Pygmy

Amid natives of Baka.
Diminutive, clever beings.
It’s a wet morning.
Early, Ota Benga, awake before anyone else,

He toddles off to fetch the hunting party.
The folks are roused, it’s the hunting season.
Into the dense vegetations of central Africa.
Bantam beings in the tall rainforest.

Dry raffia palms, around the loins,
the only piece of clothing.
Brave, bold and stealthful.
Disappearing into the green thickness.

Armed with darts, spears and spikes,
hunting pythons, duikers and animals alike.
Home, before sunset, with their bounty
To the locals, the jungle’s charity.

It’s eventide,
Little children, naked, with round bellies.
Clinging, steadfastly
to their mothers soft bosom
Round the fire, the folks garner,
Echoing Ta! Ta! Ta! Ta!
as they commune to Djengi (the spirit god).
Thanking him for the days kill.

Gongs, flutes and drums bring forth music.
Disturbing the quiet of the night,
as they flail to the Luma dance,
Women’s unclad breasts flap whilst
swinging to the tune of victory.