The Singing Bird and the Dancing Farmer

Not so very long ago there lived a farmer whose name was Simon. He was a sensible, hard-working man. Every year at planting-time he cleared his land. He planted yams, maize and cassava, but mainly yams. Thus Simon would see that his family did not go hungry; he and his wife and his many children would always have enough to eat.

Now it was time for preparing the farm again.

“I shall go to the farm today,” he told his wife, “and take a cutlass to start clearing the land.”

Simon left the village and went along a narrow path to the place where he would make his farm.

“Good,” he said to himself. “Here is suitable family land. Here I will grow our next year’s food supply, but before planting I must clear away the underbrush and bushes.”

Simon picked up his cutlass, but he had hardly set to work when he heard the loud, shrill sound of a bird singing. The song was very beautiful, and Simon could not resist the rhythm; flinging down his cutlass he began to dance. At last, when he was quite exhausted, the bird stopped singing. But as soon as Simon picked up his cutlass the song began again and Simon found himself compelled to drop the cutlass and dance. Each time he tried to work the bird started singing and Simon was compelled to dance again and again.

After seven attempts to work Simon became desperate.

“This wicked bird,” he cried. “How can I clear the farm and do my planting?”

Simon ran back to the village. He went to his elderly uncle, a much respected man, and told him the story.

“You are talking nonsense,” said the uncle. But Simon repeated so earnestly how the singing bird was interfering with his work that the uncle suspected there might be some truth in his story.

“Very well,” he said to his nephew, Simon. “We shall go back to the farm and I shall see if what you say is true.”

Simon and his uncle returned to the farm. Simon picked up his cutlass and started clearing. Immediately the bird began to sing high up in a mahogany tree. Once again Simon had to abandon his work and dance.

“Stop, stop,” cried the uncle. “Give me your cutlass.”

He gave his uncle the cutlass. The uncle began clearing the bushes and the underbrush. At once, the bird began to sing again. The uncle found himself caught by the song. Throwing down the cutlass he started to dance and could only rest when the singing stopped.

“This is very serious,” said the uncle. “We must go back to the village and inform the Chief.”

They hurried back along the path, past other farms already cleared and planted. When they reached the village they went to the Chief’s big house. They were taken to the veranda where he was sitting on a carved and decorated wooden chair.

“Oh, Chief,” said Simon, bowing politely, “I have a terrible thing to report.”

“What terrible thing?” asked the chief.

“My family and I,” replied Simon, “will soon starve to death. A singing bird is preventing me from preparing my farm.”

“What foolish talk is this?” the Chief exclaimed in an angry voice. But after Simon had told his story the Chief was angrier than ever. “You are bothering me with something I cannot believe.”

Then Simon’s uncle, who was much respected for his age and wisdom, asked permission to speak.

“What Simon says is true,” he said, and explained how he himself had tried to work and how the singing bird had made him dance instead. “If you go to that farm,” the uncle concluded, “you too will dance.”

For several minutes the Chief sat silently but in deep thought. Suddenly he stood up.

“There is a mystery here,” he said. “We will go to that farm.”

So the Chief, the Chief’s chair carrier carrying the carved and decorated chair, Simon’s uncle and Simon himself all went out of the village and along the path to Simon’s farm. The bird was still sitting high up in the mahogany tree.

The Chief sat down on his chair. “Start working,” he ordered Simon. Simon took up his cutlass and had hardly set to work when the bird began to sing. Throwing down the cutlass Simon began to dance and dance until he was exhausted.

Next the Chief ordered Simon’s uncle to start work. The uncle took up his cutlass and had hardly set to work before the bird began to sing. Throwing down the cutlass the uncle began to dance.

“I am a Chief,” the Chief cried. “Birds cannot rule me.” Jumping up from his chair he seized the cutlass and began clearing the bushes. Immediately the bird began to sing. For several seconds the Chief resisted and then he threw down the cutlass and danced until the bird stopped singing.

“We must return to the village at once,” ordered the Chief. Then he, his carrier with the chair, Simon’s uncle and Simon quickly returned to the village and to the Chief’s house.

“Call together all the people of the village,” he ordered. When they were assembled he told every man to fetch his cutlass, then to follow him back to Simon’s farm. The men of the village did so, and when they arrived the Chief told them to start clearing. As soon as they picked up their cutlasses and began to work, the bird started to sing. Throwing down his cutlass every one of them danced.

In the village that night the Chief and his people discussed the problem. There was no other land for Simon and if he and his family were to have food they would have to start planting without further delay.

“Call all hunters,” the Chief cried. When they came he spoke very seriously to them. “Hunting is your job. We shall see how well you hunt.”

The hunters were instructed to go to Simon’s farm and to catch the singing bird. On arrival at the farm they aimed their guns and fired at the bird; the bird flew rapidly from tree to tree and escaped the bullets. They shot their arrows and threw their spears at the bird. Again the bird flew rapidly from tree to tree and escaped harm.

“Shall we, our whole village, never conquer this singing bird?” cried Simon, for he had accompanied the hunters.

Then one young hunter noticed that the bird was perched on a low bough of the tree. Some boys from the village began to throw stones. The bird started to fly to a higher bough but the young hunter, who had crept very close, jumped up and caught the bird by the feet.

“I’ve caught it, I’ve caught it,” announced the young hunter.

“I’m singing, I’m singing,” the bird replied, fluttering its wings. But the magic had left the bird’s voice. It was taken to the Chief’s house.

“We will keep it in a cage,” declared the Chief.

From then on the bird could sing every day, and the people would dance, but only when they pleased. No one was prevented from doing his work, and Simon returned to his farm.

He cleared it, planted his yams, his maize and his cassava, and food for his family was assured for the coming year.