Long ago, the hippo ruled the land, second only to the elephant. The hippo king, Isantim, had seven wives. On occasion, he would give a big feast for the creatures of the land. But the hippo was a private animal and he gave out his name to no one, except his wives, whom he could count on to be loyal.

One feast day, just as the animals were about to sit down to eat, the hippo said, “You have come to feed at my table, but none of you know my name. If you cannot tell my name, you shall all of you go away without your dinner.”

The animals looked at each other in dismay, as they all realized that no one knew their host’s name. After a time, when no one could guess it, they got up one by one and left the table and all the good food and wine. But the tortoise, slow moving though he may be, was clever and swift in his mind so he stood up and asked the hippopotamus what he would do if he told him his name at the next feast. The hippo didn’t think this could happen, but he replied that he would be shamed and that he and his whole family would leave the land and would reside in the water forevermore. The tortoise nodded and moved away with his plodding gait.

Of an evening it was customary for the hippo and his seven wives to walk down to the river morning and evening to cleanse their bodies and quench their thirst. Isantim led, followed by his wives and children. The tortoise, aware of this habit, made a small hole in the center of the path to the river, then hid himself in the shrubs nearby. When he saw the hippos returning from the river, he waited until most had passed by, then he came out of his hiding place and half buried himself in the small depression he had made earlier. The rounded top of his shell was exposed, making a bumpy spot in the path.

The last two of Isantim’s seven wives came along the road, chatting and not noticing where their feet were placed. One stumbled over the tortoise’s shell and cried out to her husband, “Oh! Isantim, my husband, I have hurt my foot.”

The tortoise smiled at hearing the hippo’s name and, after the hippo procession had completely passed, he returned to his home to await the next feast.

Some time later, when the time for the next feast rolled around, the hippo asked again, “Does anyone here know my name? If you cannot tell me my name, you must leave the feast and miss out on the wonderful and tasty meal my wives have prepared.” At first no one stood up, but then the tortoise lumbered up from his seat and asked, “You promise you will not kill me if I tell you your name?” The hippo promised, feeling confident that the tortoise had no idea of his name. The tortoise then shouted as loud as he was able, “Your name is Isantim,” at which a cheer went up from all the creatures, and then they sat down to their dinner.

The hippo sat in shame throughout the feast. But he also felt rage at the tortoise’s knowledge of his name. However, he did not harm the tortoise, and when the feast was over, he kept his promise and went, with his seven wives and all his children, to the river. There the hippos stayed, until this day, in accordance with Isantim’s promise. But the hippos are still unhappy at being forced to leave the land and so they tend to be angry and vengeful if another creature enters the water near them.

A porcupine waddled by.

“Say there, fellow porcupine!” hailed the hippo. “Where do you go?”

The porcupine replied that he was on his way to the market to sell his quills to the fisherman.

Quills! The hippo thought that a sharp, pointy quill was just the thing he needed to poke the meat from between his teeth. He asked to borrow one.

The porcupine agreed but requested that it be returned on his way back from the market.

As the porcupine waddled away, the hippo dug into his mouth and just as he got the meat out, he swallowed the quill.

The hippo was frantic. He must return the quill to the porcupine! He decided to try to poop it out. As he pooped, he spun his tail very quickly, thinking that if he could scatter his dung, it might be easier to find the quill.

Alas, he never found it, and to this day, the hippo still hides from the porcupine because he cannot return the quill he borrowed. He stills spins his tail when he poops in an attempt to find the long lost quill. And he no longer eats meat in case it sticks in his teeth again because he cannot borrow another quill. So now the hippo only eats grass.

“Ancient Madagascan hippos have shed light on the origins of the small brain of the 1-metre-tall human, known as the ‘hobbit’.

By examining the skulls of extinct Madagascan hippos, scientists at the Natural History Museum discovered that dwarfed mammals on islands evolved much smaller brains in relation to their body size.” Read the entire article…

Long ago Hippo lived on the open savanna. He had long silky fur and a bushy tail, which he was very proud of. He especially like to admire himself in the water’s reflection.

One day the Hare became annoyed at Hippo’s vanity and decided to humble him. He led Hippo to a large bed of dry grass, exclaiming, “Such a handsome hippo should sleep upon the finest bed!” Hippo stretched out and fell asleep.

Then Hare lit the grasses on fire and leaped back as Hippo’s fine fur was set ablaze. Poor Hippo threw himself into the river to stop the flames. When he climbed out, his fur was burned away, leaving only naked skin and a stubby tail. From then on, the humbled hippo was too ashamed to show his scorched body, and kept to the water ever since.

If you’d like to read more stories like this, visit Lutterworth Press for the books, “When Hippo Was Hairy” and “When Lion Could Fly”. Or read “When Hippo Was Hairy” online at Google Books.

A hippopotamus attends the fair.

By chance, the first thing she sees is her own reflection in the fun house mirrors.

“How beautiful I am!” she cries, preening and proud that her diet is working.

Afraid of being trampled, the crowd scatters before her.

“Everyone here loves me! They treat me like the Queen of England!”

And yet, she does have sense enough to stop short of giving the little royal wave.

All day, her broad simple face is lit with a smile,

Her few teeth gleaming from the great chasm of her mouth,

And her heart is filled with a big fat lump of joy.

You mightn’t know it to look at her,

But she is possessed of a great and singular talent.

Despite her lack of thumbs or physical grace,

She can play the violin so beautifully

That bounty hunters and professional wrestlers embrace each other in tears

At the sound of a note coaxed forth by her.

And so her sensitive nature is stung

When a girl

–the sort of honey-haired young stunner who can crawl from a dumpster and be crowned Miss Universe without even brushing the barf off last night’s jeans–

Says,

“Get a load of the fat cow,” and snickers as only one so entitled can do.

But a cow could never have snapped the girl up like that.

A cow could never have trotted with such surprising speed over to the games booths and dragged that beauty queen to the bottom in a hail of yellow plastic ducks.

In an interview from jail, the hippopotamus, manacled and wearing an enormous and unflattering orange jumpsuit, confides:

“There is no such thing as too much beauty,

But no one should be expected to look too much reality in the eye

And not flinch.”

The article goes on to add

That in the deep cinder block evenings at the county jail,

A sound as heartbreakingly pure as first love and summer roses

Makes even the screws weep

Like little children.

** * * * * **

Many thanks to Shay Simmons of WordGarden for allowing us to reprint this poem.

I’m sure I can show the cover so here it is:

Anansi and the Talking Melon

And here’s a link to the book on Amazon in case you want to purchase it:

We probably won’t carry this on Hippo Mojo, since it’s not strictly about hippos, but it’s a great read!