In the heart of the African bush, a curious tale echoed among the trees—a tale whispered by the wind and carried by the birds. “Monkeys yakukayali eaten,” the elders would say, meaning “the monkeys were once eaten.” The phrase, Nyani yukotayali kuliwa, holds more than a literal meaning. It tells of a time when survival and wisdom danced a fine line, and the forest was both home and battlefield.
Long ago, when the rains were strong and the rivers full, the monkeys ruled the treetops. Clever, playful, and quick, they taunted leopards, outwitted traps, and laughed at man’s slow ways. But one season, the hunger came—njala. The land was dry, fruits were gone, and even the monkeys came down from the trees in search of food.
That’s when the tables turned. The hunters who once admired the monkeys’ cleverness now saw them as meat. The phrase “yakukayali eaten” was born in that time of desperation—when the clever were outwitted, when the wild became food, and when the monkeys learned fear.
But some say it was not just a tale of meat and hunger. It was a warning: that pride comes before the fall. The monkeys who once looked down on all from the trees forgot to be cautious. And so, they were eaten—not just by man, but by their own overconfidence.
Today, the phrase lives on in villages as a proverb, a reminder to stay humble, to adapt, and never to think oneself untouchable. Because even the wisest can fall. Even the monkeys, nyani, were once eaten.
