Please Don’t Rain on My Parade...Kenya Week 25: March 21-28

Yet another slate gray cloud head roles its way towards the hospital. Will this one let loose its power like last night? Or will sneak past and spare us the drama? What happened to Karungu’s nearly perfect, always sunny weather? Where did my nice running trails sink away to? Why does everything have to be constantly dirty, muddy, and musty?

I can’t help but feel bad about my irking feelings of annoyance: the women quickly place their troughs and basins outside the house to catch all the clean, fresh water the heavens bless them with. Tomorrow morning they won’t have to make the long heavy trek to the lake to fetch water. And rain means growth, so their children won’t starve when it comes time to harvest.

But the more it rains, the less anything happens. And in rural Kenya, that’s an impressive statement. I never imagined LESS could happen here, but apparently it can.

The roads are muddy in the morning after the nightly downpours. And by the afternoon- just when the sun has dried the roads to make them passable- the next storm creeps in. Women can’t bring their babies to the immunization clinics. Children can’t walk to school. Motorbike drivers can’t manage the slippery mud. So while everyone else settles into the customary Rainy Season Lethargy, I beg the heavens to clear for a few precious hours.

We can’t collect the data the community health volunteers gathered. We can’t visit the severely affected families. The homes and schools we’re cementing can’t continue their work because nothing dries. And so I sit in the office hoping these clouds silently pass overhead so that tomorrow I can go out.

This Is Africa.