Sometimes the moral of the story is easy to figure out. In most fables, the moral is written (or spoken) right there at the end. With other stories―including stories told to children by their elders, it’s not so obvious. “The Big Fire” is this kind of story.
“The Big Fire” was told to Peace Corps volunteer Fred Koehler by a boy named Esso. Fred met Esso while living in the West African country of Togo between 2000 and 2002. Here’s how Fred learned of this story, in his own words.
There's a boy sitting nervously on my front porch. He's wearing a tattered blue soccer jersey with an Italian crest, shorts of a different blue that is too light to match and too dark to complement, and sandals made of old car tires. All he has with him is a pen, coincidentally also blue. I call him petit frère, little brother, but his real name is Esso. We don't talk very much because he's an extremely quiet child, moving without noise through the grassless yard to do the family's chores. He's here on my porch because I invited him; I wanted to get to know this shadow of a person whom I see every day but never speak with.
What I do know is that he is a relative of the man who owns the house I stay in. Here in Togo, as in much of West Africa, a child like Esso who has wealthier relatives can go live with them, as long as he provides some household services for the relatives. This doesn't mean he's mistreated by any means, only that he fetches water and sweeps and cleans. The family will then pay for his food and school costs. Up to this point, Esso and I have exchanged few words; I am probably the first foreigner he's ever known.
Question
Why is the author of this essay talking to Esso?
In Togo, the official language is French, but most residents of Togo learn to speak a different language first―one belonging to an indigenous culture. Children begin learning French when they go to school.
Esso's French is as bad as mine, so we both communicate in small, broken phrases. This actually works in our favor because we can both speak slowly and simply enough to hold a conversation. I don't want to seem intimidating, but Esso appears nervous nonetheless. It seems quite formal, both of us sitting, rigid in our chairs, with me holding my pen and paper to take notes.
I ask Esso if he knows any stories, the kind that parents tell children, about animals that talk or fairies that live in the woods. He says he hasn't learned any yet but I'm not sure if he understands my question. So I ask if I can tell him a story. Esso agrees, and I begin with one that I learned when I was very young, about two boys who worked in the fields and fell, one after the other, into a deep well. I change their names to Togolese ones―Koffi and Kossi―and try to make the scenery match what a young villager would find in Togo so that Esso might better relate to my story.
When I finish, I explain the moral of the story. Esso's face lights up a bit as he understands what kind of story I'm looking for. He says he has one, and very shyly he begins.
Question
What kind of story did Fred tell Esso? How can you tell?
