In Jamaican folklore, Bredda Anansi never goes hungry for long, even when everybody else does. Story four in our Anansi series comes from a hungry time, when food was scarce and every plate counted, and from one very hungry spider who made sure his plate counted most.
New to the series? Start here: Who Is Bredda Anansi? · Previous story: Anansi and the Pot of Wisdom
Proverb
“Cunning cow nyam peas, lef leaf.”
The clever one takes the best part and leaves the rest for everybody else.
Hungry Time Come
There was a year when the rain forgot to fall. The gungo peas dried up on the stalk, the yam vines turned brown, and the breadfruit trees stood with nothing on them but leaves. The old people called it a hungry time, and everybody in the district felt it.
Anansi’s house felt it worst of all. Every evening, his wife Crooky put the pot on the fire with nothing but water and a little salt in it, and the three pickney sat on the step watching it boil, hoping something would appear.
Anansi had no money and no food. But he still had his tongue, and his tongue had never let him down.
Bredda Rat an Him Plantain
One morning, Anansi was walking down the road when who should come along but Bredda Rat, carrying a big bunch of green plantains on his shoulder. Big, fat plantains, more than one rat could eat in a week.
Anansi’s mouth started to water. Then his eyes started to water too.
He let his shoulders drop. He let his face hang long. By the time Rat reached him, big tears were rolling down Anansi’s cheeks.
“Mawnin’, Bredda Anansi,” said Rat. “Wha’ happen to yuh?”
“Ohhh, Bredda Rat,” Anansi sobbed. “Mi pickney dem. Mi poor likkle pickney dem. Tonight dem a go bed wid nutten but wata inna dem belly. Water fi breakfast, water fi dinner… Mi cyaan bear it, Bredda Rat. Mi cyaan bear it.”
Rat shifted the bunch on his shoulder. He didn’t want to give up his plantains. But Anansi cried so hard, and talked so long about his hungry children, that Rat finally broke off a few and held them out.
They were the four smallest plantains on the bunch.
Anansi wiped his eyes and took them quick. “Bless yuh, Bredda Rat. God will repay yuh.”
And off he went home to Crooky, smiling to himself all the way.
Pupa Will Do Widout
That evening, Crooky roasted the four plantains on the fire until they were soft and sweet and the whole yard smelled of them. The pickney came running.
Anansi sat at the table and did his sums. Four plantains. Five mouths: Crooky, the three children, and himself.
So Anansi did something nobody expected. He gave one plantain to Crooky, one to each of the children, and kept nothing for himself.
Then he sat back, folded his hands, and sighed. A long, slow, heavy sigh.
“Eat, mi pickney dem. Eat. Pupa will do widout tonight.”
The children looked at their plates. Then they looked at their father, sitting there with his empty plate, looking smaller and hungrier than they’d ever seen him.
Half fi Pupa
The girl couldn’t stand it.
“No, Pupa! Yuh cyaan sit deh so an nuh eat. Tek half a mine.”
And she broke her plantain in two and put half on his plate.
Then the older boy did the same. “Half a mine too, Pupa.”
Then the littlest boy. “An mine, Pupa!”
Crooky looked at her husband, then at her children, and her heart softened. She broke her plantain too and passed half across the table.
“Eat, Anansi. Yuh work hard fi get it.”
Anansi bowed his head, humble as a deacon. “Unuh too good to mi,” he said. “Mi never deserve a family like dis.”
Then he ate. One half, two halves, three halves, four halves.
When the plates were clean, Crooky and each of the children had eaten half a plantain. And Anansi, the father who was going to do without, had eaten two whole ones.
He leaned back in his chair and patted his belly.
As usual, Anansi had come out ahead of everyone.
Jack Mandora, me no choose none.
So Why Do We Still Tell This One?
This one makes children laugh, and then, a few years later, it makes them think.
Anansi never lies outright in this story. He never asks anybody for anything. He just sighs at the right moment, looks pitiful at the right angle, and lets everybody else’s kindness do the work. That’s the trick worth recognizing: the person who loudly gives everything away and somehow still ends up with the most.
Most Jamaicans know an Anansi like this. The relative who always “nah ask fi nutten” and leaves with the biggest plate. The one who starts every request with how much they’ve sacrificed for you. Granny knew the type, and she told this story so you’d know them too.
But the story’s real heroes are the children and Crooky. In a hungry time, with almost nothing on their plates, each of them chose to share. That generosity is the thing Jamaican yards are built on. Anansi just took advantage of it.
Or as the old people say: cunning cow nyam peas, lef leaf.
Storytelling Roots
One of the best-known printed tellings of this tale appears in Anansi the Spider Man (1954) by Jamaican historian and folklorist Philip Sherlock. Long before any book, it was passed from mouth to mouth in Jamaican homes. That’s how many of us first heard it. What you’ve just read is Showcase Jamaica’s own retelling.
Cultural Note
Many old Jamaican Anansi stories begin in a “hungry time,” a drought or hard season when food was scarce. It isn’t just a storytelling device. For generations of Jamaicans, hungry times were real, and many of Anansi’s schemes start with an empty pot. And plantain is no random choice. Roasted, fried, or boiled, it has filled Jamaican plates through good times and bad.
Previous story: Anansi and the Pot of Wisdom · All stories: Who Is Bredda Anansi?
Talk Di Tings
Who was the Anansi at your family table, always “doing without” and somehow always full? And did you ever give up half your plate to them?
Drop your stories in the comments, or tag us on Instagram @showcasejamaicamedia.
Walk Good. 🇯🇲
Every Nook. Every Cranny. All Jamaican.
