food that falls from the sky... and other things that just make sense

I grew up surrounded by apple trees in the fall and the smell of freshly cut grass in the spring. Rain in the air signaled blossoms and growth. It brought hope for warmer weather and renewal of energy. Moving to a new country means adapting to new weather patterns and the feelings they evoke. While I have never missed the winter, autumn and spring are subtle periods of transition that ease my spirit into a new way of perceiving the world. 

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.

Patience & Perseverance

It took awhile to get these photos posted, but here is our walk home through an impending storm. Our house is just below the elementary school soccer field. Its only a five minute walk but we could see the sky changing and smell rain in the air.




There's always an intense wind that picks up just before the storm. The build up comes with enough signs so that everyone might scramble inside or find some dry shelter. This is also the part that lends itself to an eerie movie. The prelude to the storm suggests strength and magnitude and biblical cleansing. It is here that the thunder rolled along the heavens, hinting at another world up top.

By the time we reached our house, the sky had gotten quite dark. Nabih kept asking if it was night. It was really only around 3:00. It seemed like the clouds were making mountains off which the thunder rolled and bounced. Just as we reached the back yard, there was a burst so loud we set off on an involuntary run.

Our front sidewalk, which we don't use that often, quickly turned into a small river. We sat on the back porch enjoying our (belated) slice of Thanksgiving sweet potato pie as the rain pelted us through the screen. "How can the rain fall sideways?" Mohamed asked incredulously. Ah, the power of the wind. There is often a lake sized puddle on the back porch the morning after a rain, and I try to remember not to leave the shoes out there. A few hot, sunny days always wipes the warning from my mind.

After the thunder and lightning had their say, the rain was free to fall in musical melody. This is the view from the front step. There is a nice covered area that is perfect for watching the storm, taking a few photos and breathing the clean scent of the falling water. Luckily, it's also wide enough to catch me as I jumped at a final burst of thunderous applause that clapped from the sky. The bolt of lightning was so clear and close I thought I might have captured the image. Slightly tempted to stay out and try again, this once, better judgement ruled and I watched the rest of the storm from inside.