And Manzandaba would tell the Queen all about her brothers and sisters: how her brothers loved making clay oxen from the river mud, how her sisters danced and sang when the rain fell. She would tell them about her father, Zenzele, how hard he worked to clear the ground for planting.

She would tell them about fire too, how it glowed red and bright in the darkness. Yes! For the Spirit People could not build fires under the water, surely?
And then the Queen of the Spirit People would say, “Thank you, dear Child from the Dry Lands. And now we will tell you a story to take back to your night-fire. A most wondrous story!”

And that was the very moment the Sea finally answered her.

“Hawu!” said the Sea. “Pay attention, human! You ask me a question. But now you sit with your eyes closed, thinking about other things!”

Manzandaba felt ashamed. “I’m so sorry, Great Lwandle,” she apologised.

“Good,” said the Sea. “I am sending you a shell. If you hold the shell against your ear, you will hear stories! Most wonderful stories! Then you can repeat them to your siblings.”

A wave roared up the beach towards her, carrying a shell: a big and beautiful pink shell.

“Thank you! Thank you, Great Lwandle!” said Manzandaba. She picked up the shell and ran towards her homestead. The sun was disappearing behind the mountains.

Her father had already lit the night-fire. Her brothers and sisters sat wrapped in their warm karosses.

“So tell us our story, big sister,” they begged. In the firelight, their eyes shone with excitement.

Manzandaba held the shell against her ear. She listened carefully. She waited patiently.

But no story came! No! All she heard was the roaring of the waves. Nothing more.
And how could she tell her brothers and sisters that there was no story? How could she disappoint them? No, she had to find a way.

And so she began. “There I was on the beach when a giant sea turtle walked out of the waves. And do you know what he said to me?”

“What? What?” all the children chorused.

“He said I must climb on his back. And do you know where he took me?”

“Where? Where?” the children chorused again. They were leaning forward, their eyes wide.

“Yes, where? Where?” asked her father, Zenzele. He had joined them around the fire. He was smiling, as if all the tiredness of his day’s work had left him.

Manzandaba continued. “The sea turtle dived deep, deep, deep under the waves. I had to hold on so tight! And we journeyed past underwater caves and great underwater forests until…until we came upon some amazing beings.”

“Which beings? Which beings?”

Around the fire, her brothers and sisters — and her father too — seemed spellbound while she described the King and Queen of the Spirit People.

At last, Manzandaba understood: she didn’t need to go searching the world for stories. No! There were stories right here — right here inside her human mind.

“Tomorrow,” she thought. “Tomorrow I will sit cross-legged beside the river. And I will close my eyes. I will think of another story for tomorrow night’s fire…Perhaps about a giant crocodile? Or about the goblins that dance beneath the waterfall? Or about a brave boy caught in a river flood?”

Tell us: All people around the world have folk tales — what makes folk tales so special?