Anansi and the turtle

At a Glance

• Central figures: Kwaku Anansi, the spider, famous for his greed and his cleverness; and Turtle, a slow traveler with a long memory and a longer patience.
• Setting: Akan tradition (modern Ghana / Côte d’Ivoire); Anansi cycle, preserved in oral form and widely known across West Africa and the African diaspora.
• The turn: Anansi invites Turtle to share his meal but tricks him out of eating a single bite; Turtle later returns the invitation under the river.
• The outcome: Anansi, outwitted by Turtle’s own brand of hospitality, floats helplessly at the surface while the food sits at the bottom, and he goes home hungrier than he came.
• The legacy: The story became one of the best-known Anansi tales explaining why the greedy always meet someone greedier - or at least more patient - and why Anansi and Turtle have never shared a meal since.

Anansi had cooked yams. A whole pot of them, mashed with palm oil until the orange ran through like veins in a leaf, and the smell went out across the forest floor and up into the canopy and down the path to where Turtle was walking.

Turtle was always walking. That was the thing about Turtle. He moved slowly, but he moved constantly, and sooner or later he arrived.

The Smell on the Path

Turtle followed the smell. He came around the bend in the path and there was Anansi, sitting at his wooden table with the pot steaming in front of him. Anansi had already broken off the first piece of yam. He was raising it to his mouth.

Good evening, Anansi, Turtle said.

Anansi put the yam back down. Among the Akan people, when a traveler arrives at your table, you offer him food. Everyone knows this. A man who eats in front of a guest without offering is not a man at all. Anansi knew it. Turtle knew it. The trees knew it.

Sit down, Turtle, Anansi said. Eat with me.

Turtle sat. He reached for the pot. But Anansi held up one thin leg.

Turtle. Look at your hands.

Turtle looked. His hands were dirty. He had been walking all day through the forest. His palms were caked with mud, his fingernails packed with red earth.

You cannot eat at my table with hands like that, Anansi said. Go wash them in the river.

Turtle said nothing. He got up. He walked to the river. Remember - Turtle walks slowly. It took him a long time to get there and a long time to get back. When he sat down again, his hands were clean and dripping.

But Anansi had been eating the whole time Turtle was gone. The pot was half empty.

Turtle reached for the food. Anansi looked at his hands again.

Turtle. You walked back through the dirt. Your hands are filthy again.

Turtle looked. It was true. The path between the river and Anansi’s table was nothing but red earth, and Turtle walked low to the ground. His hands were dirty once more.

Go wash, Anansi said.

The Second Walk

Turtle got up again. He walked back to the river. He washed his hands carefully, rubbing each finger, scraping under each nail. Then he walked back. He tried to walk on the grass at the edge of the path. He held his hands up as he moved. But the ground was soft from the rains and the mud crept onto him anyway.

When he reached the table, the pot was empty. Anansi was licking his fingers. Every yam, every drop of palm oil - gone.

What a shame, Anansi said. You took so long.

Turtle looked at Anansi. Turtle looked at the empty pot.

Thank you for your hospitality, Anansi, Turtle said. His voice was steady as stone. If you are ever near the river, come to my home. I will prepare a meal for you.

Anansi smiled. A free meal was a free meal.

Turtle’s Table

Weeks passed. Then one afternoon Anansi found himself near the river and he remembered Turtle’s invitation. He was hungry - Anansi was always hungry - and Turtle had promised food. He went to the riverbank and called out.

Turtle’s head broke the surface.

Anansi! You came. My table is set. Come down and eat.

Turtle dove. Anansi could see it - down through the clear water, at the very bottom of the river, there was a flat stone laid out with food. Roasted fish. Groundnuts. Plantain. More food than Anansi had seen in weeks. Turtle was already down there, settling himself at the table and beginning to eat.

Anansi jumped in.

He floated.

He kicked his eight legs. He pushed and thrashed and tried to dive. But Anansi was too light. The water pushed him back to the surface every time. He could not reach the bottom. He bobbed there, looking down at the feast, and the feast looked back up at him through the rippling water.

The Stones in the Coat

Anansi climbed out, dripping and furious. He thought. Then he found stones - small river stones, smooth and heavy - and he stuffed them into the pockets of his coat. He buttoned the coat tight. He jumped in again.

This time he sank. Down through the green water, past the reeds, past the fish, all the way to the bottom. He landed across from Turtle at the stone table. The food was right there. The smell of the roasted fish hit him and his stomach turned over with want.

He reached for the fish.

Anansi, Turtle said. He chewed slowly. It is rude to eat at my table wearing your coat. Take it off.

Anansi paused. Among the Akan people, when your host asks you to observe a courtesy, you observe it. Everyone knows this. Anansi looked at Turtle. Turtle looked at Anansi. Turtle took another bite of plantain.

Anansi unbuttoned his coat.

The stones fell out. And Anansi shot straight up through the water like a cork, legs flailing, spinning, rising - back to the surface. He floated there, looking down. Turtle was eating the fish now. Turtle was eating the groundnuts. Turtle ate slowly, the way Turtle did everything, and he did not look up.

The Empty Walk Home

Anansi pulled himself onto the bank. Water ran off his thin legs. His stomach was as empty as it had been when he arrived - emptier, because now he could still smell the food. He sat on the bank for a while, watching the river. Below the surface, Turtle finished the last of the plantain, wiped his mouth, and settled down to sleep on the soft mud of the riverbed.

Anansi walked home.

He did not talk about Turtle’s hospitality. He did not mention the meal he had missed. But from that day, Anansi ate alone. He ate quickly. And if he saw Turtle coming down the path, he packed up his food and carried it into the house and shut the door.

Turtle never hurried. Turtle never had to.