African American Olden African Tales

By Lorena M. Wilson

Storytelling is alive and well in the 21st Century. A good Fable or Fairy-tale can still hold its own in an era of DVDs, Play Stations and Cyberspace. Just imagine reading a passage in one of these stories that is so vivid that you can relate to a time and place never experience, yet, draw an association from where you are at that moment. Stories were and are still passed on to teach morals and values as well as excite, soothe or to make a positive change.

African American Olden African Tales contain six original short stories: The Magic Fish, The Village at the End of the Stream, Regalia Line, Mixed Melody, The Old Rickety Bridge and Spinney Valley; set in Africa hundreds of years ago and told with present day African American flavor. Each story tells of what might have been or if you think carefully, just what might be. These stories entertain and teach as those stories told from other cultures that carried universal messages, morals, and values for all to learn from or to enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 24, 2004
• ISBN: 9781468513981

Lorena M. Wilson

ABOUT THE AUTHOR     The author enjoys writing whatever piques her interest.  In addition to these six children’s short stories, she has self published a book of poetry, and written several plays.  Writing has always been a hobby until she earned her BA in English and a Master in Liberty Studies with the hope of publishing some of her class projects.  A play written for a theatre class; the first of these children’s stories and the opportunity to write a play to be performed during a trip to Africa gave her more topics and inspiration to write.   The author is single and has several nieces and nephews to keep her busy.  She tutor’s English, part-time, to student in K-12th grades Community Program and Undergraduates at local institution.  She, also is continuing her education and will follow-up on the completion of a Ph.D, someday.   The author dabbles in the art of Graphic Imaging and designed the inside book covers.  

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© 2004 Lorena M. Wilson

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 08/30/04

ISBN: 978-1-4685-1398-1 (ebk)

ISBN: 1-4184-3366-7 (sc)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

THE MAGIC FISH

THE VILLAGE AT THE END OF THE

STREAM

THE OLD RICKETY BRIDGE

SPINNEY VALLEY

MIXING MELODY

REGALIA LINE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

All the storytellers and those who love stories.

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THE MAGIC FISH

Once long ago, in a time almost forgotten, there was a land far, far away. A place where many mountains and valleys were separated by a long river that was filled each day by gushing, roaring waters that foamed cloud-like over huge boulders and rocks. It’s mist would cover the meadows with a dew that would create a moist fog engulfing everything from dense thickets to plush acres arrayed by colored petals. The Queen of the village and her court would arise early to watch the mist clear; starting the new day with the Morning Prayers. Many times they would find the King, the Shaman, and several warriors leaving the waterfall once they were freshly bathed and prepared for the day. Some of the villagers would say that they must have crept out during the night; since, the women arose before dawn for their daily ritual. No one could ever catch the men leaving the village much less ever see them return.

One morning, a messenger came to the village. He had come to told the young King that his mother was ill. The King had been meeting with several other Kings and Chiefs from neighboring villages and the ruling was that no one could ever disturb them. No reason! No one! The Shaman and two sentinels sat outside the hut to ward off any intruders or to handle any unwanted advances. When the messenger told of the condition of the young King’s mother, the Shaman immediately sent for the young Queen’s waiting woman to go and tell the young Queen that she must travel to see about the young King’s mother. He sent along with the waiting woman a small pouch of herbs, roots and instructions on how to use it’s content. The young King would be notified when he came out of the meeting; that is if they had not come back first. Some of the King’s meetings lasted weeks and one had lasted two months. Many of the Chiefs, in the meeting, were head over the other lands that the Old King had left to his son. This included the land where is mother reigned. When his father died, his mother automatically ruled with a Court that included a Chief to handle the affairs. Everything and everybody, there, was under the Queen but subject to the Chief. All matters were first discussed in the meetings even though problems were anticipated, strategies planned and resolutions expected so that in the meetings there was no second guessing the final decision (s). The Chief would know what needed to be said and done as if the Queen was there or telepathically working with the Chief which often surprised the young King in the meetings. She was as important as when the Old King was a live and must be attended to as such.

The messenger prepared himself for the journey back to his village while Queen Nazanya and the Princess, Zinyata, also made ready. Warriors would accompany them as far as the village, but would return immediately. No waiting women or servants were to accompany them since the Queen’s court would have prepared for the arriving party.

Drums had been sounded and some gathers awaited Queen Nazanya and the Princess’s arrival while others greeted them just outside the village. As they approached Zinyata’s grandmother’s hit, the smell from the blossoms that were tossed in their path welcomed them inside. The Queen was stirring around, slowly but gaily, uplifted by the mire presents of her quest. Their embraces were formal, yet, warm since the royal court must be restrained in all forms of demeanor at all times. Any show of emotion was frowned upon and seen as a show of commonality or weakness regardless to any joyous or sad circumstances.

A meal of fresh melons and figs and plantains laces with honey and nuts was served, first, with cool water to drink. They ate fufu and beans with dried meat and fish served on a bed of herbs and greens grown in a plot behind the huts. As they relaxed from the splendid eats to talk of family and old times, Zinyata heard the sound of children playing outside near the hut. She peered out to see a group of young girls rollicking and giggling as busy villagers went about their daily routines. She reached for a small bundle that was wrapped in a brightly colored piece of Kinta cloth and headed outdoors toward the girls.

My mother and I are visiting my grandmother Queen Victaza. I have brought some sweet cane as a gift for you, Zinyata said majestically.

One maiden abruptly darted forward to receive the gift when she was halted by one of the other maidens. I’m Cozaya, she said proudly, then pointing to each of the other maidens. This is Myzonya and this is Newmozah."

Oh, what pretty names. My name is Zinyata and it means ‘daughter born in the Spring whose father is above many heads. What does your names mean?

Sharply, Cozaya answers, My name means daughter whose father rides horses through the mud.

Sternly, Myzonya replies, My name means daughter of the friend whose father rides horses through the mud.

Spiritedly, Newmozah, the maiden who tried to accept the sweet cane answered, and my name means daughter whose father makes soap! Welcome to our village!

Cozaya hunched Newmozah sharply in the side and Newmozah shyly stepped back. How long you gon’ta be here?

Zinyata answered, Until your Queen, my Grandmother, is well. Can you teach me some of your games? I can teach you some of mine.

Harshly, Cozaya yelled. No! We don’t want to play with those who don’t really live here. You’re not one of us! Go away!

Just then from the bushes, giggling could be heard. It was the young warriors. Pebbles were being thrown at Zinyata’s feet. This was a custom of young warriors who were interested in a particular maiden. This made matters worse for Zinyata.

Shoo, shoo, yelled the girls at the surprised Zinyata and not at the young warriors.

Zinyata began to cry. I just wanted to be friends. I didn’t ask the boys to throw the pebbles at me. {Unfortunately, Zinyata had not yet completed her lessons in all of the regal etiquette before she met these girls.}

Get away! Shoo! We don’t want you here! The girls began to push and stomp at Zinyata trying to run her off.

Disheartened, Zinyata ran to her grandmother’s hut and peered out of the window, tearfully, the rest of the day. For the next few days, Zinyata tried to be cordial to the young maidens after the Morning Prayer Circle disband but they would shoo her off or snub her even when no young warriors seemed near by.

This particular morning, Zinyata was so distraught that she ran undirectioned into the thicket off from the village. Realizing that she had become lost, she stumbled upon a group of rocks, sat down and tears began to flow uncontrollably. The more she cried, the more her tears would fill the shallow enclosure of rocks. First a puddle, they a pool till it became a pond of fresh sparkling water. The salt from her tears turned into beautifully colored shells that lined the bottom and sides of the pond. Seeing how much she had cried and what had happened to her tears, to her further amazement, the more she cried her tears trickle into droplets that turned into little fishes, now, instead of shells.

The little fishes swam and frolicked all around the pond. Some were pink and some were blue. Some were so closely colored to the aqua of the water that their eyes seemed to dance throughout the tranquil liquid. As Zinyata’s cries calmed into a whimper, from one side of the pond came a faint whisper…sppppp, ssssppppp,sssssspppppp!

It was a little gold fish with flickers of the same colors on his body that each of the