Echaria's Misfortune
This story took place in one of the lush tropical areas of Africa, where slow-moving elephants lumbered their way around the dusty plains looking for a water hole and the fiercely handsome hippos stalked their prey and protected their young.
Patiently pacing in his harem, the lion waited for the return of the lioness, victorious with the catch of the day. Here, too, the zebras pranced about, unsuspecting prey to the predators—all participants in the food chain, nature’s way of control.
While the hawks, eagles, and vultures soared above, waiting to seize their meal, the birds chirped so loudly, it seemed as if they were competing with each other to see which one was the loudest.
The coolness of the night made one forget the sweltering heat of the sun that beat down mercilessly during the day.
The villages were not very far away, and the rhythm of activity was seldom interrupted.
The laughter, sadness, anger, and pain were ongoing, and every- one took it in stride.
The villagers’ daily lifestyle was relatively calm, simple, and peaceful, without any significant interruption. The women took care of the children and the home and worked on the farms, while the men hunted and did their part of the farming.
At night, before bedtime, the family gathered around the fire, and the older women told them stories. These stories were handed down through the ages—stories that made you laugh, stories that made you fear the dark, stories that taught you about the good and evil forces existing and influencing everyday lives.
This is one such story that was passed down through the ages to children while they sat around the fireplace, after eating their fill of gari and egusi soup, a rich, mouthwatering stew made from the grounded egusi seed.
This story was retold by grandparents and great-grandparents, until it was told to me while living in the Caribbean islands, as I lay snug in my blanket that I shared with my seven cousins.
I recall the storyteller vaguely. It was so long ago, but the story stayed with me for seven decades, and so I must pass it along to you.
