The world's first song was discordant voices inspired by a most beautiful story, a story of inspiration.
The sound appeared to be chaos to some, they had never heard anything like it in their long lives on Earth. It was as if time itself had dared to slow down and appreciate the beauty of this gift. It was powerful; and so deeply moving that those none dared scoff at this melodic sound. It ushered a silence willingly surrendered by the souls of those who were blessed to witness it. In silence they sat, their ears unaccustomed to the strange yet soothing sounds they were hearing.
The hot afternoon sun seemed to soften its heat as the sound filtered thrugh the air, every note rattling the leaves as if tickled by a breeze. The resonance between Nature and the human voice brought tranquility as the pitch soared through the vast African skies; as if it was responding to a being far beyond the eye could see. The heavens stilled for a moment in harmony, bearing testament to this remarkable sound.
The source of this melodic sound was Mzwilili, Kintu's second daughter. Her voice seemed to bring a cool across the whole village as her voice carried to every ear, beckoning each being to pay attention. The village elders found their spirits and voices moved by a certain something from deep within them; and were soon in unison with Mzwilili as the spirit of song and dance flowed through their veins, igniting fires of unknown passion. Their bodies flexed and flowed in movements never seen before; as if a gentle wind was blowing them from all around, as if they were being caressed by the very hands of Mother Nature.
In the midst of this trance-like dance accompanied by singing inspired her voice, Mzwilili stretched calf skin over a hollowed-out log from a lightening-struck tree not far from beyond the fields. As if she had been instructed by a power, she tightly bound the calf skin on the one end of the log which she had now cut into the size of a grown man's arm in length. She then beat gently on the calf skin, now tightly bound to the log, with her open palm in rhythms that had the villagers break into jubilation. Each beat sent a pulse of life through the limbs of the elderly and they uncontrollably found themselves breaking out into dance. The young men and women rose in a multitude of voices and chorussed together, the sound of their voices making some of the older men cry unashamedly.
Thus a new song was sung on that day; and it was called 'iculo'.