Long ago, the creator Wuaka lived among men. Men were happy, and so was God: those were happy times! After eating his porridge, Wuaka would walk around the shepherds’ huts and ask, “How is the family?”
“Fine, thank you, Wuaka,” the men would reply.
“And how are the cows? Is there enough grass? Is there enough water, and is it clean?”
“All good, sir! Stop and have a beer with us, because this one has fermented well and is full of bubbles. After three cups, your tongue will come out and speak for itself!”
Wuaka, who loved beer and his creatures, would sit on the guest mat in front of the fire. They would all drink until their tongues stuck out of their mouths and spoke for themselves. Before sunset, Wuaka would visit the farmers and ask them, “How are the crops doing?”
“They’re growing well and there are no pests, thank you! But stop and have a drink with us! Then we’ll bake bread in the ashes and eat roast meat.”
Then Wuaka would enter the clay houses and take the place of honour that the kind women had prepared for him. He would look fondly at the children who ran around him with the joyful exuberance of puppies. They would all drink beer until their tongues stuck out of their mouths and spoke for themselves.
The days flowed by like a slow, peaceful river, its waters deep and teeming with life. Then, one very bad day for mankind, the Creator came to the savannah and approached a herd of elephants.
“Is everything OK? Are there enough leaves and twigs?”
“Of course, Lord! All is well! This land is indeed a beautiful place to live! You couldn’t have come up with a better idea than creating elephants!” The savannah giants grumbled happily.
Some time later, near a waterhole, Wuaka found a mule intent on quenching its thirst. The mule was difficult. Unlike its cousin the donkey, it did not have a gentle and good nature. The mule was very short-tempered and jealous of the horse. When they played to see who could reach the big mountains on the other side of the plains first, the horse always left the mule behind. The mule could no longer sleep for rage. Born disgruntled, the mule lived a sad life, plagued by jealousy and constant fighting.
Even the donkeys brayed at him, teasing him — not to mention the mules who, after losing a race, would never speak to him again. But what drove him mad was that his disappointed girlfriends would then deny him their favours, betraying him openly by coquetting and shaking their asses mischievously under the nose of the victorious horse.
“So, how are you, dear mule? Are you happy?”
“Not at all, Wuaka,” replied the mule. “You could have tried a bit harder to make me faster, so I wouldn’t have been humiliated by the horse!”
Wuaka approached the mule to caress and comfort him, as he did with all his other creatures. But the mule had a big head, and his mood was more crooked than usual that day, so he was truly angry. He lifted his hind legs and struck Wuaka in the belly with his hooves, sending him flying. God’s anger exploded with a rumble of thunder.
“Unworthy and treacherous creature! Stubborn, wicked quadruped! You deserve a fitting punishment for raising your hooves against your God. You are no longer worthy to bear children, and from this moment you will never bear any again!” said the offended Creator, who left the earth and retreated high above the clouds.
Since then, lonely men have prayed and invited Wuaka to sit on the guest mat in front of the fire and drink beer until his tongue detaches itself from his mouth and speaks for itself. But the offended Wuaka has always remained up there, remote and unreachable.
Now and then, after the rain, a rainbow appears in the clouds — it is the Sabata Wuaka, the shimmering, multicoloured Wuaka belt. God wears it as he strolls through the sky, distant and far away from his creatures. They call out to him in vain with drums and dances, waiting full of hope for him to finally return to Earth.
(Folktale from the Galla people, Ethiopia – Pixabay)
