Ananse/Ijapa and Bald Heads-gctid28486

[Ɔbenfo Ọbádélé]

How Ananse Got a Bald Head (Akan)

 
They say that Kwaku Ananse, the spider, and his wife Aso were once living there. One day, they had gone and returned from the farm; soon after, a messenger came. Ananse asked him his business. He said, “the only news is that your mother-in-law laid down yesterday and has not risen up.” Ananse said, “Aso, this matter is your affair.” Aso placed her hands upon her head and wept, pue! pue! Ananse gave her permission (to go to the funeral). Next day, when things became visible, Ananse went and begged Ɔdwan, the Sheep, Ɔkra the Cat, Ɔkraman, the Dog, Akokɔ, the Fowl and Aberekyie, the Goat, saying, “...this is what I have seen, I beg you to accompany me to my mother-in-law’s funeral.” All these people agreed. Ananse (then) came to his house, and sewed a hat of leopard’s skin, and dyed his cloth a russet-brown color. When Thursday arrived, he went and called all the people whom he had begged (to accompany him), and they all set out. They took drums and guns and palm-wine. Ananse came to the outskirts of his mother-in-law’s village; the guns were firing pom! pom! They took the dance-party and went to sit down at the house where the wake was being held. He gave wine to the mourners. When he had finished, he went and presented his nsa contribution to the funeral expenses, six peredwan weight of gold dust, a velvet pillow, two cloths, a woolen blanket, cowrie shells (for use in the land of spirits), a sheep, and palm wine. That was the contribution Ananse made towards burying his mother-in-law. When evening fell cool, they came and raised the Ananse’s bottom with an asuanu and nsano’s weight of gold dust. Next day, when things became visible, every one again partook of food, and they came and told the Spider that he might eat. He replied, “I, Kwaku, my mother-in-law has died; I do not eat on the eighth day of a funeral ceremony. I shall not eat, but get something for my friends, with whom I came, to eat, and let them go.” So Aso went off to search for something to bring these men to eat. So they went off, and Ananse was left. There Ananse was, and now the fourth day came, and try as he could, he could bear it no longer. Now, in the house where he was staying, beans that they were boiling stood on the fire. Ananse looked all around to see if anyone was looking, then he took off his leopard-skin hat, picked out some beans and put them in it, and put it on again. Just then Aso came in. He said, “Aso, I have just remembered that at my father’s village, the hat shaking festive has come and is going on right now, so I am going off right away.” Aso said, “Oh, what is the reason you did not tell me all this before, moreover, since you came to this funeral celebration, you have not eaten at all; so I implore you to go tomorrow.” Ananse said, “You don’t know what has come, that’s why you talk as you do.” Aso went off to call the people that they might come and tell Ananse to delay his departure. The people came. No sooner did Ananse see them, than he caught hold of his hat (and began to sing):
 “Just now at my father’s village they are shaking hats.
 Saworowa.
 They are shaking hats.
 Saworowa,
 E, they are shaking hats, o, they are shaking hats.
 Saworowa.”
Now (all this was because) the beans were burning his head but good! Ananse said, “I’ll never agree (to stay), I must go!” Ananse set off down the path, and the people followed behind him. He said, “Turn back, because:
 Just now they are shaking hats..
 Saworowa,
 They are shaking hats.
 E, they are shaking hats, o, they are shaking hats
 Saworowa.”
By now these things (the beans) were burning him, so that he was made to know the real meaning of burning. Try as he would, he could no longer bear it. He threw away the hat and beans. Aso and the people hooted at him. Ananse leapt into the path, sora! (was the sound of the parting grass). He said, “Path, receive me, and one day when I come into my own, I’ll thank you (suitably).” The Path said, “I have heard.” The Path looked after him and gave him medicine. That is why you will see Ananse with a bald head kwati; it came about from the airs he gave himself at the funeral of his mother in law.
 This, my story, which I have related, if it be sweet, (or) if it be not sweet, some you may take as true, and the rest you may praise me (for telling of it). (Rattray, 118)
 

 The Reason Why Ìjàpá’s Head is Bald (Yoruba)

 
Once upon a time, Ìjàpá’s wife’s younger sister wanted to get married. The parents of this young man used the whole house to make beer, they used the whole street to make ọkà, they used all the frying pans to fry meat. They called landlords, they called visitors, they called townsfolk, the called those who just arrived, those with titles, those with honor and those with names in all towns to this wedding.
Ìjàpá helped his wife, standing for her like any good husband through all of the expenses that she shouldered. When there was just seven days to the wedding, Yánníbo (Ìjàpá’s wife) went to her family’s house to help her younger sister organize all the affairs of the wedding. Especially, the food preparations for the guests who would come to wish them well. Ìjàpá would go there here and there to make sure they were okay, but when the day of the wedding came, he went to the house of his in-laws to help them set things in order fittingly. They put out chairs, and set up a tent, they helped set up those who would drum. The women in the backyard cooked then took food off the fire continuously. Porridge, beans, fried bean fritters, fried meat, pounded yam, they made ọkà (yam flour dish), the cooked yam, they made ẹ̣̀kọ (corn dish), the made ẹ̀bà (cassava dish), they fried yam— they provided all sorts of foods that the mouth can eat.
 When Ìjàpá finished working, he washed up, and they gave him a room that was nearest to the house where they put all the food. They said he should rest there, that he should relax before the insomnia-bringing celebrations started that night.
As Ìjàpá entered the room, and flopped down on the bed, a deliciously pleasing smell came into the room and then into his nose. He loved it. Porridge was the food that he liked the most. This is what they were cooking on the fire, but they were just about to take it off. Ìjàpá used his whole heart to pray to Ọlọ́run that the woman who was cooking the porridge would quickly take it off the fire and put it into the room and then leave. See, they didn’t even have use a key to lock the door to the food-room as they were constantly putting food into it. As soon as that woman came out from that room, Ìjàpá thought within himself that he would just walk in, put some of the piping hot porridge into his cap and then put it onto his head. He was praying softly in his heart.
 In a little bit, the bride’s mother brought him food; a dish of greens that was filled to the brim with meat from the countryside. They also brought him pounded yam that was soft to the touch. Ìjàpá ate, he got full, but this didn’t satisfy him. Porridge that was red as fried plantain. That had red palm oil running all over it was all he craved, but shame wouldn’t let him ask.
 In a little bit, Ọlọ́run helped him do it. The porridge was set down. The woman who cooked it left the room and told the others in the backyard that she was going to go relieve herself. When Ìjàpá saw that she had finished leaving, he looked to his left, he looked to his right, and didn’t see anyone. He went to the back yard as saw that all the women there were doing important work that was keeping them busy. One was making a yam flour dish, one was pounding yam, one was cutting meat, and one was grinding pepper. Ìjàpá ran into the house, took off is hat, poured the piping hot porridge in, then put in back on his head.  
 The piping hot porridge starter to burn his head fò, fò! He ran to his in-laws’ side and said that he wanted to quickly go change clothes at home ‘cause he was still wearing his work clothes. His in-laws said it was compulsory that they accompany him part of the way. The heat of the porridge was burning Ìjàpá’s head. Tears formed in his eye pẹ̀rẹ̀pẹ̀rẹ̀ and snot gathered in his nose fòrò. His in-law asked him what was wrong with him. He said he had caught a little cold. That he wasn’t feeling good before and he just suffered and came anyway. A fever had taken hold of him and every night it would come like that.
 His in-law said a million farewells, saying he should seek care at home and that he should return afterwards. As Ìjàpá used secrecy to cover up his in-laws’ eyes, he grabbed hold of a sprint. He ran swiftly to the road home as the piping hot porridge was burning his head. Without delay he reached his house, he took off his cap. The porridge had his head looking busted up. His head had become peeled. All his hair had fallen out into the porridge. It wasn’t possible to eat the porridge any more because of all the hair in it as Ìjàpá’s head was peeled like a banana. After he looked after his sores for a while, they got better, but hair didn’t grow back there again. From that time Ìjàpá’s head has been bald, that it doesn’t grow hair any more.
 This story teaches us that greed isn’t good. What we are given, let that be what satisfies us. (Babalọlá 1982: 76)  (Self-translation)

Attached files  Oripipa.pdf (169.8 KB)