In the mornings and evenings,
And as the sun rises each day,
Comes the joy of the festive season.
On the roadsides, the dry grasses lie,
Waiting to be gathered and burned
So the flames can dance happily
To meet the sky, his sweet bride.
And the fest ends as the soot falls solemnly.
But then the kids play soccer in the fields;
The dust of the Harmattan sifts about.
The noise of homecoming is heard all around.
The hot day drives everyone crazy—men, monkeys, and moths.
As the sun prepares to set,
the horizon turns gold
as the clouds move up the firmament.
And as women gather wood
For the coming darkness,
There is a happy extended-family gathering,
Sitting around the fireplace,
With the queer scent of burnt grasses in the air.