Transcripts

text | pdf |

---

SPEAKER: The art of storytelling originated many years ago on various continents as a way for its inhabitants to preserve their history, their values, and personal experiences. The custom among African-Americans extended across the waters of their slave ancestors' humiliating and involuntary voyage. It's inspired generations of African-Americans with captivating stories.

Master storyteller Nothando Zulu is part of the Black Storytellers Alliance and has been enthralling listeners of all ages with her stories for more than 20 years. She, along with many others here in the Twin Cities are keeping this tradition alive. And we're going to have some fun this morning because she joins us in our studio to share her art and her history with us. Good morning.

NOTHANDO ZULU: Good morning.

SPEAKER: Good to have you here.

NOTHANDO ZULU: Thank you.

SPEAKER: What makes the role of the Black storyteller so important?

NOTHANDO ZULU: Well, actually, the role of any storyteller, I'd say, is what you said at the beginning-- to tell the history through story, to tell the values, to keep the mores, and all of that going without having to preach. See, the preacher tends to be the great storyteller. But some people don't like to be preached to in that manner. But you can give them the same kind of information through story without preaching. So it is very important for everyone.

SPEAKER: Every culture.

NOTHANDO ZULU: Every culture.

SPEAKER: Sure.

NOTHANDO ZULU: It is that connection piece, I think. I try to encourage parents to sit down and tell their stories when they were growing up so that the children will know that they were little people once, that they didn't just come here perfect and adult.

SPEAKER: Someone said there's a difference between being a storyteller who happens to be Black and a Black storyteller. How is that?

NOTHANDO ZULU: Somebody did say that?

SPEAKER: Mm-hmm.

NOTHANDO ZULU: I really have no idea exactly what they meant. The thing is that I am Black. I am an African-American. And all storytellers have their own style their way of doing things. And it really doesn't-- it is not a thing of a color, but it might have something to do more with culture or background.

Some storytellers, in the African-American culture, tend to deal with contemporary stories or stories that we call street stories, like the signifying monkey stories that are in rhyme.

And when I was growing up, my brothers told those stories. I wasn't supposed to hear them because they had kind of blue language.

[LAUGHS]

SPEAKER: Do some of your stories, are they based on folklore or folk tales, or are they personal stories from your family?

NOTHANDO ZULU: Oh, most of them are folk tales. I'm a revivalist because I like to tell stories that other storytellers tell and stories that I find in books. And that gives me a wider variety of stories to choose from. And just say I wanted to do a special subject matter, I would look for stories that would cover those areas.

But then too, I mean, stories come from everywhere. I mean, they are personal experiences. They are other people's histories. They're your own histories, my own history. And I use that in telling stories as I share them. I use all of it, everything, everybody.

SPEAKER: Sure. Well, give us an example of a story that you might tell.

NOTHANDO ZULU: Well, let's say one from personal experience that I would share with youngsters that most people have not heard. And this is one where I talk about the era of time because I'm an older person. So I begin by telling them what it was like growing up, where I was growing up and how we washed clothes because I grew up during the time when you used the rub board.

Well, my sister moved from Virginia to New York and she didn't want to take all of these big appliances with her. So she left her washing machine with us. I mean, and here was this electrical object, and it had a wringer, so we didn't have to wash the way we had.

Well, the thing is that I was about eight years old at the time. And it was just great having this new thing here. And I was told not to play with it, of course. I mean, it was something to work with.

Well, one Saturday, it was my Saturday to go to town. See, I lived in the country. And you didn't go to town every Saturday. You know how these children hang out at the mall every day. I know that wasn't the case. So it was my Saturday to go to town. I had done all of my chores, and I had nothing left to do. And there is an old saying that idle hands are the devil's workshop, well, mine got busy.

I went out to the wash house where the washing machine was. And I turned on that wringer. And I found myself a little string. And I put it up there by the wringer, and the wringer caught that little string and brought it on through. And I caught it and I put it through again. And it got good to me. So I put it through a third time. But the third time it caught my fingers.

And that wringer just rolled my arm on up, on up squeezing and rubbing and everything. And, of course, I was screaming at the time. And my sister finally heard me and she came and she let me loose. And then, of course, I told her not to tell my mother and father because, otherwise, we wouldn't get to go to town. It was our Saturday, but I was an evil, little child downtown. I could enjoy myself.

And so that night, though, my mother noticed it. And I was trying to be like it wasn't anything. And so she looked at it and she said, well, what happened? Now, what I did was tell a lie. I said, mama, you know that bannister that daddy made for grandma to hold on to when she goes down the steps? She said, yeah.

I said, well, I tripped and fell on that top step. And I fell and my arm slid all the way down that bannister. Seemed reasonable to me. And it must have seemed reasonable to her because she believed it. And plus, I didn't lie a lot.

So then she took me to the doctor. I told the doctor the same thing because back in that day, you told all adults the very same thing, otherwise, your butt was in trouble. So the doctor put a cast on it because it was fractured, but really it should have been treated for a burn. So then later on, what happened was it got all icky. And I thought I was going to lose my arm. So I started crying and I confessed.

And so I tell that to children so that they know the truth, well, I'll always tell the truth. And that I have a mark on my arm, which I will carry with me for the rest of my life. And they should always tell the truth no matter how much they think something bad is going to happen.

SPEAKER: So there's a bit of a moral to that story.

NOTHANDO ZULU: Absolutely. I'm a living legend of moral.

[LAUGHTER]

SPEAKER: What inspired you to tell stories?

NOTHANDO ZULU: Oh, I've been telling stories since I was a little kid. I mean, where I grew up, going to school, the teachers would say, hey, let's stop, and let's do some storytelling. And, of course, I always had a story I wanted to share. And we bought our own books. And my favorite part was the Fairy Tales and the Far and Away Places. I loved those sections. So I got to tell stories.

Then plus my daddy was a deacon, so I had to be able to tell Bible stories and say Bible verses at the drop of a hat too because I was his daughter. So that's how I got started.

SPEAKER: Where did you grow up?

NOTHANDO ZULU: In Virginia? The state of Virginia, in a small town called Franklin. And I grew up in the country part of it.

SPEAKER: Sure. I understand there's a word griot used when referring to some storytellers. It's a prestigious title bestowed upon Black storytellers who have earned high respect based upon their skills of intellect and communication. What does it take to be a Black storyteller, to be a griot?

NOTHANDO ZULU: Oh, I think a griot is probably one who has combined the storytelling with also the history. They have the historical information. And they've been doing it for quite some time. And they do it for the empowerment and betterment of the community wherever they go.

Mary Carter Smith, who is co-founder of the National Association of Black Storytellers, she is a griot of Baltimore, Maryland. She was made griot. It's really an appointment. Someone appoints you that. Otherwise, you can take it on as yourself.

I see, personally, I would call Mahmoud El Khatib the griot for the African-American community here in Minnesota because he has that history. He tells us that history. And he tells it in such a manner that you just want to learn, and you want to grow with it.

SPEAKER: Is song a part of storytelling?

NOTHANDO ZULU: For some. I do some songs. I'm not a great singer. Mostly, I sing in bass, so I don't tend to do a lot of singing. But there are others who are great singers, and they can use song with their storytelling. And some use shakers, some use drums some use thumb pianists. I tend to just use myself for the most part. I get a little confused doing too many things at one time. [LAUGHS]

SPEAKER: How about another tale?

NOTHANDO ZULU: All right. Let's see. Why don't I tell you the one about the three sisters who lived in this village. It was a small village, and that wasn't so different. The thing is that there was a magical river that ran through this village. And it was magical because you could ask it real, real nice and promise to bring it something. That river would stop flowing and open up and let you walk across on dry land.

Well, anyway, these three little sisters whose names were Kiyana, Kierra, and Makayla, well, they decided they wanted to go snail hunting. And Kiyana went first to the river because she's the oldest, and that's the way it is. The oldest has to make sure that it's OK for the younger ones. And when she got to the river, she said, good morning, Mr. River, how are you this morning? Mr. River, would you please let me cross to the other side so that I might hunt some snails, please?

And Mr. River, he said, well, you did ask me real nice. But if I let you cross, what are you going to bring me in return? And she said, well, I'm going to hunt snails. I'll bring you some snails. And he said, oh, that's fine. I love snails. That'll be great. And he opened up and let her walk across on dry land.

Then came Kierra, the second oldest. And she too was just as nice and just as sweet as her sister. And she said please and all of those things and promise to bring the river snails and the river said, oh, all right, and let her cross.

And then came Makayla, who was the youngest of the group, but also had her own mind about things. And so when she got to the river, she wasn't nice at all. She said, hey, river, look, I want to cross to the other side so I can join my sisters who are hunting snails, OK?

Well, said, whoa, you didn't even ask me nice like your sisters. And your sisters were nice. I might let you cross, but what are you going to bring? And so she said, well, I'll bring you some chickens, some eggs, and some yams. Mr. River said, wow, I love chickens, eggs, and yams. That's wonderful. Now remember, that's what you got to bring me in order for you to go home. She said, yeah, yeah, yeah, just open up. So he opened up. He let her go across.

They hunted snails. And then it was time for them to go home. Kiyana came back first, of course. And she said, Mr. River, thank you so much. I got a lot of snails for you, and I got a lot of snails for me. And she stomped those snails into the river. River gobbled them up, opened them up. Open up and let her go home. Then came Kierra. She got to go home.

Then came Makayla And she said, OK, river, I'm ready to go home now. Mr. River said, that's fine, but where are those things you promised me. She said, well, you see, when I was on the other side, I thought I could find some chickens, eggs, and yams, but I couldn't find any on the other side.

So what I got to do is I've got to go home and get you some chickens, eggs, and yam, so you have to open up, so I can get some chickens, eggs, and yams. I'm not trying to get over on you. And just open up and I'll go get them for you, OK?

Well, Mr. River said, no, that's not OK. She stuck her foot into the river. River snatched her up. Had her going up and down. She was yelling help. She saw some birds up in the air. She asked him to get her mother. And they got her mother. And mother brought back chickens, eggs, and yams. Threw them into the river. And the river threw Makayla out.

And from that day forward, Makayla was always, always polite after that, saying please and thank you, and excuse me. And she never ever made a promise that she couldn't or wouldn't keep. And that's a fact.

SPEAKER: A lesson to remember. Thank you, master storyteller Nothando Zulu. She's part of the Black Storytellers Alliance and has been enthralling listeners of all ages for more than 20 years. Thanks for joining us this morning.

NOTHANDO ZULU: You're welcome.