Rain!
Rain! We arrived to a very dry and dusty Kigali. The end of dry season here means everything has a brownish hue. The grass in our yard matches the hedge, which matches the dust that covers our counters and stains my feet as I walk around the house bare-footed. When the wind blows I can hardly help from choking as my throat is coated with the gritty dirt. We have eagerly been inquiring about when the rains will start, and have been told “soon, perhaps September”. It rained this morning. Oh the joy of the first rain! I watched in awe as the enormous dark clouds blew in. I listened to the majestic rumble of thunder, and then the huge, luscious drops began to fall. The scent of the rain after a long dry season is irreplaceable. As the rain drops fall, they push the dust out of the air, and all at once sweet, fresh air floods our lungs. There is hope in the first rain; hope because the dust is washed away and the air is cleaned. There is hope because the water shortages ...