The Songye people are a tribal group based in the Democratic Republic of Congo (formerly Zaire). They were founded in the 16th century following an exodus from the neighbouring Shaba area, settling near to the Lualuba River. There are around 150,000 Songye divided into sub-groupings that are under the governorship of a central chief known as the Yakitenge. More local governance is in the hands of chiefs known as Sultani Ya Muti. Their economy is based upon agriculture and pastoralism.
The Songye are perhaps best known for their artworks, which are both institutional and domestic/personal in nature. These include wooden figures that are usually decorated with feathers and other organic materials, and which are known as Bishimba. In the widest of terms, the figures are stocky with elongated torsos, shortened legs, short arms resting on the breast/stomach, an oversized head and closed, almond-shaped eyes. Many pieces bear an animal horn projecting from the apex of the head. This, and the bulging stomach, hold materials that are believed to be magical - blessed by the "nganga" - and which give the figure its power. As the Songye live over a fairly large area, artistic styles are commensurately variable, and the geographical origin of Bishimba can usually be ascertained on the basis of the shape of the face, head position and the presence/extent of neck elongation. Most pieces are in wood although ivory figures are also known. Large-scale and important pieces are created for use by members of the Bwadi Bwa secret society - these include masks known as kifwebe (with highly distinctive faces covered in curvilinear decorations). Very large figures are also known - these are kept in miniature huts and are designed to protect the villagers from harm. Secular pieces such as staffs and tools are also often decorated with recognisably Songye motifs.
Tiempo de llamadas y de llamados a salir, a brindar,
Tiré la copa rota, terminé de romperla, no más perder en mí,
Tomo de la copas que nuevas elevan, son reclamos de la tierra, flores del hombre llenas de festejo, de ahí viene todo, lo que nada: elixir de bondad de madre,
Bébela.
Pasó el fuego y la expiación, aguantaste bien el castigo del invierno,
Camino seguro la braza en la noche de cenizas morirá indefectiblemente,
Déjala morir.
Abre los terrones ateridos, resquebrájate profundamente con el acero: que le entre aire al humus,
Remueve tus prisiones,
Reposaste ya.
Así apuré en campos del plexo, definir colores, rumbos de agua fluyendo, transparentes,
Liviano refresco que inunda en un vibrar de células nuevas,
Temperamentos,
Cuando el ego se medía con su enemigo gigante que en al agua se enamoró de si mismo y ya nunca más pudo,
Pobre Narciso desgraciado. A eso golpeaba.
Ceniza perdida, era minúscula,
Mata en ti ese crimen del ego también, entonces no: Ya mismo.
el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud,
el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio es salud, el silencio essalud.