Do you suppose God made the world all by himself? Of course not. He had help. He had a servant called Legba, and Legba took the blame for whatever went wrong.
Whenever the people saw a wonderful sunset, or made a huge catch of fish, they gave thanks to God and said, "Great is our Creator, who has made all things wonderfully well!"
Whenever they fell over a rock, or the canoe sank, they said, "Legba is making mischief again. That villain Legba! Now Legba thought this was mortally unfair. Why do I get all the blame?" he complained.
"That’s what you’re there for." said God.
"But they hate me!" protested Legba.
"They hang up charms at their doors to keep me out, and frighten their children with my name! ‘Be good, or Legba will come and steal you out of your bed!’ How would you feel?" But God had already sauntered away towards the garden where he grew yams. (This was in the days when God lived on Earth, among all that he had made.)
God tended those yams with loving care. If the truth were told, he was kept so busy gardening some days, that things could go wrong in the world without him really noticing. It did not matter. Legba got the blame, naturally.
Legba sat down and thought. Then Legba stood up and spoke.
"Lord, I hear that thieves are planning to steal your yams!" God was horrified. He sounded a ram’s-horn trumpet and summoned all the people of the world. They came, jostling and bowing, smiling and offering presents. They were rather taken aback to see God so angry.
"If any one of you intends to rob my garden, I’m telling you here and now: that thief shall die!"
The people clutched each other and trembled. They nodded feverishly to show that they had understood, hurried home to their beds and pulled the covers over their heads until morning. Watching them scatter, God brushed together the palms of his great hands.
" That settles that," he said, and went home to bed himself.
Legba waited. When all sound had ceased but the scuttle of night creatures and the drone of snoring humanity, he crept into God’s house. God, too, was snoring. Legba wormed his way across the floor ...and stole the sandals from beside God’s bed.
Putting on the sandals, he crept to the yam garden. Though the shoes were over-large and tripped him more than once, he worked his way from tree to tree, removing every delectable yam. The dew glistened; the ground was wet. The sandals of God left deep prints in the moist soil…
"Come quick! Come quick, Master! The thief has struck!"
God tumbled out of bed, fumbled his feet into his sandals and stumbled out of doors into the first light of morning. When he saw the waste that had been made of his garden, the shout could be heard all the way to Togo.
"Don’t worry! Don’t worry, Master!" Legba consoled him. "Look how the thief has left his footprints in the ground! You have only to find the shoes that made those footprints and you will have caught the culprit red-handed - footed, I mean."
Once more the ram’s-born sounded and the people ran to answer God’s summons, trembling.
"Someone has stolen my yams!" bellowed God. " Someone is about to die!"
They all had to fetch out their sandals, and every sandal was laid against the footprints in the garden. But not one fitted. Not one.
"Legba! Try Legba! He’s always doing wicked things!" shouted the people.
Willingly Legba produced his sandals. Willingly he laid them alongside the footprints in the garden. But not by any stretch of the imagination did Legba’s sandals fit the prints beneath the yam trees.
"Perhaps you walked in your sleep, O Lord?" suggested Legba, and the people all said, "AAAH!"
God tried to look disdainful of such a ridicules suggestion, but the eyes of all Creation were gazing at him, waiting. He laid his great foot alongside one of he footprints, and the people gasped and laughed and sighed with relief. It was just God, walking in his sleep, ha! ha! ha! God was to blame after all!
Then they began to wonder - God could see the questions form in their faces. If he had sleep-walked once, perhaps he had sleep-walked before. And if God stole in his sleep, what else might he get up to under the cover of darkness?
God glowered at Legba. He knew Legba had something to do with his embarrassment, but he could not quite see what. Instead, he stamped his sandalled foot irritably and said. "I’m going! I’m not staying here where no one gives me the respect I deserve. I am going higher up!"
So God moved higher up. And he told Legba to report to him every night, in the sky, with news of what people were getting up to. Of course what Legba chooses to tell God is entirely up to Legba. But people have been a lot nicer to him since God went higher up. A lot nicer.