Novel & Cerita Folk Tales Africa

I wouldnt be getting boiling oil on my arms, unbearable lashes on my back or the horrific smacks and blows Ive had since I got here. Listen! You are not in any sort of dream and I do not have any intentions to set you free or kill you. At least not right now anyways. Based on the fact that you cant see, I want you to know that I once owned this continent. Ever heard of Africa? I dont expect you to answer that.”

He looked at me full of concern in his eyes. "Every year, the game is celebrated. Apart from the trophy that goes home, there are other prizes that can be won when you win," he said. He looked to the front. "Everyone who wins the MLA will have a chance to see Hasreffa." My forehead wrinkled. Who's that? "Who is he?" I asked. "Most powerful creature in the world, considered a living deity." He replied. "Hasreffa can give whatever a creature asks, he can make famous, give a lot of wealth, change a creature, empower a creature and bring back the lost," he said.

"The Yemoja (fish people) has always been a vital part of the Yoruba belief system. The Yoruba's believe that there are worlds within our world and the underwater realm of the Yemoja is just one of them. What you would call myths and superstitions are indeed stories lost in time. Most African languages had no written form, so our ancestors passed down their knowledge, wisdom, and documentation of their experiences through oral tradition. The people of this town have always had contact with the water people and they have always lived among us," Baba Fatomi explained.

It seemed I would be the only one paying my respects at this mid-autumn festival. I had not even reached the door when a harsh crash echoed through the air. My chest tightened. I ran inside and saw several workers swinging sledgehammers at the walls. “Stop!” I shouted and stormed in. The house was a wreck. Furniture was smashed to splinters. Lance stood amidst the ruins, seizing my mother's ancestral tablet and smashing it to the ground. Crack! The tablet shattered into pieces. He was not satisfied. He stomped on my mother’s black-and-white portrait, grinding it into the floor.

I reached my hand out, smiling as I shook each of theirs, letting my eyes hover on the twins a little longer than I probably should have before Rieka's voice grabbed my attention. "Can you explain what it's like living as a water fairy princess? I enjoy learning as much as I can about other cultures." I smiled and nodded my head before I explained everything to her as we continued on our way. "You've heard of the Serpent of Seneca, right?" Ceru asked with a smile that said he was up to no good. I glared at him with daring eyes. "CERULEAN! DON'T!" "I have!" Trish exclaimed with a cheery grin.

"Or maybe it's my do what I say because I'm hurt face." He sat down beside me on the bed, and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. "It's an old tale about dragons. That they can come back from death if they weren't killed with the tip of their own wing." "Seriously? An old wives tale. How true are old wives tales?" I asked, playing with a string on the edge of the pillowcase.

he said. After Ibekwe joined the rest of the children and sat down, the storyteller crossed his legs and opened his mouth and began to sing a song. The art of storytelling in Igbo land was as old as the language itself. Some of the folklores were derived from imaginations, history, fear, and strange beliefs in the ability of animals to speak, which added texture and beauty to the stories when told. Other stories were mere myths that were intended to scare children or dissuade them from doing a particular thing.

“Long ago, nestled within the heart of a verdant tropical forest in West Africa, lay the secluded village of Marugbo. This unique enclave, the sole region in Africa graced by the majestic Iroko trees, was home to the serene and enigmatic tribe known as the Mahines. Despite their apparent primitiveness, the Mahines possessed a rich tapestry of traditions and rituals, a near-civilized culture that had flourished in isolation for over a millennium. According to legend, an extraordinary event shattered their tranquil existence. The youngest daughter of the village chief, a mere eighteen years old, inexplicably found herself with child, despite having never engaged in any carnal relations. Her st

Sita's eyes grew large and shone brightly as she nodded her head. Then Mr. Shekar looked her in the eyes and asked if she would like to accompany him and his family to Europe. She would have to travel by airplane and stay with his family, away from her own, but he would teach her to paint. Sita was unsure about going with a stranger to a strange land. Sita looked towards her mother for guidance, but she was still busy packing the leftovers. “What do you want in return?" she asked, halting after every word. The stranger looked nice, but she had heard many stories about people who came with promises and took away young children. It never ended well for the poor.

James and Auther, who had lost three cattle on their way to the feeding zone but Auther is one heck of a smart boy, only if he were too observant. It is a hot day here in Africa, A hot day it is, only if this were a suburb but a village it is, more like the next phase of the bushmen. Look at all the trees that surround those huts, dusty children running naked as Grandma prepares a warm bath for them(the Owl reports to those broom ladies) why had this bird been pictured so wickedly?. Only mother Africa knows. One just slipped and hit her head but how does one slip on sand?. Surely she tripped, they were always some hidden stones in those sands.