It is by no means unusual in Africa for two thunderstorms to come up at the same time from different points of the compass.
"You had better get on, Indaba-zimbi," I said, "the big storm is coming along fast, and will soon eat up that baby of yours," and I pointed to the west.
"Babies sometimes grow to giants, white man," said Indaba-zimbi, beckoning away vigorously.

"Look now at my cloud-child." I looked; the eastern storm was spreading itself from earth to sky, and in shape resembled an enormous man.

There was its head, its shoulders, and its legs; yes, it was like a huge giant travelling across the heavens.

The light of the setting sun escaping from beneath the lower edge of the western storm shot across the intervening space in a sheet of splendour, and, lighting upon the advancing figure of cloud, wrapped its middle in hues of glory too wonderful to be described; but beneath and above this glowing belt his feet and head were black as jet.
Presently, as I watched, an awful flash of light shot from the head of the cloud, circled it about as though with a crown of living fire, and vanished.
"Aha," chuckled old Indaba-zimbi, "my little boy is putting on his man's ring," and he tapped the gum ring on his own head, which natives assume when they reach a certain age and dignity.

"Now, white man, unless you are a bigger wizard than either of us you had better clear off, for the fire-fight is about to begin." I thought this sound advice.
"Good luck go with you, my black uncle," I said.