“Ngondo” the rite of succession
A river crossing
the mossy land
Its depths a
bottomless endless hollow
From its bed
arises an oracles wand
To direct the people’s
choice
To its abyss the
herald goes
A human as all can
see
Pressed “nsanja”
and a dry tea
Walking in his
weight on toes
To take a message
from the gods
Dry he delves into
the waters
Unwet he arises
from its pits
The response a
leader seat
A calabash sort
after
From it the
successor name
The elders sit
around waiting
For the gods have
spoken
A leader has been
chosen
The messenger
declaring
A new chief to
anoint The Heralds
Wao you open my eyes to the Ngondo tradition.
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