morgan schatz blackrose

The Cow Tail Switch

A few nights ago I received news of a friend's celebration of her rebirth. After a year of seemingly unrelated symptoms, she was finally diagnosed with a brain tumour and immediately operated on. The tumour which covered 80 % of the left half of her brain was not cancerous and her survival was declared miraculous by the surgeon. Hence the celebration of her 'second birthday'. After my initial shock at hearing of her experience and the relief of knowing her prognosis was positive, I considered her gift to me; her story. The stories of other people's lives serve as inspiration, counsel and caution in the living of our own lives. Her parting words to me in her email were, 'Look to the future but live in the present.'

So often we simply exist without gratitude. We waste our time, we hide our talents, we take each other for granted. I am so grateful to my friend for sharing her story, for it serves to remind me that Life is a gift to be cherished always. 

The Cow-Tail Switch
Once upon a time in a small village in West Africa, there lived a hunter with his wife and seven sons. One day the hunter went into the forest alone to hunt and did not return at nightfall. His family wondered why he did not come back. They talked about it for some days, but after a while when he didn't come back, they stopped talking about it. 
Then one day his wife gave birth to another son. As he grew older he began to talk, and when he could talk, the first thing he said was,   “Where is my father?”

 “Good question”, the others replied.

 “He should have come back a long time ago.” 

Another son said, “Something must have happened to him. We should go looking.” 

“But where will we find him?” Asked another son. 
    “I saw him go.”  One son said, “If you follow me, I can show you the trail he took.”

And so the sons followed the trail. Finally, in a clearing, they found the bones and rusted weapons of their father. He had obviously been killed by some great beast. 
Another son stepped forward. “I can put his bones together.

And he did.

Another son said, “I know how to cover the skeleton with muscle and flesh.”

And he did.

Then another son said, “ I can put blood in his body.” 

Another said, “I can put breath into his body.” 

With this the hunter began to breath. 

Then another son said, “I can help him to move."

And he did. The hunter then got up and stretched his bones. 

Then another son said, “I can give him the power of speech.”

 With this the hunter said, “Let us go home.”

They went home and the hunter's wife gave him a great feast inviting everyone in the village. In celebration of his return, the hunter made a switch from the tail of a cow and decorated it with cowry shells. Everyone wanted it.

 After the feast, the hunter called for silence.

 “I would like to give this beautiful cow-tail switch, to the one most responsible for bringing me back to life.”

Immediately there was an uproar as each brother had an opinion.

     “It is surely me,” said the son who showed his brothers the path that helped them to find their father.

      “But without me he wouldn't have come back to life”, said the one who laid out the bones.

 “Breath is more important than bones,” said another son.

 “What is life without movement?” said another. 

On and on they went. Finally the hunter called for silence. 

“I will give this cow-tail switch to my youngest son,” he said. “For he was the one who remembered me. It is said, that a person is not truly dead, until he is forgotten.”  

 The Cow-Tail Switch - A folktale from Liberia Collected by Harold Courlander and George Herzog (New York: Henry Holt & Co. l947).

Photo A Life by Roman W Schatz

The Leopard Woman

Change. I am experiencing the change of seasons, metaphorically speaking, but I'm also in Switzerland during November, and can therefore witness the changing colours of the leaves and their subsequent fall as autumn or herbst as it is known as here, moves into Winter. It is a transformation, testament to the power and beauty of Nature. It is also a reminder of how my own life as a woman is mirrored in that of the apple tree; blossoming, fruitful, vibrantly clothed and finally naked. I too have experienced the seasons, although unlike the apple tree, not as an annual event. And yet even if my appearance does not reflect the season I am in, I can feel like Spring with the budding of a new idea, bountiful Summer when I have gifts to share with my friends and family or as vulnerable as the apple tree in Winter as the passing years take their toll on my body. My transformations are governed by my choices, with some concessions to hormones. The following folktale has always resonated with my belief that we always have a choice. I choose Life.

The Leopard Woman  - a retelling of a Liberian folktale

There was once a man and a woman who prepared themselves for a long journey. The woman strapped their child to her back, along with two gourds, one filled with water, the other with corn. She carried her favourite pot, a bag of medicinal herbs and a digging stick. The man carried his hunting knife and spear.

They walked for many hours, until the child wailed for food. They stopped in the shade of a mango tree and the woman transferred the baby from her back to her breast. When she had finished feeding him she returned him to her back and collected wood to make a cooking fire. As she prepared a meal, she sang a lullaby to him.

la la Udolo la la o

la la Udolo la la ay

la la Udolo la la o

la la Udolo yay dom o ay.

The following day they travelled again, stopping near a waterhole to refill the gourd. The woman lay the child down upon the ground to kick his legs, while she pounded the corn to flour. From the corner of her eye she saw a snake slither up to him.  She screamed, grabbed her digging stick and beat the snake, so it retreated to the bush. She hoisted the child up on to her back and continued with her work, while her husband slept on, in the shade. That afternoon they ate the last of the cornbread, but the man was not satisfied.

"We have one more day's journey," he said, "and I will die of hunger if I do not have meat."

The woman looked at the herd of bush cows leaving the water hole and replied.

"You have your knife and spear. In half a day you could chase down and kill one of those bush cows and I will cook it for us."

But the man sat and sulked. He turned to her and yelled.

‘You can change yourself into anything. Why don't you become a leopard and catch a cow?’

‘Are you serious?’ asked the wife.

‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Do it.’

‘Husband, are you sure that is what you want?’

‘Yes.’

The woman lay the baby on the ground in front of her. She removed her loincloth and knelt on all fours. Her body began its transformation. Downy fur covered her skin. Beneath her spotted pelt the woman's muscles enlarged and lengthened. Her senses sharpened. Her hands and feet sprouted razor-sharp claws and her mouth filled with fangs. She bared her teeth and snarled at the man facing her.

Realizing that he was staring at a leopard, the man panicked and bolted to the nearest tree. He scaled its trunk and hid in the foliage. In a few bounds the leopard was at the foot of the tree. She ranged around it, staring at the man hiding in its branches. In an instant she could leap up and drag him to the ground. He crouched on a limb, deeply regretting the foolish demand he placed on his wife. If only there was something to distract the beast.  And then he heard the child's cry.

The leopard left the tree and padded over to the waterhole. She sniffed the squirming bundle that lay on the ground in front of her. Feeling the animal's hot breath on his face and seeing her toothy grin, the baby wailed. The man closed his eyes and looked away. But the leopard sprang over the child and ran after the herd. She singled out a small heifer and brought her down, then dragged the carcass back and dumped it at the foot of the tree.

The man called down to her.

‘Change back. Change back.’

The fur and fangs receded, her senses diminished and the woman returned to her self. But the man would not come down from the tree until she had put on her loincloth and picked up the baby. When he did touch the ground he could barely look at her.

‘You must never do that again,’ he reprimanded. ‘You might have killed me.’

‘Yes,’ said the woman, ‘but I chose not to.’

She smiled as she brought the baby to her breast.

‘The power of transformation lives within me. I can call upon it at my will, but it must always be my choice to do so’.

Source: African Folktales selected and retold by Roger D. Abrahams ©1983 Pantheon New York  

Photo by Roman Schatz