While many of you are sad
about fading tans, turning on thermostats, and having to dig out more layers,
the cold winds still howl through Selekleka and Tigray. Rainy season is still
going strong. I snuggle in a new soft Seattle sweatshirt while sipping tea as
it attempts to imitate a tsunami on the concrete outside. Puddles splash
through my door, but I keep it open for light. Downspouts are directed to giant
barrels, but even those are sloshing over.
Rainy season during the usual
summer months is something I’m still not used to. Just like hot sun burns at
Christmas instead of snow is mixed up in my mind. It is even harder to explain
to Ethiopians that summer is still called summer in the States, but the weather
is completely opposite. When it is dry season one place it is cold season in
the other and vise versa. I’m not a scientist, geologist, meteorologist or any
–ist that deals with weather. I know that weather is primarily based on the
position of the Earth in relation to the sun with wind pushing or pulling
weather around. I also know weather is the fall back topic to talk about when
there isn’t anything else to talk about.
What is truly fascinating to
me is how people react to and use weather. Even though rainy season occurs
every year and it usually rains around the same time each day, Ethiopians
complain and dislike rain with a phobia. When the wind starts to howl, people
start leaving the open areas. When it starts to sprinkle, they run as if they
are being attacked. When it pours, shelter is a must. I grew up in Western
Oregon, where it rains 9-11 months out of the year. Mud, although gross, is a
part of life. There are different types of rain depending on size, length and intensity
it falls at (ask my college roommate who had to learn them all to put up with
me). Mist, sprinkle, drizzle, rain, blustering, downpour, deluge, tsunami
whatever you want to call it, I’m used to it. I’m not the wicked witch of the
west who will melt with it or am I made of sugar. However, one might think
Ethiopians are, as they don’t want to get hit by “my” water (there isn’t
another word for “rain” over on this side of Tigray. In Amharic and Eastern
Tigrigna rain is “zinap”).
Water is greatly important
here, and people do recognize that. That is why they put out barrels, dig large
pits, and man-made lakes to hold it for as long as possible. We get more rain
than London, but get it all in a short amount of cold time. It’s important to
save as much as possible. Some of it, mostly the stuff that comes off the bird
poop invested roofs, is used as water for the bathrooms in my compound. Once it
clears out of the down spouts, it is saved for everything from washing to
cooking. Water outages are a very frequent and real thing around here--why not
save what is here?
There has been talk that rain
in southern Ethiopia is lacking substantially. People in Tigray are complaining
about crops not having enough rain.
While in America there are always Walmarts and Costcos full of produce,
here weather directly relates to the population’s availability of food. Fruit
and veggies have a season that is pretty rigid. If one of them doesn’t get
enough water to sustain a farmer during their season, the farmer loses profit
and many people will go hungry. I haven’t been able to leisurely surf the web
for information on the potential of a drought in Ethiopia in the coming year,
but the way people are talking it is going to be a rough year.
Power has gone out thanks to
the rain. My tea is the only warm thing in this room. But I can’t complain.
I’ll be thankful to the rain when the farmers have enough food for their
families and to bring surplus to market at a reasonable price. I’m thankful
that books and writing don’t require power. The sound is intoxicating and soothing.
The thunder rolls on.
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