It was a dark night in May at Durbar Creek Across the marshland, the wind blew slowly
Palm trees of a strange country stood on the shores
And the people stood in chained sores
The whips of the master whistle through the air
A crack on their backs to urge them on
A pale moon reflects on the dark water
And salt seeps into wounds of slavery
Torchlights held to alien faces appear from trees
Thin lips turn to crescents at the smell of the long sea journey
The bidders prod the flesh of the freeborn
Fingers pinch the dignity of the strong ones
The chief raises his head to look into their eyes
The words reach in the wind
Orimiri Omambala bu anyi bia
Orimiri Omambala ka anyi ga ejina
Their voices rise with the chant
The frogs croak with the lament of these newcomers
An eerie song is taken up
And the music of their chains lead their voices
All men were born free
Chukwu makes no man lord over the other
The ancestors call to their spirits to be strong
And together, they all walk into the deep
One by one the water closes over them
And the shouts from the shore
Become nothing more than a hum of defeat
Quietly, they make their journey home
It is often told under moonlight
Two hundred years after that night
How the whispers are heard at Ibo Landing
When the marshes are silent and the chains of the dead rattle
The fishermen will not cast their lines
In the dark waters of Durbar’s Creek
The chief leads his people to the homeland
A slow procession of free souls fly over the waters
Orimiri omambala bu anyi bia
Orimiri omambala ka anyi ga ejina