First Rain

We finally had our first rain today.

The day was hot, suffocatingly hot, and sagged over us like a drunk friend. Around four Bryan left with the computer to go and try to send some emails from a neighboring compound. I piddled around the house with the girls who both seemed too hot to either sleep or play. I ignored the first few rumbles in the distance, we’ve been hearing thunder from afar for days, but as it grew louder we went outside to investigate. As I pushed Annabelle in her swing and listened to MKat suck her fingers snuggled up against my chest I scanned the sky, trying to figure out which way the storm was coming from. Storms in this place never fail to confuse me. They roll in from unexpected places and swirl in different directions all at once; the darkest clouds evaporate with hardly a sprinkle and unassuming white clouds let loose a fury of rain.

Today the sky in the Northwest was the color of a violent bruise and was skirted with gauzy white clouds that looked like they were in a hurry to get out of the way. A hawk fought for control as he circled in the wind, repeatedly skimming over the fleshy white blossoms at the top of our huge baobab that stood out sharply against the black sky. The whole image looked like one of the cliché paintings by amateur artists that I have seen in so many overpriced bookstores in Nairobi – melodramatic, unrealistic, beautiful. As the wind picked up and the thunder started breaking like the surf on distant rocks I could hear the voices of so many refugee children screaming happily from the direction of the camp, and I wondered how many people like us were standing outside waiting for the sky to break open.

I asked Annabelle several times if she was ready to go inside, and each time I was relieved when she resolutely said, “No!” Whether by biology or influence, she is my daughter. Eventually though the wind kicked up enough sand around us that it was hard to see, so we ushered ourselves back inside. By now the thunder sounded like an avalanche of rocks overhead and the first few fat drops were beginning to fall. The earth heaved a huge sigh of relief and closed it’s eyes in pleasure.

The mud hut that at times has seemed so uncomfortable was immediately more homey than it has ever been before. The girls lay on our big bed, reading books and kicking in the air respectively, in the warm light of recycled sunshine. I put a kettle on our gas range just as Bryan stumbled in the door, soaked to the bone but laughing because he was as excited as we were. As he dried off, I fixed us all mugs of hot red karakade which we drank to the roar of the storm outside.

After supper it was still raining so we bathed the girls in basins full of hot water on a table in the kitchen. We dressed them both in footie pajamas for the first time in weeks and tucked them in under the nets. Bryan lay with Annabelle in her bed and I snuggled with MaryKat in ours. The thunder was now far away, but the rain still tapped resolutely at the grass overhead. Happy frogs and bugs and bats all croaked and whirled and chirped up a raucous symphony in the sea beyond our little island. The girls fell asleep quickly. Bryan is snoring quietly as I type this in the dark.

There is a long list somewhere of all the things one should do in the fullness of this life, many of which I will never get to. But I am nearly positive that one of them is weathering a storm in a mud-hut with your family.         

I am glad to have done it tonight.