The Plate and the Cane

This story is from Naomie, one of the girls who used the Santa Famillie open center in Kinshasa. This one is like a number of stories I’ve heard from Europe, but it’s not the sort of thing we might might tell our children these days. And once again, unlike many of the European stories I’ve heard, there’s a lot of humour in it.

Sharing a meal at the Sainte famille open center for street chidlren in Kinshasa. I wonder how many of these tots had been chased out of their homes for witchcraft? 80%, the center director said. A more unlikley bunch of witches I never saw!

A wife and a husband lived together by a lake, where they caught fish for a living. One day, out on the lake with his nets, the husband pulled in huge plate. What to do with it? They had no use for it, it wasn’t a particularly nice place … so they threw it back. As soon as it hit the water, the plate called out to them.

“Don’t throw me away – ask me!”

The fisherman was amazed, and scared – but fascinated. “Ask you what?” he demanded.

“Just ask me.”

The fisherman was troubled. What if the plate was trying to trick him? But then – what it was doing him a favour? In the end, he decided that this was something he just couldn’t miss. So he took the plate home, and he said to his wife, “You’ll never guess what I caught today …”

That evening they both sat and looked at the plate. It seemed impossible to imagine that it had ever talked. “What shall we ask it?” said the man.

The wife thought for a mount, then she said, “Let’s ask it for food. We never really get enough to eat. Asking for food should be quite safe.”

The husband agreed. “Plate, feed us. Please,” he added. At once, a wonderful feast was spread out before them – plates of meat,which they almost never had, wonderful fruit, everything they could hope for. And it wasn’t just food that the plate could serve up. Money, clothes, anything they asked for, the plate produced. After that, they never needed for anything.

Now, that couple had a son who loved football. One day, this son went to play a game against a rich kid. This rich kid was boastful, a bully, disrespectful to his parents and always expected his own way. He boasted so much about what a great player he was, that the fisher’s son grew angry with him, and an argument broke out. In the end they had a bet – who was the best football player? The rich kid bet a fine new football. “And what about you?” demanded the rich kid. “I’m always hearing abut this famous plate of yours. If you’re so sure of yourself, why don’t you bet that?”

The fisher’s son was so angry, he stupidly agreed to bet the plate. They played the game, the fisher’s son was outclassed. That rich kid may have been boastful and irritating, but he was a great football player. So now what? Too ashamed to back down, the fisher’s son crept him, stole the plate and gave it to the rich kid.

When he got back home and his parent’s discovered what he’d done, they were furious. They beat him for his stupidity and went straight round to the rich man’s house to ask for their plate back. But of course, the rich man said no. “Why should I?” he asked. “It was won fair and square. You should teach your son to behave with more respect to you.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” said the fisherman, “when everyone knows how rude your son is.”

“That may be so, but the plate is still mine,” said the rich man. “But I’ll tell you this – I’ll make a bet with you. if you can find a way to make my son behave, I’ll let you have it back.”

The fisherman went home feeling miserable. His son had given away their only bit of good fortune they’d ever had. “And there’s no way on earth anyone could make that boy behave himself,” he told his wife. “Everyone knows he’s the rudest, most unpleasant kid in the village.”

There was nothing for it but to get back to the fishing.

A few days later, the fisherman was out on his boat with his son, and he found caught in the net a cane. “This is no good to anyone,” said the father. “Although I could find a use for it if I thought about it,” he added, looking sideways at his son and swishing the cane. The son looked ashamed, and the father threw the cane back into the water.

But as soon as it hit the water, the cane shouted out. “Don’t throw me away. Tell me, tell me!” The father was delighted – but still a bit suspicious. Just because you have one piece of good luck, it does’t mean you;re going to have a second.

“Tell you what?” he asked.

“Just tell me,” said the cane. The fisherman pulled back the cane into the boat. “Now then – what shall I ask it?” he said aloud. “I know! Cane, beat my stupid son.” The cane set to work with gusto, gave the unfortunate son a beating of his life. It whipped him all the way back to shore and all the way back home, and still carried on when they got home.

“This is the life!” said the fisherman, lying back and watching, while his son hopped and howled. Every time he tried to escape out of the door, the cane would whip him back in.

“But this is perfect,” said his wife. “Now we have a way of teaching the rich man’s son his manners, and we can get our plate back.”

The next day, the man and his wife went to see the rich man, and explained to him that they were ready to take up the bet.

The rich man called his son to him. “Now – show me what you can do,” he said.

“Cane, beat this boy,” exclaimed the fisherman. As once the cane started work. The boy whooped and yelped and ran and twisted this way and that, but no matter where he went and what he did, the cane was there behind him, whipping merrily away. “This is perfect,” exclaim the rich man. “I’m far to busy to make sure my son behaves himself, but now I don’t need to, because this fine thin fellow will do all the work for me.”

So the deal was made – the cane for the plate. And everyone was happy – the fisherfolk because now they had all they could ask for; the rich man because he already had enough, but now he could keep his son in check; and the fisher’s son, because he had no need to worry about that troublesome cane any more. Only the rich boy had any need to feel sorry for himself – and that just serves him right.

That’s the end of the story.  Caning – not the sort of thing we do nowadays in Europe. I guess some of these children in the Congo aren’t so lucky, but I was a child, canings were a common place in books and in comics – half the stories in the Beano ended with an child bending over and getting six of the best from a jubilant teacher.  I remember a folk story I read as a child, one of a collection from the Czech republic, in which a group of rude princesses ended up being caned for three, six and nine days! Not only that, but the illustration showed them in their underwear – long frillies; and with a little crown on their heads. Not something I;d recommend for 11 year old boys today, although as a means of dealing the Royals, it has something to recommend it.

This lady told me all about the child witches she met in the market, and how she had a special gift from God to spot witches. Funny thing was, I have a special gift to spot self deceivers myself, and God was pointing right at her.

Mother Love

This is an interesting and unusual story. It starts off as something we feel familiar with, but the ending is a real surprise. we often talk about how our own folk tales have been sweetened for the Nursery since the Brother’s Grimm – but this sort of thing makes me wonder if the Grimm’s didn’t make the steories they heard a little more palatable for 19C tastes as well …

Unlike many of the stories told to me by street children, this one has something at the end that was almost always there with stories told to me by people in families – the lesson at the end. “What can we learn from this?” was a phrase I heard so often, and then the story would be plundered for lessons.  I think people often tried to find as many lessons in the story as they possibly could – I could imagine a competition for who could find the most at storytime. Perhaps that’s why many of them read so much like fables.

Many thanks to Henoch, who passed this story on to me.

Story time - the Three Little Pigs

A boy and his mother were walking in the woods, collecting food to sell in the market, when they were attacked by a lions. The boy bravely fought the lion and managed to scare it away, but as he did so another lion came from behind and seized his mother in its jaws. He turned and ran at it, and scarred that one away too – but it was too late. His mother was already dead.

Sadly, he took her body away and buried her. Now he had nothing in the world except his own self.

After the funeral, he went to visit her grave.  “Mother,” he said. “Without you I have nothing. I can’t even get any money from working in the woods any more because I don’t have your skills.”

A voice from the grave spoke to him.

“In the desert there is a dead tree. You must find that tree and dig in the sand underneath. You will find buried under the sand some cups, a great many of them, some very fine and grand, some very poor. But one cup and one cup only will have a mosquito flying around it. You must take that cup and bring it home. That will help you on your way in life.”

The boy knew that tree; he and his mother used to pass by it sometimes on their way to the city to sell the berries and grubs they collected in the wood. He went straight there and dug under the tree, deeper and deeper, until at last he began to uncover the cups.  He dusted the sand off them with his hands, and at once, from one of the cups, a tiny little insect flew; the mosquito his mother had told him about. It flew round and round the cup it had been buried with, an old cup, chipped and dirty and made out of cheap pottery.

The boy was disappointed. He wondered why on earth he had to take such a cheap cup when there were so many other better cups about. He would get hardly any money for that one – he wasn’t even sure he wanted to drink out of it himself, with that mosquito buzzing around it all the time. He told himself that surely his mother must have made a mistake – dead people can get it wrong too.  So he took another cup instead, a big, fine, two handled cup that he was sure he could sell for a lot of money.

He picked the cup up – but inside it, something was crawling. With a shout of surprise he dropped it, and as he watched, a small tawny creature crawled out. As it came out of the cup it grew bigger, and bigger and bigger, until before him stood a ferocious lion. The boy jumped away adndclimbed up to the top of the dead tree just in time to save his life.  The lion spent hours prowling around the bottom of the tree before it got tired of waiting for him and left.

The boy climbed down the tree and ran home as fast as he could. That night, his mother’s ghost appeared to him in a dream.

“Stupid boy!  What did I tell you? You never listed while I was alive and now you don’t listen while I am dead; but this time you must listen. Go back and this time take the cup with the mosquito, like I said!”

The ghost disappeared. The next day, very frightened and even more foolish, the boy went back to the dead tree, and this time he did as he was told, and took the cracked dirty cup with the mosquito buzzing around.  That mosquito followed him all the way home, until he was fed up with it buzzing round; but he didn’t dare squash it. Back at home he looked at the cup – and saw that it was full of money. The cup wasn’t very big, but there was enough money in there for the boy to buy himself some pigs. He looked after his pigs carefully, breed them and sold them on and increased his herd until at last, after a number of years, he became rich.

Nw that he had his fortune, the boy began to think about other things in life. He went back to his mother’s grave and told her he wanted to find himself a wife. At once, the ghost of his mother was by his side, looking sadly at him.
“In Kinshasa there is a good wife, and I shall help you find her. Go home; I will come to you in a dream and tell you what to do.”

The boy, a young man now, went home and did as his mother told him. And just as she had said, she came to him in a dream, looking beautiful and young, just as he remembered her in life.

Go to Kinshasa, go to the river and walk upstream. As you leave the city behind you will come to place on the river where there are coffins floating, many coffins, some rich, some poor. If you see a grand coffin, do not take it; but if you see one with a mosquito flying around it, you must take that one. Inside, you will find your wife.”

This was even more scary than the dead tree; and the boy was not so sure about finding a wife inside a coffin. But his mother had looked after him when he was a boy, and when he was a man so perhaps she would look after just as well now that he was ready to marry.  He went to Kinshasa and walked upstream, and soon he came to the place his mother had told him about. There were dozens of coffins floating on the water, jostling about and rattling together. The boy was terrified and wanted to run away, but he heard his mother’s ghost whisper in his ear; “Be strong.” So he tightened up his courage, and went up to the coffins to look among them for the mosque.

Some of them were very grand; but this time the boy had learn his lesson, and he searched carefully until he had found the one with a mosquito bussing around it. He dragged that coffin, a very poor one, out of the water.  On the shore, he broke the coffin open – and out stepped a beautiful young woman, who at once threw her arms around him and vowed to be his forever, because he had rescued her

Well, the young man was pretty worried about all this. She was beautiful all right, but she came out of a coffin. He asked her how she got there, but she shook her head and wouldn’t say. But his mother had looked after him all his life, even from beyond the grave, so he took her home and looked after her.  He soon found out that the beautiful lady knew everything about him – what he liked and what he didn’t like, what sort of food he enjoyed, what made him laugh, what made him happy. He couldn’t imagine getting anyone better for himself. Soon, her thanking his mother everyday for finding such a wife for him, and soon enough he asked her to marry him.

The time for the ceremony came. Dressed so fine, the beautiful girl and he went to the church; but when they arrive there, she would not go inside.

“I want to be married outside,” she said. “What is wrong with that?”

The priest was not happy about it, but he agreed and went ahead with the ceremony; but something dreadful happened when he began to pray. The bride began to writhe and moan. The more he prayed, the louder her cries became. The young man begged the priest to stop, but the priest did not stop. If she couldn’t bear to hear a prayer, what did that mean? On he went, and by the time he arched the Amen, the beautiful girl drooped to the floor – stone dead. Now that she was dead she began to change back to her own shape. Her beautiful face grew old and then decayed, her body withered and her flesh shrank away from her bones, until all that was left was just bones and clothes.  But the boy knew those clothes – they were the clothes his mother had been buried in.

His mother had loved him dearly, and helped him in his life after her death; but she could not face him marrying, because she thought that another woman would mistreat her son.

What can we learn from this story?  Many things. That a mother’s love is good for some things but not others;  that a mother can love her son but still be bad for him; that she can overstep her place in her children’s lives.  We learn that the dead are not always as sensible as the living; and of course, that a mother will love her children even beyond the grave.

Story time - one of the children tells me a story back

Wind

This is a very short story about a boy called Wind. It’s a joke – the kids laughed like drains when Aron told me this one. Anyone who’s had to steal, lie or cheat to get the often very basic things they things they need in life will appreciate Wind’s mother and her sense of humour.

Wind

Once there was boy called Wind. At school one day, they asked for money to pay the fees.

Wind went home and told his mother. She said, “No problem. This is what we’ll do.  You have to run as fast as you can to the money exchange. Since you’re Wind it’ll be easy for you to steal some money and then run quickly away.  As you go, shout; ‘Everyone should protect children!” at the top of your voice.

So he did it. And it worked!

Well done, Wind. It’s a pity someone doesn’t find a way of getting money off the people who deal in currency in this country to pay a few school fees. I’d laugh as well. Of course, the people who deal in money in Wind’s world are only tiny weenie little piggies compared to the monster porkers who stuff their faces daily on the homes, schools, libraries, hospitals etc in our own neck of the woods.

The boys played drum and the girls lined up to show off their skill. Each dance ended with a double beat as the girls swung their hips - BOOM-BOOM! Needless to say, I was rubbish

Thanks for the story, Aron – I hope someone pays for your school fees without you having to steal them. Hey – maybe who ever is reading this can help. So come on, readers – Aron gave us something from his country; maybe you can help him out with something from yours. A little money towards the school fees of Aron and other kids like him would be a nice start …

Help Save the Children save children. Donate here.

The Bag of Mosquitoes

This is the second story told to me by the children of the  Santa Famillie open center in Kinshasa. We have Honore to thank for this one – so thank you, Honore. I hope you’ve had a chance to get back with your family now and that your life on the streets is at an end.

There's always a good use for a blackboard ...

The Bag of Mosquitoes

One Sunday mooring, a mother went to work in the fields. She did this despite the fact that Sunday is a day of rest, because she was so poor, and had a large family, and because her hungry children were more important to her than God. She had six children to bring up all on her own, as her husband had died a few months before. The five eldest stayed behind at home – the older ones could look after the younger ones perfectly well – but she took the new baby with her, because she felt that he still needed a mother’s love and attention

She worked all day with the baby tied to her back until it was time to eat. She went to get some shelter under the trees and bushes that grew all around, but as she ducked under some low branches, one of them caught the baby and knocked it off her back. By the time she picked it up, it was already too late. The baby was dead.

The Mother was heartbroken. For a while, all she could do was weep. When she had recovered a little, she picked up the still little body and carried it back to the village, to tell everyone what had happened and to prepare for the funeral.

Now, it so happened that the headman of her village was known for his special powers. In fact, he was a fetish man, who knew all about the spirits of the forest. She decided to go to him and ask for help. She took the body of her dead son along to him, told him what had happened.

“There’s nothing I can do for you or your baby, unless you do exactly as I say,” he told her. “Now listen. You must go about your life in the ordinary way – but keep your eyes out and your ears sharp for the things I tell you about.
“If you see some clothes standing in front of you, just like a man but with nothing inside them, don’t touch them, don’t talk to them. Don’t take any notice of them at all.
“It you see a bag full of diamonds coming towards you, don’t take any notice of that either. Just leave it. Pretend it doesn’t even exist.
“But if you see a bag of mosquitoes, you must pick up that bag and take it home here in the village with you and open it up. Only if you do this, is there any chance that you will get back your lost baby.”

The woman was scared when she hear this kind of talk. Whoever heard of clothes standing up on their own? Or bags of diamonds that wandered about?  But she loved her little baby boy and wanted him back desperately, so she resolved to do exactly as the head of the village had told her.

Over the next few days she kept her eyes and ears open, hoping that a miracle would happen. But nothing did. The funeral took place as usual, the Mother sadly buried her baby and tried to get on with her life.

A few days later, as she was working in the gardens, she heard someone coming through the forest towards her. She looked up and saw a shape standing in the shadows, watching her.
“Who’s there?” she called, but there was no answer. She went closer and saw to her horror that it was just as the headman said – a set of clothes stood there in the shadows, watching her work. It looked exactly as if there was a man inside them – but they were empty of any living thing. What was inside those clothes, she could only guess. Some sort of spirit, perhaps – but what sort of spirit, good or bad, she had no idea. All she wanted to do was run for her life – but she remembered what the headman had told her, to pretend it didn’t exist if she wanted to get her baby back.  So, with a shudder, she turned round and walked back to the patch she was working on, and got on with her weeding. Behind her, she could hear the clothes following behind her. It made her hair stand on end!

As she worked, the clothes just stood there, always facing towards her, just as if someone was watching her. Sometimes they stepped out of the shadows as if to get a better look at her, sometimes they hid deeper among the trees. When she moved from one patch to another the clothes followed her, and resumed their post – always watching, watching, watching.

Soon some other women came to join her at work. The Mother, who was watching the clothes out of the corner of her eye the whole time, didn’t dare ask them if they could see them too.  But no one said anything, so she knew that they were only there for her.

The empty clothes stood there all day watching her. When she left, the clothes followed her back home, sometimes walking by her side, sometimes a little in front. Again, no one else seemed to be able to see them, but she didn’t dare say anything about it, in case she made them angry or lost her chance to get her baby back. When she ate her evening meal, the clothes sat on the floor next to her. She thought about offering them some food, but she remembered the headman’s words and didn’t even flinch when they shuffled up closer to her. When she lay down to sleep, the clothes sat up, cross-legged on the floor, facing right towards her; and when she woke up in the mooring, there they still were, leaning against a wall, watching her as if she as the most fascinating thing in the world.

She prepared breakfast for herself and her children, who all wanted to know why she was so quiet and scared looking. Then she went to work in the fields as usual. The clothes walked behind her, but by she time she arrived, they had gone. She looked all around her and in among the bushes, but there was no sign of them.

The Mother was so relived – despite her calm face she had been in terror at the whole time. She left at once and went straight to the river to wash herself and to try to get that terrible clammy, dirty feeling of fear off her skin.

On the way back, she kept her ears and her eyes sharp, and sure enough, as she got close to the river she saw a glint in the weeds at the side of the path. Her heart beat fast, because she already knew what it was. She took no notice, though and walked on. As she got closer there was a rattle, and the bag of diamonds rolled out of the bushes and stood there in the path in front of her.  The top of the bag was slightly open and she could se the sunlight shining on the diamonds inside it – huge, fat diamonds, as big as your thumb, sparking and glinting in the sunshine. That Mother couldn’t help thinking how much better life  would be for her and her children if she only had those diamonds. She had the five children at home, all of them hungry, all of them with no decent clothes or shoes. But she took no notice and just walked past. even when the bag of diamonds started to roll towards, rattling and clinking temptingly, she took no notice – she just stepped over it, as if it was clod of earth in the road.  Behind her called out to her ..
“Woman! I am yours. Pick me up, sell me, spend me.”  It made her skin crawl, but she didn’t reply. She just carried on her way

By the time she got to the river, the bag of diamonds had gone. She washed herself, and let herself have a little cry, because what she was doing was scary and very hard. Then she got out of the water to dry herself, and as she stood there, wringing out her hair and shaking her arms to get he water off, she heard a great, loud whining buzzing noise.

There it was! – on the bank next to her clothes. A bag of mosquitos.

The bag was totally surrounded by mosquitos. There must have been thousands – no, millions – of hungry, buzzing mosquitos. She’d never seen so many. You could have grabbed them by the handful and baked them in a pie, there were that many.

The woman got close and tried to pick the bag up, and as soon as she got near, the mosquitos  flew at her and started sucking up her blood as fast as they could. She tried to take no notice, and pushed her way through the storm of insects.   When she did finally manage to pick it up, the bag was plump and heavy with a billion mosquitos, and of course she disturbed them more than ever by carrying them. Out they flew, more and more and more of them,  and pretty soon she was covered from head to foot, over her clothes and under her clothes and even through her clothes, with greedy, whining, bloodsucking mosquitos, sucking and sucking at her blood, until she was certain she had barely a drop left.

But she held tight to the bag and hurried back homes. What a sight she made! There were so many on her and buzzing around she could hardly see where she was going, and all anyone could see of her was a cloud of mosquitos, whinging and buzzing away as loud as an engine, staggering along the street, banging into thing and stumbling and falling over. People screamed and yelled at her to go away. She kept calling out her name, but none of them believed it was really her. They thought she it some kind of mosquito spirit, and to make things even worse, started to throw sticks and stones at her to try and chase her away.

Despite all this the woman forced her way back to her house and staggered inside. When her five children saw that gigantic hoard of mosquitos coming in the door, they all jumped up and ran out, but she took no notice.  She sat down with the bag between her feet, opened it up – and at once all the mosquitos vanished. Instead, lying there in the bag, was her own baby, fat and smiling, with his arms held out to her, and a smile on his face, gurgling with happiness at being back in the world – as full of life as he had ever been before.

With a cry of joy she ran out into the village holding the baby high in the air.
“Look everyone! I ignored the clothes and I left the diamonds, and I suffered the mosquitos – and now I have my own pride and joy back in my arms!”

There was a great deal of celebrating in that house, and in the whole village – although it did take that mother a long time to recover from all those mosquito bites. Of course, the story went right around the village and far beyond, and it wasn’t long before a neighbour of hers heard all about what had had happened. This Mother too had a little baby son, about as old as the first Mother’s, and she decided that there was a chance here for her to help herself and her family.

Playing draughts with bottle tops

What she did was this; she went into the fields to work with her baby tied to her back, and while no one was looking, she lifted the baby up held it high up over her head …
“Now, baby, this won’t be very nice, but it’ll all over quickly. You’ll be back with us very soon, and when you do, we’ll all be rich” she said.

Then she dropped her baby down to the groud . When she bet down to pick it up, the baby was already dead.

Just like the first woman, she went to headman and told him that her baby had fallen off her back and died. The headman looked at her sadly, and sighed; then he told her exactly the same thing he had said to the first woman – that she must ignore  the standing clothes if she saw them; she must ignore the bag of diamonds; and she must only pick up the bag of mosquitos.

“Soon I shall be rich, and me and family will never want again,” the woman thought.

Only a few days after the baby’s funeral, she was working in the fields, and she heard a noise in the buses. She looked up and there, sure enough was a set of clothes standing upright with no one in them. It just stood here as if it was looking at her. It made her hair stand on end to see it, but she remembered what the headman had said, and what her neighbour had done. She didn’t flinch or run away, she just carried on on calmly working as if nothing had happened. Just as before, the clothes stood by her all day, followed her home, sat by her as she ate, watched her as she slept. And the following morning, when she got to the fields, it was gone.

“Great,” she thought. “Now for the diamonds!”

She went straight off to the river to bathe – and sure enough, as she walked along, there was a glint in the path ahead, and she got close a huge bag of enormous diamonds rolled out into the road.

Well, this Mother didn’t need anyone to tell her to take those diamonds – she was on them like a cat on a mouse. She grabbed the bag and ran off into the bushes to open it up and stuff those diamonds into her headscarf. But when she unwrapped the bag, there were no diamonds inside – there was only her baby, still and cold and stiff and dead, with the earth of the grave still on him.

With a wail the woman ran out of the bushes, cradling the baby in her arms, all the way back to the village where she begged the headman to help her.

“There is only one chance for this kind of magic,” the headman said. “You should have left the bag of diamonds alone, as I told her. Now you baby is gone for ever.”

The woman crept home, heartbroken. And that was not the end of her troubles. She had clearly offended someone – or something – because from that day on, her  family fell ill and died, one after the other, until last she was left alone, an unhappy old woman, with no one to call her own.

Many thanks to Honore for this great tale – homage to a mother’s love from a child of the streets.

Honore has done her part, now perhaps you’d be willingto help save the Children help girls like her. Paying her a few pounds for her story can helps change lives. Donate now at Save the Children

Running Faster than the Wind

Street children at the Santa Famille open center in Kinshasa, where children can come for food, sleep, medical care and play.

A few days after going to the Store House Foundation to meet the girls, Save the Children took me along to another place they funded – The Santa Famillie open center in Kinshasa, where children can come for food, medical care, get a bed for the night, and play safely.

While the children ate, the staff showed me round. Thee were classrooms, a medical room, and various dorms for different age children. I noticed how many beds there were for boys, and how few there were for girls. When I asked them about this, they replied that so fewer girls came for a bed each night. How come? Well, you can use your imagination to answer that. As you can see, some of the children were very small, although it was mainly the older girls who failed to turn up. I don’t think they always had much choice in the matter – another reason why the work funded by Save the Children in looking after these children and reuniting them with their families is so important.

After taking a look round, I met up with some of the children and did a story swap; I told them the stories of the Three Little Pigs and Little Red Riding Hood, and they told me theirs. I had an absolute torrent of stories pouring down past me, and I had to scribble and scribble and scribble to get them all down. My poor translator was as exhausted as I was by the end of it – everyone had a story to tell.

I think I’ll be spending the next few weeks re-telling you this mine of stories. The first one is called, Running Faster than the Wind, told to me by Jonathon, one of the street children I spoke to that day.

Running Faster than the Wind

A man and a woman lived together; and soon enough, the woman became pregnant. But before the baby was born, the man decided that he didn’t want to stay.

“I’m going,” he said to the woman. “And there’s nothing you can say is going to change that. After I am gone, if you give birth to a son, I want you to call him by a special name – Running Faster than the Wind. That way, I can be sure he will remember me.

The woman begged him to stay, but his mind was made up. So he left, and in due course a baby boy came along. Although she had thought of a great many better names to call her child since then, the mother decided to do as the man had asked, and call her child Running Faster than the Wind, because it was the one and only thing the child would ever have from his father, as long as he lived.

The boy grew up, and there was nothing unusual about him except his name. His friends at school thought the name was hilarious and spent a lot of time teasing him about it. Many times he wished he was called something really ordinary, but he wasn’t; and that was all there was to it. He just had to live with it. Secretly, he hoped that there was some other, special reason for his father wanting him to be called that – but the years went by and nothing happened, and it looked as if it was just wishful thinking

Catching those stories! Writing Faster than the Wind ...

One day, Running Faster than the Wind was walking in a wood and he came across a hole in the ground. He walked around that hole and had a look at it. It was empty, and yet a curious rushing, whistling noise was coming from it.  He got closer and looked in – and discovered that this wasn’t just any hole. Because in that hole there lived the wind. Even at home the wind couldn’t keep still, and it was rushing round and round inside, and it was that making those curious sounds.

“So this is where all the wind lives!” thought the boy. It seemed to him that it could be no coincidence that he of all people, with his special name, had found that secret hole. If the wind was in that hole, he thought, maybe he ought to be in it as well.

So he climbed in.

The wind wasn’t having that. It came roaring straight at him. It buffeted and punched him and whirled him round like a leaf in that hole, and then – WHOOSH! it came rushing out and up, up, up, up higher and higher into the air, carrying that poor boy with it. It got so high, that the trees underneath him looked like moss growing on the ground. Then down, down down down down, until he crashed to the earth – right through the roof of his father’s house,knocking it to pieces.

His father came rushing out – “What have you done? Look – my house – it’s ruined!”

Poor Running Faster than the Wind crawled out, bruised and battered and exhausted. He could hardly walk, let alone run faster than the wind.

“Oh, so it’s you, Running Faster than the Wind,” said his father sternly. “What do you think you’re doing, wrecking my house?”

“Wrecking your house? It nearly wrecked by whole body,” he said. “It serves you right for giving me such a stupid name.”

Some time after this, Running Faster than the Wind met some old school friends of his – the same ones who always used to tease him and make his life a misery at school. Off they went, same as normal, teasing him away about his ridiculous name.  Well, he stood up to them, and a fight broke out. Of course there was no way he could win – there were just too many of them, and he got a sound beating. Afterwards, though, the friends suggested that they put their quarrels behind them and go off together on a trip across the Congo river from Kanshasa, to Brazzaville. Running Faster than the Wind agreed, so they all caught the ferry and went across.

When they arrived there, they went straight to the beach. Now, it was a hot day and everyone was thirsty. The friends had spent all their money getting across, so theyall banded together again, and went up to running Faster than the wind, and asked him to give them £100 to by some water.

“£100 for water? You must be joking,” he said. But they wanted it. They were sure he had it, and they insisted he give it to them.

Running Faster than the Wind could see another beating coming along.

“Very well,” he said. “I can get it for you, but you must do what I tell you. I want you to grab hold of my clothes.”

“Is that all? Well, we’ll happily do that,” they said. “Then you won’t be able to get away.” They all grabbed hold tight of him. “Now,” they said … “Give us the money!”

“As tight as you can?” shouted the boy.

“Too tight for you to get away1′ they sneered.

“Good. Wind!” shouted the boy. “I’m coming back in your house!”

When the wind heard him say that, it came rushing at him in a rage and blew him up in the air again, and of course all his fiends holding tight onto his clothes got blown up as well. Up, up, up, up, higher and higher, until the sea looked like  a blue field, and the clouds were scudding along underneath them and the even the biggest ships looked like little bits of stick floating far below.

“This is the deal,” said Running Faster than the Wind. “You wanted water – there it is! I’m going to let you go.”

The friends were terrified. “No, please, don’t do that, don’t let us go … please, no!” they begged.  But Running faster than the Wind did it anyway. He shucked off his clothes and down they fell .. down, down, down, down until, with a mighty splash, they hit the water and carried on all the way down through that, until they hit the bottom of the sea.

No one ever saw them again.

As for Running Faster than the Wind, the wind carried him away right around the world until it got tired of the game, and dropped him down – bang! – right where it had found him on the beach in Brazzaville.

And I don’t think anyone ever tried to bully him again.

And that’s the end of the story. I hope you liked it.  I’ll transcribe some more stories from the Sante Famille open center over the summer – there’s plenty more to come. Meanwhile, the children have done their part and told you a story. If you’ve read this far – fair’s fair – you can do something for them. Help these lovely kids – I met them and I promise you they were great – by making a small donation to help Save the Children keep places like this open.

These children are innocent of any wrong, have been thrown out of their homes, often by their own families and they need help. Save the Children funds organisation like this, to help street children and hopefully, to get them back with their own people so that they can resume a normal childhood. A little bit goes a long way in Kinshasa – I promise you, you will be making a difference. And I think you’ll agree that a few pounds is small price to pay for the chance to read these marvelous and unusual stories.

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Pippi Danga

This is the third story told to me by the girls of the Store House Foundation in Kinshasa, and it’s one of my favorites. It’s so charming and clever, I think everyone who hears it will fall in love with Pippi at once.

What I can’t do is show you the wonderful singing and dancing that accompanied the chorus. Everyone joined in – all the girls and their carer as well. Oliver, the photographer who took the photos you see in these pages, did shoot some footage of the dance and the song, but so far he’s not sent it on to me. If he does, I’ll post it up. I hope so, because it really adds a lot to this lovely little tale.

Pippi Danga

Once, a mother lived on her own with her child, called Pippi Danga. Pippi was very curious little girl who tried to be good but found it very, very hard. One other thing you should know about her – she had the most beautiful voice.

One day, the mother had to go out to fields and leave Pippi at home on her own all day.

“Now, Pippi, you must NOT leave the house while I’m gone,” she told her. “It’s very important. The world is full of danger for young girl on her own. Now, do you promise, Pippi?”

Pippi promised her mother she would not go out all day, but would wait for her at home like a good girl.

Pippi really did want to be a good girl, but while she was waiting, a friend came calling. This friend wanted Pippi to go swimming in the river with her.  Now, it was a hot day, and the little house was very stuffy. Still, Pippi didn’t want to disobey her mother.

“I can’t go out,”she said. “I promised my mother.

But her friend scoffed at her. “Don’t be such a baby.  Your mother will never know. What harm can come to us by the river?”
But still Pippi refused to go.  Then her friend got angry and started to throw stones onto the roof of the house. And that was enough.  Pippi decided that the house might get damaged, so she rally ought to go out swimming for the sake of the house.  So she left after all, despite everything her mother had said, and went to the river to swim.

So the two girls went to the river, took off their clothes, which they hid under a bush, and went off swimming. But that friend Pippi had couldn’t have been very good friend, because while Pippi was swimming about and playing on a log, that friend sneaked off and stole Pippi’s clothes.  By the time Pippi noticed that her friend was gone, both her and the clothes were faraway. Poor Pippi was a mile from home with nothing to wear!  What a mess.

Of course, she was not going to go home with nothing on, so instead, she picked some big leaves that were growing nearby, and tried to cover herself up with those. She hadn’t gone very far when a man came along, carrying a drum under his arm.
“What’s this?” he said. “A girl walking about covered in leaves like a vegetable garden? What’s happening here?”
So Pippi told him, like this;

I’m Pippi Danga, I’m Pippi Danga,
Oh, Pippi, poor Pippi, bad Pippi Danga.
My mummy told me
stay home alone all day
But my friend took me out
and stole my clothes away!
I’m Pippi, poor Pippi, bare Pippi Danga
Poor Pippi Danga, walking home alone

The man’s eyebrows shot up his head when he heard her sing. He liked that noise.
“Poor Pippi Danga,” he said. “But I have a plan. Why don’t you hide in my drum? No one will see you then, and I can carry you home to your mummy, and no one will know how silly you’ve been, or see you walking around looking like a bag of salad.’

Pippi thought was a good idea, poor thing. She crept into the drum – but as soon as she had done so, the man quickly put a skin on it and nailed it firmly down. Now he had her – trapped in the drum!
Off he went as fast as he could before any found out what a wicked thing he had done. When he got  to the next village, he went straight to the middle of the village where everyone gathered, and started to boast about how he owned a magic singing drum. Of course, everyone was curious about that, so they gathered around. When there was a big enough crowd, the man lifted up his hands and began beat the drum. And inside, poor Pippi began to sing …

I’m Pippi Danga, Oh Pippi Danga,
Oh, Pippi, poor Pippi, sorry Pippi Danga.
My mummy told me
stay home alone all day
But my friend took me out
and stole my clothes away.
Oh, Pippi, poor Pippi, bare Pippi Danga
Poor Pippi Danga, singing in a drum.

Everyone was amazed at the wonderful singing drum, and never guessed there was really a little girl trapped inside it. They gave that wicked man plenty of money for his trick.  Off he went on his way, whistling a tune to himself, happy as the day is long and not caring one little jot about poor Pippi, trapped in that drum.

Stroy telling in the Store House Foundation

From then on, that man had no worries in his life. Whenever he wanted food or money, all he did was just play the drum and make poor Pippi sing out. People came from far and wide to hear the wonderful drum, and they were all wiling to pay good money for the pleasure of listening to it.  What a life he lived, wandering from village to village playing his drum.

But one day it so happened, he came back without realising to the village where Pippi herself came from. He played his drum there, just as before, and just as before everyone came running round and gave him money for the pleasure of hearing his wonderful singing  drum. But among that crowd was Pippi;s mother. When she heard that drum sing out she thought to herself …
“I know that voice! That’s no drum singing, and that man is no musician either.’

That night she crept out and went to the place where the man was staying. She found where he kept his drum – he had drunk too much palm wine and he was fast asleep and didn’t hear a thing. With a blunt little knife she levered out the nails holding that skin down one by one .. and sure enough, out crept her sorry little daughter, Pippi Danga.

Mother and daughter kissed each other and hugged. Then the mother sent her daughter back home while she dealt with the drum.  She had a bundle with her, and in that bundle, she had a little rooster. Now she tucked that rooster inside the drum. Then she nailed it up tightly and crept away.

The next morning, the man awoke and first thing he wanted his breakfast.  So he did what he always did when he was hungry. He took his drum out into the centre of the village and shouted out as loud as he could …
“Everybody listen to me!  I am going to play my wonderful magic singing drum – the only one in the world.  Wait till you hear what a beautiful voice i t has and how cleverly it sings!  Come quickly, or you shall miss my marvellous performance.”
Everyone came out to listen. The man lifted up his hands and beat the drum …
“Cock a doodle-dooo!  Cickeerikeeeeee!” crowed the rooster inside
“What’s this? What’s that dreadful noise? That’s no singing!” everyone cried. The man tried to explain, but the louder he tried, the louder the rooster crowed.  In the end everyone was so fed up with them, they chased him out the village, and he was never seen again.

I’m Pippi Danga, oh, Pippi Danga,
Oh, Pippi, lucky Pippi, good Pippi Danga.
A bad man took me
And hid me in his drum
But then my mummy found me and took me home again.
I’m Pippi, poor Pippi, glad Pippi Danga
Good Pippi Danga, happy back at home

Sandra and Sandrine

This is an interesting little tale – clearly an Congolese version of Cinderella. It goes to show how these themes travel right round the world. People must have been telling this one, in one form or another, for time out of mind.

It’s the second story told me by the little girls in Kinshasa, sitting in a row in the sun in their best dresses in the Store House Foundation transit and rehabilitation centre for street children in Kinshasa. In fact, all three stories were told me by the girl, who clearly loved stories – and dancing, and being the centre of attention, I think. She was a pretty girl, full of life and fun.  I hope she’s reunited with her family now, but you never know.

This is the girl who told me all three stories, all pretty in her best dress.

SANDRA AND SANDRINE

A woman lived on a farm with her two daughters, Sandra and Sandrine.  She had no husband, and since the only wealth she had were own two hands, her health and her own strong back, they were a very poor family. They lived in a low hut made of cane and thatched with bamboo leaves, and each day, the mother went out to work the fields, leaving Sandra, the eldest, to stay at home and keep an eye on little Sardine, the baby of the family. All they had to eat day after day was manioc and leaves, manioc and leaves, manioc and leaves, until they were all sick and tired of it. The two girls would have done almost anything just to get a taste of meat. But they never did.

To make matters worse, although the land they lived in was a peaceful place, ruled over by a rich and generous king, nearby there was a fierce war being fought. Every now and then, groups of bandits would past through, stealing everything they could get their hands on. One day they passed through the village where Sandra and Sandrine lived. The rouge soldiers went from house to house in the village where they lived, stealing, raping and murdering whoever stood in their way.  The mother of Sandra and Sandrine ordered her daughters to run away and hide in the woods, while she stood up to the bandits, and try to protect her daughters.   With barely a thought about it, the bandits killed her. Then they settle down for the night, drinking and eating the food they had stolen, singing songs and growing louder and louder as they got drunker and drunker.

The two little girls hidden in the woods saw everything. They stayed as still as they could for a long time, watching where their mother lay, hoping she would move. But she never did. When it became clear that she was really dead, they crept away  deeper into woods as quietly as they could, trying until the noise of the drunken soldiers died away. By now it was pitch dark. They were deep in the woods, motherless, with nothing to eat and nowhere to go. After wandering around clutching each other in the dark, the two sisters curled up together, and cried themselves to sleep.

The morning came, and with it the realisation of the terrible things that had happened. They were too scared to go back to their village, and even if they did – what for? They mother was dead, the fields were burned. The remaining villages had nothing – certainly not enough to spare to feed two hungry orphan girls.

They set off to see where they might go and what they might find. They had wandered a long way in the night, in their desire to escape the soldier, off the paths they knew, deep into the woods, out of sight of any rivers they knew. Even the sun was hidden by the dense leaves above their heads.  They had no idea where they were.

They set off anyway, and wandered deeper and deeper into the woods, living off shoots and roots and some insects they found, and drinking water caught in leaves or from puddles on the ground. After several days they found a track, which they cautiously followed, and before long they came to a village.  Shy and scared, they hung around at the edges of it, where, after a few hours, a woman found them.

“So!  What are you two doing here, sculling around not eh edges of the fields?  Come to steal, have you?” she demanded.

Stuttering, Sandra explained to her that they weren’t thieves, but orphans, refuges, victims of the war. The woman listened closely.

“There is really no one to take  care of you at all?” she exclaimed. “You are alone in the world?”

Sandra admitted that it was true.

“Well then – you’re in luck. I have daughters of my own, and a few more mouths to feed means nothing to me. You can work, I suppose – hoe the crops and till the soil? In that case, come home with me.  From now on, you have nothing further to worry about.  You have lost one mother and found another. Come!”

Sandra and Sandrine were overjoyed and happily ran back with their new mother. But when they reached her home they found that far from being well-off enough to feed two more, she was had barely enough to feed herself and her own daughters.  Like their own mother, she was a poor woman who had to grow every scrap that she and her own two daughters ate; but unlike their mother, she was mean spirited and selfish, and saw in Sandra and Sandrine nothing more than four more hands to help her lighten eher own load.

The two orphaned girls were given manioc to eat and put to work in the fields at once, where they worked until the sun went down and it was too dark to see.  Then they were taken back, given a little more manioc – “There’s not much, we have to eat too,” the woman said – and then put to sleep out the back with the hens and the cow.  Next morning, it was up at the crack of dawn and more work, this time without anything to eat at all until nearly midday.

It got worse. Once she found out that the two girls would do whatever they were told, the step mother became greedier and crueler. They were good, hard workers and she sooner found that if they worked all day, every day, she was able to get enough to eat without doing any work herself. Soon she started keeping her own daughters at home as well, but for that to happen, Sandra and Sandrine had to work harder than ever.

“And why should I be just eating manioc and leaves when I’m rich enough to own two servants?” the woman demanded. “I should be eating meat every day, and eggs; I should be living in a compound in a fine plastered hut with a proper roof instead of in this smokey low place with just banana leaves over my head!”

But of course for that to happen, Sandra and Sandrine had to work harder than ever, and her own two daughters were going to have to make a very good match in their marriages in order in find someone rich enough to provide her with meat and build her a fine new house. So, while Sandra and Sandrine worked the fields every hour that God sent them, the new mother and her own two daughters were inside, dressing their hair and making new dresses, while their mother went far and wide trying to arrange a rich husband for them both.

Round about this time, the King of that land decided that it was time for his son to marry. In order to find the right bride, a beautiful girl, a fitting wife for the most important family in the country, the Kind arranged for a great feast. Everyone had to help gather the crops, slaughter the animals and prepare the food – it was going to take days and days of work. There would be a dance; and by the end of the day, the Prince had to choose his future wife.

Of course, the new mother was beside herself with greed. What a chance this was to provide herself with a life of luxury and high status – to be the Prince’s mother-in-law! it was just what she deserved – well, she thought so, anyhow. Just a few years ago she would never have dreamt of such a thing, but now that she had Sandra and Sandrine working for her, she had got herself so bloated with self importance, that she was determined to try and make it happen. She spent hours dressing, pampering and preparing her own daughters to look their best. They spent hours making one another up, trying on different fabrics at the market stalls to see which one would suit their complexions best and practising their dance. Of course, Sandra and Sardine were not going to be allowed anywhere near the Prince, or the feast – they were too busy doing all the work that the whole family of five should have being doing, just the two of them on their own.

The day of the feast arrived. Everyone was in a state of high excitement, the drums had started up and people were arriving from miles around to dance, sing, eat and make merry – and to see who the lucky girl was going to be.  Everyone, that is – except Sandra and Sandrine, The new mother had made it very clear to them that they were forbidden to leave the fields that day. They had to work. They must have been the only two girls in fifty miles who did not have a holiday that day.

The two girls toiled side by side. In the distance, the drums began to play. They felt so low.  In the old days, when they lived with real mother, they had thought they were poor. They used to complain back then. Nothing but manioc, manioc, manioc, every day. They used to nag their mother for just a taste of meat, but of course she could never afford it. But at least there was enough to eat, and at least they were never bullied, and at least they slept in their place and didn’t have to share with hens and the cows.

They were both miserable, but especially Sandra.  She was old enough herself to marry, but the new mother had done her best to keep her out of sight of anyone who she thought might make a half decent husband, to save on competition for her own daughters.  And of course, Sandrine would have loved to go to the feast, and try out her dancing skills and her luck with the Prince. But such dreams were far, far beyond her now. Who was going to want to marry a girl who was a virtual slave in her own land?

They bent over their hoes and listened to the sound of the drums, far away through the trees. Sandra could;t help the tears from running down her face. She tried to hid them, but Sandrine spotted them at once. She threw down her hoe.

“We can have a party of our own,” she said.  “Come on, Sandra – dance with me!”

Sandra laughed and threw done her hoe and the two girls danced to the drums, singing their own songs, shaking the leaves of the manioc plants around them, stamping the earth and twisting their hips, and lighting up the shadows with their smiles.

But – “What’s that?” cried Sandrine. Sandra followed her finger and saw, coming through the trees, a strange light.  It was coming towards them .. closer .. closer … growing brighter all the time until they had to shade their eyes.  At last a figure came out of the tress, a beautiful lady, shining with a light they had never seen before

Across her arm she carried a a beautiful dress.

The beautiful lady was a ghost – the ghost of their dead mother. She had come to help her poor daughters – even in death, she was still their mother.  She led Sandra off to the river and bathed her, and washed her hair, and put oil on her skin. Then she put the dress on her. Sandrine clapped her hands and danced – her sister was transferred from a slave to a princess. She had never seen anyone look so beautiful

And it was no yet over.  The beautiful ghost led the girls away from the river to the road … and there, parked in the shade of a mango tree, was a car. A big, powerful, shiny black car, with a man at the wheel in a smart suit, ready to drive Sandra to the feast.

“You must try your chances with the Prince now, daughter,” said the ghost. “But Sandrine must stay behind and hide in the woods. I cannot be here all the time, and it wouldn’t be safe for her. Once your step mother finds out what has happened, she wile very angry . When you have made your fortune, then she can come forward and take her place by your side as your sister.”

The two sisters embraced. Sandra climbed into the car and it sped away towers the feast. Sadly, Sandrine did as her mother had told her, and melted away to hide deep in the woods – away from the feast and from her step mother’s rage as well.

Sandra arrived at the dance, and all heads turned to see who was going to get out of that sleek, expensive car. When he saw Sandra, the Prince was immediately intrigued – who on earth was this?  He’d never seen her before.  He invited her over and for the rest of the night, Sandra  she sat at the prince’s side. He had eyes for no one else. All the other guests sighed and rolled their eyes and got on with the feast.  But when she heard that the Prince seemed to have already found someone he liked – a mysterious girl, beautiful and elegant, the new mother was nary. She crept across to have a look – and imagine her surprise when she saw it was none other than Sandra!  “She has crept out of the field and betrayed me!” she thought. “Not only that, but she has stolen my daughter’s husband. What a wicked, ungrateful girl.”

The next day it was announce that the prince had chosen his bride – Sandra. The feasting was to go on for another three days, at the end of which, the marriage would take place, and everyone would live happily ever after.

Not if the new mother had anything to do with it.

Sandra had told the Prince how her mother had been killed by soldiers, so the Prince put her in his compound while the wedding festivities were being prepared. Now, the step mother knew where her house was, and planned every day for a way to get rid of her-  to kill her, in other words, so that she would have her revenge and the prince would have to choose again. Now, she knew very well how much Sandra craved a taste of meant, and to this end, she made a beautiful fish of chicken, prepared it with her own hands, made it as tasty as she knew how … and then poisoned it. So cleverly did she poison it,that no one who tasted it could tell the difference. Then she took the dish to the hut where Sandra was staying, preparing for her wedding, and offered it to her.

Many people had taken gifts of food along to the hut, to offer to the bride, but all the really good food was being saved for the feast.  Chicken was a treat, something that sandra had never tasted in her whole life. It smelt so good! – she just had to try some.

But as she reached out, the beautiful ghost appeared before her..

“Stop!” she said. “You must not eat this food.”

“But it smells so good,” said Sandra.

“You must not eat it.”

“It’s meat! How often do I get to eat meat?”

“You must not eat it.”

“Is that all you can say? No, no no. Just like you were when you were alive. It smells too good to waste..”

Despite everything she had ben told, Sandra reached out to taste the food. But at that moment, the table shook so violently, that the food fell to floor and the dogs fell on it.  Sandra turned round to scold the beautiful woman – but she was gone.

Her first attempt had failed, but the step mother was not going to give up so easily. The next day she came with another dish – duck this time. Again it was beautifully cooked, beautifully presented – and spiced with the most deadly poison.  Once again, as soon as Sandra saw it and smelt it, her mouth began to water.  She stretched out her hand, looked around … where was that pesky ghost? But no one was looking.  She tried the gravy first – delicious!  Then she took up some bread and tried a piece of meat. It was every bit as tasty as she had imagined.  She finished the whole duck off in a single sitting, and she had barely had time to wipe the juice off her chin, when she fell down dead.

Sandrine, of course, knew nothing of this events, living deep in the forest as she was. The first she knew about it was when a terrible fury came rushing towards her through the trees. It was the ghost of her mother, enraged that her first daughter had disobeyed her, coming to vert her fury on her second daughter.  The trees thrashed, the wind stripped the leaves off the twigs, even the earth rose from ground with the ghost’s fury. Poor Sandrine had no idea what was going on. Terrified, she ran .. and ran and ran and ran. The fury followed her deeper and deeper intot the forest, never stopping, always on her tail ….

And what happened to her, nobody knows. But I do know this; she was never seen again.

The Store House rehabilitation Centre, like the other places I visited in Kinshasa, is funded and helped by Save the Children, who do important work helping these delightful young people make their way in the world, and with luck, reunite them with their own families. Please help this important work and make a donation today.

Click here to donate to Save the Children