Stormy Weather

It starts quietly, first invading your dreams, taking you to waterfalls or sailing in high winds or that childhood memory of standing outside during a hurricane. Eventually, the drumming of the rain against the roof grows in intensity, slowly pulling you up through the haze into consciousness. By the time you piece together where you are (in bed- still dark out- too early for work) the noise has reached an astonishing level and continues to grow. The drumming and crashing is amplified in the breezeway outside and resounds through the windows, filling the room. And this is just the rain.

If thunderstorms at home are the sound of God bowling, then in Zambia, He must be on that level of Wii bowling where you knock down a hundred pins at once.

The first crash comes unexpectedly, with no warning rumbles in the distance. It is violently loud, exploding over the sound of the rain and shocking me fully awake. I remember thunder at home as a crash followed by echoing rumbles, or a brief tear into the fabric of the sky; here, each is a massive concussive blast that continues unabated for long stretches, sometimes five seconds or more.

I listen for a while, unconsciously pulling the covers over my body despite the heat. I’m not seeing any lightening, so there’s no warning before each crash. I count the seconds between them, for no particular reason. I wonder how it compares to a full aerial and naval bombardment. Probably pretty close.

Each time I start to drift back asleep; rumble..CRACK BOOM - and I am catapulted awake again.

I stuff my head between two pillows, hoping to muffle the sound. Now the lightening appears. Bursts of white light find their way through the curtains and strobe across the walls. Closing my eyes offers little relief.

Eventually, the rains subside. The smell of earth kicked up by their force is heavy in the air. It’s suddenly much cooler, as if someone had opened the door in a stuffy room. It should be easier to sleep, but the celestial salvo continues for some time. Slowly, the sound of the storm shifts into the distance, and I doze off again, visions of morning mud puddles dancing through my head.