Rain, Rain

Yesterday night, about an hour deep into the African night, just as the visits to family and friends come to a close-signaling the end of the weekend and the start of the customary fight with ' The Monday Blues'; a hush, a purr of the wind, and then a gush.

Rain, Wind and Light' Acrylic Painting © Donna Berger

A welcome blessing in the sun scotched Savannah plains of the Nyika Plateau, especially in the wake of revelations by 21st Century rainmakers. Their equipment told them of reduced downpours this long rain season.

As if keeping true to this prediction of gloom, the wet poor from the heavens lasted just long enough to prepare meal of ugali and sukuma wiki- some minutes shy of one half of football.

"Rain, rain go away, come again another day, little Jack wants to play foo-ootball

Rain, rain go away, come again another day, little Jack wants to play foo-ootball

Rain, rain go away, come again another day, little Jack wants to play foo-ootball"

Waving our little hands at the sky, hoping to push the dark accumulating family of cumulus blocking away the rays of the equatorial sun.

Liberated by the freedom of childhood innocence, with every line of the song, we rose our little voices a notch up while facing up to the heavens hoping for at least one more jab at chobo ua :

A less innocent game played by passing the soccer ball along and whose objective was to trick your mates to let their guards down and allow the ball slip through their legs(chobo). The victim had to ran and tap a stationery earlier agreed upon beacon lest they suffer the-at times not so friendly- jabs of mates (ua). Pass, pass, pass, pass the ball. Chobo! Ua! The culprit runs to tap the beacon with the multitude hot on the hills, and so the game would goon. Violent play to some, to us a game for the tough and brave; simply a case of boys being boys- probably an unconscious effort at being macho as was almost always the case, chobo ua  turned out to be more fun when played right next to where the girls were be playing their girls-only-games. The stakes were simply too great in such a setting, so was the tension, anticipation and inevitably higher chances of the mistake to let in a chobo.

More importantly though, was the knowledge what a soggy pitch meant even for a more decent version of the beautiful game- the was no chance that the polyethylene draped piece of sponge cushion fastened into a ball shape by intricately hand weaving a mesh of manila rope, could suffice.

Often, in this unmatched stand off, the heavens emerged tops. Not to imply that we tried to battle nature nature in any way as even at such a tender age, we were aware of some truths.  A change of seasons meant new life, new experiences, new delights, new games. Out would go the soccer boots, in came modeling the wet mud. Termites would fly from the bowels of the earth  towards the light and we would capture them, pluck off their wings and fry them for a quick snack.

Besides, a change of season also meant new worries: Who had made the toughest, flyest all conquering  Safari rally toy car from collected old margarine/cooking fat/jam tins, soda cans, wire hangers, bottle  tops, old leather seat covers and old car tubing? I tell you, so much to do...

Moreover, grandma, in one of her stories narrated by the three stone fireplace with sweet potatoes wrapped in banana leaves baking in the hot ash of the flames, said that rain was the the tears of God and his angles shed with love to wet the lands and give life to the sown seeds of kunde, sorghum, millet, maize and beans that would  give rise to sprouts.

Seedlings which would feed on the rain, the goodness of soil and cow dung manure to the fill granaries and delight the senses with delicacies in a few months.

A blessing rain is grandma said: The wild would come alive as the grass sprouts would fatten the grass eaters; a new  generation brought forth on both sides of the food chain divide and the young (just like us) would play in the rain; lovers would do the dragon fly dance; and Oh! The heavenly refreshing smell of the rain!

Yesterday, the air was alive again. I wondered if the start-stop downpour had kissed  the Nairobi National Park just a stone throw away making the cubs of the big cats play around and young gazelles jump about; if the rain was an answer to the prayers of the farmers tilling the land, and prayed for the 'Land of the Rising Sun' believing in the power of prayer