Yesterday and last night it poured. Even now it is still raining. The temperature is 41˚, winter warm. I have no reason to leave the house so I’ll hang around, do a bit of dusting, water plants and eat the leftovers.

Henry goes out in the rain. He is not enthusiastic, but he does go with little prompting. My boxers hated the rain. They’d get to the door, poke their heads out then back into the kitchen. They would go out only when they couldn’t wait. Once during a snow storm, Gracie waited 16 hours to go out.

Even when I was a kid, I loved the rain. In the summer, I’d run around outside on a rainy day to get soaked. I always kept playing. Rain never interrupted summer fun.

In Ghana, during the rainy season, it rains every day. The days are cooler than during the dry season though cool only in comparison. I love the rainy season. When I’ve gone back to Ghana, it has been during the rainy season when the dust has disappeared, and the millet is green and tall. The rain never stopped me from going to town, especially on market day, every third day. I’d buy my tomatoes and eggs and hope for a surprise like when I found the watermelon. Sometimes, when the rain was heavy, I’d find shelter. One time I stood outside under the awning of a small shop. The owner saw me, invited me into her shop and brought me a chair. That is so Ghanaian. Other times the rain was soft and easily ignored. I just went about my errands knowing the sun would be back to dry my clothes.

My memory drawers sometimes send me a single image prompted by something I’ve seen or written. Talking about the rain flashed an image of me sitting on school steps under an overhang during a soft rain. I remember it was in Winneba where we stayed for the first two weeks of training. I was alone sitting on the steps. The rain had chased the other trainees to dry places. I sat, watched the rain and marveled. I think my mouth was opened in awe. I remember thinking I’m in Africa during my first rainstorm. I am actually in Africa.