laughed. “But I cannot have a guinea fowl for my child!” she exclaimed. “Everyone would laugh at me.”
The guinea fowl seemed rather taken aback by this reply, but he did not give up.
“Will you make me your child just at night?” he asked. “In the mornings I can leave your hut very early and nobody will know.”
Pitipiti thought about this. Certainly this would be possible: if the guinea fowl was out of the hut by the time the sun rose, then nobody need know that she had adopted it. And it would be good, she thought, to have a child, even if it was really a guinea fowl.
“Very well,” she said, after a few moments’ reflection. “You can be my child.”
The guinea fowl was delighted and that evening, shortly after the sun had gone down, he came to Pitipiti’s hut. She welcomed him and made him an evening meal, just as any mother would do with her child. They were both very happy.
Still the new wife laughed at Pitipiti. Sometimes she would pass by Pitipiti’s fields and jeer at her, asking her why she grew crops if she had no mouths to feed. Pitipiti ignored these jibes, but inside her every one of them was like a small sharp spear that cuts and cuts.
The guinea fowl heard these taunts from a tree in which he was sitting, and he cackled with rage. For the new wife, though, these sounds were just the sound of a bird in a tree.
“Mother,” the guinea fowl asked that night. “Why do you bear the insults of that other woman?”
Pitipiti could think of no reply to this. In truth there was little that she could do. If she tried to chase away the new wife, then her husband would be angry with her and might send her away altogether. There was nothing she could do.
The bird, however, thought differently. He was not going to have his mother insulted in this way and the following day he rose early and flew to the highest tree that overlooked the fields of the new wife. There, as the sun rose, he called out a guinea fowl song:
Come friends, there is grain to eat!
Come and eat all this woman’s grain!
It did not take long for the new wife to realize what was happening. Shouting with anger, she ran out into the fields and killed Pitipiti’s guinea fowl and his friends. Then she took them back to her hut, plucked out their feathers, and began to cook them.
Mzizi was called to the feast and together he and his new wife ate all the guinea fowl at one sitting. It was a tasty meal and they were both very pleased with themselves for having made such a good start to the day.
No sooner had they finished the last morsel than Mzizi and the new wife heard the sound of singing coming from their stomachs. It was the guinea fowls singing their guinea fowl songs. This, of course, frightened the couple and they immediately seized long knives and stabbed at their stomachs to stop the noise. As the knives pierced their skins, bright blood flowed freely and they fell to the ground. As they fell, from out of the wounds came the guinea fowl and his friends, cackling with joy at their freedom. Soon they were back in the field, eating the last of the grain that was left.
Pitipiti was pleased that she no longer had to suffer the taunts of the new wife. She now owned her husband’s cattle and because of this there were many men waiting to marry her. All of them, of course, were happy at the thought that they might marry a wife who had such a clever and unusual child.
A girl who only had one brother liked the place where she and her parents lived. There was a river nearby, where she could draw water, and the family’s cattle enjoyed the sweet grass which grew by the riverside. The huts were shaded from the hot sun by the broad leaves of the trees, and at night there was a soft breeze from the hills, which kept them cool. Passers-by, who called in to drink water from the family’s calabashes, would say how much they envied that quiet place, and how their own places were so much drier and dustier.
Then a terrible thing happened, which spoiled the happiness of the family. The girl had gone to fetch water from the river and was walking back to her hut with a large calabash on her head. Suddenly she began to feel that she was being followed. At first she did nothing, but then, when the feeling became quite strong, she turned round and looked behind her. There was nothing to be seen, although the tall grass moved and there was a faint sound, rather like that which a creature makes when it scurries through a bush.
The girl continued on her way. After she had taken a few more steps she again heard a noise. This time she swung round more sharply, dropping the calabash to the ground. There was a man behind her, crouching down, half in the grass, half out of it.
The girl was frightened by the sight of the man, but she tried not to show her fear. He smiled at her, and rose to his feet.
“You must not be afraid of me,” he said. “I am just walking in the grass.”
The girl could not understand why a man should wish to walk in the grass, but she did not say anything. The man came up to her and reached out to touch her.
“You are a nice, fat girl,” he said.
The girl was now very nervous and moved away from the man’s touch.
“My father’s place is just there,” she said. “I can see the smoke from his fire.”
The man looked in the direction of the huts.
“If that is so,” he said, “I can walk with you to your father’s place, where I can eat some food.”
The
