The daughter of my chief

Look at her, just look at her. Look at the shiny woman in the yellow ‘khanga’ and sky high afro hair. Look at the smile on her face and dimples deep and bottomless like the pit of snakes. Look at her body, thin enough to cut like a sword in a battlefield. Look at her legs, enough to ignite desires in the heart of a hermit. She is the daughter of my chief, one that every village fool and genius roll in bed thinking about late into the night, one that every hero and coward alike woo deep in their dreams. The daughter of my chief is the most beautiful in all the nine villages. Nobody has ever beaten her in the dance arena, nobody threshes ceremonial millet better than she. The daughter of my chief is untouchable. She was made for the gods or novelty, not to be defiled by the filthy hands of the commoners. She was made to soar above with eagles, not crows and flamingos on the ground. She isn’t impressed by the common things people do to win her heart. She isn’t amused when soldier walk around with bloody heads to boast of their conquests. She isn’t impressed when traders come from far and wide with carts full of diamonds and precious metals. She just looks to the side and let them make a fool of themselves. The daughter of my chief has only one undoing, her love for music. The gongs of the drums and the clangs of cymbals bring out the devil in her. Here everybody stands back to watch her shake her body and lo! Don’t men drool? Don’t women recoil in disgust? The daughter of my chief is hard working but my chief would never let her work not unless she is threshing his evening meal. She is a good woman despite what everybody thinks or says. I know their opinions are shaped by jealousy and fear of the unexpected so I won’t listen to their rants.

I am nothing but a common drummer. I shall, though, write her a song so deep her wall will come tumbling down. I shall write her lyrics so powerful tears will fall out of her godly eyes. I shall sing to her in the voice of birds and she’ll stop to listen.

I shall tell the daughter of my chief to shine her sun at least on my toes so I can feel her warmth. The daughter of my chief loves music. I shall carry her in my ballads of love and drop her on the mountain of high pitches. I shall carry her to the caves of deep bass and rock her in the clouds of mellow tunes. I shall seat her inside my drums and sing my heart out to her, for the daughter of my chief is the line to all my songs, the praise in my tongue and the inspiration inside my heart. I shall marry the daughter of my chief someday.