Keywords: The Famine – An Igbo Folktale Based in The Fablingverse About Tortoise, Dog, and a Long Famine Caused by the Sun and Moon, Nkita, Mbe, Mothers
Once upon a time in the animal kingdom, everything lived on Earth: the animals, the plants, The Waters, The Moon, The Sun and their children, The Stars. And The Sun and Moon, being the biggest beings on Earth, ruled over it.
The Sun and The Waters were best friends, and so The Sun often visited The Waters. But one day, The Waters began to wonder: Why is it only The Sun who gets to visit me and my family? Why can’t I visit him with my family?
The Waters wondered and wondered until, finally, he voiced his wonder to The Sun. The Sun felt bad for his friend and spoke to his wife, The Moon, asking if there was a way for The Waters to visit them in their compound.
The Moon looked around them and said, “Di m, my husband, you are right. It’s unfair that you always get to visit The Waters, and he never comes here.”
“So, can we accommodate him?” The Sun asked
“Yes,” The Moon replied. “Let me go and cook what our visitor and his family will eat.” And she hurried off.
Excited, The Sun ran to The Waters’ compound and invited him over. At first, The Waters was sceptical. He reminded The Sun about the size of his family and himself, but The Sun said, “You are not as big as I am. Come over.”
Now, you must know that The Sun and The Waters dwelt on opposite halves of the earth. Between them lay a rich land, blessed with just enough sunlight and just enough water. It was neither too hot nor too cold, and the animals who lived there thrived. Only when The Sun journeyed across to visit The Waters did the creatures grow restless, for then the fertile land baked beneath its stride and for a moment, there was farmine.
On the agreed day, The Waters came from its end of The Earth with its family. The Sun and The Moon waited at the gate to welcome them in. At first, there was no problem, but as The Waters poured in, it began filling The Sun’s Compound and pushing The Sun and The Moon upwards.
“Sun, my family is many,” The Waters called out, worried. “Are you sure we can keep coming?”
The Sun, interpreting Water’s worries as doubt of its capacity to host, urged on, “Keep coming, look, there is space.”
So The Waters called out to his family, “Keep coming, there is space!” And more water poured in.
Up, up up, went The Sun and The Moon.
The Waters asked again. “Look how high you’ve gone, should we keep coming?”
“Yes! Even the sky is ours!” The Sun shouted. “There is space!”
“Keep coming!” The Waters called, and more family members poured in until The Sun and The Moon and their children, The Stars had been pushed in the sky, and out of the earth.
During the visit there was much to eat, and a lot to drink, so much that in height of drunkenness, The Waters that tasted like nothing and The Waters that tasted like salt argued about which was more superior.
When the visit had come to an end, The Waters got ready to leave, but The Salty Waters chose to form their own compound, creating the oceans, The tasteless waters vowed to never mix with the salty waters and became the rivers, some waters visited their friends across the earth, some went underground, some under planes, Creating Pond, Canals, and other Rivers.
When The Waters had dispersed, The Sun and Moon looked down and saw that their compound had been dislodged by waters. With The Waters now scattered all over earth, The Sun could no longer visit his friend in one visit. The Moon also pointed out to The Sun that whenever she tried to return to the earth, she felt a foreboding that the earth would disappear, just like their compound. So, The Sun and his family agreed that from that day onwards, they would leave above The Earth.
And that is how The Sun and Moon came to live in the sky.
Oh, but the story doesn’t end here.
While The Sun and waters were playing friendship, we forgot about the animals living in the planes between their compounds, and the impact that this visit had on them.
As The Waters travelled to The Sun’s compound, they eroded the fertile land and submerged all the plants. The animals who had to make way for the body of water, returned to find their homes destroyed, their crops gone, and soon, a great famine spread across earth.
Nkịta, the Dog, was among the animals who had lost everything. His den was gone, his food swept away, and worst of all, his mother had been swallowed by The Waters.
“Mama o! Mama o!” Dog wailed as he ran through the flooded plains, sniffing the ground desperately. “Woof are you?” But no animal stopped to comfort him. Each creature was desperate in their own turmoil.
With no food left on earth, the larger animals turned on the smaller ones. The predators who once hunted antelope and hare only when their bellies rumbled now hunted every day, killing and hoarding what they could catch.
Watching the chaos, Mbe, the Tortoise trembled inside his shell, he feared that if the chaos continued, it would not be long before he was hunted. “These animals grow hungrier by the hour,” he muttered. “Today, they say my shell is too hard to crack. Tomorrow, they will convince themselves it can serve as the pot to cook me in.”
At first, the creatures tried to survive on scraps; wilted leaves, broken roots, dry bones, but soon even that was gone. Famine stalked them like a shadow, and in their fear, the smaller animals gathered to seek wisdom. They went first to Anansi the Spider, who perched in his web high above them.
“As you can see,” Anansi said smugly, stroking his thin legs, “I am not on the menu, nor are my wives and children. My people will never run out of insects to eat. Your famine is not my famine. Deal with it yourselves.”
The animals groaned, but they still had one wise animal to consult. They turned to Mbe the Tortoise.
Without hesitation, Tortoise cleared his throat and said, “The answer is simple. Each animal must sacrifice their mother.”
A gasp swept through the gathering. Sacrifice their mothers? The thought was unthinkable. But Tortoise pressed on.
“Listen well. Our mothers are old. They are no longer strong enough to farm, nor swift enough to hunt. Yet every mother here would gladly lay her neck on Lion’s plate if it meant her children would live. Is this not true?”
The mothers, weary-eyed but resolute, nodded their heads.
“You see?” Tortoise continued. “The old are old. Let them make one final contribution to our survival. Let them save us, their children, until this famine ends.”
At last, the animals agreed. The mothers gave their blessing, and to prove his sincerity, Tortoise offered his own mother first. She was slain, a portion of her flesh gifted to the predators, and the rest shared among the starving beasts.
After that, the animals drew up a list, each family taking a turn to sacrifice their mother. One after another, the older women went to their deaths. But when the time came for Nkịta, the Dog, to give up his mother, he refused.
“Look here, I cannot find my mother.” Dog said, baring his teeth. “I have also not partaken in your feasts, as I have only eaten our fesses the bones you cast away since the famine began. So, why should I sacrifice my mother if I find her?”
The animals jeered. “Greedy Nkịta! Selfish Nkịta!”
Tortoise narrowed his eyes. “If you will not share in our pain, then you will not share in our food.”
The council of beasts rumbled their approval, and from that day, Dog was cast out. Wherever the animals gathered to eat, they turned their backs on him. When meat was shared, none reached his paws. If bones were tossed aside, they were grounded and used to make a form of swallow like Eba and eaten, only their fesses were left to dog.
Nkịta swallowed his anger and walked away with his tail low. Yet in his heart, he whispered: Better to be hungry with hope that my mother is alive than full dread that her bones could be in my belly.
Nkịta, the Dog, never stopped searching for his mother. Day after day, he prowled the ruined land, sniffing through the mud and crying out, “Mama o! Mama o! Woof are you?”
One night, as he lifted his nose to the sky and howled, he heard a soft familiar voice drift down with the light.
“My child… Nkịta, my child.”
Dog’s ears perked. It was his mother! Her voice was coming from The Moon. When The Waters had carried everything away, she had been swept up, lulled to sleep, and when she woke, she found herself resting on the moon.
“Mama! Mama, come down,” Dog barked, joyful. But his mother peered at the distance between the moon and the earth and shook her head.
“My son, I want to be with you, but this distance is too far! Besides, the famine has turned the animals against their mothers. If I return, they will surely kill me.”
Dog’s tail drooped. “Then stay there, Mama. Stay safe. I would rather see you shining above me than watch you taken away.”
Still, his mother worried. “But what of you, my child? Will you not starve?”
Nkịta barked bravely, “Do not fear for me. I will endure.”
But his mother would not be comforted. She looked around at The Moon’s storehouses, filled with the food she had cooked and prepared when The Sun and Waters had feasted. “There is more than enough here,” she said softly. “You will not go hungry.”
So, with the moon’s light she wove a thin ladder of and lowered it down to the earth.
Each night, when the others wept with empty bellies, Dog climbed the ladder and joined his mother on The Moon. There he ate his fill of yam and cocoyam, melon soup and palm wine, food that never seemed to run out. Then, his stomach full, he would climb back down and return to the earth, wailing with the rest of the animals as if he too were starving.
But as the famine dragged on, the animals began to notice something strange. While they grew thinner and weaker with each passing day, Nkịta the Dog grew rounder, his fur shining, his belly full.
One day, Mbe the Tortoise called him before the gathering of small animals. “Nkịta,” he said sternly, “we have all been managing and starving, yet you are growing fat. Tell us, where are you finding food?”
Dog raised his head and barked in reply. “And what food have you ever given me? Did I not say I had no mother to sacrifice? Did I not remind you that I have only lived on your fesses?.”
The animals grumbled, unsatisfied with his answer, and pressed him harder. Dog’s lips curled, his teeth gleaming. “Besides,” he growled, “I am not truly one of the smaller animals. If you push me, I could as well make a meal of you.”
At that, fear fell upon the gathering, and they let him go.
But from that day, Dog became more cautious. Before he placed a paw on the shining ladder that led to his mother, he looked left and right, sniffing the air to make sure no one was watching. Yet Mbe the Tortoise, sly and patient, kept an eye on him, his sharp mind turning.
Later, when Dog climbed to The Moon and sat with his mother, he told her of Tortoise’s suspicion. His mother frowned, then spoke gently.
“My son, gather the fesses of the animals, all of it, make sure they see you, then when you return to your earth home, plant these seeds in the ground, and cover the seeds with the fesses.” She handed him a bag of seeds. “When they see you gathering fesses, they will believe you are merely gathering your food.”
Dog obeyed. The very next day, the animals saw him dragging and packing heaps of their dung. They watched him bury it into the soil, as if it were precious treasure. “Perhaps our fesses is more nourishing than we thought,” they whispered to one another.
Having reduced the animal’s suspicion, and knowing that he had covered the seeds his mother game him in fesses, Nkịta smiled. And returned to his Earth home to feast on the meals his mother had prepared for him ahead of time.
One day, Nkịta began to miss his mother’s voice and warmth. His belly was full, but his heart ached. So, under the cover of night, he crept to the clearing and called softly, “Mama, let down the ladder, let me see you.”
But Mbe the Tortoise had been stalking him, waiting for this very moment. As soon as the sooner had the shining ladder stretched from the sky than Tortoise cried out, “Come quickly, all of you! Come and see what Dog has been hiding!”
The animals came rushing, and there stood Nkịta, caught red-handed with the ladder of moonlight at his paws.
Fury swept through the gathering. “So, it is true!” they roared. “While our mothers died to feed us, Dog feasted in secret with his own! Bring her down, Nkịta! Bring your mother down to be sacrificed like the others!”
But Dog stood firm, teeth bared, eyes blazing. “I will not! My mother is alive, and I have not eaten any of yours. You chose to kill your mothers, I did not. Is it a crime to keep mine safe?”
The animals growled, but Dog’s words struck them with doubt. For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air.
Then Tortoise, relentless, raised his voice above the crowd. “Nkịta hides food while the rest of us starve! Worse than refusing to sacrifice his mother, he kept food to himself. Had he shared it, perhaps some of our mothers would yet live!”
Murmurs of anger grew. The animals lunged for the ladder, scrambling to climb up and seize Dog’s mother. Nkịta fought them back, snapping and clawing, his rage echoing through barred teeth. But in the struggle, Tortoise slipped past and clambered onto the glowing rungs.
Seeing he was losing, Dog howled up to the sky. “Mama! Mama, push the ladder away!”
His mother hesitated, her heart breaking, because she knew what this meant. She knew that she would never again touch her son again. But love demanded sacrifice. With a cry, she shoved the ladder from The Moon’s edge.
It fell, crashing to the earth, them tumbling and falling out of the earth. Tortoise, clinging desperately, tumbled with it. He landed hard upon his back, and in that fall, his smooth shell cracked for the first time.
When the animals saw that they could not seize Dog’s mother through the ladder, they turned their anger upon Nkịta himself. They bound him and growled, “If your mother will not come down, then we will eat you instead!”
Too far above to help, Dog’s mother watched in terror. “If I leap down from this height, I will die, and it’s me they want to kill, will they not kill my son after they kill me?” she cried.
“No, Mama!” Dog barked up to her. “Do not jump!”
Desperate, his mother raised her voice so that all might hear. “My people! What will you do when you run out of mothers to kill? Am I not the last mother left? After me, will you turn to fathers?”
At this, the fathers stiffened. “Never! We are the ones who protect the children and provide the liquid that births them. Without us, there will be no new life. Let the children die for us instead!”
But the youths cried out in protest. “We are the future mothers and fathers! If you kill us, who will remain to carry on?”
A quarrel broke out, and after much shouting, they agreed: first the weak must be sacrificed, then the oldest among them.
Still Dog’s mother shook her head. “Why must there always be sacrifice? And tell me, why have the great beasts, the lions and leopards, offered nothing? Why do the small ones pay the price while the strong feast?”
Just then, Tortoise, still limping from his fall, waddled forward and shouted, “No! The famine will not last forever. Let us sacrifice two at a time! One for the great beasts, and one to the earth, that the famine may end.”
The animals began to agree with tortoise.
But Dog’s mother went on. “And what will happen when you run out of sacrifices? Mbe, will you become the last meal standing, will you not be ripped limb from limb and your shell used as a stool for the beast to play with as they contemplate turning on themselves?”
The animals lowered their heads unsure of how to respond; they felt guilt and fear at the same time.
Then Dog’s mother pointed down at the field where Nkịta had planted seeds with the fesses of every creature. The animals looked, and to their astonishment, shoots of green had begun to sprout from the soil. Food was returning to the earth.
In awe, they released Dog. “How did you know to do this?” they asked.
“It was my mother’s wisdom,” Nkịta replied proudly. “She taught me.”
The animals bowed their heads, realizing at last how precious a mother’s guidance truly was. But Mbe the Tortoise was not done. “Wait!” he snapped. “Dog has cheated us long enough. He must not go free!”
Fed up with Mbe, Nkita’s mother sighed. “I see all from here. Mbe has lied to all of you! He did not sacrifice his mother, he gave up his grandmother. He hid his mother beneath the earth, and all this while, Tortoise has been stealing triple portions of food for himself.”
The animals gasped in outrage. Tortoise stumbled backward, stammering denials, but at that very moment The Waters stirred and pushed Mbe’s mother out of the ground.
Fury erupted. The animals pounced upon Tortoise and beat him senseless.
From then on, they turned away from sacrifice and began to farm with manure, growing food for themselves. The great beasts, as was their nature, continued to hunt, but now the smaller creatures had strength in their bellies to run, to hide, and to live.
So, peace returned, and the famine faded into memory.
All were happy, except for Nkịta, the Dog. For the ladder of moonlight was gone, and though his mother still lived above, he could never climb to her again.
And that is why, even till today, when night falls and The Moon rises, you will hear Dog lifting his muzzle to the sky, howling, “Mama! Mama! Mama! Can you hear me?”