The Bitter Side of Sweet

“I’m just about to sit, joining the other boys, when the girl’s eyes snap off the ground and lock into mine. I take a step away. Wide and dark in her oval face, her eyes are asking for help. But I have enough to worry about with Seydou and myself. I have no more help left to give. And so I look away. When I glance at her again, her eyes have turned hard.”

Sullivan repeatedly describes characters’ eyes to show what they are feeling internally. Here, Khadija’s eyes first ask for help, then harden as Amadou looks away. This shows the fierce side of her personality, as well as foreshadows the rocky start her friendship with Amadou will have. Amadou’s choice to look away is another example of how life on the farm has made him callused towards others. To survive and protect Seydou, he has learned to stop caring. 

“I have no idea why we grow these seeds, no idea who wants them. Why have so many trees growing the same thing? The bosses never talk about it; they only say that the seeds leave our farm and go to the coast, where someone else buys them. For what? I asked once, but they all shrugged. No one here knows. All we know is that people in the city want these seeds, so we grow them.” 

Ironically, no one on the farm, not even the bosses, knows what the cacao seeds are used for. This shows how ignorance can be used to keep the poor and the weak subdued. Later, Sullivan reveals that the bosses are paid hardly anything for the seeds, which is why they turn to slave labor. No one thinks about demanding a higher price for the seeds or trying to change their circumstances, because they don’t even know who buys the seeds or how they are used. 

“This girl, this stupid girl, is making me so mad. I want to lash out, shut her up forever. I wonder briefly what it would feel like to cut another person, then I turn away, sick with my own thoughts.”

Amadou finds himself losing his compassion and becoming more like the bosses every day. He hates himself for his cruel thoughts but cannot stop them from coming. His constant fear and human instinct to survive bring out his anger. Imprisonment on the farm is gradually changing him and hardening him internally.

“I feel a stab of loss. I helped Moussa catch her the day she had her best chance of getting away. Then last night I hid in a corner and didn’t even try to stop what they did to her.” 

Guilt is a recurring theme used by Sullivan to show Amadou’s internal struggle. His guilt causes more damage than the physical beatings he receives. His struggle with guilt shows how his captivity has a greater impact on his emotional health and identity than on his physical health.

“The boy’s eyes dart to my face and his mouth drops open. His machete is on the ground a few arm’s lengths away, knocked there when I hit him. I push my body weight against the machete so that the edge presses into him. It’s not hurting him yet, but if he moves or struggles he’ll be cut badly. I see his pupils expand in fear as he realizes this. I lean forward so that my face is barely centimeters from his.”

Amadou menacingly threatens a boy who makes fun of him for being chained to Khadija. Just as the bosses use violence and fear to get their way, Amadou does the same to a fellow slave. This shows the way Amadou is hardening, becoming like the bosses and losing his kindness towards others. Sullivan shows how years of receiving cruelty can cause one to, in turn, treat others with cruelty.

“They forced him to say, after every lash, This is Amadou’s fault. This is Amadou’s fault. I knew he was being forced to say it, but that didn’t make any difference. Every time I see the scars crisscrossing his back, I hear the echo of those words in my head.”

Amadou flashes back to the punishment Seydou received the day they attempted to escape. This shows how the bosses used Seydou to break Amadou’s spirit and ensure that he wouldn’t risk another escape attempt. It also reveals the sense of guilt that burdens Amadou each time he sees his brother’s scars. 

“I wonder whether we could ever be a team. A little family, just us three, sharing things and looking after one another. I want to tell her how much it means to me to have someone to trust so that I’m not all alone, but the words won’t come.” 

Amadou has not opened himself up to friendship and trust for the last two years, and caring for Seydou alone for so long has taken an emotional toll on him. Here, Sullivan foreshadows the familial friendship that develops between Amadou and Khadija. She also shows how much Amadou needs a friend but highlights the way Amadou has difficulty trusting others because of the way he’s been treated at the plantation. 

“[A]s we walk I notice that I no longer feel the irregular pull of metal on my wrist. Over the course of the day we’ve learned to walk perfectly in step with each other. For some reason, this makes me smile.” 

The chain connecting Amadou and Khadija as they harvest cacao for the day is symbolic of their friendship. At first, they are pulling each other different directions but eventually learn to work in tandem. Similarly, their friendship begins with ups and downs as they struggle with blame and distrust. However, with time, their friendship grows so that they can depend on one another and work as a team. 

“‘Wow, what a dump,’ whispers Khadija beside me. I turn to her, eyebrows arched in surprise, because I was just thinking that this is one of the best-built houses I’ve seen.” 

Khadija and Amadou’s contrasting reactions to the bosses’ house reveal their differing backgrounds. While Khadija comes from wealth and lives in a house with electricity, running water, and glass in the windows, Amadou comes from a dirt hut in a poor village. Sullivan uses their differing opinions to show the disparity between the rich and poor. Although their home countries share a border, Khadija’s privileged life in the Ivory Coast seems completely foreign to Amadou, who comes from a village in Mali.

“I don’t count the minutes we sit there like that, or the hours since I’ve slept, because in that moment there’s only one thing that matters, and it can’t be counted.” 

This quote highlights Sullivan’s use of the counting motif. As Amadou waits in the bush holding Seydou in his arms, all that matters is keeping Seydou alive and helping Khadija escape. This marks a change in what matters most to Amadou. At the beginning, the amount of cacao pods he harvested was what mattered. Now, getting away successfully is what matters. 

“She looks away. ‘I want to be a doctor when I grow up,’ she admits. I stare at her blankly. Big dreams for a girl. Bigger dreams than anyone I’ve ever known would dare to dream, boy or girl. I wonder again where exactly she came from to have dreams so big.”

Amadou is surprised to hear about Khadija’s dreams for the future. His reaction shows how sharply his upbringing in a poor Malian village contrasts with her upbringing, going to school in an Ivorian city. Even though Amadou and Khadija are from neighboring countries, their home lives could not be more different because of disparity between the rich and the poor. 

“I raise my eyebrows. Of course it’s possible that he’s telling the truth. It’s also possible that he’s not. We’ve both been lied to enough to know that either outcome is just as likely.” 

When Oumar offers to help them, Amadou does not completely trust him. Because of his years on the cacao farm, Amadou has lost his ability to trust others fully, especially adults. The way he has been treated has taken a toll on his willingness to trust and has taught him that others usually do not have his best interests at heart. However, Oumar stays true to his word, and Amadou regains some faith that some people can be trusted.

“I had figured out she was fancy, but I had always assumed she, like pretty much every kid on the farm, came from Mali. Her name is Muslim, like ours. She speaks Bambara, like us. I had never imagined she was Ivorian, like the bosses. I feel betrayed. I lean away from her.” 

When Sullivan finally unravels the mystery surrounding Khadija’s background, Amadou’s reaction is immediate: He sees her as the enemy. Even though Khadija is on his side and has been a friend to him, Amadou’s response shows how he views all Ivorians. Based on his experience with the bosses, he thinks all Ivorians must be cruel and waiting to take advantage of him. His feeling of betrayal shows how stereotypes and misjudgment can quickly drive a wedge between people. 

“I was quiet at the farm a lot because quiet can be very scary, and being scary got people to do things if I needed them to. The comparison makes me pause and, with a shudder, I wonder whether my quiet menace ever made the other boys feel as frightened as Khadija felt with the man on the phone.” 

Amadou has learned from the bosses’ example that a quiet voice can be more threatening than a loud one. When Khadija explains the quiet breathing of the man on the phone a few days before she was kidnapped, Amadou regrets scaring the boys on the farm. Now that he’s away from the farm, Amadou’s heart is softening. He is gradually regaining his compassion. 

“But when I look carefully at Seydou, I can see that the hollowness goes deep. The bouncing cricket that was my brother is gone. Now when I look into his eyes, an old man stares back at me.”

Sullivan’s description of the “old man” Amadou can see in Seydou’s eyes shows how Seydou’s injury and years of mistreatment at the plantation have taken their toll. He has faced danger and mistreatment that no child should have to endure and has lost his youthful, carefree nature. This example correlates with the theme that cruelty shapes one’s identity and demonstrates Sullivan’s use of characters’ eyes to show how they feel. 

“‘And I’m sorry about your arm,’ I whisper. ‘I’m sorry I got mad that day and left you alone. If I hadn’t done that, Khadija wouldn’t have been able to run away, and I wouldn’t have gotten beaten for it.’ Tears are tracing their way down my face, and my chest is getting tight. ‘Then I would have been strong enough to work with you that day. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to keep you safe. I’m so…’ The words come out in soft gasps. ‘So sorry.’” 

Amadou finally voices the guilt he’s been holding inside by apologizing when he thinks Seydou is sleeping. However, Seydou hears him and tells him he never blamed Amadou for any of the bad things that happened to them. Amadou’s confession and Seydou’s immediate forgiveness mark an important step in putting the horror of the plantation behind him and seeking healing for the guilt he feels. 

“‘I’m proud of you,’ I tell him. Slouched against the alley wall, exhausted and shaky with fatigue, Seydou beams. He knows he did well. I stare into his eyes and see a little of my brother come back.” 

Although Amadou is reluctant, he gives Seydou a chance to haggle at the market for food. When he does well, Seydou glows under Amadou’s praise. Seydou’s eyes show how independence and encouragement contribute to his internal healing. Amadou has tried for so long to protect his little brother, but he now sees that trusting Seydou and giving him responsibility will help him regain his spirit. 

“Once inside, I tense again. Khadija’s mother’s blouse is a shimmery pink fabric that looks like it would rip if I touched it and the house around us it bigger and better-kept than any I’ve ever been in. You don’t belong here, the house whispers.” 

At Khadija’s house, Amadou is reminded of his poverty and how far he is from home. Even far from the plantation, he doesn’t feel safe or comfortable. By contrasting Amadou and Khadija’s backgrounds, Sullivan shows the gap between the poor and the wealthy. She also shows how coming from a poor village has created a sense of wariness in Amadou that makes it difficult for him to trust Khadija. 

“The water goes down the drain gray and foamy, but I don’t stop washing until it runs clear. I imagine that all the anger and hurt and fear of the past two years are one layer under the dirt from the farm and I scrub until I feel raw.” 

The dirt Amadou washes off in the shower symbolizes the hurt caused by his time on the plantation. Although true healing will take time, Amadou starts to put the horrors of his past behind him. 

“I can see that she’s not all right. Her eyes are still a little hollow, her smile still a little slow. She pauses before she leaps now, calculating the possible cost. This is not the same Khadija who left this house. Getting home did not make her all right. I wonder whether she will ever be all the way right again.” 

Amadou’s observation of Khadija shows that just because she is home now, doesn’t mean everything has returned to normal. The mistreatment the children endured has caused lasting damage. Although time may help them heal, their identity has been shaped by the cruelty they received at the farm. 

“I look into mine too, but the taste has changed in my mouth. Now I know the secrets of the dark, sweet liquid in my cup. The smell washes over me again, and this time I gag on it. It’s no longer the smell of a loving bedtime routine, but the smell of pain, and working for no pay, and not being able to go home. It’s the taste of Seydou with only one arm and I can’t get it out of my mouth.” 

When Amadou first takes a sip of hot chocolate, he loves the sweet, rich taste. However, after learning that the pods he was enslaved to harvest are used to make this treat, he can no longer enjoy the flavor. Sullivan compels the reader to consider the origins and process behind chocolate and shows that the dessert people commonly enjoy comes at a high price. 

“‘It’s just not the way that a lot of the chocolate in the world is grown. Usually, the companies make huge profits, the middlemen in Abidjan get fat off the taxes, and the farmers make next to nothing.’ Her tired eyes meet mine. ‘And so the farmers find workers they don’t have to pay. Usually, those workers are children.’”

Mrs. Kablan explains the many links in the chain of the cacao industry to explain why unpaid child labor is common. Her words educate the children and the reader. Sullivan shows the many factors that contribute to child slavery and highlights the way the problem trickles down from the companies at the top.

“Thousands, Mrs. Kablan had said when she was first telling us of her article. There are thousands of kids like us, working across the country to make a sweet for rich kids in other places. Thousands. It’s a number that matters so much I can’t wrap my mind around it.” 

Sullivan’s counting motif continues as Amadou contemplates a new number: the thousands of children working for no pay on cacao farms. She also highlights the paradox that the children whose sweat provides the cacao do not get to enjoy the chocolate. Instead, the chocolate is a treat for “rich kids.” In this way, she shows the reader that the enjoyment of a seemingly common treat—chocolate—is a privilege in Amadou’s mind.