Nǂoahn o Ngede, ǃoqoa, ha zauhn kota ǃ’hoan nǀuia ha ǃka ǂxan ǃ’aua ha ǀ’ae ko Gingile. ǁ’Ae nǀui ka Gingile gǀai ǀ’an ǃaqe ha tsa’a ǃoqoa ko Ngede. Gingile ǁ’a ha tzinǃang dci’i ko ka ha ǂ’ang zoo. Ha ǂani te ǂaeǂae, nǃun te se nǁhoo khoe ko ǂ’auce te ka ha ho tzama ko ǃaihn ǁ’hausa gea ha ǁ’hannǃang. “Tcotcotco,” tzamama khoe nǁae, ka ha nǃohm ǁxam gǀa’anǃang tcima ko ǃaihn ǃ’o, ǁu, “tcotcotco,” ha ǃ’au, nǃomtsau ǁ’ae ha se he ko Gingile re nǃhae ǁxam ua ha ko gǃa’a nǀang.
This is the story of Ngede, the Honeyguide, and a greedy young man named Gingile.
One day while Gingile was out hunting he heard the call of Ngede. Gingile’s mouth began to water at the thought of honey. He stopped and listened carefully, searching until he saw the bird in the branches above his head.
“Chitik-chitik-chitik,” the little bird rattled, as he flew to the next tree, and the next.
“Chitik, chitik, chitik,” he called, stopping from time to time to be sure that Gingile followed.
ǁAma ǁ’ae gǃohm kota, ǁ’ae gǃa’insi sa ǁkae ǀxoa ǃahinnǃa’an ǃka. Ngede nǃoh ka tzama gǀae ǁua ǃahin ǁ’hau. Ka nǃo’oan ha nǀai Gingile, ku koe nǁae, “Ka ke! Nǃo’o we! Hatce re ko nǂai gǂka a?” Gingile ǀoa ho zoo com xabe koa tsi ǂaeh ke, te tia ha sin ǂum Ngede.
After half an hour, they reached a huge wild fig tree.
Ngede hopped about madly among the branches. He then settled on one branch and cocked his head at Gingile as if to say, “Here it is! Come now! What is taking you so long?”
Gingile couldn’t see any bees from under the tree, but he trusted Ngede.
Gingile gǁxua ha ǃuǃuh ko ǃaihn din ǁkaeǁkae ǃaihn ǁ’haumh gesin te khau da’a ma tzema. Te ka hi too nǃom, ha du ǃaihn ma nǀuia gǂa’in ko ǀ’ua da’a te ǁ’a ǃaihan ku kaice kxae gǃoh ko ǁ’aea ka nǃom. ǃAhin ke ha nǃai gǃama ha tzausi te ǂxuru ǃaihn. Te ha coa te ǂxuru, ǃahin ǁ’hauma gǃoma toa ǂ’au ha ǀ’ua ha tzi te nǃai gǃam.
So Gingile put down his hunting spear under the tree, gathered some dry twigs and made a small fire.
When the fire was burning well, he put a long dry stick into the heart of the fire. This wood was especially known to make lots of smoke while it burned.
He began climbing, holding the cool end of the smoking stick in his teeth.
Kua, ha tsa’a zo com. Sa gǃa’ama ka gǃai ǁama ǃahin nǃomi. Ka Gingile ku gǀaea ǁ’a doma ha ǀ’ua ka ko da’aǃomi he ha ko nǂogoe ǂani ka ǀho. Ka zo gǃai hi taun. Hi nǃom u khama hi ǀoa kare gǃoh xabe ǀoa khoe kxaice hi koh ǀ’an Gingile ko ǃ’ang mhsa khui!
Soon he could hear the loud buzzing of the busy bees. They were coming in and out of a hollow in the tree trunk – their hive.
When Gingile reached the hive he pushed the smoking end of the stick into the hollow.
The bees came rushing out, angry and mean. They flew away because they didn’t like the smoke – but not before they had given Gingile some painful stings!
Ka zo gǃai Gingile ǀ’u ha gǃau ko hi doma. Ha gu gǃxa hi tjuǀ’o nǃa’an jan, ǂom tcaq, kota nǀai hi da’abisi. Ha to te ǁaea hi ko tca jan ko ha nǁu’uru, te coacoa te khauru.
When the bees were out, Gingile pushed his hands into the nest. He took out handfuls of the heavy comb, dripping with rich honey and full of fat, white grubs.
He put the comb carefully in the pouch he carried on his shoulder, and started to climb down the tree.
Ngede ǀ’an gǀa’a ko tci nǀui waqn Gingile du. Ha koh ǃhai te ko ui re ca ge he ha ǀ’an ko khoe tjuǀ’o nǀuia o nǀai he nǁa tca ha te ui ha ǃoqoa. Ngede ku ǁua ǃaihn ka ǁua ǃaihn, te to’oma tsia kxaǀho. Toansi re ha noun huia ha ko ka ha khauru tsi-ǂaeha ǃaihn din. Ngede Nǀanga nǃomǃ’o te ǃhai ǃ’hoanma ko ha ǀxaokxama.
Ngede eagerly watched everything that Gingile was doing. He was waiting for him to leave a fat piece of honeycomb as a thank-you offering to the Honeyguide.
Ngede flittered from branch to branch, closer and closer to the ground. Finally Gingile reached the bottom of the tree.
Ngede perched on a rock near the boy and waited for his reward.
Xabe, Gingile ǃhun da’a, te gua ǃuǃuh te coa te nǂhao ua tju, nǂuin nǂuin tzama. Ngede taun te ǃ’au. “Vik-tor Vik-tor!” Gingile nǃun, se tzamama te tshi tca nǃa’an. “Are kare zo, a re kare, mi ǂara? Ha! Xabe mi du ǁkoa waqnsi, te koh ǃ’ang mi ǀ’ae. Hatce khoe re mi ǂ’aun ǀ’an a ko zo jan he?” Te ha nǂhao kuauru. Ngede nǃobe taun! Ju ǀoa ko du ju nǀui! Xabe ha ho ce ha zauhn.
But, Gingile put out the fire, picked up his spear and started walking home, ignoring the bird.
Ngede called out angrily, “VIC-torr! VIC-torrr!”
Gingile stopped, stared at the little bird and laughed aloud. “You want some honey, do you, my friend? Ha! But I did all the work, and got all the stings. Why should I share any of this lovely honey with you?” Then he walked off.
Ngede was furious! This was no way to treat him! But he would get his revenge.
ǀAm nǀui ǁ’aka din nǃanga ka beke mh gesin ǂaun Gingile cete tsa’a ǃ’aua ǁama Ngede khoea. Ha ǂ’ang zo nǀang to’a, te ǁxam tzama cete, ǁ’aea Gingile nǂhaoa nǃae nǃang. Ngede nǃohm tsau te nǃuana ǀaqri din. “Ahh” ha khoe ǂ’ang Gingile. “Khuinke ǂ’aun ka ǃaihan ke zo gea.” Ha nǃo’o te du da’ama tzema te coa te ǂxuru ǃaihn, ko tca nǃo’o te du gǃoh ko ǃaihn, te nǃai gǃam ǃaihnma gǃoh te ǂxuru. Ngede ǁu te se ha.
One day several weeks later Gingile again heard the honey call of Ngede. He remembered the delicious honey, and eagerly followed the bird once again.
After leading Gingile along the edge of the forest, Ngede stopped to rest in a great umbrella thorn. “Ahh,” thought Gingile. “The hive must be in this tree.” He quickly made his small fire and began to climb, the smoking branch in his teeth. Ngede sat and watched.
Gingile ǂxuru te, are ha ǂangsi ko tca ka khoea ha ǀoa tsa’a hi nǁae kxui. “ǁOeh dom re ǁoeh gea ka domma nǃanga ǂaeh ke.” Ha ta ǂ’ang ǀ’an ha ǀ’ae. Ka ha ce ǂxuru ǃ’an ǁ’akaa ǃ’an ho ǃ’hom ǀho ǃ’hom nǃobe taun ha nǀa ka ǀoa ho nǂa ha tza, ha nǀa kxuia ǀ’a ha. Ha ǀaqmǀaqm ha gǀa’asi, ha ǃhan ha tzi te nǂai sea ha tzau gǂxaugǂaua sa to’a.
Gingile climbed, wondering why he didn’t hear the usual buzzing. “Perhaps the hive is deep in the tree,” he thought to himself. He pulled himself up another branch. But instead of the hive, he was staring into the face of a leopard!
Leopard was very angry at having her sleep so rudely interrupted. She narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth to reveal her very large and very sharp teeth.
ǁ’Aea ǃ’hom ǂ’aun gu Gingile, ha tcxoa tcxoara ǃaihn. Te nǂauh tama ǃaihn ǁhai nǀui te tsi ǂaeh nǂa’am ǃkau ha ǀ’ae ko kxa te ha ǂhoǂhore nǁuni. Ha di’i te nǃuiqn u. Ko kxani ma o ha. Gǃuh ko ciniha sin ǁae ǃ’hom te ha ǀoa xoana ha ǃxoe. Ngede, ha ǃoqoa, Ka kxae ha ǀxao kxama. Gingile nǃaroh ǂ’ang.
Before Leopard could take a swipe at Gingile, he rushed down the tree.
In his hurry he missed a branch, and landed with a heavy thud on the ground twisting his ankle. He hobbled off as fast as he could. Luckily for him, Leopard was still too sleepy to chase him. Ngede, the Honeyguide, had his revenge.
And Gingile learned his lesson.
Te ǁama ǁ’akoa ka da’abi sa o Gingile hisi tsa’a ǁ’a nǂoahn ko tca Ngede dua si ba, si ka kxae ǀ’an ǁ’a tzama ko maqaintsao. Khoe nǀui woaqn siǃa dua zo okaa siǃa nǁuri ka nǁah ǀ’an ha ko hi koa nǃa’an.
And so, when the children of Gingile hear the story of Ngede they have respect for the little bird. Whenever they harvest honey, they make sure to leave the biggest part of the comb for Honeyguide!
