In a nearly forgotten jungle,
Azandi consult Benge.
The answer invoked, a medium, a way
To guide their carnal struggle.
Regarding man and woman,
Even the bushes are tacit,
And writhe as if trapped in a net,
When truth is tossed to the land.
The two, accused, labor long for the chief,
Expecting an answer while toiling in mud,
Something inscribed so deep in their blood,
Beyond stealth fingers, even those of a thief.
Mutafi, baptized in smoke,
Sees water as sacred for cleansing,
Of nights like black never-ending,
And suns that protrude like yolk.
The woman, Atemba, the answer accosts
With the death of a chicken,
Memory never constricted,
Now only the lie is that which has been lost.
Benge is a traditional practice employed by the Azandi, an African tribe, in which the answer to a dilemma is discovered by feeding poison, Benge, to a chicken. A witchdoctor poses two polar outcomes while performing the ceremony and links a certain answer with whether the chicken lives or dies.
