”
And they said: “Yes, we know you are Paanya; it was you who bored through Keeyambaaza, the mud wall; which stopped Koosee, the south wind; and Koosee, the south wind, threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. You should not have done it.”
But Paanya said, “If I were so powerful would I be eaten by a cat?”
So they hunted for the cat, caught it, and beat it.
But the cat cried: “Here! I am Paa′ka, the cat. Why do you beat me? What have I done?”
And they said: “Yes, we know you are Paaka; it is you that eats Paanya, the rat; who bores through Keeyambaaza, the mud wall; which stopped Koosee, the south wind; and Koosee, the south wind, threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. You should not have done it.”
But Paaka said, “If I were so powerful would I be tied by a rope?”
So they took the rope and beat it.
But the rope cried: “Here! I am Kaam′ba, the rope. Why do you beat me? What have I done?”
And they said: “Yes, we know you are Kaamba; it is you that ties Paaka, the cat; who eats Paanya, the rat; who bores through Keeyambaaza, the mud wall; which stopped Koosee, the south wind; and Koosee, the south wind, threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. You should not have done it.”
But Kaamba said, “If I were so powerful would I be cut by a knife?”
So they took the knife and beat it.
But the knife cried: “Here! I am Kee′soo, the knife. Why do you beat me? What have I done?”
And they said: “Yes, we know you are Keesoo; you cut Kaamba, the rope; that ties Paaka, the cat; who eats Paanya, the rat; who bores through Keeyambaaza, the mud wall; which stopped Koosee, the south wind; and Koosee, the south wind, threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. You should not have done it.”
But Keesoo said, “If I were so powerful would I be burned by the fire?”
And they went and beat the fire.
But the fire cried: “Here! I am Mo′to, the fire. Why do you beat me? What have I done?”
And they said: “Yes, we know you are Moto; you burn Keesoo, the knife; that cuts Kaamba, the rope; that ties Paaka, the cat; who eats Paanya, the rat; who bores through Keeyambaaza, the mud wall; which stopped Koosee, the south wind; and Koosee, the south wind, threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. You should not have done it.”
But Moto said, “If I were so powerful would I be put out by water?”
And they went to the water and beat it.
But the water cried: “Here! I am Maa′jee, the water. Why do you beat me? What have I done?”
And they said: “Yes, we know you are Maajee; you put out Moto, the fire; that burns Keesoo, the knife; that cuts Kaamba, the rope; that ties Paaka, the cat; who eats Paanya, the rat; who bores through Keeyambaaza, the mud wall; which stopped Koosee, the south wind; and Koosee, the south wind, threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. You should not have done it.”
But Maajee said, “If I were so powerful would I be drunk by the ox?”
And they went to the ox and beat it.
But the ox cried: “Here! I am Ng’om′bay, the ox. Why do you beat me? What have I done?”
And they said: “Yes, we know you are Ng’ombay; you drink Maajee, the water; that puts out Moto, the fire; that burns Keesoo, the knife; that cuts Kaamba, the rope; that ties Paaka, the cat; who eats Paanya, the rat; who bores through Keeyambaaza, the mud wall; which stopped Koosee, the south wind; and Koosee, the south wind, threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. You should not have done it.”
But Ng’ombay said, “If I were so powerful would I be tormented by the fly?”
And they caught a fly and beat it.
But the fly cried: “Here! I am Een′zee, the fly. Why do you beat me? What have I done?”
And they said: “Yes, we know you are Eenzee; you torment Ng’ombay, the ox; who drinks Maajee, the water; that puts out Moto, the fire; that burns Keesoo, the knife; that cuts Kaamba, the rope; that ties Paaka, the cat; who eats Paanya, the rat; who bores through Keeyambaaza, the mud wall; which stopped Koosee, the south wind; and Koosee, the south wind, threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. You should not have done it.”
But Eenzee said, “If I were so powerful would I be eaten by the gazelle?”
And they searched for the gazelle, and when they found it they beat it.
But the gazelle said: “Here! I am Paa, the gazelle. Why do you beat me? What have I done?”
When they found the gazelle they beat it.
And they said: “Yes, we know you are Paa; you eat Eenzee, the fly; that torments Ng’ombay, the ox; who drinks Maajee, the water; that puts out Moto, the fire; that burns Keesoo, the knife; that cuts Kaamba, the rope; that ties Paaka, the cat; who eats Paanya, the rat; who bores through Keeyambaaza, the mud wall; which stopped Koosee, the south wind; and Koosee, the south wind, threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. You should not have done it.”
The gazelle, through surprise at being found out and fear of the consequences of his accidental killing of the teacher, while engaged in stealing, was struck dumb.
Then the scholars said: “Ah! he hasn’t a word to say for himself. This is the fellow who threw down the calabash that struck our teacher Goso. We will kill him.”
So they killed Paa, the gazelle, and avenged the death of their teacher.
