Sankofa folktale contest: The Power of our words.(A Tanzanian folklore)

Bali and Duni are brothers aged 10 and 8 respectfully but they are always at loggerhead, they keep quarreling and shouting and since there is a strict NO FIGHTING rule in the house, they resorted to calling each other hurtful names.

On one occasion, Duni who is the youngest called Bali a dull scarecrow and Bali retorted by saying Duni was a valueless sparrow and they nearly resorted to fighting but their Dad walked in, sat them down and told them that they should be careful of what they say or call themselves because it may just materialize.

He then told them a story to buttress his point.

Once upon a time, there was a woman named Elama, who lived in a village at the foot of a mountain. She was always sad and stressed out because Her husband died some few months back, worse of all, she had no children, so she was very lonely and does her chores alone.

All on her own, she cleaned the hut and yard, tended after and fed the chickens, washed her clothes in the river, carried water, cut firewood, and cooked her meals.

At the end of each day, Elama gazed up at the snowy peak of the mountain

“Great Mountain Spirit!” she would pray. “My work is too hard. Send me help!”

One day, Elama was weeding her small field by the river, where she grew vegetables and bananas and gourds. Suddenly, an old woman appeared beside her.

“I am a messenger from the Great Mountain Spirit,” she told the astonished woman, and she handed her some gourd seeds. “Plant these carefully. They are the answer to your prayers.”

Then the woman vanished.
Elama wondered, “What help could I get from a handful of seeds?” Still, she planted and tended them as carefully as she could.
She was amazed at how quickly they grew. In just a week, long vines trailed over the ground, and ripe gourds hung from them.
Elama brought the gourds home, sliced off the tops, and scooped out the pulp. Then she laid the gourds on the rafters of her hut to dry. When they hardened, she could sell them at the market as calabashes, to be made into bowls and jugs.
One fine gourd Elama set by the cook fire. This one she wanted to use herself, and she hoped it would dry faster.
The next morning, Elama went off again to tend her field. But meanwhile, back in the hut, the gourds began to change. They sprouted heads, then arms, then legs.
Soon, they were not gourds at all. They were children!
One boy lay by the fire, where Elama had put the fine gourd. The other children called to him from the rafter

“Ba-ra-ka, come help us!
We’ll work for our mother.
Come help us, Ba-ra-ka,
Our favorite brother!”
Baraka helped his brothers and sisters down from the rafters. Then the children ran through the hut and yard, singing and playing.
All joined in but Baraka. Drying by the fire had made the boy slow-witted. So he just sat there, smiling widely.
After a while, the other children started on the chores. They quickly cleaned the hut and yard, fed the chickens, washed the clothes, carried water, cut firewood, and cooked a meal for Elama to eat when she returned.
When the work was done, Baraka helped the others climb back on the rafters. Then they all turned again into gourds.
That afternoon, as Elama returned home, the other women of the village called to her.
“Who were those children in your yard today?” they asked. “Where did they come from? Why were they doing your chores?”
“What children? Are you all making fun of me?” said Elama, angrily.
But when she reached her hut, she was astounded. The work was done, and even her meal was ready! She could not imagine who had helped her.
The same thing happened the next day. As soon as Elama had gone off, the gourds turned into children, and the ones on the rafters called out,
“Ba-ra-ka, come help us!
We’ll work for our mother.
Come help us, Ba-ra-ka,
Our favorite brother!”
Then they played for a while, did all the chores, climbed back to the rafters, and turned again into gourds.
Once more, Elama was amazed to see the work all done. But this time, she decided to find out who were her helpers.
The next morning, Elama pretended to leave, but she hid beside the door of the hut and peeked in. And so she saw the gourds turn into children, and heard the ones on the rafters call out,
“Ba-ra-ka, come help us!
We’ll work for our mother.
Come help us, Ba-ra-ka,
Our favorite brother!”
As the children rushed out the door, they nearly ran into Elama. She was too astonished to speak, and so were the children. But after a moment, they went on with their playing, and then with their chores.
When they were done, they started to climb back to the rafters.
“No, no!” cried Elama. “You must not change back into gourds! You will be the children I never had, and I will love you and care for you.”
So Elama kept the children as her own. She was no longer lonely. And the children were so helpful, she soon became rich, with many fields of vegetables and bananas, and flocks of sheep and goats.
That is, all were helpful but Baraka, who stayed by the fire with his simple-minded smile.
Most of the time, Elama didn’t mind. In fact, Baraka was really her favorite, because he was like a sweet baby. But sometimes, when she was tired or unhappy about something else, she would get annoyed at him.
“You useless child!” she would say. “Why can’t you be smart like your brothers and sisters, and work as hard as they do?”
Baraka would only grin back at her.
One day, Elama was out in the yard, cutting vegetables for a stew. As she carried the pot from the bright sunlight into the hut, she tripped over Baraka. She fell, and the clay pot shattered. Vegetables and water streamed everywhere.
“Stupid boy!” yelled Elama. “Haven’t I told you to stay out of my way? But what can I expect? You’re not a real child at all. You’re nothing but a calabash!”
The very next moment, she gave a scream. Baraka was no longer there, and in his place was a gourd.
“What have I done?” cried Elama, as the children crowded into the hut. “I didn’t mean what I said! You’re not a calabash, you’re my own darling son. Oh, children, please do something!”
The children looked at each other. Then over each other they climbed, scampering up to the rafters. When the last child had been helped up by Elama, they called out one last time,
“Ba-ra-ka, come help us!
We’ll work for our mother.
Come help us, Ba-ra-ka,
Our favorite brother!”
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then slowly, the gourd began to change. It sprouted a head, then arms, then legs. At last, it was not a gourd at all. It was— Baraka!

Elama learned her lesson. Ever after, she was very careful what she called her children.
And so they gave her comfort and happiness, all the rest of her days.

That is the end of my story.

Bali and Duni looked scared and dumbstruck, then their dad asked them, "do you want to see each other turn into what you have been calling each other?" They shook their head vigorously amd said no.

Then their dad ended, from now on be calling each other good names like, "my billionaire brother", "my world class scientist" etc because there is power in what we say.

The two boys agreed and since then, there has been no quarrelling or calling of hurtful names, they now live in peace.

If you enjoyed reading my story, you can upvote, resteem and comment, i'll be ever ready to reply.

Thanks