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All
children grow up with stories. But
stories differ from culture to culture. I
want to share the stories that I grew up with.
Stories teach children about morals and values…about good and evil.
In the
rural areas, children are told fables and folklore stories that have been passed
on orally from one generation to another.
In the cities, children are told fairy stories that are read to them
from books. There is a huge difference
between the fairy stories told to children in the rural areas and those who
were born and grew up in the cities. This is about culture and culture
does not have a colour. I was brought up
in our African culture but my skin is very light. So, go figure.
I do
not remember ever having a book read to me.
The first fairy stories that the white folk grew up with were those I
read myself after I had been taught to read.
The stories I heard as a child had nothing to do with Hansel and Gretel
or Red Riding Hood. Even the Noddy books
only came into my world after I started reading.
Intsomi
(oral folk tales) time was the time when the adults would tell the children
stories. I would like to share them with
you as I heard them sitting around the fire after supper or around the table
with the old coal stove going to keep us warm.
The stories were entertaining; the idioms always had a moral lesson. Most of the stories did not have titles as
they always revolved around Jakalashe and Umvolofu (the jackal and the wolf),
so I am going to give the stories a title. These stories and idioms that I learned as a
child, shaped the way I see the world today.
Why the
Rabbit has no Tail
One day
it was decided that all animals would be given a tail. The date and time was fixed. On the day of the meeting to collect a tail,
the rabbit was too busy and asked the monkey to get his tail for him. In the scramble for tails at the meeting, the
monkey forgot to collect a tail for his friend, the rabbit. He came back only with a tail for
himself. And that is why the rabbit
still has no tail today.
Why
dogs sniff under one another’s tails
One day
it was decided that all dogs were to attend a meeting at the town hall to
discuss the new laws regarding how puppies were to be brought up properly. When the dogs got to the town hall, they took
off their tails and hung them on the rack at the door. They always did this as a sign of respect
when they went to a meeting. It was
also a lot more comfortable to sit without a tail stuck on them. The meeting
duly started. Half way through the
meeting, someone smelled smoke and started shouting, “Fire…fire…fire”. With that, all the dogs got up and hurried to
get out of the town hall. When they got
to the tail rack, there was much confusion and haste. They just grabbed the first tail they could
reach or get to in the scramble to get out of the burning building. That
is why today you will still see dogs smelling under each other’s tails. They are looking to find the tail that
belongs to them.
Jakalashe
and Umvolofu and the barrel of butter
Jackal
and Wolf were walking along the road when they came across a cart full of
barrels of butter. Wolf asked Jackal if
they should not perhaps pinch one.
Jackal said, “Why not? You go and
lie in the road and play dead. The
farmer will pick you up and put you on the cart. Then you roll a barrel off while I hide in
the grass”.
Of Wolf
ran to lie in the road. The farmer
stopped next to him and climbed down from the cart. He prodded Wolf a few times with his stick
and when Wolf did not move, the farmer put him in the cart. He was going to take him home and skin him
and use him as a carpet in front of the fire.
After a little while, Wolf got up and pushed a barrel of butter off the
cart.
“Let’s
eat it. I can’t wait”, said Wolf.
Jackal
said, “We can’t eat this now. It is not
ready to be eaten. It has to be a few
days old otherwise it will make you really sick”.
They
hid the barrel and went home. On the
second day, as Wolf was lying in the sun, dreaming of the taste of butter, he
saw Jackal going past. He asked Jackal
where he was going and that they should go and eat the butter.
“I
can’t be bothered right now”, said Jackal. “I am in a big hurry. My wife is giving birth to a baby boy and I
have to find the midwife. “What are you
going to call him?” asked Wolf. “Just
Begun”, said Jackal, as he ambled along, his stomach so full of butter he could
hardly walk.
Wolf
waited a few more days and when he saw Jackal again he asked him about the
butter. Jackal was really upset. “You won’t believe it Wolf, but my wife is
having another child”.
“What
is his name going to be?” Wolf asked.
Wolf thought that the first child had a very strange name.
“His
name will be First Half”, answered Jackal.
The
next day when Jackal passed by Wolf’s door, he said that another son had been
born and that they were going to call the third son, Second Half.
The
following day it was the same thing all over, but the name of the next son was,
All Gone.
Early
the next morning Jackal was at Wolf’s house as he had promised and the two set
out for the butter keg. They came to the
barrel, opened it and found that all the butter was gone.
“Oh,
no!” groaned Jackal.
“Oh,
no!” groaned Wolf.
“You
ate it!” said Jackal.
“No,
you ate it!” said Wolf.
“I’ll
beat you”, said Jackal.
“I’ll
murder you”, said Wolf.
Wolf
was bigger and stronger than Jackal so if they had to fight, then Jackal would
lose. “Wait, my friend”, he begged. “Let us go and lie in the sun and see whose
mouth drips butter. Then we will know
for sure who ate all the butter”. Wolf
agreed.
So they
lay in the sun and before long, Wolf was fast asleep. Quietly Jackal got up, scraped the last bit
of butter from the bottom of the barrel and rubbed it on Wolf’s mouth. Then he lay down again. When they woke up Jackal said, “My mouth is
clean”.
“Oh,
no”, said Wolf, “I’m the buttery one.”
“Then
we know where the trouble lies”, said Jackal, picking up a stick to hit
Wolf.
“I must
have eaten the butter in my sleep, because I don’t remember a thing about it”,
cried Wolf.
Jackal
had beaten the Wolf again.
There are many, many stories about how the
Jackal outwits the Wolf. My
favourite stories by far were those of Jakalashe and Umvolofu. Our stories were real, they told of real
things, real animals and real nature. We
did not have make-believe houses made of sweets and cookies, or small people
called Noddy and policemen called Big Ears.
Idioms
also taught us a lot. Here are a few
that have stuck in my head after all these years:
Foxes
smell their own holes. (Don’t fart and blame someone else)
A
baboon cannot see its own backside. (Don’t judge other people; you are also at
fault)
You
can’t teach a crap to walk straight. (A stubborn person will not change)
A
single earthworm in the ground thinks it is the ground. (If you are the only
one who thinks like that you are probably wrong)
A bird
does not built with other birds’ feathers. (Depend on yourself, not on others)
The cat
sleeps in the fireplace. (So poor that there is no fire)
You do
not get tired if you carry your sticks. (Be prepared, take precautions and plan
ahead)
Carry
it in your chest. (It is a secret).
How
many children have had the pleasure of being supported by an imbeleko on the
back of a woman – to feel the gentle rocking as she moves about her business? How
many children had the opportunity of bathing in a river, or sliding down
home-made mud slides and swinging off monkey ropes to fall, laughing and
screaming into the river? How many
children could walk around barefoot without whinging at every stick, stone or
thorn that they tramped on? How many
children could play with clay from the river and fashion oxen and wagons from
the clay, decorated only with burned out pieces of matches? How many children
had the freedom to run in the fields, without a care in the world for danger
that comes from other humans? We only
had to be careful of snakes. How many
children belong to and are the responsibility of an entire village and not just
to the parents? How many children had their first hidings from the headman for
throwing stones at cars driven by white folk?
How many children only got new clothes to wear on Christmas day? How many children have cut the grass for
making a roof? How many children were given the
responsibility to see that the cows were herded home before dark? How many children knew about procreation,
life and death at an early age? How many
children were allowed the freedom to run and explore the magnificence of the
forests, the rivers, the beaches and the sea?
How many children would know about the ceremonies and customs of the
people? How many children have had the
comfort of sleeping in the same round room with the whole family, knowing they
are completely safe from harm? How many children today, are brought up to
respect their elders? How many are
brought up with Ubuntu? Why did the
Western World have to corrupt what was once a beautiful world? How many children were given African names,
other than the names you are given by your parents? How many children have warmed their bare feet
in still hot cow dung? How many children
know about first aid herbs to tend to bites, stings and cuts?
I am a
South African. My name is Udadewethu, my
isiduko is Tshesi, and I am an Mpondo. My
upbringing in Engcobo, Mqanduli and Esikaleni has made me who I am today. Umaf’evuka, nje ngenyanga!
So tell
me – who had the better cultural upbringing?
Those in esi’lalini or those in edolophini?
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