How the Cock Got His Crown

The elder’s voice rang out like the first call of dawn as the firelight painted dancing shadows on the gathered faces:

“Akoko ma da ase—the cock announces the day,” he began in the old tongue. “But tonight I tell you how Akoko earned the right to wear his golden crown, and why his call still welcomes each sunrise with authority and respect.”

Long ago, in the time when Nyame the Sky God walked the earth and all creatures possessed the gift of speech, there lived a cock whose beauty was matched only by his vanity. His name was Kwabena, and his feathers gleamed like polished copper in the morning sun. His tail arched high and proud, decorated with colors that seemed to capture the very essence of fire—deep reds, brilliant oranges, and golden yellows that shimmered with each step he took.

Kwabena strutted through the Akan village with his chest puffed out and his head held impossibly high. He would crow at the smallest provocation, announcing his magnificence to any creature within hearing distance. His voice was indeed powerful, echoing across the valleys and through the forest, but it carried the sharp edge of arrogance rather than the warm welcome of genuine service.

“Look upon me!” Kwabena would declare, spreading his magnificent tail feathers for all to see. “Have you ever witnessed such splendor? My colors put the sunset to shame, my voice commands more attention than thunder, and my bearing is more regal than any chief who ever lived!”

The other animals of the village grew weary of Kwabena’s boasting. The humble hen would shake her head and continue pecking for grain. The wise goat would roll his eyes and move his family to quieter pastures. Even the patient ox would snort with annoyance when Kwabena’s preening interrupted his work.

But the children of the village were fascinated by Kwabena’s beauty, and their admiration only fed his already swollen pride. He would perform elaborate displays for them, dancing and calling, reveling in their gasps of wonder and applause.

One morning, as the first light of dawn painted the eastern sky in shades of pink and gold, Kwabena stood upon the highest rock in the village compound. The sight of the sunrise stirred something deep within him—not humility or gratitude, but a burning jealousy that he had never acknowledged before.

“Even the sun,” he muttered to himself, “thinks it can outshine Kwabena! Every morning it rises with such fanfare, demanding that all the world wake up and pay attention to its light. But what is the sun compared to me? It is distant and cold, while I am here among the people, beautiful and warm and alive!”

As the sun climbed higher, Kwabena’s jealousy grew into reckless determination. He spread his wings, puffed out his chest to its fullest extent, and released a crow so loud and piercing that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth.

“Sun!” he challenged, his voice carrying across the awakening village and into the forest beyond. “I, Kwabena the magnificent, challenge you to a contest of brilliance! Let all creatures judge who truly deserves to announce the coming of each day. I declare that my beauty surpasses your light, my voice commands more respect than your rays, and my presence brings more joy to the world than your distant shine!”

The village fell silent. Birds stopped their morning songs. The wind itself seemed to pause in the trees. Such a challenge to the sun—to Nyame’s own appointed herald of each day—was beyond audacious. It bordered on the sacred, the forbidden.

High above, the sun seemed to pause in its journey across the sky. Then, to everyone’s amazement, a voice descended from the heavens—warm like summer morning, bright like gold, powerful like the great rivers in flood season.

“Kwabena,” the sun spoke, and every creature in the village felt the words resonate in their hearts, “your beauty is indeed remarkable, for I myself painted those colors on your feathers with rays of dawn and sunset. Your voice is indeed powerful, for I gave you the strength to call my arrival each day. But beauty without humility is like a flame without oil—bright for a moment, then quickly extinguished. Do you truly believe that what you possess belongs to you alone?”

Kwabena, his pride burning like fire in his chest, spread his wings wider and crowed even louder. “I believe that I am the most magnificent creature in all creation! If you doubt this, then let us prove it! I propose a contest: for one full day, let each of us demonstrate our power. You provide your light and warmth, while I provide my beauty and voice. At sunset, let all the creatures of the village decide who has contributed more to their day.”

The sun’s response was like gentle laughter mixed with summer rain. “Kwabena, I accept your challenge, but not as you expect. I will withdraw my light and warmth for just one hour—from noon until the first hour past noon. In that time, you must provide for the village everything that I normally give: the light for seeing, the warmth for comfort, the energy that makes plants grow and rivers flow. If you succeed, I will acknowledge your superiority. But if you fail…”

“If I fail,” Kwabena interrupted, his confidence unshaken, “then I will accept whatever consequence you deem fit. But I will not fail! Prepare to see the true brilliance of Kwabena!”

As the morning progressed, word of the contest spread throughout the village and into the surrounding forest. Animals gathered from far and wide to witness this unprecedented challenge. The children were excited, the elders were worried, and the wisest among them began to pray to the ancestors for protection from the folly about to unfold.

When the sun reached its highest point in the sky, it began to fade. Slowly, gradually, its light dimmed and its warmth receded. The world grew cold and dark, as if night were falling in the middle of the day. The children cried out in fear, the animals huddled together for warmth, and even the bravest warriors felt their hearts fill with dread.

“Now, Kwabena!” called the sun’s voice from the growing darkness. “Show us your brilliance! Light the world with your beauty, warm the earth with your presence, make the plants grow with your magnificence!”

Kwabena spread his wings and tail feathers to their fullest extent. His colors were indeed beautiful, but in the unnatural darkness they provided no light by which to see. He crowed with all his might, and his voice was indeed powerful, but it brought no warmth to the shivering creatures, no energy to the wilting plants.

For one long, terrible hour, Kwabena strutted and posed and called, trying desperately to fulfill his boastful promises. But his beauty, magnificent as it was, could not replace the sun’s light. His voice, powerful as it was, could not provide the sun’s warmth. His presence, impressive as it was, could not sustain the life that depended on the sun’s energy.

As the creatures of the village grew more frightened and cold, Kwabena’s own heart began to fill with a new emotion—shame. For the first time in his life, he truly understood how small he was in the great pattern of creation, how dependent he was on gifts far greater than anything he possessed.

When the hour ended and the sun’s light returned, flooding the world with warmth and life, Kwabena collapsed on his rock, his beautiful feathers drooping with exhaustion and humiliation. The other animals breathed sighs of relief and gratitude, but none approached the defeated cock with mockery. Instead, they felt pity for his fallen pride.

The sun’s voice came again, but now it was gentle rather than challenging: “Kwabena, do you now understand the difference between confidence and arrogance, between appreciating your gifts and claiming ownership of them?”

Kwabena could barely lift his head. “Great Owia,” he whispered, using the ancient respectful name for the sun, “I have been a fool. I mistook the gifts you gave me for achievements I had earned. I confused admiration for my appearance with respect for my character. I see now that everything beautiful about me comes from you, and that my proper role is not to compete with your glory, but to serve it.”

“And how,” asked the sun, “do you think you might serve?”

Kwabena considered this question with more seriousness than he had ever given to anything in his life. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “I could use my voice not to boast about myself, but to announce your arrival each morning. Perhaps I could use my beauty not to demand attention for myself, but to remind others of the magnificence of creation. Perhaps I could use my presence not to fill my own pride, but to bring joy and wonder to those who need it.”

The sun’s approval came like warm honey poured over Kwabena’s spirit. “Now you speak wisdom, faithful cock. And because you have learned humility through trial rather than continuing in arrogance through comfort, I will give you a gift that will mark you as my appointed herald for all time.”

From the sky descended a crown like none ever seen before or since. It was woven from the first light of dawn, studded with stars that had given their brightness willingly, and polished with the gold of sunset’s most beautiful hour. As it settled upon Kwabena’s head, it seemed to merge with his very feathers, becoming part of him while remaining clearly a gift from above.

“This crown,” the sun explained, “will remind you and all who see you that true authority comes from service, true beauty comes from humility, and true power comes from understanding one’s place in the great pattern of life. You are now my appointed herald, Kwabena. Your voice will call each dawn, but not to announce your own magnificence—rather to welcome the gift of each new day and to invite all creatures to join in gratitude for the light that sustains us all.”

From that day forward, Kwabena’s crow carried a different quality. It was still powerful, still beautiful, but now it rang with humility and service rather than pride and demand. The children still gathered to admire his beauty, but now Kwabena would tell them stories about the wonders of creation rather than boasting about his own magnificence. The other animals no longer avoided him, for his presence had become a blessing rather than an annoyance.

And every morning, as the first light touched the eastern horizon, Kwabena would stand upon his rock and crow the ancient greeting: “Owia ba! Owia ba!"—The sun comes! The sun comes! His golden crown would catch the first rays and reflect them back like a beacon, reminding all who saw him that even the most beautiful among us are servants of something far greater than ourselves.

The elder’s voice softened as the fire burned low: “And so, my children, when you hear the cock’s crow each morning, remember Kwabena’s lesson. When you see his golden crown catch the light, remember that all authority must be earned through service, all beauty must be tempered with humility, and all gifts must be used not for self-glory, but for the benefit of all.

The cock still wears his crown today, passed down from father to son through countless generations, a reminder that pride comes before a fall, but humility lifts us up to serve purposes greater than ourselves.”

Agoo! called the elder one final time.

Amee! whispered the children, their eyes heavy with sleep and their hearts full of wisdom, as the fire settled into glowing embers and the night embraced the village in peaceful rest.”