The Guitar SoloA Malian Folk Tale

Illustrated by Rebecca McConnell

The Guitar SoloA 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.

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 skel-

eton, me and Mama both.”

And Faran went to where the rivers meet and grabbed Zin-Kibaru by

the shirt. “I’ll fight you for that guitar of yours!”

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 gui-

tar. 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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