Bear number sixty-two tells the tale of Kudu and Tickbird.After the counselor was finished with his lesson he asked for volunteers to tell their stories. The Bear way in back, the one who had calmed down the group earlier with a whispered "be nice," raised his hand and said he knew a good story.
"Bear number sixty-two, let's hear what you have to say. Everybody else, please sit quietly and pay attention to your brother."
And so Bear sixty-two came to the front with his big drawing pad and began:
Grandfather Mhambi walked slowly, searching for the watering hole, often turning his head to see if predators were following, wondering if his feet took him in the right direction. Since his friends had decided that he was no longer the most important kudu in the group, he traveled alone. He had mated with many females in his life and had fathered beautiful calves, but now that his hearing was no longer keen and his eyes could not spot dangers looming by the thornbushes, he was a burden to the herd of bachelors that roamed the edge of the woodlands. Grandfather Mhambi thought that this was unfair and though he tried not to feel sorry for himself, he spent a great amount of time looking for a companion.
“At least one creature must like me,” he said to himself whenever the distance blurred in the hot sun or the sounds of the night became unreadable noises to him.
After wandering alone for some time he made a sign and stuck it to one of his long spiral horns.
“Free Ride,” the sign said. Mhambi hoped to find an animal that would climb his back and direct him toward the watering hole.
As soon as he left the shelter of trees he saw a snake winding across the sand.
“Excuse me, young lady,” he said, “wouldn’t you like to get out of the hot sand and ride on my back?”
“Sure,” the snake answered and climbed up Grandfather Mhambi’s left hind leg. But as soon as she was halfway up she couldn’t resist the urge to dart a spray of poison into his flesh.
“Ouch,” said the kudu and shook the snake off. “Go away; you are not worthy of my companionship.”
For a while he felt the sting and limped, but he was a big kudu and soon the poison left his system.
At midday he paused in his journey and nibbled on a wild watermelon. He heard a giggle from behind a bush but couldn’t tell who was hiding there.
“Hello,” he said, lowering his head to see better. “I am Grandfather Mhambi, and I wonder if you would like a ride to the watering hole?”
When he saw the hyena jump out of the thicket he tried to pull back, but it was too late; the little rascal jumped right into the fringe of hair under his chin and clung to it with all his might.
“I’ll go with you,” giggled the hyena. Then he bit Mhambi in the chin and Grandfather had to shake his head back and forth until the hyena flew off and landed back in the bush.
“Shame on you,” the kudu said. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to bite an old grandfather?”
He wandered off, still shaking his head and the fringe under his chin.
Soon he tired and stopped to take a rest. When a kudu stands still he is very difficult to spot because he looks like a piece of the earth. Grandfather resembled a mount of dry sand, littered with twisted branches; on one of the branches a sign was stuck that said “Free Ride.”
A tickbird, who had just been evicted by his former host for being too noisy, landed on one of Grandfather Mhambi’s horns and looked in surprise at the sign. “How can that be?” she tweeted. “How can a hill give a ride? Hoe can it move?”
Grandfather Mhambi woke to the excited tweet that seemed to come from his horns. A bit groggy from his nap in the hot sun, he was not very patient with the intruder.
“Who are you?” he wanted to know as he rose and straightened his legs, “I only give rides to friendly creatures. And speak up. I’m hard of hearing.”
The tickbird, surprised when the hill lifted and moved her higher into the air, answered with a shriek, “Oh dear mountain, please take me with you. I promise I won’t be any trouble.”
Grandfather was pleased to meet such a polite stranger. But he had learned his lesson and continued his demands.
“Come down and let me take a look at you.”
The little tickbird stretched her wings and fluttered around the mountain.
“My name is Lungile,” she introduced herself and when she saw that the mountain had long legs and a fringe of hair under the chin, and long spiral horns, she said, “You are a kudu. You are Grandfather Mhambi, the lonely traveler. My mother told me you were old and full of parasites. She said we would make a good team. I’ll be your guide if you promise to let me stay with you for the rest of my life.”
“I promise to keep you as long as you don’t poison my legs or pull out the hairs on my chin,” said Grandfather Mhambi. “Now, let’s go to the watering hole.”
He took down the “Free Ride” sign and told his new friend to make herself comfortable on his back. And though he had trouble seeing the little bird when she danced in front of him and barely felt her probing beak when she pried ticks from his back, he could count on Lungile to alert him to the danger of hunters with her shrill voice. And, of course, Lungile the tickbird was blissfully happy to have found such a strong friend and nourishing food source.
“At least one creature must like me,” he said to himself whenever the distance blurred in the hot sun or the sounds of the night became unreadable noises to him.
After wandering alone for some time he made a sign and stuck it to one of his long spiral horns.
“Free Ride,” the sign said. Mhambi hoped to find an animal that would climb his back and direct him toward the watering hole.
As soon as he left the shelter of trees he saw a snake winding across the sand.
“Excuse me, young lady,” he said, “wouldn’t you like to get out of the hot sand and ride on my back?”
“Sure,” the snake answered and climbed up Grandfather Mhambi’s left hind leg. But as soon as she was halfway up she couldn’t resist the urge to dart a spray of poison into his flesh.
“Ouch,” said the kudu and shook the snake off. “Go away; you are not worthy of my companionship.”
For a while he felt the sting and limped, but he was a big kudu and soon the poison left his system.
At midday he paused in his journey and nibbled on a wild watermelon. He heard a giggle from behind a bush but couldn’t tell who was hiding there.
“Hello,” he said, lowering his head to see better. “I am Grandfather Mhambi, and I wonder if you would like a ride to the watering hole?”
When he saw the hyena jump out of the thicket he tried to pull back, but it was too late; the little rascal jumped right into the fringe of hair under his chin and clung to it with all his might.
“I’ll go with you,” giggled the hyena. Then he bit Mhambi in the chin and Grandfather had to shake his head back and forth until the hyena flew off and landed back in the bush.
“Shame on you,” the kudu said. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to bite an old grandfather?”
He wandered off, still shaking his head and the fringe under his chin.
Soon he tired and stopped to take a rest. When a kudu stands still he is very difficult to spot because he looks like a piece of the earth. Grandfather resembled a mount of dry sand, littered with twisted branches; on one of the branches a sign was stuck that said “Free Ride.”
A tickbird, who had just been evicted by his former host for being too noisy, landed on one of Grandfather Mhambi’s horns and looked in surprise at the sign. “How can that be?” she tweeted. “How can a hill give a ride? Hoe can it move?”
Grandfather Mhambi woke to the excited tweet that seemed to come from his horns. A bit groggy from his nap in the hot sun, he was not very patient with the intruder.
“Who are you?” he wanted to know as he rose and straightened his legs, “I only give rides to friendly creatures. And speak up. I’m hard of hearing.”
The tickbird, surprised when the hill lifted and moved her higher into the air, answered with a shriek, “Oh dear mountain, please take me with you. I promise I won’t be any trouble.”
Grandfather was pleased to meet such a polite stranger. But he had learned his lesson and continued his demands.
“Come down and let me take a look at you.”
The little tickbird stretched her wings and fluttered around the mountain.
“My name is Lungile,” she introduced herself and when she saw that the mountain had long legs and a fringe of hair under the chin, and long spiral horns, she said, “You are a kudu. You are Grandfather Mhambi, the lonely traveler. My mother told me you were old and full of parasites. She said we would make a good team. I’ll be your guide if you promise to let me stay with you for the rest of my life.”
“I promise to keep you as long as you don’t poison my legs or pull out the hairs on my chin,” said Grandfather Mhambi. “Now, let’s go to the watering hole.”
He took down the “Free Ride” sign and told his new friend to make herself comfortable on his back. And though he had trouble seeing the little bird when she danced in front of him and barely felt her probing beak when she pried ticks from his back, he could count on Lungile to alert him to the danger of hunters with her shrill voice. And, of course, Lungile the tickbird was blissfully happy to have found such a strong friend and nourishing food source.
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