The Antelope Wife
My short folktale flies, soaring over rivers, valleys, and plateaus, and lands on the head of a revered hunter. His hunt was often fruitful. His bow and arrow always found game, and his name was respected. Yet, he married late in life. For a long while, he lived alone, until the day he took a wife.
They loved each other sincerely and got along well. But the seasons passed, and their union was not blessed with a child. The wife, an akassa[1] seller in the village market, carried the weight of her barrenness in silence. Despite this hardship, their home remained peaceful.
One morning, the hunter went out to hunt as he did every day. Upon arriving in the forest, he climbed to the top of a great tree to scan the clearings for the smallest movement.
That day, his eyes found an unexpected sight. Not far from his tree, in the heart of the forest, was a carefully tended field of okra. An antelope approached the field with caution. She barely reached the edge of the okra field when she transformed: she laid down her animal skin and took the form of a woman with striking beauty.[1] In this human form, she harvested the okra, placed it in her basket, and then went to the market to sell it. When she returned to the field, she picked up her antelope skin and turned back into a wild animal before disappearing into the trees. The hunter observed this scene many times. He followed this mysterious creature, confirmed her secret, and, little by little, an idea began to grow.
One day, when the antelope had just transformed into a woman to sell her harvest, he silently climbed down from the treetop, seized her abandoned antelope skin, and hid it in his hunting bag.
When the young woman returned from the market, she looked for her skin at length in the okra field. She scoured the grass and scanned the surroundings but found nothing. Her face twisted in agony. The hunter then emerged from his hiding spot and approached her.
“What is a young woman such as yourself searching for in this deep forest?” he asked her.
She hesitated, “I came to gather firewood.”
The hunter reflected for a moment.
“You possess great beauty. Would you follow me back to my house? I would like to make you my wife, and afterward I will go and meet your family.”
Deprived of her deerskin and any means of returning to her animal form, the young woman had no other choice than to accept his offer and follow the hunter.
When they arrived, the hunter’s first wife welcomed the woman with curiosity. She questioned her husband about the origin of this woman who suddenly appeared in his arms. But the hunter evaded her questions and did not reveal the truth. Time passed, and the hunter’s new wife became pregnant. She gave birth to four daughters, as beautiful and lively as fawns. The house filled with the laughter of children, and the hunter at last knew the joy of fatherhood. But jealousy grew in the heart of the first wife like a smoldering ember. She was never able to give a child to her husband, and she had seen how his new wife had filled this void in his life. Her bitterness grew. She threatened her husband that if he didn’t reveal the origin of his second wife, she would ask for a divorce. The hunter hesitated a long moment, then conceded, but only on the condition that she would never reveal the secret to anyone. She accepted. Reassured by the soft and comforting manner of his first wife—who was considerate to the second wife despite her jealousy. The hunter told her the truth. He even told her where he had hidden the second wife’s antelope skin: carefully concealed behind the hut.
“If this secret were to be divulged,” he said seriously, “I would lose this new wife forever.”
Days passed. One afternoon, while their husband was out hunting, a violent argument erupted between the two wives. Words were at first hurtful, then cruel. In a fit of irrepressible anger, the first wife spat: “Antelope! Antelope! Antelope! Go back to your true nature. Your skin is hidden behind our husband’s hut!”
At these words, the antelope wife turned pale. Without hesitation, she ran behind the hut, found her skin, and put it on. In an instant, she turned back into an antelope. Her four daughters turned into antelopes as well, showing their true form. In a stroke of lightning speed, they reared over the barren woman and trampled her. Then, in a cloud of dust, they left the compound and fled deep into the forest. When the hunter returned from the hunt, he found his house quiet and his first wife lifeless. He found no trace of his second wife or his children, except for the distant echo of gallops in the forest.
Thus, it is understood that certain secrets should never be revealed, and that jealousy, once stoked, certainly consumes more than a fire.
[1] A medium-sized ball of gelatinous dough made from water and corn flour, traditionally sold wrapped in leaves. A base most often eaten with various soups and meats.