Job Chapter 3

Job Complain To Baba-God

1. Afta dis, Job open hin mouth, con curse di day wey hin mama born am.
2. Job yarn, con tok sey,
3. “Make di day wen dem born me kpeme, and di night wey dem tok sey—‘Dem don born baby boy’.
4. Make dat day be darkness, make Baba-God from up-up no-send dat day, and make light no shine upon dat day.
5. Make darkness and shadow of death stain am. Make cloud dey on top of am; make di blackness of di day make am fear.
6. I wish sey darkness carry dat night komot. Komot dat night from di days of di year and make dem no count am join di numbas of di months.
7. See, make dat night dey lonely, con empty, make dem no hear any sound of happiness dat night.
8. Make pipo wey sabi curse days—curse dat day, those wey dia words fit control whale.
9. Make di stars of di night dark, make e fyne light, but make e no see am; and make dat night no ever reach morning.
10. Becos e no gree close di doors of my mama belle, or hide sorrow from my eyes.
11. Why I no die from my mama belle, why I no kpeme wen I komot from my mama belle?
12. Why dem put me for my mama lap? Or why she make me suck breast?
13. Becos now, I for just dey one quiet place, I for sleep; den I for rest.
14. I for rest wit di kings of di world, plus di leaders wey dia big-big-houses don scata.
15. Or wit princes wey bin get gold, wey dey full dia houses wit silver:
16. Why e no be sey I die inside my mama belle, and dem bury me; like pikin wey no live to see di light?
17. For there evil pipo no dey cos wahala, and pipo wey don taya dey rest for there.
18. Na for there di prisoners dey rest togeda; dem no dey hear di voice of di pipo wey dey oppress dem.
19. Both big and small dey for there, and di servant free from hin oga.
20. Oh, why you dey give light to di pipo wey sad, and to di pipo wey dey feel pain?—
21. pipo wey dey fyne death, but death no gree show-face, con dig for death pass pesin wey dey dig for gold plus silver,
22. wey dey celebrate well-well and dey happy, wen dem fit see grave?
23. Why we get life if we no get future, and why we get life if Baba-God surround us wit suffer-head from everi corner?
24. I no fit chop becos I dey cry, and my cry dey rush down from my eyes like water.
25. Becos di tin wey I dey fear well-well—don show-face to me, and di tins wey bin dey make my mind cut—don catch me.
26. I no get peace, and I no dey rest, I no dey quiet; but na only palava I dey see.