Chapter I: Part 1

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.