Blessed son of his mother and father,
he spent a peaceful night.
It was not so for Hamtudo and Demburu,
who had never undergone such torment since the day they were born.
Bodily suffering joined sufferings of the soul
on that bitter, anguishing, torturous night.
When they went around Nannaa-Kodho,
the west winds had begun to cool down.
Then as the village silhouette disappeared,
an invisible hand unleashed the feet of the wind.
As soon as it was untied, it rushed on
murmuring in the trees and woods, taking up leaves
which became a thousand ears on the branches' outstretched hands,
listening as though for the zephyr that had started to wail.
By surprise the djinns spurred on the wind which bucked
and all of a sudden opened the three doors of the ramparts.
The one facing east, set free, chased Tornado.
The one facing west gave way to Waterspout.
The middle one said to Typhoon, “Go and devastate!”
And the spinning cyclone set out to forge.
When all three became one, and began to roar,
to twist about in all directions in howling gusts,
they penetrated everywhere, carrying off eight objects.
They straddled massive structures, climbing them.
Finally Typhoon gave birth to Squall
and that child, weaned on violence,
set about uprooting trees,
smashing pinnacles off of steep rocks.
Suddenly the tornado took on a life of its own
and gave off rapid, successive blows.
The earth seemed to rise to the sky, which lowered
in turn, seemed to hurry to its meeting,
colliding rudely with the earth.
Caught between these vast spaces,
men and animals were mere buds bursting
amid the tumult of that foaming, unleashed sea.
Hamtudo, Demburu and their carrier-oxen