The old man was acquainted with four hear a story while they drank kinds of papers": tax receipts, bride price They threatened to tell me no receipts, court fee receipts, and letters. more stories until I told them The messenger who brought him letters one of mine .. Realizing from the chief used them mainly as a that here was my chance to was in them and told the old man intelligible, /agreed badge of office, for he always knew what prove Hamlet universally Personal letters for the few who had relatives in the government or mission stations were kept until someone went to a large market where there was a letter writer and reader. Since my arrival, letters were brought to me to be read. A few men also brought me bride price receipts, privately, with requests to change the figures to a higher sum. I found moral arguments were of no avail, since in-laws are fair game, and the technical hazards of forgery difficult to explain to an illiterate people. i did not wish them to think me silly enough to look at any such papers for days on end, and I hastily explained that my"paper"was one of the"things of long ago" of my country Ah, said the old man Tell us I protested that i was not a storyteller Storytelling is a skilled art among them; their standards are high, and the audiences critical-and vocal in their criticism. I protested in vain. This morning they wanted to hear a story while they drank. They threatened to tell me no more stories until i told them one of mine. Finally, the old man promised that no one would criticize my style, " for we know you are struggling with our language. " But, put in one of the elders, you must explain what we do not understand, as we do when we tell you our stories Realizing that here was my chance to prove Hamlet universally intelligible, i agreed The old man handed me some more beer to help me on with my storytelling. Men filled their long wooden pipes and knocked coals from the fire to place in the pipe bowls; then, puffing contentedly, they sat back to listen. I began in the proper style, " Not yesterday, not yesterday, but long ago, a thing occurred. One night three men were keeping watch outside the homestead of the great chief, when suddenly they saw the former chief approach them Why was he no longer their chief? He was dead, I explained. That is why they were troubled and afraid when they saw him.”The old man was acquainted with four kinds of “papers”: tax receipts, bride price receipts, court fee receipts, and letters. The messenger who brought him letters from the chief used them mainly as a badge of office, for he always knew what was in them and told the old man. Personal letters for the few who had relatives in the government or mission stations were kept until someone went to a large market where there was a letter writer and reader. Since my arrival, letters were brought to me to be read. A few men also brought me bride price receipts, privately, with requests to change the figures to a higher sum. I found moral arguments were of no avail, since in-laws are fair game, and the technical hazards of forgery difficult to explain to an illiterate people. I did not wish them to think me silly enough to look at any such papers for days on end, and I hastily explained that my “paper” was one of the “things of long ago” of my country. “Ah,” said the old man. “Tell us.” I protested that I was not a storyteller. Storytelling is a skilled art among them; their standards are high, and the audiences critical—and vocal in their criticism. I protested in vain. This morning they wanted to hear a story while they drank. They threatened to tell me no more stories until I told them one of mine. Finally, the old man promised that no one would criticize my style, “for we know you are struggling with our language.” “But,” put in one of the elders, “you must explain what we do not understand, as we do when we tell you our stories.” Realizing that here was my chance to prove Hamlet universally intelligible, I agreed. The old man handed me some more beer to help me on with my storytelling. Men filled their long wooden pipes and knocked coals from the fire to place in the pipe bowls; then, puffing contentedly, they sat back to listen. I began in the proper style, “Not yesterday, not yesterday, but long ago, a thing occurred. One night three men were keeping watch outside the homestead of the great chief, when suddenly they saw the former chief approach them.” “Why was he no longer their chief?” “He was dead,” I explained. “That is why they were troubled and afraid when they saw him.” hear a story while they drank. They threatened to tell me no more stories until I told them one of mine. . . . Realizing that here was my chance to prove Hamlet universally intelligible, I agreed