She came from Nairobi, the green city under the sun -- compared to none, where milk and honey flow.
She traveled to Uganda; the royalty she exudes surpasses that of the Kabaka, Wakanda has nothing on the Baganda. By way of Jinja to Kampala to find a lover, there is no other.
Kigali ni mbali lakini alifika, wiri we, Kinyarwanda now rolls off her tounge like she was born here. Red lines underline the words she speaks as the melodies intertwine.
She learnt peace here, she's at peace here.
Her mind wanders in Tanzania, so Mwanza alianzia, hadi Arusha, Salamu zikafika Dar es salaam.
I'm calling her, on the main line, fighting to find her identity she's on the front line, up the coast line through Tanga Segela. Ambassador of the East, in Mombasa we finally meet.
We hold hands and merry-go-round, glorious around the Victoria.
My lover, Malaba is calling us. I trace maps on his back, his lineage dates back to the Congo before the dawn of Bongo, oh no, don't leave me -- I love you, believe me.
I wonder, God must have fashioned me after Rwanda; my mountains and valleys, baby I must have been the cause of the Rift in the Valley.
We speak with conviction giving orders, Swahili transcends borders. Translate this poem to the language of love.
Tell me, does Lake Victoria ever want to be known by her African name?
Does Lake Victoria ever want to pause and say she doesn't want to go into the Nile because that will mean leaving everything she has ever known?
Or more importantly, does Mount Kilimanjaro ever want to cross the border and come back home?