Below, I’m sharing the next installment in my series on Lydia Cabrera’s Cuentos Negros de Cuba, an English translation of Ñogumá. The previous installment, Tatabisaco, can be read here:
In Tiger’s house, there’s no cook. Nobody seeks employment there. Who would dare cook for the Tigers? Who’d risk it? They eat the cook’s food, from pans, and then they eat the cook alive. They have always done it this way; it’s their custom.
At that time, there lived a carpenter named Ñogumá: it was said he knew more than the cockroaches. He was a fine cook and pastry chef.
He went to Tiger’s house, seeking employment...
“Ñogumá,” said Ma Teodora, “in that munansó1, they’ve eaten all the cooks. Don’t go, Ñogumá. God save you!”
But Ñogumá didn’t listen, not even to his friend Ma Teodora. He feared nothing and had grown tired of carpentry.
Mrs. Tiger now had many children. She disliked entering the kitchen and getting dirty.
“Alright, Ñogumá,” she said. “Prepare lunch immediately.”
“Entete (Deer)?” Ñogumá said.
“Entete, yes, we like that.”
“Engombe (ox)?”
“We’ll eat engombe.”
“Enuni (bird)?”
“We’ll eat enuni.”
"Susúndamba (Owl)?"
"..."
"Chulá (Toad)?"
"No, not chulá, it bloats you!"
Ñogumá tied on his apron whose white color resembled sugarcane bloom. He lit the stove. A curious tiger cub passed by. Ñogumá killed it, cooked it. The Tigers ate tiger meat and said:
"It's delicious!"
Another curious cub greedily passed by the stove. Ñogumá killed it, seasoned it well, and the Tigers ate tiger meat again and said:
"Very tasty!"
Each day, Ñogumá killed a cub, and the Tigers, licking their lips, said:
"How gracefully the man cooks!"
One day, Ñogumá killed the last cub.
Peacock, from his branch, saw everything.
“Whatever today may bring,” Ñogumá said—and the fire of the stove burst into choking laughter—“Ñogumá will go far away…. Ñogumá won’t wait around for a spiteful Tiger to bare its fangs.”
(The pots—black-bottomed, pot-bellied—lined up solemnly, every one of them wearing a hat.)
And Ñogumá winked at the knife.... And he left, never to return.
Tiger searched for Ñogumá because he was hungry. It was lunchtime.
Mrs. Tiger searched for Ñogumá and called for her children. Nobody was home.
Mealtime approached; the day was ending. Where was Ñogumá? And the cubs—were they playing in the forest? Were they lost?
Big Tiger was very hungry.
Aa!... Ha!
Bedtime arrived. Not one star above was missing. Sleep returned to the house. But neither Ñogumá nor the cubs had returned.
Three days passed.
Peacock, from his branch, was watching. With his hundred eyes…. He watched everything and said:
"Tu húrria! Tu húrria! Tu húrria!"2
"Look, Tiger, the stove is out, the ashes cold. Look, Tiger, the severed heads…"
Twelve. There were twelve pots Peacock uncovered, revealing the twelve decapitated heads of twelve little tigers, opening and closing their eyes, frozen in horror, tongues hanging out, drooling worms...
Already rotten, the twelve heads smelled foul...
"Ah, Ñogumá!" roared the Tiger. "How should I take revenge?"
"If you give me what I ask, I'll bring Ñogumá in chains!" answered Peacock.
"I'll give whatever you ask!"
“Will you give me new legs; pretty legs, silver ones? ” and he added in a whisper, “Because the ones I have now, Tiger, embarrass me…”
“I’ll give you fine legs, brand new—top of the line!”
“Very good. I won’t waste a second. I’m already on my way…”
“ ¡Ñogumá, Titigumá, Titirigumá, Ñogumá!”3
Ñogumá was in his workshop, planing a honeycolored board of mahogany.
The hand plane was chanting:
“Siguané siguané, ¡silé!
Siguané siguané, ¡silé!
Siguané siguané, ¡silé!”4
Over the forests and hills and rivers echoed the cries of Peacock, searching the world for Ñogumá. Across the distant green hills. Through the valley. In the forest. Along the river. In every solitary spot.
He would climb to the topmost branch of a towering tree and denounce him to the four winds, slicing the air with shrill screeches:
“ ¡Tu húrria! ¡Tu húrria! ¡Tu húrria!"
He crossed a palm grove thick with shade, and the cry shot straight to the hut where Ñogumá was planing his honeycolored mahogany.
“Siguané siguané, ¡silé!
Siguané siguané, ¡silé!
Siguané siguané, ¡silé!”
“ ¡Ñogumá, Titigumá, Titirigumá, Ñogumá!”
Ñogumá heard that from very far away (and yet so near)—they were calling him, and he felt a fear of not being alone.
From his heart to the tips of his fingers ran threads of icy water; and it was that same heart that spoke of justice to Ñogumá.5
“ ¡Ñogumá, Titigumá, Titirigumá, Ñogumá!”
The cries were closing in like a platoon of armed men.
“ ¡Ñogumá, Titigumá, Titirigumá, Ñogumá!”
They were very near now, so near…
“ ¡Ñogumá, Titigumá, Titirigumá!”
A plumed tail brushed the dry leaves:
“Ñogumá!”
It was Peacock, perched at the window; he saw a man bent over a plank.
The hand was afraid, the plane was afraid—very slowly a secret slipped along the wood:
“Yes…him.”
Without turning, Ñogumá set the board aside, slid like a lizard, and disappeared beneath a mound of shavings.
Peacock, with his hundred eyes, kept staring. All of him was staring.
“Ñogumá?”
Silence.
“Ñogumá?”
Silence became absence. Everything replied in a deep mute hush. Ñogumá was there, yet like a corpse in his house after burial.
“He’s not here anymore!” Peacock said to himself, satisfied. And he set off once more through half the world.
Tiger had been waiting, counting the minutes and hours.
“And Ñogumá…. Have you brought him?”
“No, but I’ve traveled far. I saw a man from behind, planing wood, way off—so far it must be where the earth ends. Perhaps it was him, Ñogumá himself; but he had his back to me. Somehow, he vanished.”
“Imbecile!” roared Tiger.
“What was I to do? I tired of calling, and he never answered. A man seen from behind is any man: he could be Ñogumá or not Ñogumá. A man with his back turned is always a stranger!”
“Then,” said Tiger, pointing scornfully at Peacock’s grotesque legs, sore from walking the earth, “keep your ugly legs for the rest of your life!”
“Tiger! Can such a thing be?”
Paf! Peacock hopped up onto the branch.
“Téhit-Tehrii…” he spread his wings.
His whole body blazed with jeweled fire, like rich, supple metal. A sapphire breast, an emerald train—his fabulous tail starred with golden eyes!6
“Téhit-Tehrii…. Ah, me! The great me…. I am magnificent beyond compare. A living jewel…and nobody is worth what I am worth. Nobody!”
But now and then, quite unintentionally, that grand Peacock glimpsed his own feet, whereupon he shrieks (puffed-up, frantic):
" ¡Tu húrria! ¡Tu húrria! ¡Tu húrria!"7
Translated by Pedro José from Cuentos Negros de Cuba by Lydia Cabrera (1940). Courtesy of the Cuban Heritage Collection, University of Miami Libraries, Coral Gables, Florida
Kongo/Spanish hybrid for temple‑house or praise‑house. In Palo Congo a munanso congo is the ritual lodge where spirits of the dead are served and initiates gather.
It’s a bit of bozal (19th-century Afro‑Cuban plantation speech). Cabrera’s own gloss says the peacock’s shriek means ¡Te lo comiste!—literally “You ate them!”—a taunt that tells Tiger he devoured his cubs without knowing it. In Cuban slang, ¡Te lo comiste! means “great job”, so Peacock’s sarcasm carries both literal and figurative meaning.
A mimicking of the rhythmic scrape of the hand‑plane
Cabrera’s informants said that sudden chills signal a spirit’s presence, a detail she preserves as “threads of icy water” running through Ñogumá’s hands.
A call‑and‑response spell; the repetition of ‑gumá (from Kongo ngoma) mimics drumbeats used to summon fugitives or spirits.
In Yoruba and Bantu folktales birds barter body parts with divinities; Cabrera flips the trope, so Peacock’s vanity is punished—he receives dazzling plumage (Tiger’s partial payment) but never the elegant legs he originally desired.
Here, Peacock uses tu húrria (te lo comiste) as biting self‑sarcasm: a praise that normally means “you nailed it” turned inward to mock his own failure.
Your piece "Noguma" is a captivating exploration of identity and cultural nuance. Through evocative storytelling, you delve into the complexities of self-perception and the influence of heritage on personal narratives. The way you weave language and emotion creates a resonant tapestry that invites readers to reflect on their own experiences. Thank you for sharing such a poignant and thought-provoking work.