Rain clouds gather, but only, for they will not break.
They will not break at all; only the Society is passing by.
Something weighty billows across the sky, hemmed in by rain clouds.
A Know-nothing may see it but will not, foolhardily, give it away
If you blab on about it you will not be back when you go.
The short-stemmed pipe smoker is a cocky one.
No sooner he clenches on one side of the mouth than he goes:
-My head is in the clouds!
–Salia Koroma, Kpomuma Jekele
But as the great tree falls they take flight.
When the Worthy falls the whispering campaigns come to an end.
–Salia Koroma, Manawa (longer version)