The Nightly Tempest

Although September is still considered monsoon season, it only rains at night now. Between nine and ten the black sky erupts with electric blue bursts of lightning, followed soon after by rocking vibrations of thunder. A refreshing cool breeze blows through the streets providing a temporary break from the oppressive heat. Alexander and I open all our windows and balcony door, waiting excitedly for the expected downpour. By the time the rain stops the roads are submerged beneath a thick layer of hot, murky water.

There is something comforting about the storms here. I am convinced nothing bad can happen to us during the downpours. Every living creature has taken shelter and the bustle of the world is put on pause. All we can do is sit and wait.

But the rainstorms have an unfortunate aftereffect. Usually they are accompanied by a humid heat wave that settles over the city. The muddy soup that forms on the street congeals into an abominable paste penetrating even the most sealed windows with its nose-piercing stench. Last night was especially bad because the power shut off. I awoke disoriented in the middle night, my shirt drenched with hot sweat, crying out to Alexander, “What has happened to our fan? Why have you turned off our fan?!?” After deducing that a lack of electricity was the real culprit, we reluctantly forced open all our windows and attempted to endure the reek of cow poop and aerating sewers. As if this was not bad enough, some poor soul started coughing and vomiting beneath our window. The heat, stench and noise made it impossible to fall back asleep until our adored pedestal fan came back on at 5am.

Alexander and I thought the whole experience was hysterical and laughed throughout the ordeal. We have learned that a sense of humor is crucial.