Long, long ago they lived in Africa a man whose name was Mukasa. He had a wife whose name was Nampa. Mukasa made his living by weaving cloth out of bark and selling it to the people in his office village. Every day he would go into the village to his shop. Every day Nampa would go toward work in the garden, to plant and cultivate the corn and the potatoes.  

Now Mukasa and Nampa had a son whose name was Wamala, and it was Wamala’s duty to care for a little lamb that Mukasa had bought in the market. It was the first animal that the family had owned and Mukasa was very fond of it. Before he went to his shop in the village in the morning he would tie the lamb to a tree in the yard. Later when the sun was high and the pasture dried of the morning dew, Wamala would untie the lamb and take it to the fields where it would graze all day on the fresh green grass.  

Now one morning there was very heavy rain. When Mukasa tied the lamb to the tree, he saw how wet the fields were.  

“Wamala,” he said, “do not take the lamb to the fields until the sun has dried them. Wait until the sun is high in the middle of the sky.” 

“Very well, father,” Wamala answered.  

His father went off to the village. His mother went to work in the garden. Wamala took his play-sticks and began to play in the yard. The sun came out. It mounted higher and higher in the sky. The grass in the pasture was quite dry. But Wamala was playing with his sticks. He had forgotten all about the lamb. Suddenly the lamp spoke to him.  

“Wamala! Wamala!” it said.  

Now Wamala had never heard an animal speak. He looked all around to see who could be speaking. But he saw no one. Then the lamb spoke again.  

“Wamala, what did your father tell you?  

When the sun is high in the grass is dry  

You must take me to the pasture.  

Why do you not do this, Wamala?  

Have you forgotten me?” 

Then Wamala saw that it was the lamb who was talking. He was very much frightened. He ran to the village to his father's shop.  

“Father!” he shouted. “The lamb is talking! He's talking just like a man. He is telling me to take him into the field to graze!”  

Mukasa was very angry. “Then why did you not take him into the field to graze?” he said. “Did I not tell you to take him when the grass was dry? Go at once and take him to the pasture or I'll punish you.” 

Mukasa ran back to the house. He ran to the garden where his mother was working. “Mother!” he shouted. “Mother, the lamb is talking. He is telling me that I should take him into the pasture. He's saying: ‘Wamala, have you forgotten?’”  

Nampa was very angry. “You had no business to forget,” she scolded. “You are a lazy boy. Go at once, I tell you, and take the lamb into the pasture.” 

Wamala was frightened. He did not want to go near the lamb. But he went to the tree and untied it. He took it into the pasture. The lamb said nothing.  

After that, every time Wamala was late and taken lamb to the pasture, the lamb would speak to him. It would say: 

“Wamala, what did your father tell you?  

When the sun is high in the grass is dry  

You must take me to the pasture.  

Why do you not do this, Wamala?  

Have you forgotten me?” 

Over and over again Wamala told his parents that the lamb spoke to him. But they did not believe him. They laughed and said: 

“If you took him to the pasture when we told you to, he would not speak.” 

At last Mukasa began to wonder. Could the lamb really speak? One morning instead of going to the village as usual he hid behind the tree close to the hut. Wamala was in the yard playing with his sticks. The lamb was tied to the tree. The sun mounted the sky. The time passed. Wamala went on playing. Then the lamb spoke: 

“Wamala, what did your father tell you?  

When the sun is high in the grass is dry  

You must take me to the pasture.  

Why do you not do this, Wamala?  

Have you forgotten me?” 

Mukasa was astonished. He was frightened.  

“Never have I heard an animal speak like a man,” he thought. I” did not like it. I did not like it at all.” He went to his shop in the village and began to weave. But all day he thought about the lamb. He wanted to get rid of it. Finally he decided to kill it.  

That evening on the way home he picked up a heavy log and carried it on his shoulder. As he passed the tree Wamala had tied up the lamb for the night he dropped the heavy log, hoping that it would kill the lamb. But the lamb jumped aside in time.  

“You must be tired, my dear Mukasa,” it said. “You must be very tired or you would not be so careless.” 

“I am sorry,” Mukasa said. “I did not mean to drop it so near you.” 

 From that time on Mukasa tried his best to get rid of the lamb. One day he tied to a tree in the forest and set fire to the tree. But that evening the lamb appeared in the yard, dragging the rope behind it. Mukasa was very angry, but he said nothing. One day he caught the lamb up and started to throw it into a deep pit beyond the pasture when the lamb spoke.  

“Be careful, Mukasa,” it said. “You almost threw me into that pit.” Mukasa dropped the lamb. He was angry and he was frightened. But he said nothing.  

One day Mukasa took all of their possessions from their hut and, telling Nampa and Wamala to come with him, he went to the house of a friend not far away. There he left the things and hurried back to his own hut. He untied the lamb from the tree, took him into the house, fastened the door and set the house on fire. The fire blazed high. Mukasa ran back to the house and his friend. He said nothing. Presently the lamb came running to him. The rope, half- burned, still hung from his neck. 

“Mukasa!” ii called. “Mukasa, I have bad news for you!  Your house caught on fire and burned to the ground. I was alone there and I could not put out the fire because I was tied. You have lost your house, Mukasa.” 

Mukasa was so angry that he could not speak. Then he said, sullenly:  

“How could my house burn when there was no one there to set fire to it?” 

The lamb answered meekly, “I do not know, Mukasa.” 

The next day Mukasa went into the forest to cut timber for the house. He took the lamb with him and tied him to a tree. Twice he tried to make the tree fall across the lamb and kill him. Twice the lamb jumped aside.  

“Be careful, Mukasa,” it said. “That tree almost fell on me.” 

Mukasa cut enough timber and began to build his new house. When he was finished, he said to Nampa: 

“We must kill that lamb. It is well grown now and will make good meat. We will kill it and have a feast. I will tell you what to do. At noon, go to the pasture and send Wamala into the village. When you are alone with the lamb, watch it, and when it is not looking, take the largest hunting knife and kill it. Then I will take it to the slaughterhouse. It will make fine meat.” 

All the morning Nampa was very busy. She prepared for the feast. She cooked corn and potatoes and plantains. Just before noon she took the largest hunting knife and went up to the pasture. She had sent Wamala to the village.  

Then she went near to the lamb, who was grazing. But when she lifted the knife the lamb leaped on her, seized the knife in its teeth and ran away. Nampa ran after him. On and on they ran. But finally Nampa caught up with the lamb. She snatched the knife from it. She killed it.  

Mukasa came with other men from the village. He said nothing. They carried the lamb to the slaughterhouse. They cut it up. Nampa and the women roasted the meat. But Nampa did not eat it. Nor did the other women. 

Since that time no women in Buganda has eaten meat of lamb.