"The Rainy Season"

24 March 2010

Masika – They said it would come.  It usually happens about this time of year but with global warming and El Niño going on, no one can really predict the weather like they used to.  But then it started coming… really making itself known and its presence felt.  Altering landscapes without discretion on its quest for lower ground.

I wake up before dawn from a dream or perhaps just a confused rooster.  I can’t remember which.  The high-pitched hum of a mosquito harasses me and prevents me from easily returning to my slumber.  Even with my poorly patched net hanging from a hook in the ceiling and tucked firmly between the mattress and bed frame, it still sounds like I have company under here besides my blankets and pillows.  The hum sounds distant then slowly gets closer and louder.  It’s my least favorite sound in the world; that is, besides the sudden silence that often follows after it gets really close, leaving me wondering just where on my face it could be feasting.

After several unsuccessful attempts to rid myself of the damn thing, I concede defeat and give up on trying to fall back asleep.  I had to get up early anyway to do a full-day job shadow of Juhudi, but I still had some time before my alarm was set to go off so I lay there reading “Three Cups of Tea” as the rain outside my window continued with no signs of letting up, perhaps making up for lost time in its late arrival.  I finally rise and enjoy the warmth of the shower though it doesn’t stream out as fast as the rain falls on the other side of the small glass window.  I enjoy one of my own cups of tea before departing later than I had hoped, stepping into the flood on my way to work.  Trying a different route than before, I find a daladala packed full forcing me to stand and slowly drip water on the woman I hovered above.  Others get on or off; women with the cheap black plastic bags tied tight to their heads making makeshift shower caps to protect their precious plaits and weaves.

I pay my 250 shillings without a hassle and get off to walk down a usually bustling street but today I just walked past crowd after crowd of people huddled under awnings – wishfully thinking they would wait this out and it would let up soon.  The two foot deep trenches on either side of the road begged to differ as what I formerly believed to be an excessive canal gaping between the sidewalk and me now proved inadequate as gushing water overloaded the holes where it is supposed to dip under the road briefly but instead flowed freely onto the street.  Leaping newborn streams, I continue on my way downhill towards the main searching for the something to tell me where I am.  I walk past the bus stand where I’d usually be harassed but only had to tolerate a few Hey!’s and Hello!’s this morning from the people seeking cover.  Continuing on, I hop puddles and blacktop creeks before hanging a left and seeing dead ahead the main road at the exact stop I usually get off at.  The walk continues and brings a fresh smirk to my face seeing how the essence of advertizing has gotten lost in translation, a discussion continued from the night before and even breakfast (from the soft drink that talks about how most people don’t enjoy it to today’s “QUALITY MEAT PRODUCTS” mini-billboard with a picture of a hamburger and then the caption of “Hamburger”… nothing else.)  I shake my head and smile, though see to my left the shell of a former building only one lot away from town’s main drag where only a couple walls with glassless windows remain providing a view of a grassy lot where a pile of burning trash smolders defiantly.

Crossing the main road and passing the row of waiting daladalas brings some more peace as I leave the main part of town behind and the heavy rain has made traffic along this road rather light.  Straight ahead I stare at the side of six solemn silos that rise into the sky higher than any building in town and make the Unga Ltd. Area a landmark.  They loom, tall and industrious, like a manmade Mt. Meru though they’re the landmark for the south and they’re only visible once you escape the streets of town solidly lined with businesses.  I carry on my way, continuing an inner monologue that I would later write down and that you’re reading now, with every step bringing another story.

I search for my next street where I’ll turn left.  Is this it?  (I’m still new to these parts.)  Nah, I haven’t passed the Jesus and puppy posters yet... though they’re not occupying their usually sales spot so perhaps the rain has delayed their arrival to work for the day.  Besides, that last road was too much like a road and not enough like the back of warehouses with the abandoned rail line running behind it that I was supposed to turn at.  Here it is.  I take my left turn and walk down the train tracks, trotting slightly as the steel ties are spread at a distance that shortens my lanky stride.  I let my hands sneak out of the sleeves of my orange Columbia Sportswear jacket that is finally getting some use after a couple years after that last pre-college trip to Fred Meyer’s with the parents before leaving for UBC.  (That seems so long ago now and like it was another life entirely…)  The rain’s let up slightly so I slide my hood off of my head, revealing my blonde hair and the fact of my whiteness that I had been concealing up to that point so as to avoid too much unwanted attention from people whose assumption of the “rich white man” has been motive enough for murder and other violent crimes in this area within recent years (sorry Dad).  My identity now revealed in an attempt to just feel a few light drops on my scalp down this home stretch, sure enough…

“Mzungu, mambo?”

“Poa.  Vipi?”
“Poa.  Mzuka?”

“Mzuka mwingi.  Za asubuhi?”

“Poa.”

Not that bad… Friday’s walk with a drunk man and the other man later on that walk would prove to be worse.  I turn off one mud road that had been the topic of conversations about too much dust in the air when carves drive by during the previous days and down to another, more narrow and rocky mud road where my final destination wait just ahead.  Continuing my quick pace, thinking I was a little late and wanted to see what a whole day is like for my boss, I walk through the front door and greet the few children who were able to navigate the monsoon and make it to the classroom.  I was thinking a couple days prior and even the night before that it would be cool to beat Juhudi to work on this Wednesday morning because that would make a good impression and it turns out that I did even when I thought I was late and was slowed by the rain.  I have an unfair advantage though, I thought, as he has been talking about some severe stomach pains lately.  Still, time to start my day…