THESE MYTHS and folktales are a collection from my own pool of stories, told when I was a child in the village and locked up somewhere in the recesses of my memory. Although much has decayed with time or been wiped out by other peoples’ stories fighting for front-page in my brain, I am sure there is a lot more in there that I cannot recall at the moment but which will come to the fore in due time. All I need is a catalyst, such as returning to the village, even if briefly.
The village environment and atmosphere in which these stories are told impress them very firmly on the memory of the listener. Just imagine yourself as a child member of a family sitting around a wood fire on a dark night in the centre of your household compound, or lying in bed in a mud and thatched hut. All around you is darkness. Maybe it is raining, and there is lightning and thunder.