The Omen of the Cat – Ivory Coast Folktale of Death and Courage

In a quiet corner of the world, nestled between the rolling hills and lush greenery of what we now call the Ivory Coast—known in French as Côte d’Ivoire—there once lived the gentle Beng tribe. These people were known far and wide for their kindness, peaceful nature, and deep connection with the land. They lived in harmony with all creatures that shared their home, treating every animal with the same respect they gave one another.

Well—almost every animal.

There was one creature they would never trust. One animal whose very presence struck fear into the hearts of even the bravest warriors: the cat.

Not just any cat, but a fearsome, wild feline that prowled near the outskirts of the village. It wasn’t merely feared for being a predator. This cat was vicious. It hissed and growled at anyone who came close. It had been known to claw at children and even bite elders without warning. Its yellow eyes gleamed with malice, and its long, curved claws looked more like talons than those of any house cat. The worst part? No matter how many times the villagers tried to chase it away, the creature always returned.

But one day, something happened that changed everything.

The skies were clear, and the village bustled with daily life—mothers preparing food, children playing, elders gathered under the shade of the trees. Then, without warning, the cat appeared again. But this time, it didn’t attack. It didn’t snarl. It merely walked to the center of the village, stared coldly at everyone, and—without shame—defecated right there, in the open.

The sight was grotesque enough, but what truly horrified the villagers was the dropping itself. It was pitch black, like tar, and it emitted an overpowering stench. The elders, who believed in omens and signs from the spirits, gasped in horror.

“It is a sign of death,” the village chief declared solemnly.

Without hesitation, he ordered every family to evacuate their huts and move to the outer limits of the village. “This is no ordinary waste,” he said. “It is a curse left by a creature of darkness.”

For days—three or maybe four—the villagers remained at the edges of their home, refusing to step foot near the cursed spot. They prayed, fasted, and asked the spirits for protection. No one dared to touch the dropping, and no one dared to challenge the chief’s warning.

When the fourth morning came and the air felt lighter, the chief announced it was time to return. But the village would never be safe as long as the cursed cat lived. Something had to be done.

So the chief called upon his own son, a strong and courageous young man, and gave him a task: hunt down the beast and end its terror once and for all.

With his sharp axe and heart full of purpose, the chief’s son tracked the animal to a hidden den not far from the village. There, beneath a rock ledge covered in vines, the cat slept. Without delay, the young warrior struck with precision. The cat let out one final, ghastly yowl—and then, silence.

He carried the lifeless creature back to the village. That night, the chief’s family cooked the meat and feasted upon it, as was tradition when a cursed beast was defeated. The cat’s fur was cleaned, tanned, and laid as a rug in the chief’s hut—a reminder to all that no evil would ever be allowed to rule their land.

From that day forward, no cat dared cross into the village again.

Moral of the Story:
Even the smallest of creatures can cast a powerful shadow. When signs from nature warn us, it is wise to listen and act with courage.