Posted tagged ‘rainy season’

« home page
Newer Entries »

“And in this moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came.”

September 13, 2013

The rain started when I was sleeping but wasn’t unexpected. It is still raining but hardly, only drop by drop slowly, and I can hear the drops falling on the umbrella. The day has a calmness about it despite the rain. The house is dark and quiet. Today is a favorite sort of day.

Yesterday Gracie had a run-in with a baby spawn which sounds a bit redundant so maybe spawnette would be a better word. Anyway, I heard a bit of a commotion and went into the yard. Gracie had the spawnette running through and around her legs. It was the safest place, a spot where Gracie couldn’t get at it. Gracie kept trying but wasn’t too successful. Finally the creature started to run and the paw got it, sort of flattened the spawn which then ran between Gracie’s legs again. It tried running away a few times but each time Gracie got it. I yelled for Gracie to come, and, as usual, Gracie ignored me. Here’s the irony: I used the hose on Gracie who ran. The spawn went underneath the outdoor shower for safety. I went into the house: mission accomplished. A bit later Gracie came in: her nose and mouth were covered in dirt. I knew she’d been digging. Sure as heck she’d dug a hole under the shower. I didn’t find a dead spawn so it must have gotten away. Much to her consternation, I washed Gracie’s face and cleaned her mouth.

The dry season in northern Ghana lasted half the year. We used to check out the morning sky and say it looked like rain, knowing we had months before it would rain again. The water was often turned off for two or three days most weeks, but we usually knew in advance so we filled our metal buckets with water and lined them up against the wall in the shower room. We also filled every water bottle. At night I’d take a bucket bath and then use the remaining water to flush the toilet. Without water, the grasses turned brown and the soil became dust. Any traveling meant dust in you mouth and all over your body and your clothes. Mammy lorries traveling on laterite roads were followed by dust clouds. I always thought of the old west and stagecoaches when I saw dust billowing behind the lorries.

I loved the start of the rainy season when the storms were most dramatic with thunder shaking the house and lightning bolts hitting the ground where you could see them. I loved the rain when it fell in Bolga.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 22 Comments

“I said I was impressed, Martha. I’m beside myself with jealousy. What do you want me to do, throw up?”

July 23, 2013

The paper says thunder showers today, not the probability of showers, but real rain. When I was out on the deck with my coffee and papers, it was humid and thick. I could feel the moisture in the air. Luckily a breeze was strong enough to keep me from wilting. I decided not to bring my  laptop into all that humidity so I came back inside which doesn’t have the benefit of that breeze. The room is close.

The birds flew in and out at the feeders while I was there. Because no birds were at the suet feeder, I checked, and found it empty so I brought out a new cake and filled it. This one is peanut butter. I hope the birds are appreciative. No amorous doings on the deck or in the yard this morning. I do think I saw a red spawn lounging on a limb having a cigarette.

Hyannis will be filled today, and I have a doctor’s appointment there. This is when I wish I was Samantha and could wiggle my nose and be anywhere or had floo powder like the Weasley’s and Harry Potter. One toss in the fireplace, and I’d be there.

The entire neighborhood sounds deserted. I hear a bird now and then but no voices. I wonder where everyone went.

It is getting lighter out so now I’m going to start cursing the Cape Cod Times weatherman. I want that rain and that thunder. I’m hoping I can be outside and stay dry under my umbrella while it rains all around me. I love the sound of rain hitting that umbrella. In Ghana, it was the sound of rain hitting the tin roof of my house and my classrooms. The sound was so loud it made teaching nearly impossible. That is one of my strongest memories of the rainy season in Ghana. It is also one of my favorite.

My friends Bill and Peg are going to Ghana in September, and I am totally jealous. My having been there the last two years doesn’t count. Peg hasn’t been since 1972, but Bill was there on business sometime in the mid 1990,s, but he didn’t make it to Bolga where we all lived. I’ve given them my tour books and my phone, and I’ll give them our students’ numbers. They, as I was, will be surprised by the size of Accra and the huge number of people and how unfamiliar it all looks. Bill has a map from 1970 so he’s going to look for our favorite places and for the Peace Corps hostel which I couldn’t find. He has promised to take pictures. Bolga, though much bigger, will still feel like home to them.

My life has been so amazing yet here I am complaining about staying home this summer. I do have Grace (if she gets her visa) to look forward to in August and Bill and Peg will be down in October. I suppose I’d best stop carping though I am still jealous of Bill and Peg!!

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 15 Comments

“Sewing mends the soul.”

February 28, 2013

Since Sunday it has rained every day but one. That was the teaser day when it looked as if spring was finally poking its head out of the snow, but that was just a single joyful day. Yesterday it poured and today is dark and grim, the kind of day when you know it’s going to rain but don’t know exactly when. Gracie and I haven’t yet done our dump run. It was pouring too much. We’ll go today before it starts to rain.

My neighbor is taking classes to be a masseuse. She asked if she could practice on me. It took me a nano second to agree. Yesterday I got a wonderful massage. She spent over an hour making me so relaxed my limbs forgot how to work. It was wonderful! When I was leaving, she asked if she could practice on me again and give me another massage. You can guess my answer!

The pant leg of my cozy pants caught on the bureau knob and a small hole became a large one. I grabbed my trusty stabler. I do have a sewing kit complete with everything I could have needed to sew the hole shut, but the stapler worked quickly and the hole disappeared. I just hope the staples don’t rust in the wash!

When I was in Ghana, I made my own bedroom curtains, a feat for which I felt accomplished because of my total lack of sewing skills. I could have had them made, but I wanted to give them a try. My room had a whole wall filled with two really large, long windows and another wall with a much smaller window. These windows had screens, and glass pieces like shutters which opened and closed with levers. I measured the length and height of the windows using a piece of cloth I already had as the measuring piece then went to the market and bought a cloth which was sort of a rusty-brown. The cloth had a pattern at the top and the bottom. I cut the cloth into three window pieces, hemmed the bottom of each so the pattern was still there then used string under a top seam so I could attach the curtains to the windows as I had no rods. The curtains looked great and gave me a sense of privacy, a rare commodity those days in Bolga where a white person was a curiosity.

I also made a lamp shade. I used a beautifully colored basket I had bought in the market. Since those days, Bolga baskets can be bought here and are really expensive. They are distinctive with their vibrant colors and handles with red leather. I probably paid a cedi or two and was definitely paying too much as bargaining still meant I’d over-pay. I cut out the bottom of the basket and fashioned a holder for the lightbulb from a hanger to replace the bottom. In my living room I had one light bulb on a long cord hanging from the really high ceiling, and the shade was for that bulb. Once it was attached to the bulb, it looked great though the room was far less bright than it had been. The top rim of the basket made a circle of light on the floor beneath the shade. In the rainy season, the buggy season, that circle light would be black by the end of the night, black with dead bugs.

I didn’t make anything else for my house. Those two, the curtains and the shade, were my only attempts at domesticity.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 14 Comments

Greetings!

September 6, 2012

Yesterday morning the rain started around 7 in the morning and when I went to sleep around 9:30 it was still raining. We had come into town for market day, but the rain pretty much washed that away. I sat under an awning, a tin awning, at a local spot and had coffee and an egg sandwich. The coffee is still Nescafe instant and the milk evaporated, but I have built up an acceptance of my lot and don’t mind it.

The rains were so heavy yesterday that the roads to the villages washed away in places. The river overflowed its banks and inundated houses and millet fields. Even Bea and Grace, my students, were amazed by how much water was in the fields.

The main street where I was sitting was almost empty of people. The few walking had umbrellas or just got soaked. This morning was still cloudy though a bit later in the morning blue appeared only to disappear when the rain came, only small-small rain as the Ghanaians would say. It is now after 1 in the afternoon, and the sun is beginning to make an appearance.

This morning we went to Paga, to Pikworo Slave Camp. It was active in the later 16th century up to about 1840 or so. It held 200 slaves and according to our guide, they were tied to the trees much of the day. We walked up into the hills and saw the grinding rock where food was ground and bowls carved in the rock. The water trough was filled with water and we were told the water never left, even in the dry season. There was a rock, called the entertainment center, which made different sounds when hit with rocks so it was used as a drum with the slaves hitting them with rocks to produce the rhythm. There were drummers there who played and sang for us just as the slaves would have played the rock. If a slave tried to escape, he was placed tied up and naked on the punishment rock in the sun. If he survived the heat of the day despite no water he would be allowed to remain alive. Many, though, died from the intense heat of the sun. I couldn’t imagine how horrible it must have been for the slaves waiting to be taken away from their homes. Once they left Paga, they would be brought to the coast where many were shipped to America.

I will be leaving here on Monday to make my way down coast with a stop to see the monkeys then overnight in Koforidua, where I had a part of my training. I’ll be back in town on Saturday for market day and will post then.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Comments: 16 Comments

” I love the rain. I want the feeling of it on my face.”

June 19, 2012

The weather is the same as it’s been. The paper calls today partly cloudy. I always think of that forecast as a half-full or half-empty sort of weather observation. Why can’t it be partly sunny? For tomorrow, the first day of summer, Mother Nature is doing herself proud. She’s bringing on the sun and the heat, maybe even into the 80’s. Finally I get to shed this sweatshirt!

I have the Weather Channel app on this computer. It is set to give me the weather in South Dennis and in Accra. If I were in Accra, I’d be writing about the weather being the same every day: highs in the low-80’s, lows in the mid-70’s and the possibility (60%) of thunder showers every day. It is, after all, the rainy season. I loved the rainy season and the fierce thunder storms which came after winds strong enough to blow furniture over and whip trees. Where I lived was savannah grassland. Most of the year it is brown and dead, but when the rains come, the grass is green and tall. Millet grows in all the fields, and the market stalls are filled with fresh produce. That is why I have chosen to go back to Ghana and Bolgatanga in August again this year. The rains will still come every day. Some will be drenching while others will be misty and cooling. We always went about our business  in the rain. We never had umbrellas. I don’t even remember seeing any. We knew when the rain stopped the sun would return and dry us, but I remember well the feeling of being wet and cool while walking in the rain.

When I was a kid, nothing was better than a summer rain. We’d run and play and get soaked doing it.  We’d kick water at each other from the rivers roaring through the gutters on the street. I remember my hair soaken wet and plastered to my head. I remember my arms stretched out to the sides as I stood in the rain, and I remember laughing from sheer joy.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 25 Comments

“leafless trees dripping – autumn rain”

October 13, 2011

Last night I fell asleep to the sound of rain and this morning I woke to it. When I went to get the papers, I was surprised at how warm the day felt. I expected that damp chill which seems to find your bones. The rain stopped for a bit but has started again, and I can watch it fall through the den window. Gracie’s just came in and her coat is all wet. The ground is strewn with leaves brought down by the wind and rain. It gives the yard the look of fall.

When I was a kid, I loved it when the street gutters were filled with leaves. We didn’t walk on the sidewalk. We preferred the gutter route. The brown leaves crinkled when you walked through them and some broke and split when you kicked them into the air. We’d send leaves and pieces of leaves all over the street. Sometimes we’d pick up handfuls of leaves and throw at each other, laughing the whole time. We’d spend the rest of the walk taking pieces of  leaves out of our hair. We never did it going to school, only coming home.

Loving rainy days dates back to my childhood. I’d come home from school soaked by the walk through the rain then I’d usually change into my pajamas, no need for playclothes on a rainy day. During the rest of the afternoon, my brother would watch TV while my sisters played together. I’d go to my room and read. It was private time not easy to find in a small house with four kids. I always felt cozy, and I still think sitting inside on a rainy day with a good book is a cozy and warm way to spend an afternoon.

During the rainy season in Bolga, the storms were so magnificent I’d always watch. First the winds came, and they were so strong they bent tree tops almost to the ground. I’d hear thunder and sometimes even see the lightning. Then the rain would start. It never started small. The sound of the rain was a roar as if I were standing near a waterfall. The ground would run with rivers of water. If  I were teaching, I’d have to stop as the sound on the tin roof was so deafening no one could be heard. That sound is still one of my favorites of all sounds, and I was lucky enough to hear it again on my trip. It rained twice when I was in Bolga, and I stood and watched just as I used to do so long ago. I was under an overhang, and I was safe and dry just as I was when I was a kid in my bedroom.

Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Comments: 4 Comments

“By means of water, we give life to everything.”

September 15, 2011

Today is cloudy and damp. Rain is predicted for later and also for tomorrow. Tonight and the next few nights will be in the 40’s. This morning it was 5:30 when I woke, and the day was not quite light. I went for the newspaper and stood in the quiet for a while. Gracie’s backyard light had come on so I knew she was out, but I couldn’t even hear her. It was as if I were the only one.

It is the rainy season in Ghana. I always thought of it as Ghana’s winter as the days are cooler than any other time of year, but the humidity means constant sweating and constant replenishing with water. Ghana now has bottled water, compliments of Coca-Cola. I used to buy water in beer bottles and pick the bottle with the least number of floaties, our pet name for whatever we could see floating in the water. We didn’t care. It was the water we wanted. Now, they also sell plastic water pouches usually carried on trays on the heads of small girls who stand near traffic lights hoping for business. It’s water on the go. I bought one, and the water had a strange taste. I’m not sure it was the pouch or the water. I didn’t do well with that pouch. You have to chew a corner and drink from there or, in my case, drink and dribble. I drank coke with ice. You never could get ice in my day and only two places used to sell cold coke.

It rained while I was in Accra. The rain was almost a gentle mist, and I just kept walking as I always did. Your hair and clothes get a bit damp but not so you mind at all. The rain is a minor inconvenience in Accra and never leaves an impression.

One afternoon in Bolga I was taking a nap when I was awakened by what sounded like a barroom brawl with chairs and tables being thrown about. I ran outside, and the wind was blowing everything. I knew the rain was coming.

I love the rainy season in Bolga. The rain comes with a fierceness, never a gentleness. That afternoon, I stood outside my room waiting for the rain as I knew it was close. It finally came down in sheets with thunder and lightning to add to the dramatic effect. My tin roof made the wonderful sound I remembered from each rain storm. I could never teach during the rain. It was always too loud on the roof. That rain blew sideways, but I was protected and didn’t want to miss any of it. The ground flooded, and the rain made rivulets in the dirt which resembled small, flooded rivers overflowing their banks. I was mesmerized and stood a long while. The rain finally stopped, and I decided to go to the market.

The walk from my hotel became a long one: across the street through the new market, through the new lorry park then through the old market, my market, to the main street. During my walk the rain started again, not as fierce but still with no gentleness. I started to get soaked and asked at a market stall if I could sit under an overhang. The woman said no. She insisted I must come inside out of the rain and she made room for me on her bench. We smiled a bit and I thanked her in Hausa. She smiled again and nodded. A few customers came inside and were taken aback by the wet white woman on the bench, but they waved and smiled and went about their business. When the rain stopped, I thanked the woman again and made my way to the main street. I came out of the market by my old Bolga. I stopped in one of the stores, had a coke and watched Ghana score against Swaziland. Radios used to be the only way to get news, sports and entertainment. Now, televisions bring programs from all over, including the US. My favorite of all the programs was a Nigerian soap opera. I think I watched it at least five or six times, so much I was starting to understand the story line. The Ghanaians love it.

It rained once more when I was in Bolga, on my last night there. It started with the wind then the thunder and lightning and finally the rain. I was having dinner with my students and we moved out of the wind and rain. Later, I thought of the storm as a good-bye gift from Bolga.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , ,

Comments: 10 Comments

“Have you watched the fairies when the rain is done, Spreading out their little wings to dry them in the sun?”

May 24, 2011

Evolutionary changes are supposed to happen over eons, not in a few weeks, so why have my feet begun to web together? Soon enough I’ll look like Kevin Cosner in Waterworld. The day is 61° and it is damp from the pouring rain of last night, but I’ve decided to look on it all with great optimism. Everything got planted yesterday so the rain will help my new herbs and flowers feel more at home. I’m sure they’re stretching their roots right now. My grass will stay, and here is that word again, lush. But when the sun does return, I’ll celebrate and welcome it, and I’m already planning a summer solstice gala. Druid dress is optional.

I loved the rainy season in Ghana. All the grass turned a spectacular green, the fields were filled with millet getting taller and taller, baobab trees had leaves, the market was bursting with fresh produce and everywhere looked sparkling and new. It was quite a contrast from the dry season when it didn’t rain from September until late April or early May, and every day was sunny. The sky, except during the harmattan, was blue. We used to joke and say today looked like rain. Everything turned brown: all the grasses and the fields surrounding the school. The farmers, in the field behind us, worked on their compounds redoing walls and roofs. They’d sing and dance at night. We could hear the drums. We longed for rain, but it came with a price. As we’d get closer to the rainy season, the days got hotter and more humid. The nights got uncomfortable for sleeping so I’d move my mattress outside and sleep in the backyard. We all waited for that first storm which was always spectacular. But after those first magnificent storms, the rain settled into a pattern, and it would rain every day for parts of the day. The rainy season was always my favorite time of year so maybe, just maybe, I should remember that more often, especially now.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , ,

Comments: 6 Comments

Newer Entries »