The Clever Tortoise

In the time when animals governed themselves and made decisions through a great council, there came a year when the rains failed completely. Month after month passed with clear skies and burning sun, until the rivers ran low, the watering holes turned to cracked mud, and even the deepest wells began to fail.

The animals of the forest were in despair. The swift antelope had run to every corner of the territory searching for new water sources but found none. The strong elephant had used his trunk to dig deeper into the dried riverbeds, but struck only stone. The keen-eyed eagle had soared to great heights, scanning the horizon for any sign of distant rain clouds, but saw only endless blue sky.

A great council was called under the ancient baobab tree, and animals came from far and wide to discuss what could be done. The meeting was loud and chaotic, with everyone talking at once and no one listening to anyone else.

“We must send a delegation to the Sky God Nyame!” trumpeted the elephant. “Surely he will take pity on us and send rain!”

“We should migrate to a new territory!” called the zebra. “There must be water somewhere!”

“We need to ration what water we have left!” declared the lion. “Only the strongest should drink until the drought ends!”

As the arguments grew louder and more desperate, a small, quiet voice spoke from near the base of the baobab tree.

“Perhaps,” said the voice calmly, “we should think about this problem differently.”

The animals looked around and finally spotted old Akyekyedeɛ, the tortoise, sitting patiently in the shade of the great tree. Most of the animals had forgotten he was there, since he moved so slowly and spoke so rarely.

“What could you possibly contribute to solving this crisis?” scoffed the hare, who prided himself on being the fastest thinker in the forest. “While we’ve been searching for solutions, you’ve been sitting there doing nothing!”

Akyekyedeɛ smiled gently. “My friend, I have been thinking, which is sometimes more useful than running about in circles. May I share what I’ve observed?”

The desperate animals quieted down, willing to listen to any suggestion at this point.

“The problem,” Akyekyedeɛ began slowly, “is not that there is no water. Water does not simply disappear from the world. The problem is that we cannot reach the water that exists.”

“What do you mean?” asked the elephant.

“Think about it,” the tortoise continued. “Where does all water ultimately come from? From the sky, yes, but before that, from the earth itself. The water we need is still here—it has simply gone deeper underground, retreating from the heat of the drought.”

The animals murmured with interest. This was a new way of thinking about their problem.

“But how can we reach water that’s too deep underground?” asked the buffalo.

Akyekyedeɛ’s eyes twinkled with ancient wisdom. “We cannot reach it by digging randomly, or by using brute force, or by rushing about frantically. We must use intelligence, patience, and cooperation.”

“Tell us your plan,” said the lion, who despite his pride was desperate enough to listen to anyone with a real solution.

“First,” said the tortoise, “we must find the right place to dig. Water flows underground just as it flows on the surface, following the lowest paths. Eagle, you have the best view—can you see where the land slopes most gently toward what used to be our main river?”

The eagle soared up and circled several times before calling down, “Yes! There’s a long, gradual slope that leads toward the old riverbed from the northeast hills!”

“Good,” said Akyekyedeɛ. “That is where the underground water is most likely to flow. Now, elephant, can you examine the soil there and tell us where it feels softer underfoot?”

The elephant lumbered over to investigate and reported back: “There’s an area about a hundred paces from the old riverbank where the ground feels less compacted!”

“Excellent,” the tortoise nodded approvingly. “Now, instead of everyone digging randomly, we need to organize our work. Mole, rabbit, and the other burrowing animals should start the digging, since they know how to work efficiently underground. Elephant and buffalo can remove the larger rocks and move the soil that’s dug up. Antelope and deer can carry water containers back and forth once we find water. And the rest of us can work in shifts, so that someone is always digging while others rest.”

The animals looked at each other with growing hope. This plan made sense in a way that all their panicked rushing about had not.

“But how do we know how deep to dig?” asked the mole.

Akyekyedeɛ smiled. “We dig until we find water, however long that takes. But we dig smart, not hard. We start with a narrow shaft to test the area. If we find moisture, we widen it. If we hit solid rock, we try a spot nearby. We let the earth tell us where the water wants to be found.”

The work began immediately, organized according to the tortoise’s plan. It was slow, methodical work—the kind that required patience rather than speed, careful thought rather than frantic energy.

The hare, who was used to solving problems quickly, grew impatient after the first day when they had only a shallow hole to show for their efforts.

“This is taking too long!” he complained. “At this rate, we’ll all die of thirst before we find any water!”

But Akyekyedeɛ remained calm. “My quick friend, some problems cannot be solved by running fast. This is a problem that requires the steady persistence of walking slowly in the right direction, rather than the exhausting speed of running in circles.”

On the third day, the mole reported that the soil was becoming damp. On the fourth day, they found wet mud. And on the fifth day, clear, cool water began seeping into their carefully dug well.

The animals cheered and danced around their new water source, but Akyekyedeɛ wasn’t finished with his plan.

“Now we must be wise about how we use this water,” he said. “If we all rush to drink at once, we will muddy the source and possibly cause it to collapse. We need a system for drawing water that keeps the well clean and ensures everyone gets their fair share.”

Under the tortoise’s guidance, they created a rotation system for drinking, established rules for keeping the well clean, and even began digging a second well in case the first one failed.

When the rains finally returned several weeks later, the animals had not only survived the drought but had learned valuable lessons about cooperation, patience, and the power of thoughtful planning.

The hare, who had initially dismissed the tortoise’s slow approach, came to apologize. “Akyekyedeɛ, I owe you an apology. I thought your slowness was a weakness, but I see now that your patience is actually a strength.”

The tortoise smiled kindly. “My speedy friend, the world needs both of us. Your quick thinking helps us respond to immediate dangers, while my slow thinking helps us solve problems that require time and patience. Neither approach is better than the other—they are simply useful for different kinds of challenges.”

From that day forward, whenever the forest animals faced a difficult problem, they made sure to consult with Akyekyedeɛ before taking action. They learned that wisdom often comes not from thinking faster, but from thinking more carefully, and that sometimes the most important thing you can do in a crisis is to sit still and consider all possibilities before acting.

The tortoise became known as the wisest counselor in the forest, not because he knew more facts than other animals, but because he understood how to think about problems in ways that led to lasting solutions.

And whenever young animals grew impatient with problems that couldn’t be solved quickly, the elders would tell them the story of the great drought, reminding them that some of life’s most important challenges require not the speed of the hare, but the patient wisdom of the tortoise.

For in the end, the race goes not always to the swift, but sometimes to those who have the patience to choose the right direction and the wisdom to keep moving steadily toward their goal, no matter how slowly.