It’s a leisurely Sunday afternoon, and I’m sitting
in the tukul of our guesthouse compound, sheltering from the huge downpour
that’s just hit Juba. It’s been building all morning, the dark clouds finally
releasing their anger on the city. There is water everywhere, streaming off the
thatched roof, plopping onto the pavement, creating rivulets and saturating my
colleague’s washing.
The storms here come and go fairly quickly; on
Thursday a bolt of lightning made us all jump a mile in the air when it
announced its presence like a gunshot right above our office. Unfortunately for
the staff of Save The Children, it struck their office’s antenna and knocked
out all their power, including their internet, so they were knocking on our
door on Saturday for some electronic assistance.
The rain has now receded but the storm isn’t done
yet; it’s finally announced its arrival properly with a huge clap of thunder.
What is it about thunderstorms that I find so appealing? There’s nothing better
than being surrounded by a rolling storm with it’s powerful sound and light
show, the rain lashing the trees and buildings around you, while you sit back
and watch it all unfold. I guess it makes me appreciate the unpredictability
and force of nature – something that we can’t control, which makes us realise
that we’re not so big and powerful after all.
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