Tales from Africa Page 2
One afternoon, when Ivorombe was away, King Andriambahoaka was walking through the forest when he saw Imaitsoanala gathering sweet hibiscus juice with the beepoe. He stopped in his tracks, fascinated by her radiant beauty and carefree smile.
‘Whose child is this?’ he asked, turning to face his servants.
‘Whose child is this?’ bellowed one of the servants.
As the question echoed through the forest, Iangoria, who was close by, rushed to the clearing. She fell on her knees when she recognized the king.
‘My chief, her mother is away, but I am her caretaker.’
‘Who is speaking to me?’ said Andriambahoaka, whose lemur eyes could not look below his belly.
‘There is a woman at your feet, my chief,’ said one of his servants.
Andriambahoaka dropped to his knees to address Iangoria. ‘This girl is dark and plump and has the most amazing smile I have ever seen. Never have I seen a girl so beautiful. I must have her as my bride.’
Iangoria shook her head. ‘My chief, I plead with you to let this girl be. Her mother is the fierce hunting bird Ivorombe, and she would fly into the most destructive rage if she even knew that the girl has been near people. Please let her be.’
‘But she is so beautiful,’ said Andriambahoaka, fixing Iangoria with his golden gaze.
‘If you must, my chief,’ said Iangoria. ‘But she is not of age now. Come back when she is old enough and speak to her mother.’
Andriambahoaka returned to his palace and, for the next few years, spoke of no other thing more than he spoke of the beauty of Imaitsoanala, the girl he was going to marry:
She had hair shaped like the setting sun
Her smell was that of the finest musk
She was the shade of the dark of dusk
Her smile was as playful as a lion cub
She was as plump as a young baobab Her skin was the texture of silk
She had teeth the colour of coconut milk
Her voice was like the starling’s song …
He spoke of her so much and with so much love that he won the blessing of all his subjects to go and get permission to marry Imaitsoanala when she was of age. Even his two wives agreed, but it was because they wanted to see this girl that Andriambahoaka could not stop talking about.
Andriambahoaka and his servants returned to the forest, bearing gifts. There was gold cloth and soft fruit, beadwork and silver, rice and corn and beans. Andriambahoaka marched towards the giant ebony tree to speak to Ivorombe and ask for Imaitsoanala’s hand in marriage.
When he got to the tree Ivorombe was away. Iangoria, too, had gone with the beepoe to collect hibiscus nectar. Alone on the platform, weaving a new cover for their grain store, was Imaitsoanala.
Andriambahoaka couldn’t help himself. ‘My sunshine, my dusk, my beautiful flower, I have waited for this day for years. I am hopelessly in love with you. Will you be my bride?’
Imaitsoanala looked towards the sky to see if her mother was on her way home. ‘My chief, thank you for your kind words. I am very flattered, but I think it would be better for you to forget about me.’
‘I can’t forget you,’ protested Andriambahoaka, just as Iangoria returned.
Iangoria climbed on to the platform so that the king could see her. ‘Why are you speaking to her? I pleaded with you to let her be.’
‘I can’t,’ said the king. ‘My love, you must come with me.’
‘My chief, you must let me be. My mother will tear you to pieces if you run off with me. Besides, what king wants a bird of prey for a mother-in-law?’
Andriambahoaka shook his head. ‘I fear nothing, sweet maiden. My love for you is so strong that I fear nothing.’ He stared at her with his deep lemur eyes.
Iangoria tried to plead with the king some more. ‘My chief, please wait until her mother returns. I do not feel good about this. Please wait.’
‘I can wait no longer.’ He held Imaitsoanala’s hand. ‘Can we go?’
So Ivorombe returned to find her daughter gone. She flew into a fiery rage and set off after Andriambahoaka and his servants. But they had prepared a distraction for her. Along the route away from the ebony tree, the servants had scattered the rice and corn and beans that they had carried as gifts in many different directions.
Ivorombe, who could no longer tell which way they had gone and didn’t like to waste food, collected the grains and returned home.
She was furious. She sat up in the ebony tree and cried, heartbroken that her daughter, her heart, could desert her like that. She cried and cried until she was calm. The beepoe flew up to join her and they talked late into the night. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that her daughter, Imaitsoanala, was getting married. She was, after all, human.
However, the next day, when Ivorombe visited the palace, she saw her daughter already trying on wedding dresses and weaving a headdress. She flapped her wings in anger. ‘I taught you how to weave,’ she said – again and again – as she pecked at her own daughter. ‘Have you forgotten me already?’
She flayed Imaitsoanala’s skin and plucked out her eyes. Still fuming, she flew away with the skin and eyes and hung them on the platform where Imaitsoanala had grown up. Her daughter was left skinless and eyeless.
At the palace, King Andriambahoaka had been waiting to present Imaitsoanala to the people, but only as his bride. He wanted to unveil her at their wedding. However, after Ivorombe had taken her dark skin and eyes, it was painful for Imaitsoanala to go out into the sun, so Andriambahoaka built a special shadowed chamber to protect her. He visited her every day; they spoke for hours and hours. He told her everything he had been taught about his kingdom and she taught him all she knew about birdsongs, making beautiful harmonies with her voice that echoed in the corridors of the palace. Sometimes he carried a tray of red, black and green berries, wore a blindfold and played guess the berry games with her.
Andriambahoaka’s two wives were jealous. They had been stunned by how beautiful Imaitsoanala was when she arrived, but now she was skinless and eyeless. She was just a bag of bones. They did not understand why Andriambahoaka was still spending so much time with such an ugly thing.
They bullied Imaitsoanala.
‘Until you are married to Andriambahoaka you are just an ordinary person – a servant! You will have to do exactly what we ask you to do.’
They deliberately ran their clothes through mud and gave them to her to wash. They made her scrub the kitchen floors even though they knew she could not see.
Imaitsoanala did all these chores without complaining. ‘I’m learning new things,’ she said to herself.
But when they gave her the thinnest reeds in the land and asked her to weave large baskets, she cried inside. She could not see. She pricked her hands on the reeds until they bled.
Ivorombe noticed the puddles forming around her daughter’s hanging eyes and felt really sorry for the way she had treated Imaitsoanala. She had been too angry. She had punished her too much.
‘I should go to her,’ she said to Iangoria and the beepoe.
They smiled and nodded. They had been too scared to tell her that they thought she had been very cruel to her daughter.
Ivorombe found Imaitsoanala on the floor of her special shadowed chamber in the palace. She was surrounded by reeds and she was sobbing.
Ivorombe embraced her daughter. ‘I am sorry, my child, I was unfair. You are human and I should let you live as humans live if you choose. I will return your skin.’
She took the reeds from her daughter and sat beside her. In no time she had finished weaving the baskets and Imaitsoanala took eight perfect large baskets to Andriambahoaka’s two wives. The wives were shocked! When they were alone, they turned the baskets this way and that, looking for flaws that they could complain about. There were none. They had done all they could to upset Imaitsoanala and she was still there with them in the palace. She had not run back to the forest where she belonged.
‘We need to do more,’ they said.
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sp; They marched to Andriambahoaka’s chamber and confronted him. ‘Our chief,’ they pleaded, ‘we both love the young girl that you have brought into the palace, but it’s been weeks now. It is not right for her to stay on in the palace if you are not going to marry her. The people will start to talk.’
‘You are right,’ said Andriambahoaka.
‘You should marry her right away. It’s the best thing. We can help arrange the wedding,’ they said, giggling.
Andriambahoaka didn’t want to agree because he didn’t want a skinless and eyeless Imaitsoanala to have to remove her veil outside. In the hot sun. In front of all those people. But he had no choice. His wives were right. It was the correct thing to do.
He was upset all day and he told Imaitsoanala when he went to see her in the shadowed chamber. He suggested that they get married in two days, touching her skinless hand gently so he would not hurt her.
She smiled. She didn’t tell him that her mother was hiding in the room, but she soothed him. ‘All is well, my chief. I want to marry you. I will be there.’
Ivorombe got to work immediately. She flew out of Imaitsoanala’s window at night and returned with Iangoria and the beepoe. She replaced Imaitsoanala’s skin and eyes carefully and the beepoe prepared special herb and flower mixtures for Imaitsoanala to rub over her body. Iangoria wove a gold toga and Ivorombe made the most delicate veil of white and gold to cover her daughter’s head.
The beepoe flittered back and forth taking measurements so that the clothes would fit perfectly. He braided the dandelion-shaped hair on Imaitsoanala’s head so that it went down her back in tidy cornrows.
On the day of the wedding, Andriambahoaka waited nervously for Imaitsoanala to arrive. He stood on a large platform by the palace steps. In front of him a huge crowd cheered. They were waiting to see the beauty their king had spoken of for so long. The one he said had:
Hair shaped like the setting sun
The smell of the finest musk
A shade the dark of dusk
A smile as playful as a lion cub
Flesh as plump as a young baobab
Skin the texture of silk
Teeth the colour of coconut milk
And a voice like the starling’s song.
Behind Andriambahoaka, his two wives sneered. They were tired of sharing their good-looking husband with Imaitsoanala. They could not wait for all the people to see the skinless and eyeless bag of bones they had been living with. They had already told many of their friends, but no one believed them because the king was known always to tell the truth.
The crowd gasped as Imaitsoanala appeared from the side of the palace, guided by Iangoria. They had never seen clothes so radiant, so well made! They watched as she walked unsteadily to stand in front of Andriambahoaka.
He lifted the veil slowly, not caring if all the people thought he was mad for being in love with a skinless woman. But when he flicked the veil back, he was stunned to see the old Imaitsoanala – with skin, with eyes, with a huge smile – staring back at him. He embraced her and kissed her immediately, unable to contain his joy.
The crowd was silent. Imaitsoanala’s radiance was unlike anything they had seen before. Ivorombe flew over the gathering, her large shadow giving them a moment’s relief from the glaring sun. Everyone looked up, then back at their king, Andriambahoaka, and at Imaitsoanala, then they applauded wildly. She was a perfect bride for their king.
And they were right. Unlike his other wives, whose hearts had turned to stone because of jealousy, Imaitsoanala bore a son. He was named after his father, Andriambahoaka, and grew up to become the greatest ruler the island had ever had.
The Jackal and the Lion
A Khoi and San tale
There was a time when the lion and the jackal were firm friends. Indeed it is no accident that they both like to crouch low. It is a habit they developed in childhood when hunting together in thick plains of lovegrass. Jackal would go ahead, find the prey – some idle eland or zebra – and signal Lion.
Lion would crouch a little distance behind Jackal, waiting for the right moment. When he got the signal, he would run, take a leap off Jackal’s back, making an arc like a rainbow, and land – BAM! – right on top of the eland or zebra with his claws, and Jackal would laugh, rolling around in circles.
That was Jackal and Lion – perfect hunting partners. No animal wanted to live close to where they heard Jackal and Lion roamed, but Jackal was so cunning that the animals never knew where he was going to be next. He moved all the time: on lowlands, by drying streams, up hills, under the large tree where the giraffes now like to eat, in caves or by the big watering hole that looked like a bruise on the land. There was even said to be a mountain where he stayed sometimes. And wherever Jackal was, chances were that you would find Lion too. And when they were together, there was hunting, there was laughter. They were perfect hunting partners.
But any of the animals will tell you that the days of Jackal and Lion’s friendship were the worst days in our kingdom. They hunted so much that Jackal’s back turned black from the bruises left by Lion using him as a springboard to pounce on prey.
Lion and his family grew big and strong, their coats glistening and streaked with gold. Jackal, on the other hand, didn’t look strong and healthy. In fact, the whole jackal community looked lean and hungry. Their teeth were permanently bared, just waiting for more food from Jackal’s hunting, but each time Jackal returned home he only had entrails for them.
It’s true, Jackal and Lion were a great hunting team, but Lion was lousy at sharing. He had been like that since they were school cubs, but Jackal was only little then so it didn’t matter. Even when Jackal’s older brother told him to be careful he took no notice. If Lion didn’t share the guinea fowl they caught together, Jackal’s mother was at home to give him a piece of her zebra. However, she always warned him, ‘Jackal, friends who won’t share are not real friends. Watch your back, my son.’
Jackal loved hunting with Lion so then he had simply laughed, but now that he was fully grown and had to hunt for everyone, the whole community could see how much Lion cheated him. They were not happy.
‘You can’t let all of us starve because your friend does not know how to share,’ they said. ‘Put an end to it or find somewhere else to live.’
Even Jackal’s wife said the same and, for once, Jackal, who was very much a laughing jackal, was upset.
One sundown, when the bush was quiet, Jackal spoke to Lion about the unfair nature of their sharing. Lion guffawed and slapped Jackal’s back.
‘Look, my friend, what we have is perfect; you are lean and slight, you slide in the grasses beautifully and you signal me. I am big, heavy and very strong.’ Lion rose on his hind legs and roared, waving his body in the air and startling Jackal, who cowered under his friend’s shadow. ‘One swipe from my claw and the prey is dead. That is the real hard work. It is only fair that I keep the lion’s share. The entrails are just right for keeping you in the best shape for your job, and the sweet flesh keeps me strong so I can do mine.’
Jackal drew a wobbly line in the red sand with his paw. ‘But entrails aren’t as good for you as the sweet flesh and the fat.’
‘Exactly,’ said Lion. ‘They are no good for me.’
‘I mean they are no good for me either, Lion.’
Lion turned to face Jackal with an ear-splitting roar. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’
‘No.’
‘Are you saying that I’m stupid?’
Jackal looked down, shading his eyes from the last burn of the orange sun. ‘No, my friend,’ he said, as he slowly gathered the entrails from their hunt and went back to his community.
When Jackal got home and delivered the contents of his skin bag, a miserly spread of eland entrails, for dinner, the other jackals turned on him.
There was howling.
There was hooting.
There was catcalling.
There was whistling.
There was booing.
Jackal was cast out of the community to roam by himself.
Now, if you know anything about jackals, you know that jackals roam in packs. A jackal without a pack, without a family, is a miserable jackal – a sad, sad creature. Jackal slunk from cave to elephant grass, to stream, to hill, to lovegrass – all over the kingdom – all alone, thinking of how to get back into his pack.
Lion, meanwhile, was at home feasting on juicy eland with his wife and many cubs.
On their next hunt, down near the big watering hole, Jackal spotted a young zebra. It was separated from its group and was exploring in the grass near a bouquet of pheasants. The silly zebra didn’t even look up as the birds took off, sensing danger. With Jackal in place, Lion ran from behind, stepped on his friend’s back and jumped high. He swiped the zebra’s head with his left claw as he landed on him, then he sank his teeth into the zebra’s neck until it was still. The other zebra scattered towards the setting sun.
Jackal laughed and laughed.
‘What a stupid zebra,’ he cackled. ‘How can you be at a watering hole and not look around?’ He rolled about in the pale grass. ‘A zebra should watch its back.’
But as Lion dragged the zebra towards the lair where they shared their hunts, Jackal fell silent.
‘What’s the matter, my friend?’ asked Lion.
‘Well, zebra is my mother’s favourite meat. It would be nice to take her some.’
Lion laughed. ‘But, of course, you will have a nice bag of entrails for her when we have shared this zebra.’
‘No,’ said Jackal.
‘No? Why?’ asked Lion. ‘Do you not want your share?’
‘Oh, I do,’ insisted Jackal, ‘but I can’t take it back because I’ve been thrown out of the community.’
‘How silly of them. Aren’t you the one who takes food to them?’ Lion stopped in his tracks and tapped Jackal on the shoulder. ‘You mean you have nowhere to go?’
Jackal nodded slowly.