Anansi & The Pot of Beans

by Paul Smith

For you today, I have prepared a story from a community of mine.

From a culture with whom my relationship, I hope to redefine.

It’s a bedtime story with characters, and a lesson (somewhere in between).

It’s a story called Anansi & The Pot of Beans .

Anansi was a spider, who was born on a Wednesday.

One day,

As Anansi woke up to the sounds of the village,

Anansi woke up to the news of the passing of his mother-in-law.

“What do we do without Grandma”, asked Anansi’s son, Ntikuma.

Anansi searched for answers and found one right outside his window.

Horse rode by with an empty cart, and said,

“Oh Mother-in-law, I miss you so. I would give her

rides in my carriages to and from the well every day.

I will not ride my carriage for one week in honor of Mother-in-law.

Both Rooster and Crow in their sadness together announced

“Neither of us will make a sound when the sun rises,

so that mother-in-law can have extra time as the spirits walk through our streets.”

Anansi ran outside to join in the chorus.

“I Kwewu Anansi, miss Mother-in-law the most! She would make

Me only the best rice and stew and beans! I will not eat rice or stew or beans,

In fact, I will not eat. Because, with Mother-in-law’s passing, so too passes my appetite.

Anansi’s wife, Aso, was speechless.

Anansi’s son, Ntikuma, began to cry and said, “Well,

I must eat Father. So, I will try and learn to make beans

The way my Grandmother did.” The village began their next verse.

Just as the sun had risen that day, it fell and made space for the moon.

The moon returned the favour, and they played this game for one week.

On the seventh day, the village held a celebration of life for Mother-in-law,

On the seventh day, Anansi’s hunger grew and grew and grew.

Anansi was so hungry, his wife, Aso had no words for him when he said

“My wife, I am sorry, but

I miss my Mother-in-law too much to attend the celebration tonight”.

On the seventh day, Anansi’s wife, Aso, was still speechless.

As she had not spoken since the passing of her Mother

“I fear she will never speak again if you don’t come, Dadaa”,

Said Ntkimua. And he was right.

As the sun was setting,

The village convened at father-in-law's house

To offer him gifts of food and wine and song and dance and praise and proximity

For grief, much like a celebration, feels like a lighter burden when shared.

Anansi, Aso, and Ntikuma sat with Father-in-law.

When it came time for food, Father-in-law asked Anansi to help prepare all the plates

“Oh yes, father-in-law. I will for you, but none for me.

“Anansi,” said father-in-law,

“Aso has made your favorite rice and stew, and your son, Ntikuma,

Has learned how to prepare beans the way, my wife did so.

May God rest her soul.

After all the folks in the village ate, except for Anansi, he said

“Oh excuse me”, he said, “I must retire to the washroom”

And Anansi slipped away, not for the toilet, but for the kitchen and

the leftover rice and stew and beans.

Kweku Anansi looked left and right and saw no one in sight.

Anansi took the pot of beans and in one big gulp,

Anansi had drank half of the beans.

“AHHH, this is so hot, but so good.” Anansi was full, but not satisfied.

So, Anansi, ate, and ate, and as he ate, he heard footsteps down the hall. Quickly,

Anansi took the pot of beans, flipped it on its head, and said, “I will merely show everyone

That I have bought a nice hat because grieving can also be a financial process.”

“Anansi, please. I know that you are sad, but your wife,

who has been silent all week now sings a song for mother-in-law.”

It was Father-in-law.

“Oh, Father-in-law, I absolutely understand, but please, do not worry about me.

In fact, I actually must go--I must go now! For...

They are ringing bells and calling for me...

Yes, they are! In my end of the village—”

“Please, one dance Anansi. Just one!

I have not moved in seven days, but now I feel music, Anansi.”

And they danced!

The center of the floor was heating up with every step

After one song, Anansi, was tired and burned,

“Big finish!”

And then...the spider turned...

Before the pot could even reach the ground,

By the time father-in-law could look up to ask Anansi about his mess,

Kweku Anansi was gone.

Father in law, shook his head left and right at the pot of beans on the ground.

Father-in-law heard crying. Father-in-law felt rain.

Father-in-law looked up and there was Kweku Anansi:

Embarrased, scared, and just out of reach.

“Why do you cry, my son-in-law?”, asked Father-in-law.

“Are you crying because you are hungry and someone spilled the beans?”

Anansi replied, “Father-in-law. I am not hungry. I have lost my appetite

For, in this moment, I Kweku Anansi, do not deserve food.”

Anansi explained to Father-in-law what had happened over the past week:

How everyone seemed so sad and seemed so comfortable showing it.

So Anansi did the same.

“Anansi”, said Father-in-law,

“When you grieve, who do you grieve for? You say you grieve

For mother in law, but by showing your public display of grief,

You are grieving for everyone else. You can't give her your grief, for

She is gone. You can only give her your memory. Grief is yours, and Anansi,

Sometimes grief is heavy. Sometimes grief is confusing, but

Grief is not a competition.

Grief is a shapeshifter, and grief looks different to everyone. Grief is for yourself.

One cannot celebrate until you grieve (and that includes your Mother-in-law).

Anansi began to cry harder. For it was on this night, that a lesson was learned.

Through all this, Anansi had not grieved.

Father-in-law knew that lesson well,

For, after all, he was also a man.

“I've made a fool of myself, father-in-law. I don't know what to do.”

“I think you've done enough, son-in-law. Let's let the rain wash this mess away.

Go, thank your wife for her voice and thank your son for these beans.

Your son will have to show you how his Grandmother made the, but

Tonight, we celebrate, and

I think I owe your Mother-in-law a dance.

The Moon and Sun called it a draw

And now take turns as they play.

More lessons learned.

For you, and me, and Kweku Anansi

Dont leave them here

You’ll need them tomorrow in your daydreams

And when you wake for mornings breath

Remember Anansi & The Pot of Beans.