When waterfalls sing on iron anvils, a roar is heard... but no mane is on the horizon.
There was a place south of Djambala, called Nkwe Mbali. There, it was not torrents of celestial liquid that hissed and rumbled, but the waters of the Léfini. From the round hills of Mbaun were born these beautiful, sonorous waterfalls that the people of Nzi honor. From Zanaga to Mbé, the elders claimed that there were two mysterious anvils there that amplified the river's raging melody.
Long ago, before human times, two young lions barely adults named Ngambu and Ngampika were abandoned by their mother. Their father had been killed by a rival in regular combat. To preserve them, their mother organized their departure; they fled the region. With their sparse manes, even two against one, the new leader would have made a quick meal of these heirs who wanted to avenge their father. They wandered here and there for weeks, then entire moons, in the savannahs of the sandy plateaus, taking large detours whenever they heard a roar in the distance.
One morning, Ngambu was awakened by a cloud of gray parrots with brightly red-tinted tails, rustling in the trees. They spoke of the sacred water that had reddened the tips of their feathers where the frothy waves whispered, then sang as one approached. Ngambu waited for Ngampika to wake up to discuss it with him. But when the latter opened his eyes, they shone with a strange glow. He already knew, in a dream he had heard a voice and seen Ngambu reflected with a red feather from Nku, the pagoda rooster, adorning his mane.
– Ngambu, let's go to Mbaun, we need to get there before nightfall. A hen and a rooster are waiting for us there. I saw all this in a dream, follow me!