If the river could talk,
It would recount of the countless stories of young boys
Swimming in harmony with its snakes, frogs, crabs and dogs.
Oh if the river could talk,
It would recount of the stories of young initiates
Whom wash their bad luck,
While just below them the Christians are baptising the newly converted.
What about the young traditional healer who came to appease his ancestors on the river banks.
The river could talk the secrets of the homage,
and the wishes he makes when he talks with his ancestors.
Only if the river could talk
I would run away to the bushes with shame
The river would tell us of the young boys who first pray before they swim.
Yes I remember their prayer for luck.
That is the secret of the accident free dangerous swimming of children.
Yes they are skating on thin ice, trusting only Qamata
The river could tell us of that young traditional healer,
Whom prays for superpowers from his ancestors.
The river would narrate the prayer like the griot.
that is the secret that the river keeps while it drinks the brandy,
smokes the tobacco, the impepho and the isilawu to communicate with the departed.
Yes the river could definitely tell us of the stories of the young initiates
Whom wash each other’s backs while preparing for a journey back home
After a sleepless nights in their journey to manhood keeping the secrets of the bush.
The river hears their diaries when they tell each other’s ordeal
The river would be shy to tell us everything that these
Silly young men say they would do to young girls when they get back to the village.
Yes the river could reassure us that all our secrets bad or good are safe with her.
Like a gifted mother she would smile singing back all the joyful songs we shared with her
She would carry them to the sea to combine them with other
Nation’s stories in a bid to make us a citizen of the world, our world.
There my story goes through isidubi, icacadu, inciba to Indian Ocean
That’s the river for us, silent, resilient and as clear as its conscience.
