Free Sophie and the Locust Curse by Stephen Davies

girls put down their plates and began to fold slices of banana into the pancakes. With all of them working together it did not take long.
    A sudden snort directly behind Sophie made her jump, and she turned round to see a large pair of nostrils flaring in her face. Above them a pair of liquid eyes gleamed in the moonlight. The eyelashes were very long.
    ‘Listen, Chobbal,’ said Sophie. ‘If you think you’re getting any of these pancakes, think again.’
    Chobbal was the Fulfulde word for spicy millet porridge. It was also the name of Gidaado’s albino camel.
    ‘ Salam alaykum , Sophie.’ Gidaado was perched on Chobbal’s hump, grinning in the moonlight. ‘Are we ready to go?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Sophie, ‘but I want you to know that I’m only doing this because you and me are friends, not because I want Crêpe-Sombo to win.’
    ‘Whatever.’ Gidaado rode off a short distance, stood up in the saddle and began to sing at the top of his voice.
     
‘The delightful General Crêpe-Sombo
Has a dish of Election Delights,
There’s a sugary treat for each voter to eat
Get your crêpe from Crêpe-Sombo tonight!’
     
    A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd. The moonlight and song and the promise of food were making them giddy with pleasure. On and on Gidaado sang:
     
‘When Crêpe-Sombo comes into power
He will rename this market Crêpe Plaza;
The history books will honour the cooks
Who pan-fried his Victory Maasa .’
     
    Sophie passed a plate of banana pancakes up to Gidaado and he began to throw them into the crowd. Eager hands reached out to catch the delicious morsels as they rained down.
     
‘Crêpe-Sombo’s a generous giver,
Crêpe-Sombo’s the lord of largesse,
Believe all the hype, he’s the head-of-state type,
Have a pancake on General C.S.’
     
    The people of Gorom-Gorom laughed and munched and told each other what a good fellow General Crêpe-Sombo was. It took a very big-hearted man to distribute crêpes on such a large scale. He would surely make a fantastic president.
    Gidaado held up the last pancake, swung his arm round and round and then lobbed it high into the air. All eyes were on the pancake as it flipped over and over in the moonlight, and then - BANG!
    A shower of tiny stars filled the sky. For many of the people in the crowd, this was the first time they had seen a firework. Children shrieked. Herders ducked and cowered. Women grabbed hold of each other and hid their faces under their shawls. Young men whipped their staffs off their shoulders and brandished them, alert and battle-ready.
    Another firework fizzed through the air and exploded into a frenzy of coloured sparks. Gorom-Gorom was not under attack. This was all part of the Crêpe-Sombo Spectacle.
    And there he was! The General was standing on the roof of Salif dan Bari’s snake-pill shop, silhouetted against the backdrop of coloured stars. His feet were planted wide apart and he held a writhing snake in each hand. Gidaado was right, thought Sophie – Crêpe-Sombo is magnificent. God-like, even.
    ‘ Hommes de Gorom-Gorom ,’ thundered Crêpe-Sombo in French. ‘We are at war!’
    Furki Baa Turki translated the General's words into Fulfulde and a gasp of horror rose from the crowd.
    ‘We are at war with the sand!’ cried Crêpe-Sombo. ‘Every year the great Sahara desert moves further and further south. Soon it will sweep over us all!’
    Sophie glanced back over her shoulder, half-expecting to see a wall of sand careering towards her like a tsunami wave.
    ‘Ten years from now,’ said Crêpe-Sombo, ‘your homeland will be a distant memory. Gorom-Gorom, Yengerento, Bidi, Menegu, Giriiji – all these precious villages will be buried underneath the dunes. You do not have much time!’
    Time! Sophie looked at her watch and saw that it was already half past eleven. If she stayed out any longer her father would go mad with worry.
    ‘This is a war you must not lose,’ continued Crêpe-Sombo. ‘You will need a