Together, the two women walked up the hill. When they reached the top, Wuon Koth stopped and turned to look down on Simbi.
The widow watched and listened as Wuon Koth began to sing. At first she sang her usual rain making song, and as she did so, the rain began to fall.
Let it rain, Let it rain
let it rain again and again
Oh rain, make the air cool
Oh rain make our roofs rattle,
Oh rain make our maize grow ,
And fatten our cattle!
let it rain, Let it rain
Let it rain, again, again!
In Simbi, the men joyfully swigged beer from their calabashes, the women laughed and sang, and the children danced in the wonderful rain.
'No one is going to survive." said the old woman.
But then Wuon Koth began to sing again, it was almost the same song, but this time the words were new and terrible
Let it rain, Let it rain,
Now the people give their thanks
let the river burst its banks
let it rain again
Flood their shambas, flood their town
let them struggle, let them drown
let it rain , again
let it rain, let it rain
let it rain, again, again
Four hours on the end, the rain came down. The people's joy turned first to anxiety, then to fear, and finally to terror. The water grew higher and higher. In desperation, some of the people climbed onto their roofs of their houses, but it was no good, not a single person managed to escape.