African Tales

The Clever Tortoise and the Boastful Hare In many African villages, stories are told under the moonlight, around a fire, or in the comfort of the homestead after a long day. These tales—often called folktales—are more than just entertainment; they carry wisdom, humor, and lessons that echo through generations. One of my favorites is the story of the clever tortoise and the boastful hare. The tale begins with Hare, as usual, bragging about his speed. He would boast to anyone who cared to listen—and even those who didn’t—that he was the fastest creature in the forest. “No one can outrun me,” he would say, twitching his nose and thumping his foot on the ground. The other animals grew tired of his arrogance, but none dared challenge him. None, except Tortoise. Now, Tortoise was known in the animal kingdom for being slow but wise. His shell carried not just his home, but also patience and cleverness. So, one day, after Hare had gone on and on about his unmatched speed, Torto...

The Tortoise Who Wanted It All: A West African Folktale of Greed and Wisdom The Tale Long ago, in a time when animals spoke and lived together, the birds of the sky decided to hold a great feast. They invited every creature, but the tortoise was not among the guests. Known for his cunning ways, he was often left out of such gatherings. But the tortoise, ever clever, persuaded the birds to lend him feathers so he could fly with them. Each bird plucked one feather and soon the tortoise had wings of many colors. Off he went, proud and disguised, soaring into the sky. When they reached the feast, the tortoise gave himself a new name: “All of You.” As the food was served, he announced that the feast was prepared for “All of You”—which, by his trick, meant himself. He ate greedily while the birds went hungry. Angered by his deception, the birds each took back their feathers, leaving the tortoise stranded. When he fell from the sky, he landed hard on stones, and his shell ...

The Weaver of the Red Moon Long ago, before rivers bore names and before paths had borders, there lived a woman who carried a loom upon her back. She was known only as Nyaru, the Weaver of the Red Moon . By day, she walked quietly, listening to the people. By night, when the moon ripened into its red fullness, she would set her loom in the village square. There, under the starlight, she wove. But she did not weave ordinary cloth. Her fingers danced, threading strands of fire and shadow, mixing colours no eye had yet imagined. Into each fabric she wove stories — the laughter of children, the songs of mothers, the courage of exiled lovers, the grief of the silenced. By morning, her loom bore cloth that seemed alive, glowing softly as though breathing with memory. The villagers believed her weavings held medicine . If you were burdened with sorrow, you wrapped yourself in her cloth and felt your spirit lift. If you feared the cruelty of chiefs, you tied her fabric around yo...