Rainy Season

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For a city of over 2 million people, there is an interesting sense of community in Lusaka when it rains. Zambians experience rainy season every year, but its like they are surprised to see the amount of rain that fills the streets, as if someone is trying to wipe out the human race. I mean I work in the most populated part of town in the city center, but somehow this is notseen as a marketable enough investment to put money into proper roads, a drainage system or even bridge to cross over the lakes that have taken the place of our streets (though people take their own initiative to build trash stacks over puddles and charge 1pin!)

So instead, I curse the sky at dumping its entire contents onto this city the one day I forgot to bring rain boots (or gum boots as we call them here). I wade through the dirty water that goes up to my knees, all the while fending off men who use this season as the opportunity to try and transport the Mazungu  from point A to point B on their backs for a small fee. I try to put on my serious “don’t mess with me” face, all the while try not to laugh at the women around me who are taking them up on their offer. God forbid that their shoes get wet!

I pride myself a little on the skill I’ve developed to pick up out the faces in the crowd that are somewhat genuine, and instinctively find a man that leads me to my bus stop, who doesn’t ask for money or about my marital status (a major feat of my day) I arrive to my place of “shelter”, a half broken minibus stuffed to the brim with passengers who quickly become a small community of its own.

As we start off, the older woman beside me gently wraps her arm around my shoulder pointing out the sights and sounds of our city, as if she was my tour guide. Half way home our make-shift window made from a plastic Shoprite bag blows away from the heavy wind, and the rains pour in again… so much for shelter. But I’ll give credit to Zambians for their creativity. Almost instinctively a man pulls out his umbrella and holds it up against the window like a shield to the rain. His grin widens as if he just heroically saved our mini bus community from the dangerous monster that is rainy season.

Although I feel like someone could wring me out right now, I put my guard down towards the defensive persona I often put on in this city, indulging in the hope that maybe not all Zambian men have the worst intentions. Or maybe they do, but I’ll “soak” in ignorance for one day at least and find the humor of it instead.