to sleep while we suck. They sing of corn-fields,
of labour, of gliding down rivers, of war, of great kings long since
dead, and of festal days. But they never sing of birds, or of the music
of the water. We never hear such music as thou dost hear. Before we
have barely learned to walk, our little feet keep step to the sounding
`goma' (drum) of the village, and our hands begin a-clapping with the
chorus. When we are great boys we drum and sing all day under the
shade, and at night during the large moon we often continue the dance
and song until the morning. Our women, while they hoe in the field,
sing; and while they gather the sticks for the evening fire, or pound
the grain into flower, and while they cook for their lords, they sing.
The warriors sing always before they go out on the hunt, before the
battle, at the marriage, at a death, and at a burial, they sing. They
are ever singing, and so am I when I may. I love to sing. But none of
our warriors ever said that waters sing, or that trees, or leaves, or
branches sing. Thou mightst as well have told me that the cattle, when
they low, sing; or that kids when they bleat, or that the hyaena when he
growls, or that the jackal when he hungrily yelps, or that the lion when
he roars. Dost thou call the roar of the mamba, or the bellow of the
hippopotamus, or the screaming cry of the quagga, or the shrill neigh of
the zebra, singing? Hast thou heard the furious bellow of the buffalo,
or the rageful trumpet of the elephant when he charges, or the grunt of
the wart-hog, or the warning snort of the eland, or the noise of the
rhinoceros when he plunges at his foe? Would the children of the Arabs
say any of these sang? If thou sayest that birds when they chirp, the
wind when it moans, the leaves when they rustle, or the waters when they
splash and roll over the beach, do sing, then why not say that the
noises of the animals are their songs?" After a short breathing spell
Kalulu continued: "Ah! Selim, my brother, thy Sky-spirit and mine are
not the same. Thine teaches thee nothing but lies. Lo! he is afraid to
show himself, or perhaps, like the Watuta warriors, he loves to bask in
the sun on his throne of gold; perhaps he loves his `pombe' (beer) like
our chiefs. If, as thou sayest, he lives above the clouds, it must be
very hot above there, and great heat makes people lazy. Why does he not
come down and show himself? Our Sky-spirit comes often to visit us. He