Fairy tales for young and old ~ English version

Anansi's Apprentice

(Storytober - Day 14 - Folklore)

 Once upon a time, in a village at the edge of the vast, enchanted forests of Africa, there lived a young girl named Sakinah. She was a curious child, clever and quick-witted, with a twinkle in her eyes that seemed to catch the moonlight itself. Her mother always said,

"Sakinah, you have a mind as sharp as a lion's claw, but that will bring you trouble if not guided well."

And so, when Anansi, the spider trickster god, came weaving his web down from the trees and offered to take Sakinah as his apprentice, her mother reluctantly agreed.

Anansi was known far and wide as the master of stories, the spinner of secrets, and the cunning god who had outwitted many. He was both feared and loved, for his tricks often taught lessons as much as they caused mischief. When he spoke, his voice had a sing-song lilt, and his eight slender legs moved as though dancing on air.

"Child," he said to Sakinah, "you shall learn to be clever, as I am clever, and perhaps one day, even outwit me."

Sakinah followed Anansi deep into the enchanted forest, where shadows flickered and strange eyes watched from the underbrush. Her first lesson began as they came upon a grove of trees, each hung with webs spun of silver thread. At the center of the grove lay a beast—an Eloko, a dwarf-like creature with a mouth so wide it could swallow a gazelle whole. It slumbered beneath the trees, snoring softly.

"Go and take the gourd from around its neck," Anansi whispered to Sakinah, "but do not wake it, for the Eloko is a hungry spirit, and it would devour even a clever child like you."

Sakinah approached with the light steps of a leopard, reaching out for the gourd that hung by a leather strap. But as she touched it, the Eloko's eyes snapped open, as green and cold as the depths of the forest.

"Who dares to steal from me?" it roared, its voice rumbling like thunder.

Sakinah's heart leapt in her chest, but she quickly thought of a plan.

"Oh mighty Eloko," she said, her voice steady, "I was not stealing, but polishing your gourd so that it might shine as brightly as your great spirit. See how it was covered in dust?"

The Eloko, though fierce, was not wise, and it squinted at the gourd as if noticing the dust for the first time.

"Very well," it grumbled, "polish it, but do not linger."

With swift hands, Sakinah rubbed the gourd with a nearby leaf and then danced back to Anansi's side, leaving the Eloko to doze off once more.

Anansi chuckled, a sound like the rustling of dry leaves. "You are quick of tongue, child. You have passed your first test."

Days passed, and Sakinah learned much from Anansi—how to read the hidden messages in the wind, how to spin stories that made the old forget their aches and the young sit still with wonder, and how to use her wits to trick those who would harm her. But her greatest challenge came when Anansi took her to the River of Whispers.

There, in the shallow waters, a pair of blue lions stood, their fur as deep and shimmering as the twilight sky. These were no ordinary lions; they were the Guardians of the River, known for their loyalty to the spirit world and their fiery tempers.

"Sakinah," Anansi said, "you must cross this river, but the lions will not let you pass without a riddle. Answer wrongly, and they shall not be merciful."

As Sakinah stepped toward the riverbank, the first lion, his mane glistening with droplets of water, spoke in a voice both deep and soft. "What is the thing that is always coming but never arrives?"

Sakinah frowned, thinking hard. She had heard of such riddles before, and just as the second lion opened his mouth to snarl in impatience, she answered, "Tomorrow. It is always coming, but when it arrives, it is today."

The lions, taken aback, nodded in agreement. But the second lion, not yet satisfied, gave another riddle: "What lives in the earth, feeds on the rain, and dies in the sun?"

This one troubled Sakinah, for she did not know the answer. Yet as she looked down at the riverbank, she saw a worm wriggling from the mud. She smiled, for the river had whispered its secret to her. "It is the earthworm," she replied. "It lives in the ground, feeds on the rain, and when the sun is too harsh, it perishes."

With that, the lions bowed and allowed Sakinah to cross. Anansi, watching from his web of shadows, nodded approvingly. "You are learning well, little one," he said.

But the final trial was yet to come, and it was one Anansi had not planned. One evening, as they rested beneath a baobab tree, the sky grew dark and a great storm gathered. From the clouds descended the Impundulu, the lightning bird. Its feathers shone like burning coals, and its eyes flashed with fury.

"Anansi!" the Impundulu cried. "You have tricked me too many times. Tonight, I shall have my vengeance, and the girl shall not escape, either."

The bird dove toward Sakinah, its talons stretched out like daggers. But before it could reach her, Sakinah shouted, "Impundulu, your feathers burn so brightly! Surely, you could light this entire forest with your brilliance. I have heard tales of your great power, but I wonder if they are true."

The Impundulu halted, intrigued by the child's words. "What do you mean, girl?" it demanded.

Sakinah continued, "Well, they say you are so bright that even the night flees from you. I would love to see such a thing—could you light this forest with just one flap of your wings?"

Pride swelled in the bird's fiery breast, and it flapped its wings mightily. Light burst from its feathers, illuminating the entire forest. But as it did, the storm around it grew fiercer, and a great wind rose up, catching the Impundulu off guard and blowing it away toward the mountains, where it disappeared in the darkened sky.

Anansi laughed heartily, clapping his many legs together. "You have done it, Sakinah. You have outwitted even the lightning bird! You are no longer just my apprentice—you are a true trickster in your own right."

Sakinah returned to her village, carrying with her not just the tricks and tales of Anansi, but the wisdom to use them well. And though she had learned to be as cunning as the spider god, she chose to use her gifts to help her people, weaving stories that brought joy and offering clever counsel to those in need.

As for Anansi, he continued to spin his webs and weave his tricks, proud to know that somewhere in the world, a clever child had become a master storyteller, just as he had once been. And whenever the wind rustled the leaves in the forest, it whispered the name "Sakinah," as if to remind all who listened of the girl who had outwitted even the trickster god himself.

And so the story goes, passed down from generation to generation, a tale of wit, wisdom, and the spirit of the clever child who became the apprentice of Anansi.