The Guitar Solo A Malian Folk Tale
Illustrated by Rebecca McConnell
The Guitar Solo
A Malian Folk Tale Illustrated by Rebecca McConnell
In a place where six rivers join like the strings of a guitar, lived Zin the Nasty, Zin the Mean, Zin-Kibaru, the water spirit.
Even above the noise of the rushing water rose the sound of his magic guitar, and whenever he played it, the creatures of the river fell under his power. He summoned them to dance for him and to fetch him food and drink. In the daytime, the countryside rocked to the sound of Zin’s partying.
But come nighttime, there was worse in store for Zin’s neighbor, Faran. At night, Zin played his guitar in Faran’s field, hidden by darkness and the tall plants. Faran was not rich. In all the world he only had a field, a fishing rod, a canoe, and his mother. So when Zin began to play, Faran clapped his hands to his head and groaned, “Oh no! Not again!”
Out of the rivers came a million mesmerized fish, slithering up the bank, walking on their tails, glimmering silver. They trampled Faran’s green shoots, gobbled his tall leaves, picked his ripe crop to carry home for Zin-Kibaru.
Like a flock of crows they stripped his field, and no amount of shooing would drive them away. Not while Zin played his spiteful, magic guitar.
“We shall starve!” complained Faran to his mother. “Well, boy,” she said, “there’s a saying I seem to recall: When the fish eat your food, it’s time to eat the fish.”
So Faran took his rod and his canoe and went fishing. All day he fished, but Zin’s magic simply kept the fish away, and Faran caught nothing. All night he fished, too, and never a bite: the fish were too busy gathering the maize in his field.
“Nothing, nothing, nothing,” said Faran in disgust, as he arrived home with his rod over the shoulder. “Nothing?” said his mother seeing the bulging fishing basket.“Well, nothing but two hippopotami,” said Faran, “and we can’t eat them, so I’d better let them go.” The hippopotami got out of Faran’s basket and trotted away.
And Faran went to where the rivers meet and grabbed Zin-Kibaru by the shirt. “I’ll fight you for that guitar of yours!”
Now Zin was an ugly brute and got most of his fun from tormenting Faran and the fish. But he also loved to wrestle. “I’ll fight you, boy,” he said, “and if you win, you get my guitar. But if I win, I get your canoe. Agreed?” “If I don’t stop your magic, I shan’t need no canoe,” said Faran, “because “I’ll be starved right down to a skeleton, me and Mama both.”
So, that was one night the magic guitar did not play in Faran’s field—because Faran and Zin were wrestling. All the animals watched. At first they cheered Zin: he had told them to. But soon they fell silent, a circle of glittering eyes. All night Faran fought, because so much depended on it.
“Can’t lose my canoe!” he thought, each time he grew tired. “Must stop that music!” he thought, each time he hit the ground. “Must win, for Mama’s sake!” he thought, each time Zin bit or kicked or scratched him.
And by morning it really seemed as if Faran might win. “Come on, Faran!” whispered a monkey and a duck. “COME ON, FARAN!” roared his mother. Then Zin cheated.
He used a magic word. “Zongballyboshbuckericket!” he said, and Faran fell to the ground like spilled water. He could not move. Zin danced around him, hands clasped above his head— “I win! I win! I win!”—then laughed and laughed till he had to sit down.
“Oh, Mama!” sobbed Faran. “I’m sorry! I did my best, but I don’t know no magic words to knock this bully down!” “Oh yes, you do!” called his mama. “Don’t you recall? You found them in your fishing basket one day!”
Then Faran remembered. The perfect magic words. And he used them. “Hippopotami! HELP!�
Just like magic, the first hippopotamus Faran had caught came and sat down—just where Zin was sitting. I mean right on the spot where Zin was sitting. I mean right on top of Zin. And then his hippopotamus mate came and sat on his lap. And that, it was generally agreed, was when Faran won the fight. Zin was crushed.
So nowadays Faran floats half-asleep in his canoe, fishing or playing a small guitar. He has changed the strings, of course, so as to have no magic power over the creatures of the six rivers. But he does have plenty of friends to help him tend his maize and mend his roof and dance with his mother. And what more can a boy ask than that?
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