The English say when it rains it pours. Others even argue that it often rains cats and dogs! The rains are here again and although the farmers may be smiling all the way to the gardens some of us are angry even when we know that this could mean reduced food and milk prices.
The English say when it rains it pours. Others even argue that it often rains cats and dogs!
The rains are here again and although the farmers may be smiling all the way to the gardens some of us are angry even when we know that this could mean reduced food and milk prices.
I sometimes wish to question the divine logic of sending so much water onto mother earth in a short time! Why does God not send just a little and send the rest during the dry season?
More so, why not send the rain to the villages where food crops are grown? I see no point in having rains next to Union Trade Centre, Rubangura’s or even at the airport.
Each time the rain starts, I lose my smile due to a number of reasons. In the first instance, heavy rainfall always reminds me of my unenviable economic status.
When it starts to pour, I have to stop all my movements and seek shelter somewhere until it stops. Meanwhile, the richer citizens with automobiles continue moving without much trouble.
Just imagine if you were staying in Kanombe and then it started raining just a few minutes before you got a motorcycle to take you to Nyabugogo to catch a bus to Kampala.
What about the time I am supposed to walk a stretch of a dirt road that has been messed up by the rich people’s four wheel drive cars.
Do they think we can also engage a four wheel (or is it four limb) mechanism? After refusing to offer you a lift they go on to spoil the roads we are meant to walk on. Oh what a curse to be poor.
At home the rain is never shy to bring more sad realities to light. I am easily reminded of the spots on the roof of my small house that leak.
The rain also loves to hit my iron sheet roof so hard thus creating a deafening sound that is not pleasant at all. So as I wait for it to stop, I have to do without music too as I listen to the lousy music of heavy rain on my roof.
Sometimes the rain finds my clothes outside and makes them wet again. I do not have the luxury of calling someone back home to remove them just before it starts.
Walking by the roadside also becomes a risk since those who are more privileged than me are likely to splash dirty water on poor me as they drive by in their expensive cars.
By the way where does one report when a car splashes dirty rain water on his second hand trouser? Do I have to call ATRACO, RURA, MVK or the Police?
Have I mentioned the floods? Yes these also come to haunt me each time it rains. One good spot is the taxi park at Nyabugogo.
It is so loved by the rain that I sometimes tend to think it is an extension of Lake Kivu. The not so rich like me know what it means to try and get into a taxi at the Kimironko stage after heavy rains have visited Nyabugogo.
This rain also has a habit of starting while I am in transit in a taxi. This is the time when I pray that the taxi delays to get to my destination or does so when the rain has stopped.
In most cases my prayers are never answered since Kigali has not yet started having significant traffic jams. There are times when the taxi stops at a spot where a suitable shelter is not close by.
The conductor beckons you to disembark into the furious rain. In the process the job application documents you had will get soaked.
My fake Chinese Blackberry phone may also not survive the rains.
This rain is also harsh to motorcyclists. It reminds them that although they also travel while seated like car owners, they have to stop and wait out the rain just like the poorer pedestrians like yours truly.
No matter how expensive the bike may be, you have to stop, park somewhere and then painfully watch the car owners as they continue with their business in a clear moment of financial discrimination sanctioned by the Almighty.
This rain also reminds me of another irritating fact. It always brings with it, very cold temperatures that make me crave for my bed.
The problem is that once I get there, I find the bed sheets cold as well. In a search of any little warmth left, I fold myself into a ‘question mark’ position.
This is the only safe sleeping position for a bachelor like me. So the rains serve to remind me of my deficient marital status.
The only possible advantage could be that of fetching some clean rain water at zero francs. Sadly, this process leads to a fever.
So I can safely conclude that I have nothing much to get from this rain. I wish it would be wise enough to stay away from the city.