As I squirmed around, changing my position under the truck, I saw the driver’s legs as he stepped down from the cab. He didn’t seem affected by the whirlwind at all—his walk was steady and his pant legs weren’t even fluttering. I could hear his voice more clearly now—it wasn’t singing at all, but more of a chant. It sounded like the strange, glottal language Mama G had used in casting her healing spell.