“What are you doing out in the rain?   Come under here, there is room!”

“Crazy person, always in a hurry to get somewhere!   Stop and wait until the rain quits!”

I actually couldn’t understand what they were saying.  The combination of the hard rain, the quickness of my bicycle pedaling, and the fact that the sentences were shouted in another language made understanding impossible.  But I can certainly guess what they were saying!

The rain had been threatening all afternoon.   It started just moments before Sharon arrived home.  I was doing schoolwork and watching Micah, Krista, and Josiah while Sharon taught the English class.  Upon her return my plan was to hop on my bike and head home.

And I really didn’t see any reason to change my plans because of the rain.  I have been wet before.  In fact, I have been known to go stand out in the rain for no rational reason other than to feel the lovely wetness.   And the pounding rain was just tempting me to come play in it.

So I wrapped my cell phone and Bible in a plastic bag, hoped my backpack wouldn’t leak, put on my headscarf, and hopped on my bike.  Pedaling up on the sandy street is normally an adventure; this time the adventure did not include dodging children; instead the adventure consisted of bicycling up a river of rainwater that was pouring down the street.

Three minutes later I was on the main tarmac road, and was drenched.   The tiny shops that line the road were full of people crowding inside to get out of the rain.   Most of the said people were watching me, and a number of them were shouting at me.  I tried to take the smile off my face.  There was enough material here for a good town gossip (Did you see that white person tearing past on her bicycle in the pouring rain?  She doesn’t even know enough to come inside out of the rain!) without adding a huge smile to the ingredients.

But there is something so exhilarating about biking through the pouring rain.  When you are so wet that getting more wet is impossible, it is tempting to ride around the block another time.  I didn’t, but if I hadn’t had my cell phone and Bible in my backpack I probably would have.

I pulled off the main road on to our sandy street and braked quickly, managing to avoid ploughing over two boys with an umbrella.  If the whole road had been available it would have been one thing to maneuver around them, but the fact that three quarters of the road is a two foot deep trench makes it a little difficult.  Fences line the road, meaning that a narrow grassy shoulder is all that is left to traffic.  Of course this is the good road; the other road leading to my house is now a five foot deep ditch.

A sharp right and a hard peddle up the bump beside that hole in the road, stop pedaling and coast down the slope, keep to the right around that big hole, turn left quickly to avoid tumbling into the four foot ditch in the middle of the road, then lean to the right as you go around the neighbors’ house.  Home again, home again, jiggity jig.

A very wet, but very happy Jennifer greeted Ana’s concerned countenance.  I love rain!

Half a flipflop, candy wrappers, tin cans, water bottle tops, smashed pop cans, bricks, and hundreds of broken shells are strewn over our yard.  A gulf in the sand shows where a raging river rushed a few days ago.   The garden looks perky, and in the last few days I’ve planted cilantro, basil, cucumbers, and dill.

Inside the house there are five or six spots of white tape on the floor.  Despite the fact that I told Margaret, “First we pray here, then we pray there, then we pray here, and finally we pray here.” the tape really does not mark places of worship.

These are all signs of the rainy season.  The rainy season that means the incredibly hot season is drawing to a close.  Not finished yet, but getting closer.  I could still horrify you with tales of the incredible amount of sweat that appears on days like today.  But the overcast and rainy days are amazing.  Cool and lovely.

My students were just as excited as I was for the rain.  I may have had to practically shout as I read Homer Price to them.  And the books on the top of my shelf may have gotten a bit wet from mist through the windows. (Windows here often equal screens and bars, but no shutters or glass.)  And half the schoolroom may have started to flood.  But there is something incredibly refreshing about a heavy downpour.   Something refreshing about the sound of rain on a tin roof.    Something even more refreshing about standing in the rain, letting it drench you.

We don’t have rain every day.   And apparently sometimes during rainy season the rain is absent for a week or two. But you always know it will be back.

Of course, because there is not as much sunshine during the rainy season charging one’s computer becomes a bit more complicated.  And a charged computer is looked at as a precious possession.  Consequently, a blog that has not been updated recently is also a sign of the rainy season.

So if you are wondering why I am not updating my blog, you can blame it on the rain.  I may be standing in my garden, mud squishing through my toes, picking cucumbers.  Or bicycling through the rain to school.  Or playing in the rain with Micah and Krista.  Or even just gazing out the window, a huge smile on my face as our backyard turns into a raging river.

There shall be showers of blessings; send them upon us, oh, Lord.

We arrived and boarded the bus at 3 am.  We arrived home at 2 pm.  It would take a year to describe all that happened in those twelve hours…  The bus trip was from Nampula to Mocimboa.  An eight or nine hour drive, if you drive straight.   But the bus stops frequently.  Thus the length of the trip.

Every time the bus stops two or three people get off.  Then four or five or even ten people get on.  After this has happened a few times all the bus seats are full.   But apparently that is no reason to refuse people a place on the bus.   The bus stops a few more times.  And soon the bus aisle is full.  The bus stops again and again.  Now the bus aisle is so full that it is bulging with people.  And you are thankful if you do not have an aisle seat, because anyone who does have an aisle seat has people leaning on them, sitting on them, or falling on them for the next few hours.  Of course, you may get lucky and it is only an eight year old girl who is sitting on your lap…or you may not be so lucky and have a grown man leaning his whole weight on your head.

Sometimes the bus stops are long, sometimes they are short.   Restrooms are probably not available at the specific place the bus stops.  So you end up racing toward a “bathroom” while the bus driver shouts, “Muzungu! Where are you going?” and “Ok, hurry up!”

If you want to buy cashews, cold sodas, mangoes roast chicken, live chickens, bread, bananas, or limes you can do so when the bus stops.  Just lean out your window and holler at the vendors who are crowding around the bus.  A freshly bought banana that may have grown from a tree you just passed is a sweet snack!

If it starts to rain you hope you are not sitting by a window.  Unless you are crazy like me and love rain.  Then you will enjoy the fact that rain is pouring down upon you.  The windows were closed, I promise you.  But rain was still pouring in.   I used my capulana (large piece of fabric that has many uses…mainly used as an over-skirt) as a poncho.   Then finally picked up my seat and crowded in toward the aisle.   By the time the bus ride was done it had rained three or four different times, and I had figured out exactly what to do when the rain came.   Capulana up, lean toward the aisle, pick backpack up off the floor, and enjoy looking out the window at all those wet mud huts and mango trees.

I have to admit that by the time we arrived in Mocimboa I was glad to be home.  But I was also ready to have another bus adventure.  Such adventures may sound miserable to those of you who enjoy air conditioned rides on smooth roads with clean bathrooms at easily accessible rest stops…but honestly, they are such an incredible slice of African life that I wouldn’t want to miss out for the world!

I woke to a most delightful sound this morning.  There is absolutely nothing in the world quite as lovely as rain on a tin roof.  I looked through my window onto a street that was strangely empty of people.  One man sat outside the house across the street.  The rain had made an impact on the sandy street; tiny rivers were starting to run.

There was a river in our hallway, too.   I thought about putting a bucket under the drip, but our cement floor didn’t seem to be needing relief from the rain.  I stood in the kitchen for a delightfully long time, marveling at the difference a good rain made in our yard’s appearance.

The lovely dreariness of a dark and rainy morning made me want to dance in the rain, but I instead settled for checking on my chickens.   At least that got me out in it with an adultish excuse. My garden looked delightfully perky in its reprieve from the hot sun.  My sandals left deep impressions in the yard.   The chickens huddled under their house.

I dug out my light blue rain coat, and hoped my backpack was waterproof.  I knew Steve would come fetch me in the car, but I wanted to bicycle to school in the rain.

I hopped on my bicycle, and was assailed with that lovely I’ve-returned-after-a-long-absence smell that accompanies a new rain.  As I peddled to school I was so thankful for this unexpected rain that had arrived outside of rainy season.

I arrived at school slightly damp, but oh so glad for the feel of the rain.  Soon the rain stopped.  But it had rained for at least 2 ½ hours.  And even tonight my yard is still damp, and my garden doesn’t need watering.

Some people say they don’t like rain.   But I wonder if rain runs in my blood.  Perhaps because I’m an Oregonian.  Whatever the reason, there is something lacking that will never be cured unless it begins to rain.

“It’s an eight hour drive, but it is over nice roads and they are in a car with an air conditioner.”  I was explaining to Ana about a trip my family recently took.   Then I corrected myself, “No, in a car with a heater.  It is October, Jennifer!”

Somehow my mind just can’t quite fathom that it is October.  Never mind the fact that my summer started about five months ago.  In my mind it is perpetual summer.  Which is really true for my current corner of the world.

I arrived in Mozambique during the winter.  And within a few days had swam in the ocean (without raising goosebumps), eaten ice cream in record breaking time (to save it from dripping), and felt like I was going to die if I didn’t get to some shade within seconds.  The heat felt like an enemy.   An enemy that was taunting me.  An enemy that finally departed every evening, but that during the day just would not leave me alone.

Now the hot season is coming.  And the heat feels more like a brother.  A brother who’s teasing I love.  A brother who sometimes I wish would stop teasing me.  But a brother who’s teasing is comforting in an odd sort of way.

The arrival of the hot season is a bit like the arrival of spring in Oregon.  You think it is here.  You run around barefoot in the mud, but the next day your shoes are back in because there is frost on the ground.  Except here you use your fan at night so you can ignore the oppressive heat.   Then the next night you stay cool after your cold shower, though you still don’t go near your blanket.

But according to the ol’ timers the hot season is definitely in the air.  And in another month it will likely have hit full force.  By January the rains will come, giving a humid, but slightly cooler feeling.  I’m just glad I arrived in “winter” so I could slowly adapt to this climate.  And am glad that the heat is not bothering me like it did at first.   Now I can almost enjoy sitting at the supper table as sweat drips off my face.

The zucchini in my garden is also enjoying the heat, and growing like mad.   None of this, “wait until the soil has warmed before planting.”  Seems strange that this is October as I daily water my garden to keep it from dying.  And to this girl who traditionally has used three or four blankets in October the heat is quite delightful.  Though I have to admit that I am extremely grateful for my small bedroom fan.

It is really a good combination.  Never feeling cold, but then that respite from the heat in the evenings.  Just one more reason this girl loves Africa!