A long time ago, a woman lived with her family in a village in the Kingdom of Zululand. Every Sunday the family went down to the big ocean. The children dug in the sand and played in the waves. The woman made food over a fire while her husband looked for wood washed up by the sea to carve beautiful things: birds, people and all kinds of animals.
During the week the whole family worked hard and in the evenings they sat around the fire. It was too dark for working or playing or carving and it was too early to go to sleep. And this was when the children asked their mother to tell them a story.
“Mama,” they begged, “we want stories. Please tell us one.”
But no matter how hard she tried to think of a story, she could not. Neither she nor her husband had any stories to tell.
One day, the woman decided to ask her neighbours for help.
“Do you have any stories?” she asked them.
“No-o-oo,” they shook their heads, “we don’t.”
There were no stories. There were no dreams … and there were no magical tales.
Her husband suggested, “Wife, I think you must go look for stories. I will take care of our children and the house. Find some stories and bring them back.”
“Mama,” they begged, “we want stories. Please tell us one.”
But no matter how hard she tried to think of a story, she could not. Neither she nor her husband had any stories to tell.
One day, the woman decided to ask her neighbours for help.
“Do you have any stories?” she asked them.
“No-o-oo,” they shook their heads, “we don’t.”
There were no stories. There were no dreams … and there were no magical tales.
Her husband suggested, “Wife, I think you must go look for stories. I will take care of our children and the house. Find some stories and bring them back.”