When Rain comes from South

The day is calm and trees pride in their stature. No one knows where the wind blows to.  Those who had planted two days earlier were already tensed that the rain season wasn’t yet about. They had been duped by the first fall. The hungry sun had swallowed the moisture and seeds would poorly germinate. Then in what was seen as Southern Rain- heavy clouds that form above but rain in a distant land-increased the chances of an impoverished farm.

A moonless cloudy night hides the games of heavens. None is ever sure where the meeting of clouds is held. If it is in North, it might bring much rain. Less is expected from a different compass position. But the night bats in their flapping know the secrets of heavens. They chatter unusually and invite flies in their dance. The cold wind energizes them as the first showers are felt on tin roof.

A child starts crying. He is promised a grass thatched roof when he grows up. The heavy pour limited to a second and then followed by another heavier pour separated only by a gush of wind warns children of a forthcoming flood. Those who are big enough yet fearful do nothing but cry when their parents are away. They think of the harsh drops at the roof killing their parents and leaving them at the mercy of a selfish world. An elder thinks of the flood, time to die at nigh. And for the love of adventure, a naughty soul thinks the roof will be blown away.

Any loose material is flung and tossed. As the rain pauses to allow ice rain there first comes a threatening wind. It bows all the canopies. It sweeps both the open and closed areas. Rattling is felt. A talk is silenced and members of a household listen to their racing heartbeats as if it is going to be the hour of life and death. From outside, a conspiracy goes on. Like a dragon, the heaven spit ice on earth in a rage. There is war in the heavens! Zuhura, daughter of the moon is such a sweet old story in school.  

The killer lightning flash and its loyal thunder kinsman brighten the night and leave the eyes blind. In that flash a tree is illuminated fallen, banana trees that had been supported could not survive, a cow shivers cold. Streams, full of humus seek the valley bottom in a salient murmur. As a woman breaks the ground to curse the rain away, a last groan is heard and in a disgruntled manner, the war is appeased. The  night is cold and frightening. God knows where the rivers flow to.

By the roads of the country side and city travelers all they speak about is the southern rain. He! What poured yester night was something else. We needed rain but that wasn’t rain. We do not know where it came from. The week plumules have been plastered down and all bananas fallen. Inadequacy will never cease from our pots. Where did we wrong God?