FEOK - The Hallowed Festival of the Bulsa

From the east, a golden-sun 
rises proud and majestic,
Shining in all brilliance and delight.
His rays strike with fierce-some joy
Upon the bare brown earth, with
Not a cloud in the heavens to stay them.
Energy gushes forth in torrents,
Birds, beasts, gods, and mortals

Glow with vigour and intent.
The Drums sound, the flutes call,
The birds chirp, the doves coo,
Goats and sheep, rams and bulls
Bleat and moo in joyous ecstasy.
Kids and calves bray and fray 
Smoke rises from cooking places.
It is Feok!
A hallowed day, a merry day;

Bubbly with contentment and laughter.

Today we drink, and we eat,

We celebrate and make merry

And dance with grace and skill

The rhythm of our land.

Like one mighty beating heart,

The land throbs with graceful steps.
The hills ring with voices of song
As we recall the valour and skill,

The courage and strength,

And the charity of our fathers,

Who rose against the cowardly
Babatu and his marauding beasts;

And slew and smote them across the plains.

Read: Village Boy Impressions - Morning After Feok

All over the rolling fields of Sandem,

They who defied even the pale masters

Dared to raise their haughty brows

Against the valiant sons of Atuga

And in arrogance, fought the sons of Buluk

Supposing to add them to their haul. 
But a call went forth from Acham, 

A war cry resounded around Azagsuk.
Forward march to Akumcham.
There the shields of the enemy were broken
Their muskets sufficed not to deliver them
All their warlike weapons perished

The mighty did fall, and falling, died. 
The slavers were defeated and fled
In panic and disarray, screaming; 

"this land breeds gods, not men!"

Hark the drums roll!

Hark the horns and flutes blow!

Behold the beauties of the land,

The proud mothers of the soil,

The noble fathers of the plains,

The bold youth of the country;

All file forth to the durbar.

Homes are emptied, 

Neither the patriarch of five score years

Nor the infant at the breast remain.

All join in praise of the land

Where men are men by deeds

Recalling the delights of battle

For the sheer love of the motherland.

Read: Village Boy Impressions - Being Hungry

The North Wind pipes the triumphant tune
The hills resound the victorious chant
The streams sing the indomitable song
The trees sway in joyous ecstasy 

To celebrate the gallantry of our fathers, 
In the sacred dance of the ancestors

Raising a mighty cloud of dust to heaven. 

We shall eat maasa [1]and koosa[2];

And chew kola nuts and tobacco;

We shall drink the pito pots dry;

And find us wives today;

Earth, stop and stare!

It is a hallowed day, a merry day!
It is Feok! 

7/12/2015

Sandema.

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[1] Fried millet cakes

[2] Fried bean cakes

Read the sequel to this poem here