Rain, Reconsidered

I miss the rains down in Africa. This mamsy-pamsy California rain doesn’t make the cut. 

Rain didn’t play around in Dar es Salaam. When it rained, it rained with purpose. This rain wanted you to get wet; it was pointless to pick a fight. It was determined to make its presence known, creating rivers where there were none, punching the tin roofs, angry not to be let in. It pounded hard on the earth, awakening toadstools and millions of flying termites, sprouting grassy mold on shoes and beds and belts. The sky was electric; the lion’s roar ruptured the heavens, demanding to be heard. 

But it’s the smell I miss the most. The scent of that rain would filter through our window screens, filled with growing things, animated with life. It carried on it the savannah of wild antelope, the ancient strains of the baobab tree, the underwater gardens of coral. I inhaled, and I breathed Africa into my lungs. 

These days, I find myself gasping for breath.

California rain is tentative; delicately tiptoeing around lest it break something. The sky looks angry but stays tight-lipped, knowing, perhaps, that the rules about noise are strict here. Goodness knows it wouldn’t want to upset anyone. 

California rain smells like asphalt. It hits the ground and there’s nothing there to awaken. It knows its place, so it obediently follows the routes mapped out for it, into the gutters, the sewers, the reservoirs. It’s a people-pleasing, accommodating sort of rain.

I don’t open my windows here. The glass separates me from the rain, keeping a safe distance. When I venture outside and muddle about, I notice that this rain is too polite to even make a puddle. I wonder if it has any backbone at all. 

Then, I turn a corner and the clouds part. From behind the curtain, the broad-shouldered mountains make their debut in a new costume of snow. What was showcased as rugged strength is now crowned in white, sheathed in elegance.

My breath catches in my throat; tears come to my eyes. Startled, my lungs fill with a different kind of life. 

Perhaps, California rain, I underestimated you.