Raindrops

Making the arduous bicycle journey back from Kawaza, after a lovely brunch at Wellesley’s, I noticed water drop marks all over the road. The sky was overcast as it had been for the past two days due to rains in the plateau. Lo and behold, four hours after I descended into the valley to melodious voices of church choirs, the first rains of my service pattered on this barren, parched landscape.

I am unsure as to why I’m so elated by the first rains. I’m no farmer, nor do I gain in any way from the rains. If anything, it makes my transport out of Mwazisi all the more difficult. Perhaps, I too have grown weary of the heat, the dryness that plagues both the body and soul, infected my psyche. One is constantly tired in the heat, unable and unwilling to undertake daily functions, taking up permanent residence on the bed.

No matter the reason, first rains have quenched my body, hydrated my soul, and in this moment I am happy. The sweet smell of rained earth, the overcast skies, the gentle breeze cooled by water, and the varying patter of raindrops on the tin roof.

Once the rains fall there is a sense of calm that blankets the village. In my joy I slipped on my wellies, grabbed an umbrella and explored my backyard. Stepping up on an old beehive to peek into the makeshift water tank, watching water course through the gutters into the tank. Observing the animals; some scurrying for shelter while others remaining indifferent, unmoved.