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Oh! You daughter of the hills!
Whose voice matches that of doves
Your beauty is like the rising sun
And your skin color is brown of the
Setting sun

Oh! Your laughter, daughter of the hills
Shows ‘mbanya’ in the center place
Among a row of white teeth
Leaving your smile about mirth

Oh! Diligent daughter of the hills
Who balances on her head two pots
While carrying a bundle of firewood
While another hand chases butterflies around

Oh! The master cook, daughter of the hills
Whose delicious meal you lick your fingers
Her porridge is like a pot of honey
Made of oats, maize and barley