ONCE UPON A TIME in a village in Africa there was a potter and his wife who had a son named Kumba. Now Kumba was a queer boy. The older he grew the queerer he became and the more his parents worried about him.
One trouble was that Kumba was small for his age. When he played with the other boys of the village he was not able to do as many things as he could. He was often beaten in games and his playmates teased him.
So Kumba began to play by himself. The more he kept away from the other boys the more afraid of them he grew and the more lonesome he felt. He wanted so badly to be somebody and yet he could not do the things that would make other boys notice him. Finally he became afraid even to try to do things lest someone might smile at his awkwardness. He would not even try to make bowls and vases out of clay as his father did. Kumba was afraid his father might smile at these bowls and say they were poorly done. Kumba would not even try to learn to dig in the garden. So the boy spent most of his ways wandering idly about in the fields and woods alone, dreaming and wishing all the time that he might some day be very wise and great, and yet he was afraid to learn how. The people of the village shook their heads and said: "Kumba must be stupid. His mind is of no account." The neighbor women came to comfort his mother:
"Don’t feel so bad. Some day you will have another baby, and he will be like other children." But Kumba’s mother said:
"I don’t want any other baby. I want this boy of mine to be wise and good."
The men of the village came to encourage the father by saying: "Be patient. In time you will know whether your son is a stupid fool or whether he is really bright."
One day when Kumba was supposed to be asleep, he overheard his parents talking together about him. He was startled. He realized then that they were worried. They actually thought their boy might be a fool. Yet Kumba himself did not think he was stupid.
One evening in a gloomy mood, the boy wandered off into the woods alone. The sun was hanging low in the sky. He came to a hillside with a clearing beyond, from which he could watch the glowing clouds of evening. He sat down and covered his face with his hands, discouraged enough to cry.
Presently a Lion came quietly out of the woods. He saw Kumba and walked over toward him. "What are you doing here?" asked the Lion.
"I am feeling miserable," said Kumba. "I wish so much to be wise and great, but I don’t know whether I am really bright or whether I am a fool."
"Is that all you are thinking about?" asked the Lion.
"Yes," said Kumba. "I think about it day and night."
"Then you are a fool," said the Lion. "Wise people think about what they can do for their country." The Lion turned about and ran back into the woods.
Presently an Antelope came leaping over the hillside. "What are you doing here?" asked the Antelope.
"I am feeling miserable," said Kumba. "I wish so much to be wise and great, but I don’t know whether I am really bright or whether I am a fool."
"What do you eat?" asked the Antelope looking at the boy’s thin legs.
"My mother cooks me two meals a day," said Kumba, "and I eat them."
"Do you ever thank your mother?"
"No, I don’t remember."
"Well you are a fool. All wise persons thank those who are kind to them," said the Antelope and off he leaped across the clearing.
Soon a Leopard came by and looked at Kumba suspiciously. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
"I am feeling miserable," said Kumba. "I wish so much to be wise and great, but I don’t know whether I am really bright or whether I am a fool."
"Do the other boys of the village like you?" asked the Leopard.
"No, I don’t think they do. And I don’t care. I don’t like them either. They are mean to me."
"Then you are a fool. Don’t you know that all boys are worth getting acquainted with, and that a wise person tries to do things with others?" The Leopard then darted off into the woods.
Soon an Elephant came shuffling along through the grass and looked down upon the boy. "What are you doing here?" asked the Elephant.
"I am feeling miserable," said Kumba. "I wish so much to be wise and great, but I don’t know whether I am really bright or whether I am a fool."
"What work do you do?" asked the Elephant.
"I don’t do any work," said Kumba.
"Well, you are a fool!" said the Elephant. "All wise people work." And the Elephant turned around, made a disgusted twist of his tail, and ambled down the hillside.
By this time Kumba was ready to cry. Presently he heard a gently little voice at his side. "What are you doing here?" asked a little grey Rabbit.
"I am feeling miserable," said Kumba. "I wish so much to be wise and great, but I don’t know whether I am really bright or whether I am a fool." For a moment the rabbit did not speak. He just let the boy cry.
Then the little grey Rabbit scampered up very close to Kumba, and whispered: "Which animals said you were a fool?"
"Well," said Kumba, "the Lion said I was a fool because I spend all my time thinking about myself. The Antelope said I was a fool because I have not been thanking my mother for the food she cooks for me. The Leopard said I was a fool because I don’t play with the other boys. The Elephant said I was a fool because I don’t do any work." The little grey Rabbit nodded her head.
"No wonder you feel like crying, for the animals have told you the truth. Wise people do not think about themselves all the time. Wise people do say ‘thank you’ when others do them favors. A wise boy does play with other children. And wise people work."
No words passed between Kumba and the little Grey Rabbit for a long time. Little by little the darkness fell all around like a black mist. The little grey Rabbit invited Kumba to spend the night in the woods. H could lie down near the Rabbit’s hole and be safe. So Kumba and the little grey Rabbit walked away together.
While Kumba lay on the grass in the dark he began to think more courageously about himself until finally he fell asleep. By the time morning came Kumba decided that he had been a fool but he was not going to be a fool any longer.
Early in the morning he walked back to his home. When he first saw his mother he greeted her with a smile and bright "Good morning!" When she later started out to dig yams in the field, Kumba found another hoe so that he could help. When the boys of the village began chasing one another, Kumba ran with them and didn’t give up when he fell behind.
In the afternoon Kumba even sat down beside his father as he molded clay into bowls and asked if he might try his hand at the work. He knew his first bowl would be poorly made, but Kumba was no longer afraid to try to learn.
As the days passed and Kumba felt less and less afraid he began to ask questions. He asked his father how he made the dyes he used for painting his bowls. Kumba went to the fields with his father to gather the leaves and flowers which they later boiled to make the paints.
So the days and the weeks and the years went by. Kumba grew to be a man. By the time his father was an old man Kumba had become the famous potter of the village. Peopled used to come from miles around to buy his bowls. They really were beautiful, too, and different from other bowls. Most of them were black with red or white designs painted on them.
And what meant more to Kumba even than the praise given him for his beautiful pottery was that his neighbors liked him. They no longer thought him a fool. His people called him wise and great.
