Kwaku Ananse and his two kid brothers have two Valencia oranges to ration among them. Gloomy with the thought of divvying up equally, he finagles immediate intrigue, and starts working on an imaginary enemy.
He says, “But why should they give three of us only two oranges to split up?”
Ananse’s brothers are clearly clueless on his rabid ranting. Who is the fictitious foe?
“But I am your big brother, and I love you!”
The younger two are perplexed aplenty. The world is more likely than ever, these days, to distrust you if you speak of love.
“You take this huge one, and you, this lovely-looking one. You see I’ve given them both to you, and I, myself, don't have any.”
He carries a long, crumpled face, and volte-faces away from the two new, sole owners of the fleshy, tasty fruit, with head hanging low and drooping shoulders. He takes two slack steps and quickly turns around with fairly rehearsed grace. His eyes have gone dark and cloudy.
“Oh, won’t you give me just half of yours, and you, half of yours, pweeze?”
Confused about his earlier kindness and his present whimpering, each gives Ananse half of his prized possession. The crafty cur saunters away with one whole Valencia orange.