“Go to sleep and don’t mind it,” he advised.
“I can’t sleep until he stops that fool song,” I insisted.
“Ha-ha,” laughed Lewis, “you’ve got some fine little wait coming.” He covered himself in his hammock and proceeded to sleep. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time, but I learned, for I waited and waited for the singer to stop. But when he got tired, another singer took it up and then another and another.
They keep that song going all night every night of their lives.
There was nothing for me to do but to remain in my hammock and listen to that terrible singing. The voices were not so bad, nor were they harsh, but there didn’t seem to be much melody in what they sang and after you have heard the same gibberish sung over and over and over for about a million times (so it seemed to me) you certainly get good and tired of it.
It was no effort on my part to learn the song. I got so that I knew just what the next line would be and I found myself muttering it along with whichever Indian happened to be taking his “spell” at singing it.
“What does it mean?” I asked many. But the best answer I could get was that it was a “sort of song to keep danger away at night.”
It also kept sleep away from me for several hours, although I finally did get to sleep in spite of it and did not awaken until daylight had come and the singing had ceased. I always wished that I could get a translation of the song, but I will repeat it as it sounded:
“Ip phoo ke na, pagee ko, ip phoo ke na;
Waku beku yean gee ma ta ne ke, ip phoo ke na pegge ko.