Wet

I awoke this morning to find that my village had become a swamp. To backtrack: since my last dramatic installment (the wind that blew my roof off, with enough rain to soak my bed but not penetrate far into the soil) there has been no rain to speak of. The fields waited, dry, and the men and boys returned to relaxing. There were many cloudy days, but no rain. Then finally, the day before yesterday, it happened. It was the late afternoon when the clouds started gathering in earnest, congealing into heavy, bruise-colored clumps low on the horizon. That day, the village children paraded through the streets, singing - so I was told - to bring on the rain. And it woked! At the beginning, there were only a few timid drops, and people went on with their chores, pounding millet and stripping nebedaye or baobab leaves for dinner as usual. But graually, the rain gathered force, until it came at last in an impressive waterfall that ran in thick rivers across the packed ground. Thunder and lightning added drama to the already-thrilling scene; the excitement in people's faces was contagious. Everyone grinning from ear to ear, whether they were dancing in the shower (like many of the giddy children did) or just sticking their heads out the door to watch the droplets fall from the straws of the roof. I stared out at my backyard, which gathered water at a surprising rate, washing swiftly over the grassless ground, over the flimsy green trunks of my recently-planted trees, and splitting to avoid my compost pile. After the main deluge had reduced to a tolerable trickle, I went outside to join the neighbors. Everyone was standing around on bits of high ground, watching the water run downstream towards the fields. My counterpart was so excited, he called me over and grabbed my arm to point out into a field behind the village, where we could see the sheen of water gathering. My host mom was laughing; many of the kids ran in wrapped in towels from where they had bathed in the downpour. Nothing but happiness all around. The frosting on the cake, for me, was yet to come. Only minutes afterward, the sun burst out from behind the westward clouds, creating an enormous, gorgeous rainbow in the east. It was a perfect arc, touching the ground on both sides, with all the colors bright and beautifully clear. One of the most flawless rainbows I have ever seen. The rain came again that evening, and the next day people headed out to the fields. I, too, went to work, visiting the nine farmers to whom I gave improved seed to test this season. I made sure to distribute the seeds last week, so everyone has what they're assigned, and they saw my germination tests so they know what to expect in that regard. Dotted all over the land were sillouettes of people, walking behind seeding or tilling machines, or urging on their work animals - horses, cows, and donkeys. I visited some of the fields that will be seeded with Peace Corps seed this year, so I can make notes about their performane during the coming season. But most people are busy with sowing peanuts at the moment, as that is their primary crop. Last night, then, came the real deluge. It rained so hard and so long, it filled up each of my buckets half-way! This also created huge expanses of standing water in the lower parts of the land, along the roads and in the depressions around trees. Walking out this morning, I heard the humming of frogs, who have appeared in legions overnight, and saw the puddles all around. Everywhere I walked were tiny, spring-green shoots pushing up through the wet sand. Birds fluttering and chirping everywhere! As I said, when I went out this morning, it was no longer into the dry Sahelian brush; it was a vertiable wetland. Now the real work starts for us all.