The presence of The Rain

The Rain here stops people. It incites superstitions in people. Floods everything. Flushes out the nyegen water into common walking spaces. The Rain is the reason millions of Malians get to live. The Rain, is, basically god here.

When it starts to rain here, people start running. People hide out under their thatched roofs, under their cardboard, tin and other discarded materials turned into a roof. People retract into their houses or butikis until the rain is finished. Stores shut down. Street food vendors go home. The roads become deserted and empty. Everything and everyone gets silent except for The Rain.

Under my own tin roof, I can barely hear my own thoughts at times. The Rain is so loud on a tin roof. It's like a million falling bee bees. My roof leaks in almost every room of my house. Unlike in America, where people spend thousands upon thousands of dollars repairing leaky roofs, here, you just put a bucket under the leak, do nothing, or climb on top of the roof and stuff something on the hole.

When it rains while I'm sleeping, there is a tiny leak that falls next to my ankles while I'm sleeping. I just move to the other side of my bed. The bucket next to my front door has found a permanent home for catching rain drops in my house.

My tutor and I were studying the other day when The Rain came. Sanji nana, as we say here. The Rain was dropping so hard on my tin roof that we had to stop studying because we couldn't hear each other...three feet away.

As we were sitting there, in complete silence, except for The Rain, I wanted to do something productive with the time, so I did my homework for the next day. (Writing the story of Casey Jones, the legendary train conductor and title of a Grateful Dead song, in Bambara) I gave it to my tutor to correct. But he didn't do it.

He told me that in Mali, they believe that when it's raining and you hear lightening, you should not read or write.

That the whiteness on the pages attracts lightening. That Malians won't even open THE KORAN during the lightening.

So, we sat there and waited until the rain stopped. Waited...for an hour...in silence. Except for the bee bee drops of The Rain on my tin roof.

The Rain here is both the reason for living, and the reason for a lot of sickness.

When it rains, the waste that leaks out from the nyegen drain collects into puddles, streets and walkways, mixing human waste into common spaces. If you have a cut on your foot, and you walk through any puddle (which is usually impossible to miss) you can get very sick. You can get schisto. It's extremely unsanitary. And it's a huge problem in Mali. A lot of Malians are not aware that this is a huge cause for sickness and disease in their country.

But at the same time, The Rain is the giver of life here. Malians DEPEND on the rain. If it doesn't rain, their crops die. If their crops die, they too, die. Most Malians farm for subsistence purposes, and one bad season means they don't have any food to eat. Or crops to sell. So, no money either. No food and no money is a pretty desperate situation...that unfortunately, a lot of Malians have to live with on a daily basis. Can you imagine how hard it is to live off of less than the equivalent of $1 a day...for you and your entire family of 15? That's the reality millions of Malians face. Life here, is hard. But, it's not hopeless.

The people who get out there and farm after The Rain has ended its fall. The teachers who give students the education they never had. The outspoken women who know they deserve more respect in their country and speak up about it. The small number of babies who live beyond their infant years. The Malians determined to give back, to keep going through whatever challenge they face. This is where we can find hope.

That's hope. And in a way, so is the presence of The Rain.