On the third day (of March) God created rain.  And then he ducked inside.  I was told that the rainy season extended from December through April.  I was told February would be drier and March would be much wetter.  Well, it looks like the powers that be glanced at the calendar and realized they were a few days behind and sought to remedy the situation with undue haste.

I was in town, an idyllic place where you can find overpriced, slightly odd-tasting chocolate and chicken (not together…well, maybe…).  You can converse with other wazungu and drink beverages that are legitimately cold.  You can buy passion fruit.  More specifically, I was in the market, negotiating crowded stalls and inquiring about snack bags of sugar cane I saw someone carrying before they disappeared in the crowd.  Then, suddenly, with a starting gun of thunder, the heavens opened up and rain raced down.  One of the women selling vegetables, a baby clasped in one arm, offered me her chair.  I declined, citing the fact that she would need it more than me.  And then everyone just huddled.  I was mostly under an awning, my face hovering over tomatoes, while water dripped onto my shoulder, Chinese water torture-like, through a hole in the corrugated tin roof.

Today, the rain came and just stayed.  It rained and rained and rained and rained, and we didn’t go out looking for baboons until afternoon.  I just sat inside reading The Count of Monte Cristo and marveling at Alexandre Dumas’ willingness to employ coincidence so liberally.  When we did go out, the baboons decided to go to obscure corners of their home range, leaving us to crawl through the mud, conjuring up images of Atreyu from The Neverending Story as he slogged through the Swamps of Sadness.  I felt sloggy and sad certainly.  The lake also transformed into an angry ocean, spitting waves all the way up the trees that line the beach and mini lakes formed pools in the rocks.

Looks like March’ll be a bit damp.