Here in Kinshasa, rain is not always gentle. Storms are frequent and fierce. My first storm in Kinshasa was also my first day driving on unpredictable and busy night roads. I remember an enormous feeling of reluctance to go out. I had not yet become accustomed to the patterns of weather that would allow me to determine the implications of being caught out in the rain. As the palm trees swayed and the bamboo creaked, I had visions of tropical hurricanes and deserted islands.
I've since come to delight in the intensity of a Congo thunderstorm. I can join the locals in peering at a dark impending sky and shake my head. "No, it's not going to rain today." And I can sense the subtle changes that bring a sure need to carry an umbrella.
I have also come to realize and respect the power of the rain. One bewildering image I hold onto comes from a trip I was taking out to the village. It had begun to rain on our way and suddenly the streets were clear as people huddled under storefront overhangs and gathered along sidewalks as if waiting for a parade. I found it comical to see the masses stopping their travels and postponing their schedules to simply wait out the rain.
This rain has been falling here for years, I thought. Haven't they developed a system for coping, for forging ahead and managing this small inconvenience? At the time I'd yet to see the damage brought by erosion or the roads that developed lake sized holes after only minutes of being exposed to water plunging from the sky.
This fourth year has found me waiting out the rain, understanding it doesn't last in its intensity. Patience is the surest tool of managing my safety and the most sound method for arriving dry and intact.
There are other facets of Congolese life that I've come to understand and, if not wholly embrace, at least I feel a sense of purpose behind these actions. This past week we've witnessed a deluge of caterpillars that appear to be a plague sent from heaven itself. They've arrived in such numbers the school kids are screaming and squirming as the little worms wriggle and fall onto backpacks and shoulders. They delight in tormenting each other with the small creatures we find covering our walks, walls and ceilings.
This influx of creatures has led many to become inspective, peering closely to see how they move, how they eat and how they form cocoons. A life science dream happening right in front of us. Many students ran to get containers and offered leaves and mangoes and small piles of grass to their new friends.
But it is not just the students who are profiting from this event. Many of the adults can also be found outside, gathering mounds of caterpillars into glass and plastic jars or even homemade paper containers. Apparently the caterpillars make a tasty meal.
I admit to spending an evening in a hot car trying to determine if the sweat rolling down the inside of my shirt was truly perspiration or overzealous caterpillars exploring the dark and cozy underfolds of my clothing.
Though I do not partake of this delicacy myself, it strikes me with a simple beauty and ingenious. Food falling from the sky. It makes perfect sense to grab a quick and nutritious snack while comfortably waiting out the rain under a storefront overhang.
