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Archives for July 2011

The Plate and the Cane

July 16, 2011 by Melvin Burgess Leave a Comment

This story is from Naomie, one of the girls who used the Santa Famillie open center in Kinshasa. This one is like a number of stories I’ve heard from Europe, but it’s not the sort of thing we might might tell our children these days. And once again, unlike many of the European stories I’ve heard, there’s a lot of humour in it.

Sharing a meal at the Sainte famille open center for street chidlren in Kinshasa. I wonder how many of these tots had been chased out of their homes for witchcraft? 80%, the center director said. A more unlikley bunch of witches I never saw!

A wife and a husband lived together by a lake, where they caught fish for a living. One day, out on the lake with his nets, the husband pulled in huge plate. What to do with it? They had no use for it, it wasn’t a particularly nice place … so they threw it back. As soon as it hit the water, the plate called out to them.

“Don’t throw me away – ask me!”

The fisherman was amazed, and scared – but fascinated. “Ask you what?” he demanded.

“Just ask me.”

The fisherman was troubled. What if the plate was trying to trick him? But then – what it was doing him a favour? In the end, he decided that this was something he just couldn’t miss. So he took the plate home, and he said to his wife, “You’ll never guess what I caught today …”

That evening they both sat and looked at the plate. It seemed impossible to imagine that it had ever talked. “What shall we ask it?” said the man.

The wife thought for a mount, then she said, “Let’s ask it for food. We never really get enough to eat. Asking for food should be quite safe.”

The husband agreed. “Plate, feed us. Please,” he added. At once, a wonderful feast was spread out before them – plates of meat,which they almost never had, wonderful fruit, everything they could hope for. And it wasn’t just food that the plate could serve up. Money, clothes, anything they asked for, the plate produced. After that, they never needed for anything.

Now, that couple had a son who loved football. One day, this son went to play a game against a rich kid. This rich kid was boastful, a bully, disrespectful to his parents and always expected his own way. He boasted so much about what a great player he was, that the fisher’s son grew angry with him, and an argument broke out. In the end they had a bet – who was the best football player? The rich kid bet a fine new football. “And what about you?” demanded the rich kid. “I’m always hearing abut this famous plate of yours. If you’re so sure of yourself, why don’t you bet that?”

The fisher’s son was so angry, he stupidly agreed to bet the plate. They played the game, the fisher’s son was outclassed. That rich kid may have been boastful and irritating, but he was a great football player. So now what? Too ashamed to back down, the fisher’s son crept him, stole the plate and gave it to the rich kid.

When he got back home and his parent’s discovered what he’d done, they were furious. They beat him for his stupidity and went straight round to the rich man’s house to ask for their plate back. But of course, the rich man said no. “Why should I?” he asked. “It was won fair and square. You should teach your son to behave with more respect to you.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” said the fisherman, “when everyone knows how rude your son is.”

“That may be so, but the plate is still mine,” said the rich man. “But I’ll tell you this – I’ll make a bet with you. if you can find a way to make my son behave, I’ll let you have it back.”

The fisherman went home feeling miserable. His son had given away their only bit of good fortune they’d ever had. “And there’s no way on earth anyone could make that boy behave himself,” he told his wife. “Everyone knows he’s the rudest, most unpleasant kid in the village.”

There was nothing for it but to get back to the fishing.

A few days later, the fisherman was out on his boat with his son, and he found caught in the net a cane. “This is no good to anyone,” said the father. “Although I could find a use for it if I thought about it,” he added, looking sideways at his son and swishing the cane. The son looked ashamed, and the father threw the cane back into the water.

But as soon as it hit the water, the cane shouted out. “Don’t throw me away. Tell me, tell me!” The father was delighted – but still a bit suspicious. Just because you have one piece of good luck, it does’t mean you;re going to have a second.

“Tell you what?” he asked.

“Just tell me,” said the cane. The fisherman pulled back the cane into the boat. “Now then – what shall I ask it?” he said aloud. “I know! Cane, beat my stupid son.” The cane set to work with gusto, gave the unfortunate son a beating of his life. It whipped him all the way back to shore and all the way back home, and still carried on when they got home.

“This is the life!” said the fisherman, lying back and watching, while his son hopped and howled. Every time he tried to escape out of the door, the cane would whip him back in.

“But this is perfect,” said his wife. “Now we have a way of teaching the rich man’s son his manners, and we can get our plate back.”

The next day, the man and his wife went to see the rich man, and explained to him that they were ready to take up the bet.

The rich man called his son to him. “Now – show me what you can do,” he said.

“Cane, beat this boy,” exclaimed the fisherman. As once the cane started work. The boy whooped and yelped and ran and twisted this way and that, but no matter where he went and what he did, the cane was there behind him, whipping merrily away. “This is perfect,” exclaim the rich man. “I’m far to busy to make sure my son behaves himself, but now I don’t need to, because this fine thin fellow will do all the work for me.”

So the deal was made – the cane for the plate. And everyone was happy – the fisherfolk because now they had all they could ask for; the rich man because he already had enough, but now he could keep his son in check; and the fisher’s son, because he had no need to worry about that troublesome cane any more. Only the rich boy had any need to feel sorry for himself – and that just serves him right.

That’s the end of the story.  Caning – not the sort of thing we do nowadays in Europe. I guess some of these children in the Congo aren’t so lucky, but I was a child, canings were a common place in books and in comics – half the stories in the Beano ended with an child bending over and getting six of the best from a jubilant teacher.  I remember a folk story I read as a child, one of a collection from the Czech republic, in which a group of rude princesses ended up being caned for three, six and nine days! Not only that, but the illustration showed them in their underwear – long frillies; and with a little crown on their heads. Not something I;d recommend for 11 year old boys today, although as a means of dealing the Royals, it has something to recommend it.

This lady told me all about the child witches she met in the market, and how she had a special gift from God to spot witches. Funny thing was, I have a special gift to spot self deceivers myself, and God was pointing right at her.

Filed Under: Folk Stories from the Congo

Mother Love

July 7, 2011 by Melvin Burgess 2 Comments

This is an interesting and unusual story. It starts off as something we feel familiar with, but the ending is a real surprise. we often talk about how our own folk tales have been sweetened for the Nursery since the Brother’s Grimm – but this sort of thing makes me wonder if the Grimm’s didn’t make the steories they heard a little more palatable for 19C tastes as well …

Unlike many of the stories told to me by street children, this one has something at the end that was almost always there with stories told to me by people in families – the lesson at the end. “What can we learn from this?” was a phrase I heard so often, and then the story would be plundered for lessons.  I think people often tried to find as many lessons in the story as they possibly could – I could imagine a competition for who could find the most at storytime. Perhaps that’s why many of them read so much like fables.

Many thanks to Henoch, who passed this story on to me.

Story time - the Three Little Pigs

A boy and his mother were walking in the woods, collecting food to sell in the market, when they were attacked by a lions. The boy bravely fought the lion and managed to scare it away, but as he did so another lion came from behind and seized his mother in its jaws. He turned and ran at it, and scarred that one away too – but it was too late. His mother was already dead.

Sadly, he took her body away and buried her. Now he had nothing in the world except his own self.

After the funeral, he went to visit her grave.  “Mother,” he said. “Without you I have nothing. I can’t even get any money from working in the woods any more because I don’t have your skills.”

A voice from the grave spoke to him.

“In the desert there is a dead tree. You must find that tree and dig in the sand underneath. You will find buried under the sand some cups, a great many of them, some very fine and grand, some very poor. But one cup and one cup only will have a mosquito flying around it. You must take that cup and bring it home. That will help you on your way in life.”

The boy knew that tree; he and his mother used to pass by it sometimes on their way to the city to sell the berries and grubs they collected in the wood. He went straight there and dug under the tree, deeper and deeper, until at last he began to uncover the cups.  He dusted the sand off them with his hands, and at once, from one of the cups, a tiny little insect flew; the mosquito his mother had told him about. It flew round and round the cup it had been buried with, an old cup, chipped and dirty and made out of cheap pottery.

The boy was disappointed. He wondered why on earth he had to take such a cheap cup when there were so many other better cups about. He would get hardly any money for that one – he wasn’t even sure he wanted to drink out of it himself, with that mosquito buzzing around it all the time. He told himself that surely his mother must have made a mistake – dead people can get it wrong too.  So he took another cup instead, a big, fine, two handled cup that he was sure he could sell for a lot of money.

He picked the cup up – but inside it, something was crawling. With a shout of surprise he dropped it, and as he watched, a small tawny creature crawled out. As it came out of the cup it grew bigger, and bigger and bigger, until before him stood a ferocious lion. The boy jumped away adndclimbed up to the top of the dead tree just in time to save his life.  The lion spent hours prowling around the bottom of the tree before it got tired of waiting for him and left.

The boy climbed down the tree and ran home as fast as he could. That night, his mother’s ghost appeared to him in a dream.

“Stupid boy!  What did I tell you? You never listed while I was alive and now you don’t listen while I am dead; but this time you must listen. Go back and this time take the cup with the mosquito, like I said!”

The ghost disappeared. The next day, very frightened and even more foolish, the boy went back to the dead tree, and this time he did as he was told, and took the cracked dirty cup with the mosquito buzzing around.  That mosquito followed him all the way home, until he was fed up with it buzzing round; but he didn’t dare squash it. Back at home he looked at the cup – and saw that it was full of money. The cup wasn’t very big, but there was enough money in there for the boy to buy himself some pigs. He looked after his pigs carefully, breed them and sold them on and increased his herd until at last, after a number of years, he became rich.

Nw that he had his fortune, the boy began to think about other things in life. He went back to his mother’s grave and told her he wanted to find himself a wife. At once, the ghost of his mother was by his side, looking sadly at him.
“In Kinshasa there is a good wife, and I shall help you find her. Go home; I will come to you in a dream and tell you what to do.”

The boy, a young man now, went home and did as his mother told him. And just as she had said, she came to him in a dream, looking beautiful and young, just as he remembered her in life.

Go to Kinshasa, go to the river and walk upstream. As you leave the city behind you will come to place on the river where there are coffins floating, many coffins, some rich, some poor. If you see a grand coffin, do not take it; but if you see one with a mosquito flying around it, you must take that one. Inside, you will find your wife.”

This was even more scary than the dead tree; and the boy was not so sure about finding a wife inside a coffin. But his mother had looked after him when he was a boy, and when he was a man so perhaps she would look after just as well now that he was ready to marry.  He went to Kinshasa and walked upstream, and soon he came to the place his mother had told him about. There were dozens of coffins floating on the water, jostling about and rattling together. The boy was terrified and wanted to run away, but he heard his mother’s ghost whisper in his ear; “Be strong.” So he tightened up his courage, and went up to the coffins to look among them for the mosque.

Some of them were very grand; but this time the boy had learn his lesson, and he searched carefully until he had found the one with a mosquito bussing around it. He dragged that coffin, a very poor one, out of the water.  On the shore, he broke the coffin open – and out stepped a beautiful young woman, who at once threw her arms around him and vowed to be his forever, because he had rescued her

Well, the young man was pretty worried about all this. She was beautiful all right, but she came out of a coffin. He asked her how she got there, but she shook her head and wouldn’t say. But his mother had looked after him all his life, even from beyond the grave, so he took her home and looked after her.  He soon found out that the beautiful lady knew everything about him – what he liked and what he didn’t like, what sort of food he enjoyed, what made him laugh, what made him happy. He couldn’t imagine getting anyone better for himself. Soon, her thanking his mother everyday for finding such a wife for him, and soon enough he asked her to marry him.

The time for the ceremony came. Dressed so fine, the beautiful girl and he went to the church; but when they arrive there, she would not go inside.

“I want to be married outside,” she said. “What is wrong with that?”

The priest was not happy about it, but he agreed and went ahead with the ceremony; but something dreadful happened when he began to pray. The bride began to writhe and moan. The more he prayed, the louder her cries became. The young man begged the priest to stop, but the priest did not stop. If she couldn’t bear to hear a prayer, what did that mean? On he went, and by the time he arched the Amen, the beautiful girl drooped to the floor – stone dead. Now that she was dead she began to change back to her own shape. Her beautiful face grew old and then decayed, her body withered and her flesh shrank away from her bones, until all that was left was just bones and clothes.  But the boy knew those clothes – they were the clothes his mother had been buried in.

His mother had loved him dearly, and helped him in his life after her death; but she could not face him marrying, because she thought that another woman would mistreat her son.

What can we learn from this story?  Many things. That a mother’s love is good for some things but not others;  that a mother can love her son but still be bad for him; that she can overstep her place in her children’s lives.  We learn that the dead are not always as sensible as the living; and of course, that a mother will love her children even beyond the grave.

Story time - one of the children tells me a story back

Filed Under: Folk Stories from the Congo Tagged With: child witches, Congo, Folktale, Save the Children, street children, The Child Witches of Kinshasa folk tales

About Melvin

Melvin Burgess

Melvin Burgess

is a British author of children's fiction. Read more →

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