Rainy days

Rain is different everywhere in the world.

In Seattle, from what I’m told, there is an incessant pitter-patter of light to mild rain, showers to drizzle. Is it true that Seattle enjoys rain more than 200 days out of the year?

In southern California, rain usually comes either in a violent thunderstorm that’s over before you can blink, or a long but light rain that lasts all night but lets up during daylight hours.

In Chicago, the rain I remember—mostly in the summertime—is the violent thunderstorm that dumps sheets of water on the city. This is the flooding kind of rain, a damaging deluge no matter how long the storm lasts. Parking lots become ponds. Gutters and drains are plugged. Basements turn into swimming pools.

In Edinburgh, Scotland, I enjoyed the soft misty rains of the British Isles. The droplets are calming, soothing, not biting or stinging with chill. (Granted, I was there in August.)

In my part of Nigeria, we have a variety of rains, too. The difference mostly depends on the month of the year. April showers are rare and just a spattering of fragile droplets to spot the dusty red ground. In May, storms blow in from time to time, pouring briefly onto the still-dry ground. By June, the storms are coming several times a week, and sometimes they last for up to an hour. Once July starts, you are carrying your umbrella when you go out. It rains every day, usually at least once a day. Sometimes it will be a storm, complete with flashes of lightning and terrifyingly loud thunder, sometimes a long drizzle. When August comes, you can count on its raining every day for several hours at a time. There may be some lightning and thunder, but mostly it’s just rain, steadily drumming the corrugated tin roofs, filling up plastic containers and buckets we have all set out for that purpose. In August, the mud becomes an issue; the Earth has finally become saturated, and puddles spread everywhere. Grassy areas become marshes, sandy areas turn into sloughs.

But with the late July and August rains, the temperature drops dramatically. Neighbours pull out their long sleeves and socks. No more sleeping with the fan on; instead, it’s snuggling with blankets and warm pyjamas. Instead of cold water, we’re drinking tea and hot cocoa in the afternoons and evenings.

And it’s in these weeks of blissful rain and cool temps that I remember why I love Nigeria so much, why nothing in the U.S. could ever compare to this place. Though the blistering heat of October will drive these blithe memories from my mind, for now I will relish the joy of the African rain.