Down Came the Rain

Back in the states, I didn't think about rain very much. If I woke up and it happened to be raining, my only thought was this:

"Hmm. Guess I'd better take an umbrella to work today."

Rain didn't mean much. It just happened and was sometimes kind of inconvenient. It was a good excuse to sing "Rain, rain go away" with the preschoolers.

Collecting rainwater.

Here, it couldn't be more different. When I hear the tell-tale pitter-patter of the first few droplets of drizzle on my tin roof, a thousand thoughts immediately rush through my head. Do I have any laundry hanging outside that I need to bring in? Should I go to the latrine before the dirt in front of my house turns into a mud pit? How much water do I have, and how many buckets are free to collect more? Are all my electronics charged in case the power goes out? Is my flashlight and emergency candle in a readily accessible place? Are all my belongings off of floor level in case water seeps in? Where is Poppy, and is she going to be OK?

When it rains here, it monsoons. I have always kind of liked storms, but the rain here is something else. When the power goes out, even if it's sunny outside, I know the rain is coming, that the storm is on its way here from Cahora Bassa just up the Zambezi river. Sure enough, within a half hour or so, the clouds from over the mountain range loom darkly, water-logged and advancing quickly. The droplets start to fall, softly at first, a quiet warning of what's to come, and within a few minutes the sound of millions of gigantic raindrops pelting my roof is deafening. Roads turn into rivers, ditches into lakes. People huddle together, waiting it out. They worry that they might get struck by lighting -- it's not unheard of here. Occasionally, the thunder claps so loud you feel it rattle every bone in your body. The clouds hang so low that you can barely see across the street, making it feel like the storm is everywhere, always, and will never stop. And yet, eventually, it starts to slow. Little by little, the noise subsides. Soon you can hear individual raindrops hitting the roof -- and then, eventually, you hear nothing. The streets are muddy. Everything is soaked. The sky clears, and the African sun comes back out. Within a couple of hours, it will bake the dirt dry again.

Chokwe, in Gaza province. Photo by Nick O.

I have never thought about rain this much, but right now it's on everybody's mind. It has been raining a lot recently -- much more than usual, and all at once. Parts of Mozambique are flooding, and thousands are being affected. The Limpopo river in the south has risen uncontrollably and has drowned Gaza and Maputo provinces. Up in my part of the country, the Zambezi river level is rising, but is holding. Tete is fairly far up-river and hasn't felt the effects yet, but volunteers and citizens downriver from me are on red alert and may have to evacuate. Many poeple have died this week and thousands have lost their homes. If it keeps raining like this every day, who knows what will happen?

Right on cue, my power just went out. Sure enough, I spy dark clouds coming from the mountains.

Here we go again. Rain, rain, go away!