Portion - universityofafricanart.org

it was a heavy storm. The wind that attended the storm was furious and wild, moving at
high speeds through the field, knocking many sunflowers off their stalks, and throwing
them around like missiles. Doudu was happy where he was, but he was also worried that
the wind could uproot the tree. Yet he was glad that he was not in a cave, which often
flooded during heavy storms such as the one blowing at that time. The gigantic tree in
which he was sitting was more than two hundred years old, and though it swayed and
often bent here and there, it only lost a few branches, many of which were already dry or
damaged parts that the tree needed to discard.
The kid was silent and contented where it rested next to Doudu, who formed a
comfortable fetal position. Doudu soon fell asleep as the storm came crashing through the
sunflower field, soaking the ground. Darkness had fallen on the land. He did not know
for how long he was asleep, but he soon woke up with a start. He could hear voices. And
he could smell several people, apparently on horseback. The voices grew nearer and he
began to hear the voices of the horse riders and the sounds of the hoofs as they pounded
the drenched ground.
“Horrible night to search for anything,” a voice said.
“I could have wagered a large bet he was hiding in one of the abandoned farm
houses. But I know every single one of them, and we have checked them all.” It was the
voice of the police chief, Antonio. He sounded weary and defeated.
“But we still haven’t found the Negro,” said another voice. “I’d say it’s time to
return home.”
“Oh no,” said Antonio, trying to instill some energy into his voice, even though he
was exhausted. They had been looking for Doudu during the terrible storm for more than
twenty-four hours without any sleep. “He has to be somewhere around here. He couldn’t