There was once a hunter who lived in a cottage in the deep forest with his young son. The cottage had one secret room in which the hunter had placed the heads of each animal he had killed. He regarded the skulls as "trophies.” He called the “trophy room” Botire Danmu—"The Room of Skulls” in Twi.

On the rare occasions that he received a visitor in the cottage, he made sure—if he liked the visitor—that he led him to the “Room of Skulls” to let the visitor view his trophies as a special treat. He would explain the peculiar difficulties associated with killing each animal. His visitors were usually entranced by his stories of hunting, and he never failed to share them with other people. Thus, his reputation grew far and wide as an unsurpassed hunter.

The hunter taught his little son the name of each animal he killed, plus its nickname or sobriquet, just as he had learned them from his own father years ago. A duiker (adowa), for instance, was called Kwadwo Abrefi Adowa, while the porcupine (kotoko) was called Kotoko Gyanbibi.

Now, almost every animal had a nickname, which was a combination of its ordinary name plus a selection of descriptive words from its better-known characteristics. The methodology involves such tools of wordplay as imagery, rhyme, alliteration, and assonance. The technique reminds me of the way the apostrophe is used in the more memorable verses of English poetry.

Now, the richest description of an animal in Akan is reserved for the leopard. The reason is that the leopard was the most feared beast in the forests of the Akans. It was so fearsome that many kings and chiefs were given attributes borrowed from the leopard to make their subjects fear and revere them. And, of course, Akan folklore is full of stories about the leopard.

Now, the little boy and his father I mentioned earlier had been living together for several years without any untoward incident, when one day, a big leopard suddenly showed up at the cottage, as the boy, left alone as usual, was in the kitchen preparing a meal for his absent father.

The leopard opened the kitchen door with a single blow from his paw—"GBAM!"—without knocking.

The sound of the blow on the door nearly tore the boy's heart from the arteries that attached it to his body. But when he saw the leopard behind the fallen door, he very nearly fainted altogether. He told himself, just in time to save himself from falling to the ground:

"You are the mighty hunter's son! You fear NO animal!”

As if it could hear what the boy was saying to himself, the leopard said in a truculent voice: “Hey boy! Are you really the son of that stupid hunter who lives here?”

“My – -my-- f-f-f-afather is n-n-n-n-ot -s-s-s-sstupid”! The boy protested.

“He's stupid!”

“He's not stupid!”

“He's very stupid!”

“He's not stupid at all!"

“You want to challenge me, eh, boy?” The leopard said it in a menacing tone. “If he were not stupid, would he have annoyed me, Gyahene, the King of Fire, by killing so many of the animals I myself want to prey upon?”

The boy immediately realised that the leopard was in a murderous mood and that he had to think very carefully before saying anything at all to it. A quick glance at the leopard indeed showed that it had curled its long tail at the very tip and was shaking the tail to the left and to the right. His father had told him that leopards did that when they were about to strike at an animal. Leopards also sprang from the left side of their bodies, the father added. So the boy watched the position of the leopard very carefully and casually kept moving, as if stowing things here and there, but always making sure he was away from where the leopard could reach him if it sprang from the left.

The boy also tried to look the leopard in the eye several times, for his father had told him that no animal could look a human being fully in the eye. And indeed, the leopard turned his fiery eyes downward whenever the boy looked at him directly.

"Ahah!” the leopard retorted when the boy said his “father” was “not stupid.”. It went on: “You have admitted that you are the hunter's son. So I can do to you what I want to do to him!! Moreover, you have had the audacity to challenge me whenever I say he is stupid.”

“Yes, I am the hunter's son,” the boy answered. ”And I maintain that he's not stupid!”

“He's stupid!”

“He's not stupid!

“He's stupid!”

“He's not stupid!.... But that aside, what is it that you do want?” the boy finally asked. “You didn't come here merely to insult my father when he was not around.”

Now, the close proximity of the leopard nearly made the boy retch. He had heard his father say that a leopard always carried its kill up a tree and hid it in the fork made by two adjacent branches, feeding on the kill a little at a time. So, by the time the prey was finished, it would have rotten badly and would be stinking. And in truth, a huge billow of stench emanated from the leopard's mouth any time it opened its mouth.

Finally, the leopard said, “Do you know I usually kill those who challenge what I say? So I could kill you for contradicting my opinion of your father. But—but—I came here with a purpose.”

"Oh!” said the boy, relieved that the leopard had said it was not going to kill him. “And what purpose is that?”