Once there was a man who was strong.
When he gathered firewood, he hauled twice as much
as anyone else in the village. When he hunted, he carried home two
antelopes at once.
This man’s name was Shadusa, and his wife was named
Shettu. One day he said to her, “Just look at these muscles. I must be
the strongest man in the world. From now on, just call me Master Man.”
But Shettu said, “Quit your foolish boasting. No
matter how strong you are, there will always be someone stronger. And
watch out, or someday you may meet him.”
The next day, Shettu paid a visit to a neighboring
village. On the walk home she grew thirsty, so she stopped by a well.
She threw in the bucket—splash—then she pulled on the rope. But
though she tugged and she heaved, she could not lift the bucket.
Just then a woman walked up with a baby strapped to
her back. Balanced on her head was a calabash, a hollow gourd for
carrying water.
“You’ll get no water here today,” said Shettu. “The
bucket won’t come up.”
The two women pulled together, but still the bucket
would not budge.
“Wait a moment,” said the woman. She untied her baby
and set him on the ground. “Pull up the bucket for Mama.”
The baby quickly pulled up the bucket and filled his
mother’s calabash. Then he threw in the bucket and pulled it up once
more for Shettu.
Shettu gasped. “I don’t believe it!”
“Oh, it’s not so strange,” said the woman. “After
all, my husband is Master Man.”
When Shettu got home, she told Shadusa what had
happened.
“Master Man?” yelled Shadusa. “He can’t call himself
that! I’m Master Man. I’ll have to teach that fellow a lesson.”
“Oh, husband, don’t!” pleaded Shettu. “If the baby
is so strong, think what the father must be like. You’ll get yourself
killed.”
But Shadusa said, “We’ll see about that!”
The next morning, Shadusa set out early and walked
till he came to the well. He threw in the bucket—splash—then he
pulled on the rope. But though he tugged and he heaved, he could not
lift the bucket.
Just then the woman with the baby walked up.
“Wait a minute,” said Shadusa. “What do you think
you’re doing?”
“I’m getting water, of course,” answered the woman.
“Well, you can’t,” said Shadusa. “The bucket won’t
come up.”
The woman set down the baby, who quickly pulled up
the bucket and filled his mother’s calabash.
“Wah!” yelled Shadusa. “How did he do that?”
“It’s easy,” said the woman, “when your father is
Master Man.”
Shadusa gulped and thought about going home. But
instead he thrust out his chest and said, “I want to meet this fellow,
so I can show him who’s the real Master Man.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” said the woman. “He
devours men like you! But suit yourself.”
So Shadusa followed the woman back to her compound.
Inside the fenced yard was a gigantic fireplace, and beside it was a
pile of huge bones.
“What’s all this?” asked Shadusa.
“Well, you see,” said the woman, “our hut is so
small that my husband must come out here to eat his elephants.”
Just then they heard a great ROAR, so loud that
Shadusa had to cover his ears. Then the ground began to shake, until
Shadusa could hardly stand.
“What’s that?” he shouted.
“That’s Master Man.”
“Oh, no!” wailed Shadusa. “You weren’t fooling. I’ve
got to get out of here!”
“It’s too late now,” said the woman. “But let me
hide you.”
By the fence were some large clay pots, each as tall
as a man, for storing grain. She helped him climb into one, then set
the lid in place.
Shadusa raised the lid a crack to peek out. And
there he was, coming into the compound with a dead elephant across his
shoulders. It was Master Man!
“Did you have a good day, dear?” asked the woman.
“Yes!” bellowed Master Man. “But I forgot my bow and
arrows. I had to kill this elephant with my bare hands.”
As Shadusa watched in terror, Master Man built a
huge fire in the fireplace, roasted the elephant, and devoured every bit
of it but the bones.
Suddenly he stopped and sniffed. “Wife! I smell a
man!”
“Oh, there’s no man here now,” said the woman. “One
passed by while you were gone. That must be what you smell.”
“Too bad,” thundered Master Man. “He would have been
tasty.” Then he rolled over on the ground, and before long the leaves
were trembling from his snores.
The woman hurried over to the pot and slid off the
lid. “Quick!” she whispered. “Get away while you can.”
Shadusa leaped out and bolted down the path. But he
hadn’t gone too far when he heard a distant ROAR and felt the ground
tremble beneath him. Master Man was coming!
Shadusa ran till he came upon five farmers hoeing a
field.
“What’s your hurry?” called one.
“Master Man is after me!”
“Take it easy,” said the farmer. “We won’t let
anyone hurt you.”
Just then they heard a terrible ROAR. The farmers
all dropped their hoes and covered their ears.
“What was that?” asked the farmer.
“That was Master Man!”
“Well, then,” said the farmer, “you’d better keep
running!” And the five farmers fled across the field.
Shadusa ran on till he met ten porters carrying
bundles.
“What’s your hurry?” called one.
“Master Man is after me!”
“Relax,” said the porter. “No one can fight us all.”
Just then the ground quaked, and they all bounced
into the air. The porters fell in a heap, all mixed up with their
bundles.
“What was that?” asked the porter.
“That was Master Man!”
“Then run for your life!” And the ten porters bolted
from the path.
Shadusa ran on till he rounded a bend—then he
stopped short. There beside the path sat a stranger, and there beside
the stranger lay a huge pile of elephant bones.
“What’s your hurry?” growled the stranger.
“Master Man is after me,” moaned Shadusa.
“You better not say so—’cause I’m Master
Man!”
From behind Shadusa came another ROAR, and once
again he bounced into the air. The stranger caught him in one hand as
Master Man ran up.
“Let me have him!” bellowed Master Man.
“Come and get him!” growled the stranger.
Master Man lunged, but the stranger tossed Shadusa
into a tree. Then the two strong men wrapped themselves around each
other and wrestled across the ground.
The noise of the battle nearly deafened Shadusa. The
dust choked him. The trembling of the tree nearly shook him down.
As Shadusa watched, the two men struggled to their
feet, still clutching each another. Then each gave a mighty leap, and
together they rose into the air. Higher and higher they went, till they
passed through a cloud and out of sight.
Shadusa waited and waited, but the men never came
back down. At last he climbed carefully from the tree, then ran and ran
and never stopped till he got home safe and sound. And he never called
himself Master Man again.
As for those other two, they’re still in the clouds,
where they battle on to this day. Of course, they rest whenever they’re
both worn out. But sooner or later they start up again, and what a
noise they make!
Some people call that noise thunder. But now you
know what it really is—two fools fighting forever to see which
one is Master Man.
About the Story
“Master Man” is a tale of the Hausa, the largest ethnic
group of northern Nigeria. The Hausa live mainly on the savannah
(grassland with scattered trees) of Nigeria’s northwest quarter.
Though most Hausa live in rural villages—as
portrayed in this story—the larger Hausa towns have possessed a
sophisticated urban culture since long before European colonization. As
traders, the Hausa have for centuries maintained economic and cultural
contacts throughout West Africa. Their adoption of Islam led to early
development of literacy and written literature.
Tall tales like this about fighting he-men are
popular among the Hausa. Many such stories feature the stock character
Mijin-Maza, or Namiji-Mijin-Maza. “Master Man” is my own rendering of
this name, which has been translated variously as “A-Man-Among-Men,”
“Manly-Man,” and “Superman.”
The main source for my retelling is No. 12, “A story
about a giant, and the cause of thunder,” in Hausa Folk-Lore,
Customs, Proverbs, Etc., by R. Sutherland Rattray, Clarendon Press,
Oxford, 1913, Volume 1. I drew also on several other Hausa variants of
the tale, collectively titled “The Story of Manly-Man” and found in
Volume 2 of Hausa Tales and Traditions, by Frank Edgar, edited
and translated by Neil Skinner, University of Wisconsin Press, Madison,
1977 (a translation of Edgar’s Litafi Na Tatsuniyoyi Na Hausa, W.
Erskine Mayne, Belfast, 1911–1913). And I received my first taste of
the tale from the delightful “Superman,” told by Laura Simms, on her
tape Stories: Old as the World, Fresh as the Rain, Weston Woods,
1981.
How to Say the Names
Shadusa ~ sha-DOO-saShettu ~ SHET-oo
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