Tag Archives: rain

Waiting for Rain

Until January, I lived in a place where water fell from the sky and floated in the air. A lot. All the time, it seemed, particularly in summer. Rain and mist. This time of year the mists began to come down, thick and soup-like. Sometimes there would be no sun for days. I hated it. The claustrophobic closeness, the perpetual damp, the smell of never-quite-dry clothes, always missing the sun.

It’s overcast today. There is a hint of cold rain in the air. I am not unhappy. For the first time in years, the prospect of rain doesn’t make me miserable. I’ve tried to explain to people how I feel about the rain – that all rain, all the time truly makes me very miserable. The experience of living through constant rain is oppressive. It feels like living, each day, with a deep, unresolvable longing weighing on your soul.

But I don’t hate rain. I am an African and I grew up in Africa – proper, dry, wide-open-space, grassland Africa. I cherish the touch and the taste and the release of eventually rain. The rain after the dryness. The sweet, wet rain on cracked winter skin and earth. The rain you have waited for. The rain that brings relief.

It’s overcast today and I am not unhappy. Today, I am waiting for the rain.

Botswana trip, part II: Hot in the city

Botswana trip, part II: Hot in the city
My lasting impression of Botswana will be one of heat. Not that heat is always a bad thing. I like heat. But even I, with the memory of a snowy New Year’s still far too close for comfort, found it a little oppressive to begin with. Once the first few days had passed, it was glorious. It is worth noting, though, that sunscreen and plenty of water are not optional on a December/January trip to Gaborone.
The beautiful heat also makes for beautiful rain. The thunderstorms can be spectacular. The first few days there was no rain. Clouds built up but nothing happened. The middle of the afternoon was the hottest, most uncomfortable time of day. Hot and oppressive, waiting, waiting, waiting for the storm to break. And then, finally, a few days in, we were all sitting in a hot, stuffy room when suddenly there was the sound of rain on the roof. The skies opened and it rained. People rushed outside and danced in the brief shower.
After that, it rained almost every day. Perhaps the most spectacular was New Year’s Day, mid-afternoon when the heavens opened in a great cloudburst and water poured down for ages. It was so beautiful and so welcome that the South African guys rushed into the rain – a picture-perfect moment of rain in Africa.
The event I was in town for was hosted almost exclusively at the University of Botswana, so I didn’t see much of the country. The UB campus is nice, with several new buildings and several more in progress. I couldn’t help noticing that an awful lot of the construction is being done by Chinese companies. I suppose South Africa’s economy is sufficiently complex that it is less obvious here, so I notice far more when I’m in other countries the extent of Chinese influence in Southern Africa.
Which is not to say that South Africa is not playing its own fairly significant economic colonialist role. The Mall we visited a couple of times was filled with South African chain stores. The supermarkets, the restaurants, the movie theatres all brands from home, their ownership pretty much all South African. We had lunch one day, a fellow South African and I, with a couple of Scottish visitors who were a little taken aback that the steak house in Botswana’s capital advertised as the ‘Favourite restaurant of the South African family’. As convenient as this kind of travel can be – there are ATMs in Botswana of my own bank, for example – it always leaves me a little uncomfortable.
One thing we seem to have definitely exported successfully is our liquor laws, particularly the ones about not selling alcohol on a Sunday or public holiday. In fact they seem to be more serious about it – some regions of South Africa have passed by-laws relaxing these laws a little in recent years. The only reason I know about Botswana’s draconian approach to alcohol is because we found ourselves trying to make a traditional punch over the New Year’s weekend. Twice. The first time was on New Year’s Day (a Saturday), which is a public holiday in South Africa, too, so not that surprising. The second was on the following Monday, when, much to our surprise, it turned out STILL to be a public holiday. Liquor prices have also increased 40% in recent months. Apparently the president is a teetotaller.
The time was too short, the schedule too hectic to form much more of a lasting impression, except to know that this is another Southern African country to which I have no doubt I will return. I sat in the departures area of Gabs airport, waiting for my flight, with several new friends, from the US, from Ireland, from Russia, from Cuba. Many of them would never be back. I would. I will. For me, Botswana is part of my world, part of my reality, perhaps even a part of my identity I hadn’t found until now. So I leave knowing I’ll be back, a smile at the heat and the tiny airport and pocket full of pula to bring back the next time around.

My lasting impression of Botswana will be one of heat. Not that heat is always a bad thing. I like heat. But even I, with the memory of a snowy New Year’s still far too close for comfort, found it a little oppressive to begin with. Once the first few days had passed, it was glorious. It is worth noting, though, that sunscreen and plenty of water are not optional on a December/January trip to Gaborone.

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Return of the rain

The rain has returned. Outside my window it falls and falls. Gentle, soaking rain. The new green grass (so recently returned) soaks it in. Plants seem to regenerate right there in front of me.

Rain means so many different things to different people. It has taken these few months since my return to love rain again. In Korea, particularly in Daegu, it rains all the time, especially in summer. Rain becomes an annoying, ordinary part of every day. It is something you complain about but also an inevitability around which you organise your life. I took to carrying an umbrella in my handbag or my daypack at all times. Constant, pouring rain becomes the norm.

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