Oh the homestead standing alone,

whose people once had plenty,

its gates now unattended,

its oppressors in control. Peace!

Halahoyi! Africans, something stinks

like the river snake, fouling the air:

where are our onetime blessings?

Now we're estranged from custom.

Scratch the earth like crows:

our blessings led to the scrapheap.

I tell you, nothing that once was ours

survives to sustain us today.

Our customs are dressed in tatters,

deceit and delusion are all we maintain:

Reds keep a number of wives,

but we keep our secret lovers.

They dance in courtship, and so do we,

Christians by day, hyenas by night,

we're caught between two worlds:

the next generation will gaze slack-jawed.

There's nothing of value under the sun,

all shadows yield to shadow.

The nation is gone! Its head in the dust,

like an ostrich confronted by force.

Once we had plenty to eat,

once we had plenty of stock;

this land in the days of our fathers

was a shade-screened leopard—dark beast eternal.

The falling rain watered those years,

the fields in those years flourished.

Ntsikana's words have now come to pass:

we've upended Phalo's land.

This home of our fathers throbbed with life

while still a domain of darkness;

but then we joined the Christian brigades—

crushed Satan to his astonishment.

Our gods also thought we'd converted,

a moral church congregation.

Inside we sing, “ Lord, we've gathered,”

outside we snarl “Slit his throat!”

Look in the books of the ancient sage,

the scribe who inscribed our customs;

please journey in quest of your customs

like a springbok in quest of a spring.

Where are our onetime blessings?

All our great men have gone to ground:

our chiefs have gone, replaced by trash;

our customs have gone, our princes sit mum.

Go and consult the ancient sage,

spread out a mat and thank him;

there's nothing of value under the sun:

we flit from shadow to shadow.

Hom! Raise your cry and lament.

Remember you are the children

your fathers left on the battlefield;

you've become the prey of nations.

There's nothing of value under the sun:

we flit from shadow to shadow.

My baboon companion took to its heels:

won't somebody bring it back?