Why the Tortoise Has a Cracked Shell

Many ages ago, Akye the Tortoise had the most beautiful shell in the forest. It was smooth and dark and shone like polished mahogany. All the animals admired it, and though Akye was very proud of it, he tried not to show this too obviously.

One day, the birds received an invitation from Nyame the Sky God, who was hosting a great feast in the heavens, the finest gathering ever, with every fruit and grain and delicacy from the earth prepared in the manner of the clouds. Every bird received a feather-invitation, and they began preening excitedly.

Tortoise heard about the feast and his mouth watered. But he had no wings, and the heavens were very far above.

He went to the birds with a proposal. "Each of you give me one feather. With enough feathers, I can fashion wings and fly to the feast with you. In return, I will carry your gifts up to Nyame, for my shell is large and strong and can hold much."

The birds thought this was reasonable. Each plucked one feather and gave it to Akye. He fashioned them carefully onto his arms, and when the day came, he rose into the sky with the birds, a little clumsily but steadily enough.

As they flew, Tortoise told the birds: "I should mention that for a feast like this, one must have a new name. It is the custom of the heavens. My new name for today will be 'All of You.'"

The birds thought this was strange, but Tortoise spoke so confidently that they accepted it.

When they arrived, Nyame's servants came out with the first dish, a massive bowl of fufu with the most fragrant palm soup. "This first course," the servant announced, "is for All of You."

Tortoise stepped forward. "That is my name," he said, and sat before the entire dish. He ate until it was empty. When the birds protested, he shrugged. "The servant said my name. I merely answered."

Course after course arrived: jollof rice, kenkey and fish, fried plantain, honey from the forest bees. Each time, Tortoise claimed his name. The birds grew furious but could not stop him without causing a scene at Nyame's table.

By the time the feast ended, Tortoise was so full he could barely move. He waddled toward the edge of the cloud, ready to float back down with his borrowed wings, and found them gone. The birds had taken back their feathers, every one, and flown home without him.

Tortoise stood at the edge of heaven and looked down. It was a very, very long way.

He called to the birds below, asking them to send a soft pile of leaves to break his fall. The birds relayed this message, but with a change. When Tortoise finally jumped, there was nothing soft below.

He fell all the way from the sky to the earth, and his beautiful, smooth shell shattered into a hundred pieces.

The tortoise did not die, Nyame ensured that much. But when the shell grew back together, it came back in pieces, cracked and patterned with lines where it had broken. And so it has been ever since.

Every time you see a tortoise's shell, you see the map of a very long fall, and the lesson written across it: cleverness used only for yourself will eventually require someone else to pull away the feathers that held you up.