“Aya Aya Aya Aya Murrang gidoon. Aya Aya.” The white people heard the high pitched moaning and came to the opening of the hut, some with soap on their faces, others rubbing sleep from their eyes. Jack lay staring at the roof of the humpy the spear through his breast pinning him to the soil. The crumpled palm leaf barely stirred at the end of the shaft. The white people could make no sense of the black girl’s words as she now slumped, keening beside the body.