The Basotho say that when it is raining, God is crying with happiness.
God sure must be happy about something big right now. I have never seen a more magnificent thunderstorm. I could hardly pull myself away from the window to write about it.
I was eating my humble dinner of rice and beans and tea, listening to the BBC from my crank radio at my desk, when I noticed that the lightning was flashing especially bright tonight. My lacy white curtains were practically see-through with the commotion going on outside. I grabbed my cup of tea and went to the windowsill to take a peek outside.
I was immediately taken back to a scene from Indianola, Iowa, when I was thirteen years old. I was on the screened-in porch with my Mom and four siblings, listening to the rain dropping on the leaves of the trees on our acreage property and the thunder shaking the rafters of our old barn house. After a big thunder rumble, all of us would say “Wooooaah!” in unison. Mom was sitting at a folding chair at the table, smiling down serenely at all of us, and we had our noses pressed against the screen, taking big whiffs of the fresh scent of rain and feeling the wet dew from nearby raindrops soak through the window onto our faces.
So I went to the windowsill in my tiny African hut, with my cup of Sugar Plum Spice in my favorite green mug, and I stood. I briefly thought about all of the spiders that were probably creeping out around my resting elbows (I killed one yesterday the size of my palm; so big that the guts left a stain on my bedspread!), but I just couldn’t pull myself away from watching this storm. I even started “Woooaaah!”-ing out loud by myself. Every time the thunder cracked, I jumped. Of course, I expected it to be loud, every time, but it still surprised me. It sounded like someone was smacking two big pieces of wood together directly above my head.
And what’s even more incredible: the lightning didn’t stop. Ever. I felt like I was in a nightclub with a strobe light. I probably could have easily walked down the dirt path up the hill to my neighbor’s house without any trouble. The entire village was lit up every five seconds. I’m still seeing stars writing this now.
In times like this, it’s hard to be sad or frustrated about what I am doing here. For those of you that I’ve spoken to, you know it’s been a rough week since I moved into my new African home. Of course, I have made a few acquaintances that I can already tell will be close friends by the time I leave. I have a 19-year old neighbor who stops by for a quick chat every afternoon on her way home from work. She even invited me to the Catholic Church with her last Sunday, an offer which I gladly accepted. I didn’t understand a damn thing the priest was saying, but I “made peace” with my neighbors at the right time and even got the Holy Communion. Funny how things like that can be exactly the same, halfway around the globe. On our walk home, my new friend stopped suddenly and said “OH NO!!” I was startled as to what she was going to say. “I forgot to introduce you to the Queen of Lesotho, and her daughter, the Princess! They were sitting right there in the front row, didn’t you see them?!” J
Well, the rain has stopped now, and the crickets and frogs have come out to start their nightly routine. Last night, a cricket somehow creeped into my room and was hanging out somewhere on the wall right above my head. I was just beginning to question the legitimacy of hanging up my mosquito net (I actually only did it because it makes me feel like a princess in my bed J). I’ve found a few critters clinging on to my net every morning, so I’m glad I have it. My cricket friend last night left me alone for the most part, and just sang a little song to put me to sleep.
Tonight, I’m treating myself to a movie in bed. My electricity still isn’t working in my hut, so typing right now AND watching 2-hour movies is an indulgence. I safeguard my battery life like it’s my own life.
Missing you all and wishing you the merriest of Christmases, since I probably won’t check in until after then. Thank God for your family and friends, and good food, and a sturdy roof under your heads. And the ice in your glass. The carpet under your feet. Appreciate everything you have. I know I never did, until now. The Basotho that I’ve spoken to so far don’t celebrate like we do. There aren’t gifts. Today, I explained the concept of Santa Clause to some elementary school girls in my village, and they were blown away by the idea. They wondered out loud why he doesn’t come here.
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