Why the Hyena Laughs

Gathered from the oral traditions of the Akan people of Ghana

Come close, children of the earth, and I will tell you why the hyena laughs that strange, whooping laugh that echoes across the savanna in the night. This is a tale from the time when animals could still speak the language of humans, and when Anansi the spider was teacher to all creatures great and small.

In those ancient days, there lived a hyena named Kɔkɔ who was unlike any hyena that had ever been. Where other hyenas were content to scavenge and hunt in packs, Kɔkɔ believed himself to be the most magnificent creature in all the animal kingdom. His coat, he claimed, was more beautiful than the leopard’s spots. His voice, he boasted, was more melodious than the nightingale’s song. His strength, he declared, surpassed even that of the mighty elephant.

Kɔkɔ lived alone, for he considered the company of other hyenas beneath his dignity. “Why should I associate with such lowly creatures,” he would say, “when I am clearly destined for greater things?” He spent his days preening and admiring his reflection in still pools of water, practicing what he believed were regal poses and speeches fit for a king.

The other animals of the forest and savanna grew tired of Kɔkɔ’s arrogance. When he passed by, he would sneer at the industrious ants, mock the gentle deer, and even dare to criticize the wise old elephant’s leadership. “You all recognize true nobility when you see it,” he would proclaim. “Surely you can see that I am meant to rule over all of you.”

One day, as Kɔkɔ was practicing his most imperious poses beside a waterhole, he heard a soft chuckling sound from above. Looking up, he saw Anansi the spider hanging from a silken thread, his eight eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Akwaaba, great Kɔkɔ,” said Anansi, his voice filled with mock reverence. “I have been watching your magnificent performances, and I must say, I have never seen their equal.”

Kɔkɔ puffed up with pride, completely missing the subtle irony in Anansi’s tone. “Finally!” he exclaimed. “Someone with the wisdom to recognize true greatness. Yes, spider, I am indeed magnificent. In fact, I have been thinking that it’s time for me to claim my rightful place as king of all the animals.”

Anansi’s legs drummed thoughtfully against his thread. “King, you say? What an interesting idea. But tell me, noble Kɔkɔ, what makes a true king?”

“Why, it should be obvious!” Kɔkɔ replied, striking a pose he considered particularly majestic. “Beauty, strength, intelligence, and a commanding presence. All qualities which I possess in abundance.”

“Fascinating,” mused Anansi. “But I wonder… have you ever actually tested these remarkable qualities of yours?”

Kɔkɔ frowned. “What do you mean, tested? My superiority is self-evident.”

Anansi descended to a nearby rock and began weaving an intricate pattern in his web. “Well, if you’re truly meant to be king, surely you should be able to prove your worthiness through great deeds. I happen to know of three challenges that would demonstrate your fitness to rule.”

Kɔkɔ’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Challenges? Excellent! I shall complete them all with ease, and then every creature in the land will have to acknowledge my sovereignty.”

“Very well,” said Anansi, his web now forming a beautiful spiral. “The first challenge is this: A true king must be wise enough to answer any riddle. Can you solve this puzzle? I have something that grows larger the more you take away from it. What is it?”

Kɔkɔ strutted back and forth, his mind working furiously. “Something that grows larger when you take from it…” He thought of his own magnificence, which seemed to grow greater every time he thought about it. “Obviously, it’s my own glory!” he declared triumphantly.

Anansi shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not, noble Kɔkɔ. The answer is a hole – the more earth you remove, the larger it becomes. But don’t despair! Perhaps the second challenge will be more suited to your talents.”

Kɔkɔ’s confidence wavered slightly, but he quickly recovered. “Of course, of course. I was simply… thinking too grandly. What is the second challenge?”

“A true king must be strong enough to move mountains,” Anansi announced. “I challenge you to move that great boulder there to the top of that hill.”

Kɔkɔ looked at the enormous rock Anansi indicated – a stone so large that it would have taken a dozen elephants working together to budge it. But his pride would not allow him to admit defeat.

For the entire day, Kɔkɔ pushed and pulled, strained and struggled, huffed and puffed against the immovable boulder. By evening, he had managed to move it perhaps the width of a termite, and his beautiful coat was matted with sweat and dust.

“I… I must have loosened it considerably,” he panted. “With just a bit more effort, I’m sure I could complete this trivial task.”

“Hmm,” said Anansi thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should move on to the third challenge. A true king must have the most beautiful voice in the land, capable of making all creatures stop and listen in wonder. Let’s hear your most magnificent song.”

This was the challenge Kɔkɔ had been waiting for. He was absolutely certain that his voice was his greatest asset. Clearing his throat with great ceremony, he began to sing what he believed was the most beautiful melody ever created.

What emerged from his throat, however, was a sound so strange, so jarring, so utterly ridiculous that it defied description. It was part howl, part cackle, part wheeze, and part bark. It rose and fell in bizarre patterns, creating a noise that was both haunting and hilarious.

Every animal within miles stopped what they were doing and listened in amazement. But instead of the awe and reverence Kɔkɔ expected, they began to laugh. First the monkeys started giggling, then the parrots began squawking with mirth, then the elephants trumpeted with amusement. Soon the entire forest rang with the sound of animals laughing at Kɔkɔ’s ridiculous song.

But the strangest thing of all was that Kɔkɔ himself found the sound strangely appealing. The more the animals laughed, the more he wanted to make that wonderful, wild noise. It felt… liberating somehow, to make such an absurd sound.

“Magnificent!” cried Anansi, tears of laughter streaming from his eight eyes. “Absolutely magnificent! I have never heard anything like it!”

Kɔkɔ stopped mid-song, confused. “Are… are you mocking me?”

Anansi composed himself and descended to face the hyena directly. “My dear Kɔkɔ, I am not mocking you at all. You have just given the greatest performance of your life – but not in the way you intended.”

“I don’t understand,” Kɔkɔ said, his voice small and uncertain.

Anansi’s expression grew gentle and wise. “You failed all three challenges, friend Kɔkɔ, but in failing, you learned something far more valuable than any crown could teach you. You learned that true greatness doesn’t come from thinking you’re better than others – it comes from finding your own unique gift and sharing it with joy.”

“But my voice is ridiculous,” Kɔkɔ protested. “Everyone laughed at me.”

“And wasn’t their laughter wonderful?” Anansi asked. “In a world full of sorrow and struggle, you have been given the ability to bring joy and laughter to others. What greater gift could there be?”

Kɔkɔ thought about this for a long moment. It was true – the laughter of the other animals hadn’t felt cruel or mocking. It had felt… joyful. Infectious. Healing, somehow.

“But I wanted to be king,” he said softly.

“And what is a king but a servant to his people?” Anansi replied. “You can serve all the creatures of the land by bringing them laughter when they need it most. A hyena who brings joy is far more valuable than a lion who brings only fear.”

As the wisdom of Anansi’s words sank in, Kɔkɔ felt something shift inside his heart. The rigid pride that had made him so lonely began to crack and crumble, replaced by something warmer and more flexible.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I think I’d like to try that song again.”

And so he did. This time, when the strange, wonderful sound emerged from his throat, Kɔkɔ laughed along with all the other animals. He laughed at his own foolish pride, at his ridiculous pretensions, at the joy of discovering who he truly was meant to be.

From that day forward, Kɔkɔ became known throughout the land not as a failed king, but as the keeper of laughter. Whenever animals gathered and spirits grew heavy, whenever the burdens of life seemed too much to bear, Kɔkɔ would share his gift of absurd, wonderful laughter.

Other hyenas, seeing how beloved Kɔkɔ had become, asked him to teach them his magnificent sound. “It’s not something you can learn,” Kɔkɔ explained. “It’s something you have to discover. Let go of who you think you should be, and embrace who you actually are.”

One by one, the hyenas of the clan learned to make their own versions of the wonderful laugh. Each was unique, each was ridiculous, and each brought joy to those who heard it.

Years passed, and Kɔkɔ grew old and wise. Young hyenas would come to him asking for the secret of happiness, and he would always give them the same answer: “Stop trying to be what others expect, and start being what the world needs. Sometimes the world needs a king, sometimes it needs a hunter, sometimes it needs a protector. But the world always, always needs laughter.”

Anansi, who had watched Kɔkɔ’s transformation with great satisfaction, visited the old hyena one last time. “You have learned well, my friend,” the spider said. “You sought to rule over others and instead learned to serve them. You tried to be perfect and instead became perfectly yourself.”

“Thank you, wise Anansi,” Kɔkɔ replied, his eyes twinkling with the same mischievous wisdom he had learned from the spider. “You taught me that the greatest power is not the power to command, but the power to connect. And laughter connects all hearts.”

As the moon rose over the savanna that night, Kɔkɔ lifted his voice in his magnificent, ridiculous song. Across the grasslands, other hyenas joined their voices to his, creating a chorus of joy that rose to the stars.

And that, dear children, is why hyenas laugh. Not from cruelty or mockery, but from the pure joy of being exactly who they are meant to be. It is a reminder to all of us that our greatest gifts often come disguised as our greatest embarrassments, and that sometimes the most beautiful music is the sound of someone learning to laugh at themselves.

Onipa hia mmoa – A person needs the help of others.

This tale teaches us that pride often blinds us to our true gifts. In Akan culture, laughter is considered sacred – it is the sound of the spirit recognizing its own divine absurdity. The hyena’s laugh reminds us that humility and joy often walk hand in hand, and that our perceived weaknesses may actually be our greatest strengths.