Moussa is my favourite nephew and, in contrast with me, a gentle, dreamy poet. I wish I could make the balafon sing like he. What you hear and probably consider to be beautiful music is in reality my mother tongue, the Sambla language, transposed into music. We learn it simultaneously to our spoken language. Here, Moussa is complaining about having no money to buy food. With the help of the balafon he asks whether I am hungry too and whether I could give him wa kelen (5000 CFA, about 8 Euro).