Ode to Aushi Women By Charles Mwewa ____________________________________
In the area of Luapula
The nut-growing marsh of Mansa
Drums loudly beat on scapula,
Whence flat bottoms are but cancer!
She is just a small tender girl
You can count her black pubic hair
Her chest empty like a funnel
While her nipples are red and bare.
She prods on Bangueulu plateaux
With silly gazelle-like blushes;
She only prefers troupes of twos
With virgin peers in the bushes.
The rare wisdom of her betters
Has not yet charmed her frail figure;
She is shy through her dried fetters
And her lips are out and bigger.
She is not a woman, per say
Her blood is still cold and impure
Because the moon is far away
To chaste her fresh and to endure.
She has not danced Infunkutu,
The arrangement of three drums,
The ancient rhythm from Timbuktu;
Nor won the dry skins of wild rams.
She will be taught Akalela
To learn how to open taut legs
And she will know Amalela
To make kids from fertilized eggs.
They will soak her in Munwa stream
To broaden her pelvis
And fulfill her childhood dream;
To break the curse of a novice.
The sweet juice of soundless rivers
Elongates her womanly shaft
To cure every natural fevers
And purge the lucky winner’s haft.
Her sully frame will be made firm
Decked with Kolwe’s pure diadems
To date, she has well-run her term
And will earn the prize of rare gems.
Outside, she is cramped with shivers;
Her life’s canal is perfected
And her full pulse proudly quivers;
But her self is unaffected.
Her body is bottle in form,
Her nipples are now hard and full,
Her buttocks are firm and uniform
And her waist is mellow to pull!
She has been accepted by Ra
Goddess of the erect solar,
And the shining fruit goes to her,
To court gods of the other polar.
She’s joined the Aushi women’s core
Who cause charcoal to burn brightly
And make impotent nobles whole,
To mix blood and water rightly.
She can now handle Mandingo,
The killer of angry male lions,
That dancer of the hailed tango
Who with just bare hands breaks irons!
Prefer we the Aushi women
With their ever protruding backs
Which confuse sanity in men
And accord night the force it lacks.
Their place in humanity
Loses its share in virility,
Gains it in masculinity
And modes it in fertility!
She kills the eyes of on-lookers
And she is not for press showings.
Suitors treasure her like vodkas
And her heart beats higher than wings.
Do not expose her publicly;
Her nude was made for great virtues.
They pass-out rather too quickly;
Those who resist, become statues.
A love son of Luapula soil
Has never known to marry two.
Legend has it that he will toil
And his garden, he will not do.
Oh these Luapula Aushi curves,
How succulent their deep bosom,
In which mankind vibrates life’s waves
And men’s desires bloom and blossom!
Sing to her gyrating shifts
And swing through her softly paired rifts.
Mark nimbly her alluring nod
And procreate therein fleshly gold.
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