Innocents in Eden

Curtis D Cushman…/The Innocents of Eden
THE INNOCENTS OF EDEN
As told by
M’Ba Kouma
to
Curtis D Cushman
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We were camped near Nobéré in Burkina Faso, West Africa when we were invited one
evening by the Grand Chef to visit. That evening I walked over, and found my African
prospectors there, among them M’Ba Kouma. I sat down with them on a banco bench. The local
schoolteacher was there to translate for the Grand Chef and the many others of the village who
didn’t speak French or Mooré. We drank dolo millet beer around a fire as the Harmattan wind,
early after the rains, was cold at this time of year. After some gossip and local news, stories were
told. This one was from M’Ba Kouma, who mixed his good French with terms of Mooré, his
native tongue. Thus, the mix of words as I recollect them.
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Most every wind has a name.
This one tonight we call the Harmattan. But north, across the great empty land, there is
the Haboob, and, chez les Blancs, across the sea, they speak of the Mistral. There are simple
names, too; the East Wind, the Wind from the Sea, and Ouragan, the pre-rain wind. There are
such names for them in all places.
Like our winds, we have named our villages and cities: Ouagdougou, Fada N’Gourma,
Niamey, and of course, Nobéré. And we name our children so we know them and they remember
us: Sibiri, Boulabo, Lansané, and Tasséré.
But, as even the world had its beginning, so all things in the world had to come to be at
some time. And so it was, long ago, when names were brought into the world.
Toward the setting sun there was a garden; created by the Almighty whose name to us is
Wêna. The garden was green and golden, glowing in the light, rich in color and smells. These
things had no names, but Wêna had reached forth His hand and the garden blossomed between
the four great rivers.
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Curtis D Cushman…/The Innocents of Eden
To the sunrise flowed what we now call the winding Bougariba, and, to the sunset, the
precious Longo. Toward the North Star went the great Bafing, or the Volta Noire, which turns to
flow to the Great Sea. Finally, in the direction of the Southern Cross flowed the wide and
nourishing Comoé.
Wêna made it all. The rocks, the plants, even the blessing of sunlight and the faces of the
moon, the changing lamp in Wêna’s own night. He made the winds and the rivers. The great
garden He made flourished as a home for new life, and Wêna had decided that the blessed would
dwell there. So, there came the day when Wêna created His beloved animals and placed those he
could within the garden. Those others who live in the deeps, He placed in his great rivers, or
further on in the sea, or lakes, where they swam in the blessed waters flowing from the garden.
Some of the animals flew, some hid, some strutted, and some crawled. There were
animals that swarmed, and others that lived alone: all according to their place in Wêna’s garden.
In the center of the garden jutted a great rock some call a kopje. Not very tall, it looked
out over the garden plains where gathered the animals. Wêna stood there in front of a vast and
leafy tree, its large red fruit aglow in the sunlight. This was the acacia in the center of the garden
of creation.
Wêna looked out and saw the animals. His goodness was such and His love so deep He
had made many more than He had planned to make. They were everywhere in the garden and the
fountains of the earth. But, the garden was not to be theirs alone. Wêna thought “I could use
some help.”
“I have My eyes upon you.” He said to the animals, and His voice reached every one.
“And this garden is, only in part, yours. You shall share it now.
“Wêna sees all, and I tell you, you must all be named, for you will be part of all the
earth.”
The animals, unafraid, did not understand. Part of the earth? Were they not so, already?
They chattered or chaffed, brayed or barked; each wondered in its own way.
Then, there was one like Wêna, but not so grand, alongside Him.
“This is Adam; he is man. He shall have dominion over you, here, in this garden. But, as
there are so many of you, it is right he give you your names.”
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Curtis D Cushman…/The Innocents of Eden
Adam was ebony with shining eyes. He walked upright, on two legs, with none of the
awkwardness of other two-legged animals; it was the graceful movement of the spirit of Wêna
flowing through him. The animals awaited his presence, his touch, and they heard his words.
“You are great in size and strength, grey one, and I hear the might of your voice. I shall
name you Wobogo.
“And you, swimming in the stream, a smooth name shall be yours: Ziima.” And so he
went to each and all. The chattering ones playing in the trees he named Wamba, and the great cat
became Boyêega. The green croaker in the pond was named Louanga, the little wooly one,
Pesgo.
These he named, there in the fastness of the garden. We would now call them Elephant,
Fish, Monkey, Lion, Frog, and Sheep. But, there were so many more.
Wêna looked out and saw the work Adam was doing, and knew he could not be alone. So
when Adam had finished and returned to the side of Wêna, from him was brought forth his
woman, Ève, by the great power of Wêna.
Then Wêna told them of all the growing things to be tended in the garden; Ki to make
Sagabo and Maana, Suuma and Wé-tiiga. Thus there was millet for dough, okra for gumbos,
peas, and baobab whose great pods gave monkey bread. All the other trees were named, as well,
including the green lemon, the banana, and the precious mango that Wêna Himself called the
“fruit of life.”
Now, Wêna spoke to Adam and Ève as well as the animals, and told them that the fruit of
the great acacia was not to be eaten; it was from the tree of knowledge, which was the roof of the
garden. It was the sacred totem of Wêna whose roots held together the black soil of the garden
and from whose branches fell the water that fed the great rivers after the rainy season. Its fruit
was blessed and sacred.
Wêna then took Adam and Ève into the garden, to view the yam fields. There was at first
great silence among the animals, then sounds of wonder and the odd noise of a growing hunger.
Now, there was one animal who was néré wusro: great in beauty. He moved like a cobra,
but was the color of sand and leaf and black-of-night, with a restless tongue of fire-red and horns
above deep wedge eyes.
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Curtis D Cushman…/The Innocents of Eden
But inside, his beauty was trapped by his own jealousy and envy. What might have been
radiance failed to glow. Still, he had such assurance in himself that, when he climbed the low
rock, the animals waited for him to speak.
“I know what Wêna wants of us,” he began, shining in the sun as it passed through the
leaves of the great acacia. He climbed up into the tree and out a limb. Then, where the fruit was
largest, he slid slowly downward and came to rest beside a large, bright red fruit, itself glowing
in the light.
“When I received my name from Adam, a voice told me it was not my real name: that
this was not my true place. So it is for all of you. You are given Adam-names, not Wêna-names.
Adam looked upon me as if I was less than what I am, the true bringer of light for the animals.
“Now, names are more than names, they are power. Your name is as great a possession as
your life. It is to be learned, and understood, and guarded.
“Wêna said this is the fruit of knowledge. Come, and eat of it. Learn your names and
your destinies.”
The assembled animals grumbled and mumbled, tweeted and squeaked, but none came
forward to eat.
“You, elephant,” said the tempter. “Come and eat, you will know your true name, and be
like Wêna himself.”
The elephant said “No. I am large and strong. I fear nothing, and have no need of this
fruit. What is your great name, if it is so important?” The serpent, for that was the name Adam
gave, replied.
“I am the bringer of enlightenment.”
“Is that not Wêna’s sun that gives us light and warmth?”
“In this fruit is not that light, but enlightenment,” he replied.
“Lion,” he then asked, “would you not eat?”
“No!” roared the lion. “My pride forbids it.” But many drew back from the lion’s mighty
voice, and the serpent smiled within. The antelope looked very worried.
“Antelope,” he smoothly continued, “look at what wisdom awaits you.”
But the antelope replied, “Oh, no. If I knew too much, I might fear too little.”
“But, what is there to fear in the garden?”
“Somehow, I feel the shadow of dread.”
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Curtis D Cushman…/The Innocents of Eden
“Would you fish try?”
“You would have us eat of a tree? That is not the way of fish.”
“Monkey, you eat much of anything.”
“True,” replied the macaque, “but we’re smart enough as it is.”
“Insects, you love fruit.”
‘No. Knowledge is not sweet for us.”
He tried the eels, but they were slippery.
The swine were next, but they were pig-headed.
“Goats?” he cried.
“No,” said the goats. “But we’ll take the leaves.”
For a moment, the serpent was about to offer the fruit to the birds, but they were, after all,
bird-brained and did not suit his plans. For one silent moment, he tempted himself.
The elephant broke his reverie. “We are leaving. Shall you come?”
The serpent knew what must be done. “No,” he said. “There are two more.”
“It is well you stay. You have frightened the other animals.”
“And you, elephant, do you feel afraid?”
“Of you, no. Of what you shall do, yes.” The elephant left the serpent there, by the great
acacia and its magnificent fruit.
But, now, there was trouble in the garden. The light still shimmered and the fountains
sprung up with sweet water. There were mud baths and wallows, and lakes to bathe in. But there
were now glimmers in the eyes of some of the animals as they looked upon the others and,
toward the cool of the evening, something struck at each animal, in each its own way. There was
a sudden, mighty foreboding of pain and blood, fear, and hiding, the chase and…Wêna was
there, on the mound. All the animals too, somehow, were now there.
Wêna wept.
“Oh, my beautiful animals,” Wêna said so all might hear. “I promised you to man so you
might live together in this garden.
“But Adam and Ève have eaten of the fruit of knowledge, seduced and beguiled by one of
you. They have fallen, and must leave this place forever.
“And so shall you depart as well.”
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Curtis D Cushman…/The Innocents of Eden
Wobogo, the wise elephant, came before Wêna and dropped down on his knees, like a
man at his prayers. “Wêna,” he said, “how shall we live? We are new to even this garden and
know only it.”
“I shall give you a special wisdom, a wisdom that will serve you better than any you
would have known had you eaten of the fruit. And you shall share the world of man.
“Some of you shall become hunters, others, the hunted. You shall hide, and run, climb
and leap, graze and sip the sweetness of flowers as you sip the sweetness of your short lives.
“And you will carry man and his burdens, and feed him, and provide things for his life.”
“But, Wêna,” said the lion, “we did not eat of the fruit. We are innocent.”
“And so you shall always be,” lamented Wêna. “My precious innocents. For you were
not tempted into tasting. But you turned away from the fruit for every reason but the one you
needed to give.” He looked over them in infinite sorrow.
“Wêna? Please tell us.”
“You should have refused because I told you to do so.”
The elephant rose but hung his head, as did the other animals.
“But Wêna,” he asked, “how shall we know what to do, and where to go?”
Wêna held up his hands and blessed his creatures. “Go now, go out of this garden. At its
gate, you will be granted the wisdom of instinct.”
They left, and when they came to the gate they each received instinct. And the hartebeest
and elands and all their kind fled, the predators felt hunger and loped after. The birds erupted
into the air, filling it with calls and color. Away slipped the fish, save for a few Wêna held back.
As he left, the elephant looked back a final time, and saw a piteous creature crawling
toward the gate of the garden. “What now, serpent?” he asked. “Now that your beauty had left
you?”
The snake crawled past. “Serpent was never my true name.”
“I think it is now.”
When they left, they mostly forgot the garden.
But when elephants go to die, they are looking for it. When birds migrate in the seasons,
they, too, seek it. Many animals look for special places to mate and spawn, remembering just a
bit of where life came to be.
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Curtis D Cushman…/The Innocents of Eden
Wêna turned finally to Adam and Ève. “You now must leave.”
“Will we survive on instinct, like the others?” asked Ève.
“Only in part,” replied Wêna. “But you shall live by your wits, through pain, and the
sweat of your brow. You have stolen knowledge, but I give you the gift of remembrance.
“Remember the garden, and remember Me.”
Wêna is just yet compassionate. He gave Ève a set of nested baskets, each fitting tightly
within the other. When they were separated by Ève’s hand, Wêna gave His gifts. In the largest
basket, He poured millet, then, in the next, shoots to grow yams. In the third came rice, and the
fourth pepper seeds. In the fifth was sugar cane, and into the sixth went seeds for gourds. The
seventh held onions. The eighth was for okra, and the ninth, tomatoes. The tenth was seed of the
karité, or shea, for oil. Wêna then took the cap of the basket and turned it over, making a final,
small basket. In this, He placed one mango pit. “This is, after all, the tree of life. Take these
seeds and shoots, plant them, and tend them. They will be how I provide for you.”
These are what we now call marriage baskets. He placed all in a large wooden bowl,
which Ève balanced on her head.
He turned to Adam. “These are for you.” He handed him a long stick with a point of iron,
and a wooden hoe fitted with a wide, sharp iron disk. “Go now: hunt and plow.”
He turned to the acacia and touched it. Immediately, the fruit withered.
“This tree is a final gift from this place. There is no more knowledge to be found within.
The fruit will never grow again as I created it. But, unlike all other trees, when the dry season
comes, and you despair of shade or browse for what will be your flocks, the acacia will be in full
leaf, providing for you.
“Now, it is your time to go.”
Wêna took them to the gate. They wept, but did not falter. As they passed through the
gate, Adam looked back and asked Wêna. “What is it that we leave?
“Give it a name in remembrance, Adam.”
“We will remember it always as Éden. Paradise.”
Then, between them and the garden came the first feux de brousse, the bush fires that
come to fertilize the land with ash. As the flames grew so high, they feared for their lives for the
first time. But Wêna had a reason to chase them off. Suddenly, the ground trembled and the land
they had left behind rose along a giant cleft in the earth until the garden was gone, raised beyond
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Curtis D Cushman…/The Innocents of Eden
sight. A line of cliffs reached from horizon to horizon. Now, father Adam and mother Ève were
alone. Finally, they walked away, with their backs to the setting sun.
The garden is gone now, but it is said that the sacred fish in the ponds of Bobo-Dioulasso
are the descendants of those kept back by Wêna to mark the edge of the garden. The cliffs of
Banfora stand where the garden was. Mangos mark where villages are found, looming like green
clouds on the ancient plateau. And the great acacias, true to the promise of Wêna, leaf fully in
the heart of the dry season. There is shade, and goats can feed. The goats, of course, refused the
fruit, but finally, got the leaves. And the people, in the swirl of desert winds that are nameless,
still remember Éden.
The Needles of Sindou
Eden?
Author’s photo
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Curtis D Cushman…/The Innocents of Eden
Some pronunciations:
Any “é” has a sound close to “-ay”: Nobéré is NO-bay-ray.
The “g” sound is somewhat guttural.
Wêna is Weh-nah.
Mooré is close to MOW-ray. The two “o”s means the o-sound is held slightly long.
Wobogo is as written with no strong emphasis: wo-bo-go.
Ziima is ZEE-mah. Double vowels in Moré (Moh-ray) indicate a slightly longer vowel sound:
Wamba, Pesgo, Louanga, are close to English pronunciation.
Boyêega is roughly Boh-ee-eh-AY-gah. Kind of.
Ki is Kee.
Sagabo is SAG-a-boh.
Maana (long “a”) is MAA-na.
Suuma is SOO-mah.
Wé-tiiga is Way-TEE-gha.
Wusro néré is WUS-ro nay-ray.
Dolo is locally brewed millet beer. Sweet and refreshing, it has a surprising kick.
Incidentally, Adam and Eve (Ève) would have the French pronunciation: Ah-Dahm and Ehve.
Éden would be Ay-den.
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