Today it poured. When it rains here the sky turns one colour like a clean slate. For the first time in over a month the sky turned one colour, and rain came down from the heavens. For a good while at work the windows were torrents of rushing water like the front windshield wiper in a carwash, or the end of the Tiki Room in Disneyland.
As I sat and pealed matoke with my new host mom Hajat Sarah I watched out the garage door as the dying crops soaked up the rain, and as red rivers that ran in the street washed away excess dirt. “But so many people,” she said, “the rain has ruined their houses. Eh, right now everything is wet and soaking. The roofs might be ruined and the children will catch a cold. Especially in the villages.” She paused. I thought of a family we visited earlier this week that lived in a thatched roof house on a hill. The women told us that when it rains everything gets wet. I thought of how the blankets we gave her were probably rendered useless because they were drenched by the cold rain.
“For me,” she started again, “I am so lucky to have this house. The old one, eh, it would leak! But now,” she motioned to the tin roof above our heads. I told her that I was happy she had this house, and how amazing it was that she worked so hard for it. As I continued to peal matoke I listened to the sound of the rain on the tin roof and watched it pour down outside.
