The Rain Reigns

The rainy season has come with a vengeance to assail the thirsty, dust-ridden land. Instead of falling, the rain angrily smacks the ground, taking no mercy on any unsettled dust particle. It sounds more like a round of applause than a pitter-patter, occasionally complemented with a Boom Boom (but rarely a Pow).

The rain has come every day since the prompt onset of the appropriately named season. One minute the sun will be shining, and all of a sudden a few raindrops or a clap of thunder will warn you to take shelter before the impending downpour. An hour later, the rain will have passed, leaving behind only a few puddles.

I have yet to be inconvenienced by the rain, despite being caught in potentially inconveniencing positions.

Even though I didn’t have class on Thursday, Roland assigned us 300 pages to read on various peacekeeping missions and security in Africa, so a few of us headed to a café for tea and reading. Our plan had been to stay for two hours or so, then head back. Unbeknownst to us, the rain had been plotting against our American Time the whole time. Just as we were about to pay the check, we smelled the rain coming… then we saw the clouds… then came the warning raindrops… and finally, the rain. We were a 20-minute walk away from our apartment and vastly unprepared. So we embraced it. We packed up our books, closed our laptops, sat back in a cushioned half-bed half-couch on the covered porch of the café, and relaxed. I’d be lying if I denied falling victim to public napping that afternoon. The rain eventually passed and Hannah, Karla, and I walked home, dodging puddles along the way.

Getting caught in the rain isn’t an inconvenience either. In fact, it can be quite welcoming. After International Law on Friday, Paul (the Australian in our group who has lived in Arusha on several occasions previously) took 7 of us to his house en route to Food Water Shelter, an eco-friendly orphanage in the middle of nowhere. After a 25-minute walk, a 20-minute daladala ride on a dirt road (during which 7 of us fit in a seat made for 3 people), and another 15-minute walk, we arrived at Paul’s house. The village where it is located is known for “village justice,” which is used by some locals. We passed one of Paul’s friends on the way and they muttered in Kiswahili to each other. When we were in the safety of his house, Paul later told us that some of the guys were addressing “village matters”. I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but I had a faint idea based on the hesitation in Paul’s expression. We re-energized before another long walk with passion fruit and mangos. Paul even let us invade his precious stash of VegeMite that he brought all the way from Australia. It tasted like overly salted pasty soy sauce. nom nom vom.

We went on a 35-minute walk to Food Water Shelter, and on the way we ran into several kids. Some of them would stare, some would come play, some followed us, and some (actually, most of them) would yell “muzungu! muzungu!” which is the Kiswahili word for “white person” or “westerner”. Playfully, we’d respond “African! African!”.

After dodging banana leaves and hopping streams, we arrived at Food Water Shelter, where a group of Australians finally took the initiative to implement many of the eco-friendly concepts that Americans just throw around. Not only that, but they’re training “Mamas” to take care of the kids in their orphanage. The place is almost completely self-sustainable. The website is significantly better at going into detail: http://www.foodwatershelter.org.au/

The sun was brutal on the walk back to town. Thankfully, God blessed the rain down in Africa! With arms outstretched to the sky, we all welcomed the feeling of the cool rain.

Saturday was spent shopping for fabric. Karla and I put on our game faces and confronted the market in full force. We were lucky to find one of the streets of the market that is filled with vibrant sheets of Tanzanian fabric. The sellers would originally charge us the muzungu price, which is double. After speaking a little Kiswahili and being very stubborn, we got the price that we were supposed to get. For the equivalent of US $15, I got enough fabric to tailor 2 dresses and 3 skirts. The tailoring will be just as inexpensive!

On Saturday afternoon, Lalahe took us to the near-by Maasai market. He assured us that we would get the rafiki price if he went with us, and we did! Having a Maasai friend is so resourceful.

The rain came again on Saturday night while we were at Via Via. Our music professor, Mr. Stubbs, was playing the keyboard in a Jazz/Blues band that night so we all went to go see him. Via Via only has outdoor seating that is covered with a thatched roof, so we all got a little damp when the rain came. Mid-rocking out on the keyboard, the power shut off. No problem though. Twenty minutes later, the band was back for round two.

And now I come to my current situation. I’m sitting on the porch of our accommodation, watching, smelling, feeling, and enjoying the rain. I heard someone say that the way some Maasai keep track of their age is by rainy seasons. Tomorrow I will be 40 rainy seasons and 20 years old.