Anansi and the Pot of Wisdom

A Greedy Idea

In the old days of West Africa, people tell, Anansi the Spider was already the cleverest creature in the land. But cleverness is a hungry thing, and Anansi was not satisfied. He wanted to be the wisest creature too — wiser than every person, animal, and bird in the whole world.

So Anansi had an idea, the way he always did. "If I gather up every little piece of wisdom there is," he said to himself, rubbing his eight hands together, "and keep it all in one place where only I can reach it, then I shall be the wisest of all. Everyone will have to come to me!"

Filling the Pot

Anansi found a great clay pot, and off he went. He travelled to every corner of the land, collecting wisdom wherever he could find it. From the old grandmothers he gathered the wisdom of stories. From the farmers he gathered the wisdom of seeds and seasons. From the fishermen he gathered the wisdom of the tides, and from the hunters the wisdom of tracks and trails.

Bit by bit, scrap by scrap, Anansi dropped every piece of wisdom into his pot. At last the pot was full to the very brim, so heavy he could barely lift it.

"Now," he whispered, peeking inside, "all the wisdom in the world is mine."

Hiding Place

But where to keep such a treasure? Anansi worried that someone might steal it. He decided to hide the pot at the very top of the tallest tree in the forest, where no one could ever reach it.

He took a long rope and tied the heavy pot to the front of his body, against his round tummy. Then he reached for the trunk and began to climb.

But it was no good. The fat pot was right in front of him, bumping and pressing against the bark. Every time Anansi tried to grip the tree, the pot got in the way and pushed him back. He climbed a little, slipped, and slid down again. He tried once more, and once more he slipped.

Anansi grew hot and cross. He huffed and he puffed, but the great pot of wisdom would simply not let him climb.

The Small Voice

Now, Anansi had a young son, and the boy had quietly followed his father into the forest to see what he was doing. He stood at the bottom of the tree and watched Anansi struggle and slip, struggle and slip.

At last the boy called up, "Father, may I say something? It might be easier to climb if you tied the pot to your back instead of your front. Then it would be out of the way, and you could hug the tree with all your arms."

Anansi froze. Of course! Tying it on his back would work perfectly. It was such simple, sensible wisdom — and yet he had not thought of it. He, who carried the whole pot of all the wisdom in the world!

Wisdom for Everyone

Anansi looked down at his little son, and a strange feeling came over him. He had spent all that time gathering every scrap of wisdom into his pot — and here was a small boy, with no pot at all, who had thought of something Anansi had missed.

"If I have all the wisdom in the world," Anansi muttered, "how is it that my own child is wiser than me right now?"

And then Anansi understood. No one — not even the cleverest spider alive — could ever truly own all the wisdom in the world. There would always be a little more, hidden in someone you least expected, even in a child.

In a flash of temper and surprise, Anansi let go of the pot. It tumbled all the way down the tall tree and smashed upon the ground — crash! — and the wisdom inside flew out in every direction.

The wind caught it and scattered it far and wide, over villages and rivers and hills, dropping a little piece here and a little piece there. And that is why, to this very day, no single person has all the wisdom in the world. Everybody has a little — which is exactly the way it should be.

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The moral: Wisdom cannot be hoarded by one person; it belongs to everyone, scattered far and wide — and even the smallest among us may hold a piece you need.

Want more world folktales? Try Anansi the Spider or How the Tortoise Got Its Shell next.