CAMP OF BEES!

Our forest campsite from afar
Might seem a tranquil place
Blue tarps strung over wooden bars
A tidy living space.

But a buzzing swarm descended
Without a “may I?” or a “please?”
And any of hope of peace was ended
It became the CAMP OF BEES.

Camp of Bees

Nalingaka banjoi te !
Vous n’êtes pas mon préféré !

Now there are bees in my trousers
And there are bees in my hair
And there are bees in the … OUCH!
… one just stung my derrière.

And there are bees in the latrine
And there are bees up my chemise
And there bees in the farine
Bees bees bees BEES!

Nalingaka banjoi te !
Vous n’êtes pas mon préféré !

And at 5.30 every day
The dreadful drone commences
(For bees are punctual in their ways,
Pitiless in their offences).

I’ve come to fear them every pace
(They’re often in my sandals)
It’s hard to eat your trois pièces
Surrounded by those vandals.

Nalingaka banjoi te
Vous n’êtes pas mon préféré !

BEES

(But where there’s smoke there’s always fire
And where there’s bees there’s honey.
My BaYaka friend is climbing higher
For a prize that’s sweet and runny.

Nalingaka banjoi te
Mais vous avez fait un bon miel!)

Translation notes!

Nalingaka banjoi te is Lingala for “I don’t like bees”

Trois pièces is the traditional meal here of manioc (a root that is soaked, dried, pounded to flour and then processed into a kind of white gelatinous lump of carb), koko (leaves collected from the forest and shredded) and smoked fish.