The monsoon

For two days now the rains have come and beat down on the parched earth. The clouds circle and swirl and the wind in the trees talk of the storm arriving.The raindrops ping like ping-pong balls off the tiles outside my window. All night the rain falls strong, relentless and rough. The dogs' bowls are full to the brim as are the flower pots. The pool is overflowing and I have to actually tell our mali that there is no point in running water into it. The earth in the fields where I occasionally walk with Tara is softer underfoot, my flipflops sink into the mud.The mosquitos buzz around my legs. I swim with the rain falling in the pool and for once it is cool and almost cold.The roads are flooded and fluid everywhere. Pot holes grow deeper and motorcyclists raise their legs as they go through them only to be soaked by a less than caring driver who speeds past. Electricity lines droop as if tired by the beating and hang dangerously low over roads.The rain continues to fall throughout the day, more slowly now, tarpaulins are out and bits of plastic to cover precious goods and to offer cover. The ground is sodden and roads, those not built according to specifications, cave in to nothingness underneath. Yet the drains are blocked, full of refuse and waste, the water runs off in gullets and streams and is lost to this earth.Within days the sun will return with punishing ferocity.The earth will recover its redbrick colour and harden fast, still parched and once more thirsty as hell.