The Sacred Door and Other Stories: Cameroon Folktales of the Beba

By Makuchi and Isidore Okpewho

The Sacred Door and Other Stories: Cameroon Folktales of the Beba offers readers a selection of folktales infused with riddles, proverbs, songs, myths, and legends, using various narrative techniques that capture the vibrancy of Beba oral traditions. Makuchi retells the stories that she heard at home when she was growing up in her native Cameroon.

The collection of thirty-four folktales of the Beba showcases a wide variety of stories that capture the richness and complexities of an agrarian society’s oral literature and traditions. Revenge, greed, and deception are among the themes that frame the story lines in both new and familiar ways. In the title story, a poor man finds himself elevated to king. The condition for his continued success is that he not open the sacred door. This tale of temptation, similar to the story of Pandora’s box, concludes with the question, “What would you have done?”

Makuchi relates the stories her mother told her so that readers can make connections between African and North American oral narrative traditions. These tales reinforce the commonalities of our human experiences without discounting our differences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ohio University Press
• Release date: Dec 1, 2007
• ISBN: 9780896804586

Makuchi

Makuchi is professor of English and Comparative Literature at North Carolina State University, Raleigh. Her publications include a book of short fiction, Your Madness, Not Mine: Stories of Cameroon, and Gender in African Women’s Writing: Identity, Sexuality, and Difference.

Book preview

Part 1

The Story of Bat and Sun

Once upon a time, Aleleb-the-Bat and Neneb-the-Sun had a good friendship, a friendship stronger than ngwalii. They were like finger and nail. It is said that they were such good friends they were always visiting one another. Sometimes, they’d spend one night at Bat’s home and the next night at Sun’s compound.

One day, Bat went to visit Sun. On this visit, they spent a few days together. And then Bat went home only to find his mother seriously ill. You remember the saying that the strongest tree is the one that sprouts from beneath a rock? Bat had always seen his mother as one such tree. She had taken care of him through good times and many hardships. Now Bat feared for his mother’s life. He flew from the compound of one healer to another pleading for their help. The healers gave the ailing woman potent herbs. They poured libations and called on the ancestors to watch over Bat’s mother. They did their outmost, but Bat’s mother’s health worsened alarmingly and she grew weaker and weaker with each passing day.

My son, I can feel that my time has come to leave you and join the ancestors. Do not grieve after I am dead. You must continue to be dutiful and take good care of yourself, she said, her breathing coming in short gasps. If I have taught you anything, it is this: the rain which beats on a stone merely washes its body. You have been a good son and I know you will find the strength to go on. Bat’s mother spoke these words one evening to her son and died.

Bat was inconsolable. His grief-stricken heart was as heavy as the ngwalii stone. He knew what he had to do. He decided to honor his mother by burying her before darkness threw its shadow over the village. My friend can wait until I’ve buried my mother, he reasoned happily, and rushed to see Sun.

Bat said, Sun, my ailing mother has died. Hold your light. Please let your light shine a little longer. Give me the time to bury Mother-of-Mine. You can put out your torch after I have finished laying her to rest.

My good friend, I know you need me but I’m sorry that I can’t wait for you to bury your mother, Sun replied. Can’t you wait for daybreak?

How can you ask me that? Death has snapped the shoulder bone on the spot where the bag is carried. What kind of a friend are you? Bat moaned and flew off into the twilight.

Bat’s throat grew bitter, more bitter than ghee.¹ No, I must bury her today, the sobbing Bat kept repeating to himself. He arrived home as darkness fell and hurriedly buried his mother. It was completely dark by the time he was done. And so, in the deep of night, Bat lay down by his mother’s grave and swore never to look upon Sun’s face again. Never! He buried that friendship along with his mother. And that, it is said, is the reason why, from that day forward, bats have shunned the face of the sun and move about only at night.

The story is fnished.

¹A type of vegetable with a bitter taste; known in Pidgin English as bitter-leaf.

The Story of Hawk and Hen

There once lived two inseparable friends, Magheb-the-Hawk and Nguh-the-Hen. These two were likened to the hand and the head: neither sleeps without the other. Indeed, Hawk and Hen were known to go on trips together, sleep in the same bed, and eat from the same bowl. Hen had seven children and Hawk had four. Their children were always seen together on the playground.

One day, Hawk woke to find his oldest child running a fever. The child’s skin had developed a rash of scabies. His body was hot all over and the child was in pain for several weeks. Hawk and Hen took turns cleaning the scabies and treating the wounds with palm oil, but all their efforts did not ease the child’s pain. They wondered what else they could do. It so happened that Mbe-the-Cockroach was known throughout the land as a good and experienced doctor, so Hawk decided to go and ask for her help. Was this a big mistake? I do not know, but Hawk did not think twice about inviting this healer into his home. But it was known throughout the land that Cockroach and Hen hated each other, for wasn’t it said that when Hen saw Cockroach all she saw was a plump juicy thing good only for her stomach? Hawk and Hen had been friends for so long that he was confident his friend would not betray his trust. He consoled himself with the thought that clouds do not always forecast rains but ignored the other saying that a leopard cub does not grow old before its spots are noticed. Throwing all caution to the wind, he went and pleaded with Cockroach, asking the healer to make the trip to his home. Cockroach said to Hawk, Go back to your child. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hawk returned and waited and waited and waited. Cockroach finally arrived in the evening twilight, carrying a small bag containing a variety of herbs and the cure for Hawk’s child. As you can imagine, the moment Hen set eyes on Cockroach she began to bat her wings and cluck around the compound in circles.

Cockroach, you call yourself a healer? Are these the only herbs this child needs? Hen immediately picked a quarrel when Cockroach crossed the threshold into Hawk’s house. Will these herbs heal Hawk’s child? You haven’t brought enough medicine because you want Hawk’s child to die, Hen accused.

Cockroach ignored Hen. She sat on the chair Hawk offered her and removed the herbs from her bag. She spread them out on a plantain leaf in three piles. She spoke directly to Hawk.

Soak this leaf, and this one, and this one in warm water every morning and evening, Cockroach instructed, pointing at each pile of herbs. "Use the infusion to bathe your child. After bathing the entire body, apply this mero ngwob to the wounds. The python’s oil will heal the scabies and help the child sleep. I will bring the patient something to drink every evening before he goes to bed. Your child should be his old self in a week."

I don’t trust you, Hen interrupted. Hawk should never have brought you here.

Why haven’t you treated the child yourself since you know our herbs so well? Cockroach retorted. Put some water on the fire, she barked at Hawk.

Hearing this rebuff, Hen flew into a rage. She was, as the Beba say, bitter-in-the-throat. She batted her wings even louder and proceeded to cluck-cluck cluck-cluck cluck-cluck around the nsaa.¹ She left the nsaa, but her clucking could be heard echoing in treetops. The more she flapped her wings, the more she clucked, the angrier she got. To everyone’s surprise, she pounced on the plantain leaf and scratched it to pieces. The medicines went flying into the air. Hawk watched with consternation as everything suddenly went topsy-turvy. Cockroach paid no heed and went to work on the child. But Hen would not be ignored. She approached the healer and with one swift peck sunk her beak into Cockroach and swallowed her down with one loud gulp. There was no one else Hawk could turn to to treat his child. The child lived a few more hours and died. It was Hawk’s turn to be bitter-in-the-throat. Hen should have remembered the saying that one does not defecate where one sleeps, for as the pepper suffers so too does the grinding stone. Hawk looked straight at Hen and swore, The fate of the pot will also be that of the yam or my name isn’t Hawk! Without more ado he sought revenge by killing one of Hen’s children. From that day, he made an oath: to kill any of Hen’s children whenever and wherever their paths met. As you can imagine, the long-standing friendship between Hawk and Hen came to a painful end. And so the Beba say that is why hawks to this day hunt Hen’s