Job brodas and sistas plus en friends wey run leave am before kon visit am and dem do party for en house. Dem kom tell am sey, “Wi dey sorry for all di trobol wey God kause for yu.” So all of dem kom give Job money and gold rings.
Dia curse dey pain and e dey make my heart kut; I dey look for who go tell mi sorry, but I nor si. I dey find who go konfort mi, but I still nor si anybody.
I koll all di pipol wey love mi make dem help mi, but instead, dem kom deceive mi. Na honga kill my priests and leaders for di town wen dem dey find food wey dem go chop.