Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Rain

The rain of the last few days has saturated the soil with some much-needed moisture. It is coming more often lately, and with less monsoon-esque rage than the first few I had experienced.

In Momboga, the first rain in nearly a month had crashed into my compound and ripped me from the depths of R.E.M.. The Aluminum roof buckled and roared under the air raid above. Dazed, and still half asleep, I had no idea what was going on. Even when I did come to my senses, I'd have felt more comfortable tenting through a hurricane.

The next one came almost a week later, when I had made it back home to Bunkpurugu. Ghanaian storms are heralded by powerful winds, so when the chairs start blowing around, you know you have about five minutes to put everything away and get inside. Against the oncoming weather, I tied the screen door shut and settled down for the night.

When the third rain came, I was out in the rice fields helping to plant. The morning had been hot, and the sun was beating down on us. It was almost in an instant that the clouds came over and the winds started picking up the dust our of the field. It was fairly far from the town, so the children threw together everything we'd brought and broke into a run. They yelled at me to do the same, so I reluctantly kept up.

In reality, I couldn't wait to be caught in the rain! Through my time here my experience with water of any kind has been limited to bucket showers, PureWater saches, and the sound of the rain on the roof as I slept. Now, I was about to be surrounded.

As the leading front of the storm reached our field, the water misted on wind like an ocean spray. I looked up into the clouds with a smile, wishing I could just plant my feet. I wanted to open my arms and wait for the storm to move over me.

The rain poured out, meaning to wash the earth clean. Looking around I felt as if there were an ocean in the air. The wind tugged at me like the waves, and if I took a deep breath in I would be carried off. An undertow in the the Ghanaian Savannah, where not even the rivers flow wildly.

I would have stopped, but the Ghanaians would have thought I was crazy and the children would have been obliged to wait for me. Plus, as awe-inspiring as lightning is ... it is well-deserved.

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