Image of the Week: The Cowtail Switch
© D. Yael Bernhard
I first found the story The Cowtail Switch in a dusty collection of West African folktales in my local library. Like the cultures that gave rise to them, the stories were gritty and primal. The Cowtail Switch dates back far enough (prior to 1905) to place the story in the public domain. I decided to try to expand it into a fully-illustrated picture book, and pitched the idea to my agent. As part of the proposal, I created this sample illustration.
My picture book never got published, allegedly because the story was considered too frightening for children. This struck me as odd, considering that almost all the characters are children – the many sons of an esteemed hunter who disappears in the forest. Many months later, his youngest child, only a toddler, innocently asks, "Where is my father?" – thus sparking a storm of conjecture and a search party. Soon enough the brothers find the remains of the old hunter. But in typical African style, his bones are not taken for dead. One son has a talent for arranging the bones in exactly the right manner so that they may function again. Another has the unique ability to bind them together with muscle and sinew, just so. A third brother constructs new blood vessels, and a fourth brings forth vital organs. A fifth returns blood to the arteries and veins, and a sixth weaves a layer of new skin over the body – and so on, until finally the last brother kneels down and breathes life back into his father's lungs and sets his heart beating again – whereupon the old man sits up, blinks his eyes, stands up as if nothing happened, and walks home to his village surrounded by his sons. A great feast is prepared to celebrate the return of the patriarch and to celebrate the triumph of life over death.
At the feast, a cowtail switch – an ornamental object of power used like a conductor's baton, made from the tail of a cow, beads, and probably red ochre paste – is brandished by the village chief, to be given to the son who did the most to bring his father back to life. A great argument ensues, African style, in which each brother claims his contribution was the most important. What could be more fundamental than putting together the skeleton? What could be more essential than the muscles, the nerves, the blood? The very breath of life? On and on it goes until finally the chief silences the crowd and kneels before the youngest boy, presenting the cowtail switch to the little toddler who first remembered his father and asked the question that started the whole process of restoring him to life . . . for it is said among the African people that a man is not dead until he is forgotten.
And it is known in wisdom traditions around the world that a spark of intention matters as much as the actions that arise from it. Our purest intentions come from the most innocent and childlike parts of ourselves, the curious parts that are not afraid to ask questions or state the obvious.
Dismemberment and re-membering – both literal and figurative – are common themes in African folklore, and ancestral worship is the organizing principle of many sub-Saharan African spiritual belief systems – all integrated into this unique tale. I loved the earthy blood and bones of the story, which evoke great images for illustrations – and the simple concept that breathes life into the narrative. I could just imagine all kinds of fanciful body parts and positions throughout the book. What a clever way to introduce young readers to anatomy, I thought! – albeit a fictitious version.
Alas, the editors who reviewed my proposal didn't agree. It wasn't my first children's book proposal that was rejected – nor the last. The story may be found in several collections for adults that have been published since then.
A good week to all!