I bless the rains down in Africa

There are two rainy seasons in this part of Africa - the short rains, which were taking place when we arrived here in November and we now know are very timid compared to the 'long' rains, which have just begun. The torrential downpours are something to behold – like nothing I have ever experienced, even during a life residing in the grim north of England and visits as deep into Scotland as Loch Ness.

The rain is very much welcomed by all those who appreciate what has been happening here; lots of fires caused by the extended dry weather, and fears over water – and resultant food shortages later in the year – in some of the more remote areas of the country. Cattle prices have been rising high as many died due to malnourishment, and a devastating effect is feared on crops this year. The country is also heavily reliant on hydro-electric power, so the longer we went without a downpour the more frequent and long-lasting the power cuts.



Jamhuri high street after a light shower



The rains are once again very late this year. All this is very confusing to Kenyans, who have up until recently been able to plot their weather patterns almost to the day, and during those days almost to the hour. It is helping to make the environment and global warming real to its citizens, but immediate remedies - such as trying to reduce the number of people chopping down trees to make charcoal – will simply serve to deny persons access to a traditional livelihood.

But when the rain did arrive it was easy to forget how important the rain is to the very fabric of the country and bemoan the chaos it causes in Nairobi.  A city which struggles to move faster than ten miles an hour in the rush hour simply grinds to a halt.  And to add insult to injury the matatus will charge much more to sit in a traffic jam in the rain than they do to move in the sun. They will complete less journeys, and are already operating within extremely tight margines, so have to take more money for the jobs they do. There is of course a large amount of opportunism but it is simply accepted.

Jo copes with the rain in typically elegant fashion

These issues show how narrow the margines are for the poor; if matatu journeys go up by 40 bob a day then tough decisions have to be made – about eating, sending children to school, even going out touting for work around the industrial areas. Now add another dimension to that; imagine you have a disability. Add to that a totally new dimension; getting around if you’ve got a disability. Many simply can’t leave their house as the small lanes between houses fill full of water and the steep paths turn from the driest dust into the thickest mud in a matter of minutes. The slums have no irrigation, which is a big problem as all the water runs from the nice middle class area we live in down the hill to collect in Kibera. If you can't leave your house there’s no sick pay or calling in to explain to your boss that you'll have to work from home today. Most of the time you are your own boss and if you don’t do it no-one can open your stall for you.

A footnote – my near death experience in the rain



The first time it rained properly this year I made the mistake of trying to wait it out at work. The rain simply belts down, relentlessly for hours at a time. I realised after about an hour that the rain was not going to pass quickly, and so set off on the ten minute walk home sporting umbrella, north face jacket and wellingtons. The streets, I quickly discovered, were in the process of turning into rivers. Clay-red, flowing rivers which covered undulating, broken road surfaces – making walking steadily impossible. Many a Kenyan laughed as I plodded past them, confidently placing one foot in front of the other only to sink up to my waste as I found one of the many potholes. The flowing water passed over a couple of the open sewers which line the streets in Kibera, but all thoughts of what exactly was in the liquid filling my wellingtons were replaced by blind panic as I heard a worrying, loud popping and hissing above my head.



No idea what that liquid may have contained



I looked up to see that the electrical wires running overhead had probably been hit by lightning, with the popping, hissing and sparks travellling down the wire towards where i was stood. I froze, knee deep in water, waiting for the end. Then two seconds later I forgot about my dignity and ran for what I thought was my life. Most of the Kenyans nearby stared at me but a couple decided to join my dash for safety. The noises continued, the heart quickened but the panic was soon over and I was back in Neema Court
, telling Jo of my epic quest while pouring the foul water down the drain.