A story
Anansi and the Pot of All the Wisdom
This tale comes from the Ashanti people of Ghana in West Africa, where grandparents have told stories of Anansi the spider for a very, very long time.
Long ago, in a green land of tall trees, round houses and red earth, there lived a little spider named Kwaku Anansi. Anansi had eight quick legs, two shiny eyes, and a tiny striped cap that he wore every single day. He was clever, and he was funny, and sometimes he was a little bit too proud.
One morning, Anansi sat on a leaf and thought, "I am already very clever. But what if I could be the cleverest creature in the whole world? What if I could have ALL the wisdom?"
So Anansi set off. He walked to the river, where the fish were wise about water. He walked to the fields, where the farmers were wise about seeds and rain. He walked to the market, where the weavers were wise about bright colors and patterns. And everywhere he went, he asked, "Please, will you give me a little of your wisdom?"
Everyone was kind. The fish said, "Water always finds a way." The farmers said, "Plant today and you will eat tomorrow." The weavers said, "Many small threads make one strong cloth." The grandmothers said, "A gentle word opens a heavy door."
Anansi took every piece of wisdom and dropped it carefully into a big clay pot. He put the lid on tight. Then he hugged the pot and smiled. "Now I have all the wisdom in the world," he said. "And I will not share it with anyone. If I share it, then other people will be as clever as me!"
But where could he hide such a precious pot? "If I keep it on the ground," he thought, "a goat might knock it over. If I keep it in my house, my neighbors might find it. I know! I will hide it at the very top of the tallest tree in the forest, where nobody can ever reach it."
Anansi tied the pot to his tummy with a piece of string. The pot was big and round, and it sat right in front of him. Then he walked to the tallest tree, a giant silk-cotton tree whose branches touched the clouds.
He reached up with his front legs. But the pot was in the way. He could not hug the tree trunk. He slid down. Bump!
He tried again. He stretched and wriggled. Bump! He slid down again.
He tried a third time, puffing and huffing. "Up, up, up!" he said. Bump! Down he came, landing on his bottom in the soft red dust.
Now, Anansi's youngest son, Ntikuma, had followed him quietly all the way from home. Ntikuma was small, and he did not wear a cap, but he had a very good pair of eyes. He sat on a stone and watched his father slide down the tree again and again.
At last, Ntikuma called out in a friendly voice, "Father, why don't you tie the pot on your back instead? Then your front legs can hold the tree, and you can climb easily."
Anansi stopped. He blinked his shiny eyes. He looked at the pot on his tummy. He looked at the tree. He looked at his little son.
"Oh!" said Anansi.
Slowly, he untied the pot, and he tied it on his back. Then he put his legs around the tree trunk, and up he went, as easy as anything, all the way to the top.
But when he got there, Anansi did not feel happy. He felt strange. He sat on a high branch with the warm wind blowing, and he thought, "I carried all the wisdom in the world in my pot. And yet my little son, who has no pot at all, had the wise idea that I did not have!"
Anansi looked down at Ntikuma, who was waving at him from far below. And Anansi began to laugh. He laughed so much that his little striped cap almost fell off.
"I was so silly," he said to himself. "Nobody can keep all the wisdom. Wisdom is not something you hide in a pot. It is everywhere, in every person, big and small. My son is small, but he is wise. The fish is wet, but he is wise. The grandmother is old, but she is wise. Wisdom grows when we share it, not when we lock it away."
Anansi took the lid off the pot. He held it up high in the wind. "Go!" he said. "Go to everyone!"
Whoosh! The wind blew into the pot and carried all the wisdom out. It floated over the forest like golden dust. It drifted over the river, over the fields, over the market and over the round houses. Some fell on the farmers, and some on the weavers. Some fell on the children playing football, and some on the babies sleeping in their mothers' arms. A little bit even fell on the goats, which is why goats sometimes look very thoughtful.
Then Anansi climbed down the tree, quickly and easily, and he hugged Ntikuma tight with all eight legs.
"Thank you, my son," he said. "Today you taught your father the biggest lesson of all."
"What lesson, Father?" asked Ntikuma.
"That everyone has something to teach us," said Anansi. "Even the smallest one. And that wisdom is for sharing."
They walked home together under the orange evening sky. That night, the whole family sat around the fire, and everyone told one wise thing they knew. The grandmother told one. The mother told one. The baby said, "Ba!" which everyone agreed was very wise indeed.
And that, the Ashanti grandmothers say, is why today a little bit of wisdom lives in everybody all over the world. When you listen to a friend, a brother, a sister or even a tiny child, you might find a piece of Anansi's golden wisdom shining inside.
The lesson: Nobody knows everything. Everyone, even the smallest person, has something wise to teach us, and wisdom grows when we share it.
Long ago, in a green land of tall trees, round houses and red earth, there lived a little spider named Kwaku Anansi. Anansi had eight quick legs, two shiny eyes, and a tiny striped cap that he wore every single day. He was clever, and he was funny, and sometimes he was a little bit too proud.
One morning, Anansi sat on a leaf and thought, "I am already very clever. But what if I could be the cleverest creature in the whole world? What if I could have ALL the wisdom?"
So Anansi set off. He walked to the river, where the fish were wise about water. He walked to the fields, where the farmers were wise about seeds and rain. He walked to the market, where the weavers were wise about bright colors and patterns. And everywhere he went, he asked, "Please, will you give me a little of your wisdom?"
Everyone was kind. The fish said, "Water always finds a way." The farmers said, "Plant today and you will eat tomorrow." The weavers said, "Many small threads make one strong cloth." The grandmothers said, "A gentle word opens a heavy door."
Anansi took every piece of wisdom and dropped it carefully into a big clay pot. He put the lid on tight. Then he hugged the pot and smiled. "Now I have all the wisdom in the world," he said. "And I will not share it with anyone. If I share it, then other people will be as clever as me!"
But where could he hide such a precious pot? "If I keep it on the ground," he thought, "a goat might knock it over. If I keep it in my house, my neighbors might find it. I know! I will hide it at the very top of the tallest tree in the forest, where nobody can ever reach it."
Anansi tied the pot to his tummy with a piece of string. The pot was big and round, and it sat right in front of him. Then he walked to the tallest tree, a giant silk-cotton tree whose branches touched the clouds.
He reached up with his front legs. But the pot was in the way. He could not hug the tree trunk. He slid down. Bump!
He tried again. He stretched and wriggled. Bump! He slid down again.
He tried a third time, puffing and huffing. "Up, up, up!" he said. Bump! Down he came, landing on his bottom in the soft red dust.
Now, Anansi's youngest son, Ntikuma, had followed him quietly all the way from home. Ntikuma was small, and he did not wear a cap, but he had a very good pair of eyes. He sat on a stone and watched his father slide down the tree again and again.
At last, Ntikuma called out in a friendly voice, "Father, why don't you tie the pot on your back instead? Then your front legs can hold the tree, and you can climb easily."
Anansi stopped. He blinked his shiny eyes. He looked at the pot on his tummy. He looked at the tree. He looked at his little son.
"Oh!" said Anansi.
Slowly, he untied the pot, and he tied it on his back. Then he put his legs around the tree trunk, and up he went, as easy as anything, all the way to the top.
But when he got there, Anansi did not feel happy. He felt strange. He sat on a high branch with the warm wind blowing, and he thought, "I carried all the wisdom in the world in my pot. And yet my little son, who has no pot at all, had the wise idea that I did not have!"
Anansi looked down at Ntikuma, who was waving at him from far below. And Anansi began to laugh. He laughed so much that his little striped cap almost fell off.
"I was so silly," he said to himself. "Nobody can keep all the wisdom. Wisdom is not something you hide in a pot. It is everywhere, in every person, big and small. My son is small, but he is wise. The fish is wet, but he is wise. The grandmother is old, but she is wise. Wisdom grows when we share it, not when we lock it away."
Anansi took the lid off the pot. He held it up high in the wind. "Go!" he said. "Go to everyone!"
Whoosh! The wind blew into the pot and carried all the wisdom out. It floated over the forest like golden dust. It drifted over the river, over the fields, over the market and over the round houses. Some fell on the farmers, and some on the weavers. Some fell on the children playing football, and some on the babies sleeping in their mothers' arms. A little bit even fell on the goats, which is why goats sometimes look very thoughtful.
Then Anansi climbed down the tree, quickly and easily, and he hugged Ntikuma tight with all eight legs.
"Thank you, my son," he said. "Today you taught your father the biggest lesson of all."
"What lesson, Father?" asked Ntikuma.
"That everyone has something to teach us," said Anansi. "Even the smallest one. And that wisdom is for sharing."
They walked home together under the orange evening sky. That night, the whole family sat around the fire, and everyone told one wise thing they knew. The grandmother told one. The mother told one. The baby said, "Ba!" which everyone agreed was very wise indeed.
And that, the Ashanti grandmothers say, is why today a little bit of wisdom lives in everybody all over the world. When you listen to a friend, a brother, a sister or even a tiny child, you might find a piece of Anansi's golden wisdom shining inside.
The lesson: Nobody knows everything. Everyone, even the smallest person, has something wise to teach us, and wisdom grows when we share it.
