Anansi Sees Magic Jolly Phonics · Step 3, Unit 3: soft g as in giant

Deep in the forest lives Mmoatia. She is small, but her voice rings like a bell. Mmoatia has a magic spoon. It can fill any pot with food, if the hand that holds it is a giving hand.

Anansi sits in the web, hungry as ever. Down the lane, little ones munch sweet roast food. Then Parrot zooms in. 'Mmoatia the fairy has a magic spoon,' says Parrot. 'It can fill any pot!' 'Gee!' yells Anansi, and he jumps up on each leg he has.

Anansi creeps into the deep wood and peeks out from a fern. Mmoatia stirs her pot and sings. The pot fills with nut stew, then rice, then sweet roast food. It is more than one wee fairy can eat. So she fills large leaf bowls and sets them out for the beasts. A hand that gives fills each pot. Anansi can see it is true.

Anansi looks at the spoon. It is dark wood with a strange curl, and it glows gold as it stirs. Then Anansi sees it: when Mmoatia stops to eat, she sets the spoon down. The pot goes still. That is the moment Anansi needs.

Anansi waits for Mmoatia to set the spoon down. Then he darts in, quick as a raindrop, grabs the magic spoon, and runs. He is deep in the forest before Mmoatia looks up. She does not chase him. She does not yell. She just lets him go.

Anansi runs home and sets his large pot on the floor. He dips the magic spoon and stirs. Nothing. He stirs fast. The pot stays empty. He shakes the spoon, blows on it, and taps it on the rim. 'Fill up, spoon!' Anansi yells. 'Fill up now!' The spoon glows for one moment, then goes dark and cold.

Anansi takes the magic spoon back to Mmoatia's root. She still sits by her pot. 'It will not fill my pot,' Anansi says. He drops the spoon at her feet. His belly growls. Mmoatia looks up. 'I know,' she says. 'It can not fill a pot for a greedy hand.' Anansi sits down. He is hungry, and sad, and still hungry.

'A giving hand fills all pots,' Mmoatia says. 'The magic spoon will stir for a hand that means to give.' Anansi thinks. His belly thinks too. 'What if a hungry chap stirs it,' he says, 'and gives out a bit? Does that count?' Mmoatia looks at him. 'Try,' she says.

Anansi picks up the spoon and thinks. He thinks how Mmoatia fills leaf bowls for the beasts. He thinks how the little ones in the town give out sweet roast food. He stirs the pot, slow this time, no grabbing, no yelling. The curl on the spoon glows like a gem, and the spoon hums with energy. Stew surges up, rich and hot and sweet with spice.

The stew fills the pot to the brim. Anansi dips the spoon and looks at Mmoatia. He looks at the pot. He looks at the spoon. His belly booms like a drum. He has a huge urge to eat it all. But he fills the first bowl, the best bit, rich and hot, and sets it down for Mmoatia. Then he fills a bowl for himself and eats.

The stew is the best thing Anansi has ever had. He eats till he is full, for the first time in ages. Then, not quite meaning to, he packs the extra stew in a big leaf. He sets it on the path by the town for the little ones to find. He tells no one. Anansi walks home in the moonlight, light on all his feet.

Mmoatia still lives in the forest, and the magic spoon still fills pots, but just for an open hand. Anansi visits her. He tries to think up a clever plan to grab the spoon. That is Anansi. But when he picks it up to keep it all, the pot stays cold. When he sets a bowl for Mmoatia first, the stew fills to the brim. A giving hand fills all pots. Even a spider's.