Neema Gospel Choir - Haufananishwi Lyrics
Lyrics
Certainly! Here are the lyrics to "Haufananishwi" by Neema Gospel Choir:
(Chorus) Nikufananishe na nini Bwana Nikufananishe na nini Bwana Nikufananishe na nini Bwana Nakumbe wewe Haufananishwi Nikulinganishe na nini Bwana Nikulinganishe na nini Bwana Nikulinganishe na nini Bwana Nakumbe wewe Haufananishwi
(Verse 1) Je, ni nani anaweza Kunitunza kama wewe Je, ni nani anaweza Kuniponya kama wewe Je, ni nani anaweza Kunilinda kama wewe Baba wewe Haufananishwi
(Verse 2) Je, ni nani anaweza Kunitunza kama wewe Je, ni nani anaweza Kuniponya kama wewe Je, ni nani anaweza Kunilinda kama wewe Baba wewe Haufananishwi
(Bridge) Haufananishwi na yeyote Wewe ni mwanzo na mwisho Tutoshelezo Haufananishwi na yeyote Na yeyote Bwana Wewe ni mwanzo Tutoshelezo Haufananishwi na yeyote Na yeyote Wewe ni mwanzo Tutoshelezo
(Outro) Haufananishwi na yeyote Wewe ni mwanzo Tutoshelezo Haufananishwi na yeyote Wewe ni mwanzo Tutoshelezo
Haufananishwi na yeyote Wewe ni mwanzo Tutoshelezo
Haufananishwi na yeyote Wewe ni mwanzo Tutoshelezo
Video
Neema Gospel Choir - Haufananishwi (Live)// WORSHIP IN SPIRIT
Meaning & Inspiration
My hands aren’t what they used to be. The skin is like crinkled parchment now, mapped with veins that have tracked too many miles, and the knuckles ache when the damp sets in. When I sat down to listen to the Neema Gospel Choir sing Haufananishwi, I kept my hands folded in my lap, not because I was trying to be holy, but because they were tired.
There is a line in their song—Wewe ni mwanzo na mwisho—that stopped me cold. You are the beginning and the end.
I’ve spent forty years trying to carve out a life, building things I thought would last. I built a career, a home, a reputation. But when you get to my age, the mortar starts to crumble. The things I thought were the "beginning" of my importance turned out to be nothing more than dust on the windowsill. The things I thought were the "end" of my troubles were just the preamble to the next bit of refining fire.
When they sing that God is the beginning and the end, it’s not just a theological fact. It’s an admission of failure. It means I wasn’t the one running the show. I wasn't the one keeping the ledger. There is a cold comfort in that, I suppose—knowing the Author of the story holds the ink, even if the pages I’m on are getting thin and yellowed.
Then there is that persistent question: Nikufananishe na nini? Who can I compare You to?
I’ve tried to compare Him to people. I’ve looked for pieces of God in my mentors, my children, even in the men I’ve sat next to in the pew for decades. I wanted to see Him in them so I wouldn't have to face Him alone. But every human I’ve ever leaned on has eventually buckled under the weight of my expectations. They are fragile, just like me.
Scripture asks, "To whom will you compare me? Or who is my equal?" (Isaiah 40:25). It’s a terrifying question when you’re young and full of your own strength. You want to believe there’s something else—a backup plan, an alternative. But when you’ve lost the people who held you up, when the health fails and the bank account stops mattering, that question changes its tone. It isn't a challenge anymore; it’s a relief.
If there is nothing to compare Him to, then there is nothing else I need to chase.
I find myself staring at the wall, wondering if I really grasp that. Do I actually live like there is no equal to Him? Or am I still trying to find a substitute for the parts of my life that feel empty? I haven’t figured it all out. Maybe that’s the point—to be nearing the end and still be realizing just how singular, how unmatchable, the grace has been all along. The choir’s voices, they’re full of a vitality I lost years ago, but the truth they carry? That’s the only thing that keeps the lights on when the house gets quiet.