Ululations filled the firmament,
The ‘nyatiti’ drums were heard everywhere,
The isukuti dancers showing off their prowess, in honor of baby king.
The Abarugi filling the clouds with aromatic fumes of obokima,
Making the tones and sound more and more, welcoming more visitors.
Rushes up and down,
Everyone trying to peep through the ray dots of the grassy hut,
At least to have a glimpse of the king with the golden skin.
The awaited king to taint flowers in place of peoples’ scars,
To cover their shame with beauty
And to fill their eyes with happy tears.
The Abagaka spitted sour milk onto his face,
Welcoming it to a bitter world
With a song of hope they sang -
“Son don’t leave home as they left,
Son don’t leave home as they left,
A home, sweet home,
A home, sweet home,
Whether rich or poor is to be cherished and kept,
For it is where all your treasures are kept,
Son never give up on it,
Son never give up on it,
Though parents, guardians or relatives be meagre, love them to the depth,
For they are the ones’ who gave you your breath,
As they welcomed you to home, sweet home,
Home, sweet home.”
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