Here
it is: a Tuesday, a day that is normally reserved for preaching from morning to
evening, but from the get-go, the rain started falling, and fell all morning,
and, alas, from the looks of it, will continue to fall all afternoon also. So
it looks like my Bible study at the construction site in Gacuriro—the one that
requires a half-hour of actual study and two hours of travel time—is cancelled
today. Unless I go in my swimming trunks, which would not be appropriate for the
occasion, not to mention uncomfortable.
When
it rains in Rwanda, it rains. This is
no mere drizzle, but often an experience of Noachian-era proportions. From a
warm and secure environment (if not always completely waterproof), a glance out
the window can be blinding. Even the cockroaches run for cover. There is
lightning! And thunder! The downpour is deafening. The rain falls off the edge
of the metal roofs in huge sheets, resulting in large, muddy pools. And life
everywhere completely shuts down. (Compare Job 37:6, 7.)
People
in Rwanda are, shall we say, afraid of rain, even in the slightest amounts.
There is this prevailing notion that if you are exposed to rain you will get
sick. Somehow this substance called water, which is perfectly harmless when
used to cook or bathe oneself, suddenly becomes noxious when it falls from the
heavens, a sure sign of divine displeasure. So everyone huddles in the shops.
Or under the shelter of bus stages. They wait, expectantly, for the moment when
the rain completely and unequivocally stops, because—heaven forbid—one cannot
conceive of risking one’s life and health just to go to work or school, or to
attend an important meeting with the President. If you have to keep him waiting
for four hours, so be it!
What
of umbrellas, you might say? They have several drawbacks, which the original
inventor(s) no doubt failed to take into consideration. First, they cost money.
Then, they have to be carried, which can be a nuisance. And there may be a
certain gender-related stigma attached to the practice. (From my observation,
about 15% of the population here carry umbrellas, and the majority of these are
women. Except that those who use umbrellas against the sun are all women.) Much easier, it can be seen,
for people to just slip into a bar with friends when it starts raining and
order beers. The longer it rains, the more beers.
Well,
I, for one, do use an umbrella. I would rather get somewhere and accomplish
something, even if it means getting stared at. But there are certain days—today
being one of them—when even the sturdiest umbrella is helplessly reduced to a
shell of its former self. It will be about as effective as covering yourself
with a newspaper, except that the newspaper will not, as it is flailing in the
wind, stab you in the eye. So, this Chinese-American-Rwandan has decided, along
with everyone else, that today is a washout (!). But there is a positive side. The
natural vegetation loves days like this. And the six kids living next door, who
normally would be kicking a soccer ball against my wall and shouting at the top
of their lungs, are forced inside. And this is good preparation, I suppose, for
the month of April, when we will get a whopping six inches of rain on average,
the highest for any month during the year. So let us steel ourselves for the
inevitable. Meanwhile, the most pressing question is, with only a bag of brown
sugar in the house, what am I going to eat for lunch today?
Speaking of water, though,
my freestanding water tank in the bathroom has sprung leaks in several places,
keeping the floor nice and moist for microorganisms. So I have had to place a
bucket under the leaks. I would use my three large basins (blue, green, red),
but they are presently full of water. Yes, since the beginning of the year, we
have had water on a fairly regular basis now, which is great cause for
celebration, so maybe hoarding water is not such an issue. Nevertheless, until
the brother comes to repair the tank, it is a matter of getting used to hearing
the sound of leaking water all night long. One might think this is soothing,
but you know how the power of suggestion works? I already have to get up in the
middle of the night once or twice as it is, more after having had ikivuguto (fermented milk) earlier that
evening. Life does have its challenges.
