Growing up in the West, I was raised on countless stories about Anansi, the legendary trickster spider of Akan folklore. His reputation as a trickster was earned tale by tale where he outwitted the strong, the powerful, and the wealthy with nothing but, clever schemes, greed, and quick thinking. As these stories travelled across generations and cultures, Anansi became one of Africa’s most recognizable trickster figures, each retelling revealing yet another side of his cunning. But to this day, one of the spider’s tales still strikes me as unique. Perhaps it was because it introduced a new feature of Anansi, one you never really encounter in his tales. Or perhaps, because it was narrated by my late grandmother, who began this one with the usual slow clearing of throat, and then leaning forward, said: Nke a puru iche.” In English, “This one is different.”
Once, in an ancient village, there lived Anansi the spider. He was the smallest of them all, yet he feared no one, not the mightiest animals, not even the humans who towered above him. The villagers believed that crossing paths with the famous trickster ended only one way: in the loss of one’s possession. A farmer had once lost half his entire harvest to one of Anansi’s schemes. A wealthy merchant was tricked into giving away his most prized treasure. And those who thought they had finally understood his tricks, who thought they had seen through him and returned wiser, eventually discovered there was always another. He was said never to use the same trick twice. So, Anansi walked among them like a man with nothing to lose.
Then came a famine.
The famine came to Anansi’s village harshly, and in no time, Anansi and his family had nothing to eat. Each day he and his son would search and search, wandering farther and farther from home, only to return with a few crumbs between them. Before long, the famine had begun to feed on their flesh, and Anansi decided to stretch his search for food into a nearby village.
As Anansi wandered its path, he stumbled upon what looked like an abandoned hut. For hesitation was never one of Anansi’s troubles, he strode inside immediately. What he found inside made his eyes go wide. There were kegs of oil, bags of kola nuts, dried food, beads, gold ornaments, and fat yams piled high. Anansi seeing that there was no one around, began to grab food in handfuls and emptied them into his sack. In no time, his sack was full with different kinds of food. The spider turned to leave, when an old, blind woman walked in carrying a heavy weight of yams on her head.
“Who are you, and why did you steal from me?” the old woman asked Anansi, dropping the weight.
Anansi, who always had a tongue ready before his mind had finished thinking, bowed low and offered his most sorrowful face. He spoke of the famine, of his hungry children, of a father’s desperation. And as he spoke, the old woman’s face softened.
“I have heard you, my son.” She said. I will let you go today. But next time, don’t steal from me.”
Anansi thanked her. But before he turned to leave, his eyes came upon an old drum, sitting in the corner. He was curious, and so he asked.
The old woman was honest with the spider. She went ahead to tell him how the drum, when beaten, could produce any food you desired. Any food at all.
On hearing this, Anansi eyes widened. For a drum that could produce food was not the kind of treasure you stumble upon on an ordinary day. Anansi’s mind was moving fast, but he thanked her and left peacefully.
Before he left, the old woman called after him.
“Please return tomorrow and help me with lunch,” she said. “In return, you may take whatever food you wish from mh store.” She pleaded.
Anansi agreed, and left.
Anansi had gotten home, but his mind was not at ease. He thought. “If I had a drum like that, I would never worry about hunger again. And if I can feed the entire village, perhaps they become indebted to me.” He decided he must own the drum.
The next day, before noon, Anansi was back at the old woman’s hut. Little did the spider know, that this is the day he meet his match.
The old woman sent him to her yam patch behind the hut. She instructed Anansi to look carefully at the yam he plucks. “Look carefully before you pluck. Do not take the yams that look fresh and healthy. Take only the yams that appear old and wrinkled.”
What kind of person, he wondered, would choose a shriveled yam over one fresh from the earth? He felt the old woman was either testing him or making a fool of him, and Anansi did not like being either tested or fooled.
When Anansi entered the yam patch, he found several plump, fresh, and healthy-looking yams. His greed overtook him, and, completely ignoring the wrinkled-looking ones, he plucked the freshest ones. He brought them back to the old lady who then instructed him to prepare the yam. But again, she gave another instruction.
“Boil the skin of the yam, and throw away the centre.” She said.
Anansi had grown impatient with the old woman’s riddles and decided that she was only trying to make a fool of him. That, Anansi did not like. What kind of a person, he wondered, boils the back of a yam and throws away the centre.
Again, he went ahead to do the opposite. He boiled the soft centre and threw away the skin. Before his very eyes, as the soft centre boils, it hardened, darkened, and turned into nothing other than a lump of clay.
Anansi sighed in disbelief. But in the lack of options, he placed the clay in a bowl and brought it to the old woman. The old woman picked up the lump of clay, and without complaining, placed it in her mouth, and ate all of it.
“Poor blind woman.” Anansi laughed as she ate the last clay.
The old woman thanked Anansi, and it was time for her to fulfill her promise. She told the spider to choose whatever food that catches his eye, and take home to his family. Anansi looked around the hut, at the dried food, the yams, the cowries, the kegs of oil, and only wanted the drum.
The old woman was not very happy. But she had given Anansi her word. She let Anansi have the drum. But again, an instruction followed.
You can only beat the drum once in a moon’s passing,” she said.
At once, Anansi ran home, the drum under his arm, his heart already celebrating. As soon as he arrived, he gathered his family. He told his wife to bring out the largest pots in the house, every plate, every bowl, that this was the day they would feast. And in excitement, his wife did as she was told.
Anansi struck the drum once.
Immediately, the empty pots were filled with every kind of food. Rice spilled into one, steaming soup into another, roasted meat into a third.
For the first time in many days, there was enough food to satisfy everyone. His wife an children ate until their stomachs were full.
But Anansi wasn’t known for satisfaction, and so he wanted more. If a single strike had done all of this. What, he wondered, would more strikes do? without giving any further thought, he struck the drum again. This time, there was no food. Not even in crumbs. Instead, reptiles of different types and sizes crawled out of the drum, the likes of which he had never seen before. Creeping out, were all sizes and colors of snakes, scorpions, and scary dangerous fierce looking reptiles.
At once, Anansi and his family took to their heels as fast as their legs could carry them. They ran far down the village path, while the terrible creatures poured from the drum behind them.
For the first time in the spider’s existence, he did not stop to think of a clever escape. Anansi simply ran.
“Anansi had just one duty, and he failed woefully.” My grandmother stated shaking her head. “Obedience, it turned out, would have cost him nothing. “But disobedience?”
“Ah.”
“Disobedience made him pay for what he had already been given.”
This is the reason Anansi has never again been quite himself around old women. He may still trick the strong. He may still outwit the proud. He may still weave his schemes beneath the moonlight.
But whenever he sees a grandmother, he quickly takes another path.
Some say it’s shame.
Others say it’s fear.
