I was sitting in the shade in a group of mud and thatch huts with a grandfather. He was the oldest member of his branch of the Mamba Clan. He lived there with his 3 wives and 26 children and grandchildren.

As we sat there in the heat, a medium sized silverish colored snake crawled out from some nearby brush, about 30 feet away. It slithered across the homestead toward the side that bordered on a dry creek bed. I could see that it was a Black Mamba snake, one of the deadliest snakes in the world. I was a little nervous. 

They had told us all about the many deadly snakes in Peace Corps training, and there were 5 or 6 really dangerous ones. But the worst was the Black Mamba. It was very aggressive and its bite contained a nerve toxin so potent that it would stop your heart in 3 or 4 minutes, and so, there was no antivenin because it acted so quickly. I always kept a sharp eye out for snakes, and saw them sometimes as I walked back and forth to school.

I looked over at grandfather Mamba, and he was looking at the snake, but was just sitting there peacefully. I turned to him.

Me: Grandfather, are you not afraid that the snake will bite someone in your family?

On a Swazi homestead, there were groups of huts where various family members lived, and all around the huts, all grass and brush was removed, and left as bare dirt. This was because of the many snakes, so that they could not hide near the dwellings. And if seen, people would immediately try to kill it, by chopping it with a machete, or by smashing it with a big rock.

Grandfather Mamba: Oh, no, Maseko. The mamba snakes are our brothers. They will not bite us.

I had heard this before. Even so, there were many people who died of Black Mamba bites every year, and I considered the tale an urban legend.

Grandfather Mamba: Let me tell you a story that we teach our children.

He leaned back against the cool dirt wall of the hut and closed his eyes, and told me this story.

Sibusiso Mamba, whose name means Surprise, was bored. All the rest of his brothers and sisters were in school, as he himself would be next year, when he was old enough to start classes. As he walked along the dusty path, his bare feet kicking up swirls of the fine brown powder, he looked for something to do until his sister Thabsile got out of school, and he could walk with her to the river, to fetch water for the family. He was the fifth child of the Mamba family, and the youngest, at least until mother brought forth the one she was carrying now. It was hot, as it always was in December, and his tattered shirt gave him little protection from the baking sun. His bare feet were very hot.

As he looked off into the distance, across the hazy bushveld, he noticed a termite mound that was at least as tall as his father. He could see the coming and going of small black dots from the mound, and his heart beat faster, for that usually meant that a family of honeybees had built their home there. And Sibusiso knew that it also meant that there was honey to be found, and that if he was careful, he would soon be tasting its thick, sweet goodness. Quite possibly, even find enough to take some home to mother.

His family would be pleased to have some honey to add to the sour porridge of their daily breakfast.

He walked closer, and sure enough, there was a steady stream of honeybees entering and exiting a hole in the side of the mound. His mouth watered as he drew closer, but he calmed himself and forced himself to move slowly so that the bees would not know that he was about to rob them of their sweet treasure. The hole was about as big as the soccer ball that Sibusiso kicked every afternoon with the boys of his community.

Approaching ever so slowly, with the bees whizzing by only centimeters from his face, Sibusiso reached his hand carefully into the hole, and upward where the honeycomb would surely be hanging. He was not afraid of bees, and even though some of them bumped into him on their way, they paid him no attention at all. With his fingers he felt the waxy-sticky honeycomb, and gently wiggled it, trying to break off the largest piece that his small hand could grasp. At last a large chunk came free, and Sibusiso slowly brought his arm and hand back out of the opening.

Just before his hand holding the dripping piece of honeycomb was free of the termite mound, he felt the stinging blow of the strike of the snake that had been sleeping peacefully inside, until Sibusiso had disturbed him.

“Howu! Madoda!” he cried, dropping the honeycomb, and pulling his bitten hand quickly out of the hole, he looked at the two fang marks that were just above his knuckles. They were already starting to become puffy. He quickly leaped away from the termite mound, and ran toward his homestead as fast as his little feet could move.

As he ran, he looked back over his shoulder and was terrified to see the snake, a Black Mamba snake, only a few meters behind him, chasing him, slithering almost as fast as he was running. Sibusiso ran faster. The snake slithered faster. Soon, the snake was right at Sibusiso’s heels, and each step he took, he expected to feel the bite of the snake again.

“Motherl Mother!” he shouted as he reached the homestead. “Help me! The snake is chasing me!” His mother heard the commotion, and opened the door of the house, and Sibusiso leaped through it, slamming it just in time. The snake crashed into the door, angrily trying to follow the boy.

“What has happened, Sibusiso?” his mother asked.

*I was getting honey from the termite mound, and the snake has bitten my hand!” he cried, tears running down his frightened face.

His mother ran to the window and looked out, and seeing the angry Black Mamba snake hurling itself at the door, took Sibusiso’s arm, and looking him right in the eyes, said, ‘If you want to live, and not die from the bite of the snake, you must do what I tell you. You must go out of the house, and let the snake bite you again.”

“No. Mother! I am afraid! Why must I do this thing?” he wept.

*Because the Mamba snake is your brother.” she said. “If you do not let him take the poison back into his teeth, you will die. And so will he, from sorrow at seeing you, his small brother, die. He would not have bitten you if he had seen that you were a Mamba. You must go back out.”

Being a dutiful boy, Sibusiso obeyed his mother, and opened the door. His whole arm was swollen from the poison of the bite, and he was feeling very dizzy

As soon as the door was open, the snake raced in, and bit Sibusiso again, in the very same place. Soon the swelling in his arm began to go down, and the dizziness went away. The snake let go, and crawled out of the door, and off into the bushveld.

Sibusiso lived to become a father of many children, and he told the tale of the snake to each of them when they were old enough to go off on their own. He would always end the tale with the same caution,

*If you see that it is a Mamba snake who has bitten you by mistake, do not run, but let him take back his poison so that you both may live!”

I thanked Grandfather Mamba for his story, and stood and bid him goodbye, and went home as the sun set in the distance over the bushveld.

Family legends