Sophie and the Locust Curse (5 page)

Chapter 8

The recording sessions took longer than Sophie had expected. Gidaado was fine in practice but whenever she put the microphone in front of his mouth and pressed RECORD he got flustered and fluffed his lines. Eventually though they managed to record near-perfect versions of ten lost cow songs.

Sophie enjoyed designing the cassette covers. On each one she drew a picture of a cow’s head, complete with boggly eyes and dangly tongue. Above the cow she wrote in bubble letters ‘Greatest Hits of Gidaado the Griot’. On the back she drew a copyright symbol and wrote out the titles of the songs in her best handwriting:

1. Lost under African skies
2. Where now Brown Cow?
3. Has anyone seen my Skinny Legs?
4. Losing you
5. Since my Daisy left me
6. Absent without leaves
7. Mucky Tail I miss you
8. No milk since Tuesday
9. Still haven’t found what I’m looking for
10. Zebu Blues

Gidaado begged Sophie to let him record a bonus track (‘Sam Saman Has A Face Like A Skink’) but she refused, on the grounds that it was not in keeping with the rest of the album.

Gidaado was delighted when he saw the finished cassettes. ‘You know, Sophie,’ he said, ‘as I have always said, working as a crier isn’t all that bad.’

‘Right,’ smiled Sophie.

‘Did you see Belko Sambo’s face when he heard that Big Udders had been found? He was ecstatic.’

‘Yes,’ said Sophie. ‘My Dad looked like that when he found his first desert flytrap.’

‘Of course,’ said Gidaado, ‘I’ll have to practise a lot before I can shout as loud as Furki Baa Turki.’ He took a deep breath.

Sophie chuckled and put her fingers in her ears.

*

On market day Gidaado turned up early at Sophie’s house and they discussed where to set up Gidaado’s stall.

‘We can use Salif dan Bari’s stall,’ said Sophie. ‘He got bitten by a rope in his field the other day and he’s still at the clinic recovering.’

No one here called a snake a snake. People thought that if you said the word ‘snake’, the nearest snake would think you were calling it and would come looking for you. So they always said ‘rope’ instead.

When the children arrived at the market they found sure enough that the rope charmer’s stall was empty. Gidaado took the tray of cassettes off his head and laid it carefully on the wooden trestle table. Sophie arranged the dancing flowers on one side and the cassette player on the other. Then she inserted a cassette and pressed PLAY.

‘Oh no,’ said Gidaado. ‘Look who’s coming.’

Sam Saman strolled up to the stall.

‘
Salam alaykum
,’ he said.

Gidaado did not answer. He gazed over the boy’s shoulder as if something had caught his interest there.

‘
Alaykum asalam
,’ said Sophie.

‘Gidaado, you’re looking thin,’ said Saman. ‘Anyone would think you had not been eating.’

Gidaado glared at his rival and his hand closed into a tight fist.

‘Don’t,’ whispered Sophie. ‘If you start a fight, we’ll be thrown out of the market. We can’t afford that.’

Saman took one of the cassettes out of the tray and sneered at the picture on the front. ‘Funny looking goat,’ he said.

‘It’s a cow,’ said Sophie.

‘Greatest Hits of Gidaado the Griot,’ read Saman. ‘That should be “Gidaado the Crier”, shouldn’t it?’

Sophie reached over and turned up the volume on her cassette player as far as it would go.

‘LOST UNDER AFRICAN SKIES!!!!’ Gidaado’s voice bellowed from the speakers and the dancing flowers went so wild that it seemed their stalks would break. Saman was still talking but Sophie and Gidaado could not hear a word; they just grinned at him while his mouth opened and closed like a fish. Saman soon got fed up and went on his way.

Gidaado turned the volume back down. ‘Now do you wish we’d recorded that bonus track?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Sophie.

Loud noise in the market always attracted a crowd, and soon there was a big audience huddled around Gidaado’s stall, listening to the lost cow songs.

‘Sophie,’ said Gidaado out of the side of his mouth. ‘How many of these cassettes do we have to sell?’

Sophie looked at her notebook. ‘Well,’ she whispered, ‘if we sell two cassettes, we can buy your grandmother’s medicine. If we sell five, that’s a whole sack of millet.’

‘What about if we sell all fifty?’ said Gidaado. ‘Can I buy a mobile phone?’

‘Definitely,’ grinned Sophie.

The crowd seemed to be enjoying the cassette. By the time they reached the chorus of ‘Where Now Brown Cow?’ several of the audience were chuckling and others were clapping in time. ‘Has anyone seen my Skinny Legs?’ went down even better. One poor lad laughed so hard he wet himself.

‘A thousand francs for a cassette,’ said Gidaado, when the last mournful chord of ‘Zebu Blues’ had died away. The audience stared back at him and one by one they shuffled off. One man began to count out small change in his palm but then he shook his head and left.

‘Why aren’t they buying?’ said Sophie.

‘I don’t know,’ said Gidaado. ‘I suppose a thousand francs seems a lot when there is no millet in your grain-store.’

Everybody had left except for one smartly-dressed black girl carrying a camel-skin handbag. Her hair was dyed dark red and it was arranged in dozens of intricate plaits. She’s pretty, thought Sophie. And that hairdo alone must have cost a thousand francs.

‘
Excusez-moi, Monsieur,’
said the girl to Gidaado. ‘
J’aime bien votre cassette
.’

Gidaado simpered and nodded. He obviously did not understand a word.

‘I’ll handle this,’ Sophie said to him in Fulfulde, and she turned to the red-haired girl. ‘
Comment t’appelles tu
?’ she said in French. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Marie,’ said the girl.

‘You don’t speak Fulfulde, do you Marie?’

‘No,’ said the girl. ‘I only speak French, Moré and Dula.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘The capital, Ouagadougou. My father is General Alai Crêpe-Sombo. Perhaps you have heard of him.’

‘No,’ said Sophie.

‘He is making a speech in Gorom-Gorom today to launch his election campaign.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Sophie. ‘Now, Marie, are you going to buy a cassette?’

‘How much are they?’

‘Twelve thousand francs.’

The girl’s eyes widened. ‘That seems a little expensive.’

‘Of course it’s expensive,’ said Sophie, rolling her eyes. ‘Gidaado the Fourth here is the best griot in the province.’

‘Oh. Well, in that case...’ Marie took a red purse out of her handbag, and began to thumb through a wad of notes. Sophie smiled to herself.

Gidaado had been looking on in bewilderment all this time. Now he leaned towards the girl and handed her a cassette. She looked up at him.

‘
Cadeau
,’ said Gidaado, grinning from ear to ear.

Cadeau
was French for ‘present’.

‘
Merci beaucoup
,’ said Marie and smiled prettily. She put the cassette in her handbag, turned on her heel and left. Gidaado goggled after her.

For a moment Sophie was too angry to speak. ‘WHAT THE ZORKI DID YOU DO THAT FOR?’ she spluttered at last.

‘I felt sorry for her,’ said Gidaado.

‘YOU felt sorry for HER?’

‘She’s a stranger here, Sophie. You of all people should know what that feels like.’

‘Do you know how much your poor little stranger was about to give you?’ said Sophie.

‘How much?’ asked Gidaado, interested.

‘Enough for you to buy your grandmother’s medicine and two sacks of millet,’ said Sophie, and she pressed the EJECT button so hard that the cassette flew out and landed in the dust on the ground. She put her cassette player under her arm, grabbed her dancing flowers and stomped off.

Two minutes later she was back.

‘I thought you didn’t speak French,’ she said, glaring at Gidaado.

‘I don’t,’ said Gidaado. ‘But everyone knows the word
cadeau
don’t they? It’s what we used to shout at the tourists when we were little. Sometimes they would give us sweets or biros.’

‘Typical,’ said Sophie, and stomped off again.

Chapter 9

Sophie lay on her bed and stared up at the gecko on the ceiling above her. It was the middle of the day and she felt unbearably hot and sticky. Flies buzzed tiredly around her room and occasionally bumped into the white mosquito netting over the bed. Up on the top shelf Ali Farka Touré was crooning softly on the cassette player, but the dancing flowers were away in the drawer of Sophie’s desk. She did not want to even look at them any more. It had been three days since the Marie incident and Sophie was still feeling bad. The gecko gazed down at her with its lidless eyes and clicked disapprovingly.

How could Gidaado have thrown away his one big business opportunity? After everything she had done to help him. Generosity is one thing, thought Sophie, recklessness is another.

‘POLIO VACCINATIONS IN THE MARKETPLACE TOMORROW!’ shouted a voice passing along the street outside. It was one of the town criers, but not Gidaado. ‘BRING YOUR CHILDREN! FREE OF CHARGE! BRING YOUR CHILDREN! FREE OF CHARGE!’

Sophie turned her face to the wall and thought about that Marie’s red hair and camel-skin handbag. She remembered the way Gidaado had goggled. He was Sophie’s only friend in Gorom-Gorom and she did not want anyone to spoil that.
Is that why I’m angry?
she wondered.
Am I really that selfish?

‘PEOPLE OF GOROM-GOROM!’ shouted a voice in the street. Another crier, thought Sophie. Why do they have to make their stupid announcements during siesta time?

‘PEOPLE OF GOROM-GOROM! THE OUDALAN PROVINCE CAMEL RACE WILL TAKE PLACE ON MONDAY!’

Sophie sat up. The Oudalan Province Camel race - hadn’t Gidaado once talked about wanting to enter that with Chobbal? Monday was the day after tomorrow!

‘ALL ENTRANTS MUST PICK UP A NUMBER-PLATE FROM THE MAYOR’S SECRETARY AT THE TOWN HALL. ANY CAMEL WITHOUT A NUMBER-PLATE WILL BE DISQUALIFIED!’

Amazing! Here was another chance for Gidaado to help his family. Where was he? Out in his village or here in Gorom-Gorom? She must find a way to get the news to him quickly.

‘ANY CAMEL CAUGHT CHEWING COLA NUTS OR OTHER PERFORMANCE-ENHANCING DRUG WILL BE DISQUALIFIED!’

The crier’s voice got quieter as he moved off down the street. Sophie listened until the voice was no more than a faint hum in the distance and then she untucked her mosquito net and sprang out of bed. The gecko on the ceiling stared as she slipped her feet into her sandals and dashed out of the room.

‘Dad!’ Sophie called as she passed the study door. ‘I have to go out!’

‘Two-thirty,’ came a faint voice from within.

Sophie slammed the front door, ran down the path, opened the high metal gate and ran smack into a set of fine strong teeth coming the other way. Camel teeth.

‘
Salam alaykum,
’ said a familiar voice.

Sophie got up off the ground and brushed herself down. She would have a big bump on her forehead tomorrow morning, but she was pleased to see Gidaado and Chobbal. ‘
Alaykum asalam,
’ she said.

‘Are you passing the day in peace?’

‘Peace only. How is your grandmother?’

‘Peace only. She needs medicine. How are you?’

‘Peace only,’ said Sophie. ‘About the other day, I’m sorry I stomped off like that.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Gidaado. ‘I’m sorry I gave away our cassette like that.’

‘
Your
cassette,’ said Sophie. ‘Anyway, you have a second chance. Have you heard the news?’

‘The Oudalan Province Camel Race? Of course. I’ve just come from the town hall.’

‘And?’

‘And Chobbal will be wearing number 10 on Monday!’

Sophie clapped her hands. ‘That’s fab!’ she said.

‘And Sam Saman will be wearing number 3.’

‘That’s less fab. I didn’t even know he had a camel.’

‘He does.’

‘Is it fast?’

‘Like lightening. Rumour has it that Saman’s father bought it a few years ago from-’ Gidaado lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘
Moussa ag Litni
.’

‘
Zorki
,’ said Sophie. Moussa ag Litni was a wicked Tuareg bandit who had trained the fastest camels in the whole of West Africa. Ag Litni himself was no longer at large but some of his camels obviously were. ‘What do you think?’ asked Sophie. ‘Can you beat Saman?’

‘I have to beat him. Uncle Ibrahiim says that if Chobbal doesn’t win the race we must sell him.’

Sophie was shocked. ‘Why?’

‘There’s nothing else to sell,’ said Gidaado simply. ‘If we do it sooner rather than later we can get a better price for him.’

Sophie said nothing. Tears pricked the back of her eyes.

‘Cheer up,’ said Gidaado. ‘If we win the race, our prize is a big gold nugget and our problems are over, at least for a few months. A gold nugget will buy about fifteen sacks of millet. If we win the race, Chobbal stays with me.’

‘Well then,’ said Sophie. ‘It’s clear what you have to do.’

Gidaado nodded gravely. He reached down and stroked Chobbal’s tufty white neck. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We have to run faster than the harmattan wind.’