In Jamaican folklore, nobody walks bigger than Bredda Tiger, and nobody talks bigger than Bredda Anansi. Story two in our Anansi series is the one pickney beg fi hear again and again: the day Anansi rode Tiger into the yard like a common riding horse.
New to the series? Start here: Who Is Bredda Anansi? · Previous story: How Anansi Got His Stories
Proverb
“Cunny better dan strong.”
Cunning better than strong: brains can beat brawn.
Bredda Tiger Was the Biggest Man in Di District
Back in the days when animals walked and talked like people, Bredda Tiger was the boss. He was big, he was strong, and he made sure everybody knew it. When Tiger walked down the road, goats moved out of the way, dogs stopped barking, and even Bredda Puss found somewhere else to be.
That season, Tiger was courting. Every evening he put on his good shirt and walked to one particular yard where two young misses lived. He had his eye on one of them, and as far as Tiger was concerned, the matter was as good as settled.
Anansi heard about it. And Anansi, being Anansi, couldn’t leave it alone.
So one afternoon, Anansi strolled up to the same yard, tipped his hat, and sat down on the step. The young misses asked him, “Mr. Anansi, yuh see Mr. Tiger today?”
“Oh yes, mi see him,” Anansi said, cool as breeze. “But mek mi tell unuh something, missus. Tiger? Tiger a mi father ole riding horse.”
The young misses bawled out laughing. Tiger? A riding horse?
Tiger Come Fi Settle Di Matter
You know how news travels in a small place. Faster than a bus on the main road. When Tiger reached the yard that evening, the misses told him everything, and Tiger vex so til him tail a lash.
“Anansi seh WHAT? Mi a go bring him right here, and him a go stand up in front of unuh face and prove it!”
Tiger marched straight to Anansi’s house and knocked so hard the zinc rattled.
“Anansi! Come out! Yuh coming wid me right now fi tell di misses dem what yuh said!”
Inside, Anansi lay down on his bed, wrapped himself in an old sheet, and started to groan.
“Who, me? Mi never seh so, Bredda Tiger! But anyhow… mi sick, sah. Mi cyaan walk at all.”
Tiger wasn’t letting this go. “If mi have fi carry yuh pon mi back, mi a carry yuh. Yuh a come one way or di other.”
Anansi groaned one more time, soft and pitiful. “Alright, Bredda Tiger. Mi will come.”
One Likkle Ting More
Anansi eased out of bed and came back with a saddle.
Tiger frowned. “Wha’ yuh doing wid saddle?”
“Mi weak, Bredda Tiger. If mi start fall, mi need somewhere fi put mi foot so mi can catch up miself.”
Tiger grumbled, but he let Anansi put it on.
Then Anansi came back with a bridle.
“An’ dat? Wha’ dat fah?”
“Fi put inna yuh mouth, so if mi start slip, mi have something fi hold.”
Tiger was too vexed to argue. “Mi nuh care what yuh do. Just hurry up!”
Then Anansi came back with a horsewhip.
“Anansi! Wha’ yuh need whip fah?”
“Di flies, Bredda Tiger. Dem bad today, an mi too weak fi fan dem off.”
And last of all, Anansi sat down and buckled on two pairs of spurs.
Tiger stared at him. “Spurs? Now wha’ yuh need SPURS fah?”
Anansi looked up, innocent as a baby. “If mi nuh wear mi spurs, mi foot dem cramp.”
And Tiger, who just wanted to reach that yard and clear his name, bent down and let the sick little spider climb up.
Di Ride Into Di Yard
Off they went down the road: big proud Tiger with a saddle on his back and a bridle in his mouth, and Anansi sitting on top like a man going to market.
All the way, Anansi moaned and groaned. But as soon as they rounded the last corner and the yard came into sight, the sickness was gone. Anansi sat up straight, grabbed the bridle tight, dug in with the spurs and licked Tiger with the whip.
Tiger took off.
Every time he tried to slow down, the spurs dug in again. And so Bredda Tiger, the biggest man in the district, came galloping into the yard in front of the two young misses and everybody else, with Anansi bouncing in the saddle.
Anansi pulled up right at the gate, tipped his hat, and sang out:
“Carry him to di stable, sah! Now unuh see seh what Anansi talk a true. Tiger a mi father ole riding horse!”
The yard bruk out. People held their bellies and bawled. The young misses laughed till they cried.
Tiger couldn’t take it. He shook off the saddle and ran straight into the woods, and he never came back to that yard again.
And Anansi? Anansi stood in the yard and sang after him:
“Po’ Tiger dead an’ gone…”
Jack Mandora, me no choose none.
So Why Do We Still Tell This One?
On the surface, it’s a story about a small creature embarrassing a big one. And yes, it’s funny. Generations of children have rolled on verandah floors over Tiger in a saddle and Anansi’s cramping feet.
But listen closer. Tiger had everything: size, strength, and the whole district’s respect. What took him down wasn’t a bigger animal. It was a small one who understood what Tiger cared about most, which was his pride, and used it against him one “likkle” request at a time. Each request seemed harmless on its own, and together they added up to a saddle.
For people who had no power, no land, and no say, that lesson mattered. You might not be the biggest. But cunny better dan strong. Sometimes the one with the loudest roar is the easiest to saddle.
There’s a warning in it too, the kind Granny would point out with one raised eyebrow. Anansi won the day, but a man who makes enemies of tigers had better keep looking over his shoulder. Mischief always sends a bill.
Storytelling Roots
An early written record of this tale is “Tiger as Riding-horse,” told by William Forbes of Dry River and published in Martha Warren Beckwith’s Jamaica Anansi Stories (1924). Beckwith noted the story was very common across Jamaica, and recorded a variant where Tacoomah is the horse and the saddle stays fastened on his back forever. That’s said to be why the tacoomah spider has a broad, saddle-shaped back. What you’ve just read is Showcase Jamaica’s own retelling.
Cultural Note
The “small one rides the big one” story is told far beyond Jamaica. In a Hausa tale from West Africa, Spider saddles Hyena. In a Yoruba version, Tortoise rides Elephant into town. In Venezuela, Rabbit rides Tiger, and in the American South, Brer Rabbit plays the same trick on Brer Fox. These aren’t copies of one another. They’re branches of a shared storytelling tradition that crossed oceans and grew differently in every yard.
Previous story: How Anansi Got His Stories · All stories: Who Is Bredda Anansi?
Talk Di Tings
How did your granny tell this one? Did Anansi wear spurs in your version? Did Tiger run to the woods, or somewhere else?
Drop your version in the comments, or tag us on Instagram @showcasejamaicamedia. Every yard told it a likkle different, and we want to hear yours.
Walk Good. 🇯🇲
Every Nook. Every Cranny. All Jamaican.
