Wild life under the equator

by Paul B. Du Chaillu

I listened and tried to gather the words of their chants. There was a very monotonous repetition of one idea—that of sorrow at the departure from among them of one of their friends and fellow-villagers.

Thus they sang:

We chi noli lubella pe na beshe

“Oh, you will never speak to us any more,

We can not see your face any more;

You will never walk with us again,

You will never settle our palavers for us.”

And so on.

They sang until the sun had disappeared below the horizon, till the orb that gives gladness to the heart and life to the world had gone from sight, and they chose the time of its disappearance to pour out their mourning-songs. I thought there was something very poetical in the relationship of the time to the subject. For what should we do without the sun? It is the very heart of life!