Ambe and Fufu

Written By: Carol Reinsma - Oct• 19•11

Ambe pulled weeds out of the corn field from sun up to sun down. After a week, no nasty weeds grew between the leafy, green, corn plants.

“Beautiful,” the farmer said. “I will pay you with a rabbit just as I promised.”

Every brown rabbit in the farmer’s yard scurried away, but the small white one hopped into Ambe’s hands. He stroked the silky white fur. “I’ll call you Fufu because you are as white as the fufu Mama makes from the white yams.”

“Ah,” said the farmer, “A rabbit that allows itself to be caught will find a way of escaping.”

“No.” Ambe clicked his tongue. “She’ll stay with me, just like I stick around when Mama prepares fufu.”

Ambe ran home with Fufu in his arms. He built a cage out of raffia, put it beside his bed and placed Fufu inside.

In the morning, Fufu was gone. “Fufu, Fufu,” he called. Seconds later, Fufu hopped up to Ambe with garden greens in her mouth. “The farmer was wrong about you escaping from me. You were just hungry,”

Fufu stayed beside Ambe all day long. In the evening, he put Fufu back in the cage.

The next morning, Fufu was gone again. Ambe called and called. He searched and searched. Finally, he found Fufu in the farmer’s field.

“If that rabbit eats from my field again, I’ll eat her,” the farmer said.

When night time came, Ambe stayed awake for hours and hours keeping watch over Fufu. Not once did she poke her nose through the openings between the raffia reeds. “You are a good little rabbit after all.” Ambe closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Once again, Ambe woke to find Fufu missing. He rushed outside. “Fufu, Fufu.” The little white rabbit did not come. Ambe searched the garden and the farmer’s field. Fufu could not be found anywhere.

Sadly, Ambe sat down on a rock pile.

The farmer came by, rubbing his belly. “I had fufu for breakfast,” he said.

Ambe’s mouth fell open before he found the words. “You, ate, Fufu?”

“Yes,” the farmer said.

Ambe ran to the farmer’s house where he saw white balls of fufu in a bowl on the table. “Is that what your husband ate for breakfast?”

“Yes,” she said. “He wanted to eat fufu so that you’d have a scare so big that you’d trust your rabbit. Did you every hear such strange talk?”

Ambe thanked the farmer’s wife and ran home.

There he found Fufu sitting on top of the cage. He rubbed his nose against Fufu’s pink nose. “Storytalker must have told the farmer how to show me that you needed your freedom.”

From that day forward, Ambe never put Fufu in a cage again. Fufu stayed close to Ambe during dark nights, starry nights and moon lit nights. 

You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.


  1. i am realy amazed Ma with your Ambe’s story. it is really a cameroon story story. how i wish you come agains and discover more things to write on about Cameroon. may the Almighty God continue to ispire you as you write. i wout\ld like to come out with some pictures of the Ambe’s story

    • Carol Reinsma says:

      Thank you, Ambe. It was great to meet you at Mus’Art and find another Ambe in Cameroon. I do have more Cameroon stories and we’ll have to talk more about your art. Carol

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *