Praise poem… in praise of an accountant

A very long time ago, in the dreamtime

of the world,

before the before […]

there were already some

men and women

who, from their first years,

could see

what had really happened;

what had not happened at all;

what might never happen;

what would definitely happen

and what should definitely happen:

these were the accountants.

Even earlier than the lost civilisation of

the Etruscans,

someone had collected, counted and curated

the spoils of war

and the profits of peace,

holding those less ethical, to account –

by adding,

subtracting and

sharing the bounty or the blame.

In Africa, the praise singer lauds

kings, chiefs, in company with headmen, judges and seers,

the counter of currency,

the keeper of records,

the settler of debts,

the recorder of figures;

who will tell the story of the accountant

in my country?

The imbongi will,

He will sing of such wonders as

the clan’s name, the fathers’ name,

and the accountant’s own name;

the birth country, the region and village,

town or city’s names;

the status and titles of forefathers, and,

above all,

the ancestors, much revered;

the places of learning,

the land protected;

the importance of the title […]

accountant.

The imbongi will present both

the private and the professional faces of

this follower of rules,

the observer of process,

the protector of numbers,

the prudent thinker.

Salve, domine numerarum.