When it rains...

I came to work this morning in the rain. Not an unusual occurrence for most people I understand, but here in Africa the experience is not quite what we’re used to back home. For a start when it rains here, it really does know how to rain. Not that they’re not used to rain, indeed they name a whole season after it, rather here it doesn’t really seem to alter how people go about their everyday life.
The Rainy Season started in earnest back at the beginning of June. Unlike as in some other parts of the world where the rain confines itself to an hour or so of heavy showers sandwiched between glorious blue skies, here the rain can last all day. If this isn’t bad enough the night temperatures have dropped considerably. I no longer need to leave the balcony door open or use the ceiling fan in order to get a comfortable night’s sleep, on the contrary I’ve needed to resort to a sheet or even T-shirt to stave off the cold. As concerned as some of you are bound to be for my wellbeing in such inclement conditions, do not worry, thankfully we still have plenty of fantastic days in between.
Anyway, having neither an umbrella nor jacket, I have to admit to sitting a while on the balcony considering whether or not to go to work at all, before eventually donning my flip flops, a pair of shorts and T-shirt, packing a change of dry clothes, leaving my bike and setting off for work on the tro tro.
Already soaked when I took my seat, it mattered not, nor was it any surprise, that the window I found myself next to, was stuck open with no handle to wind it up... and that only the wiper on the passenger side worked... this is very much the norm for these mini-buses in Accra.
When it is wet, the traffic appears to speed up rather than slow and the roads become skid pans, so as result I invariably leave my bike at home in favour of the bus. This morning however this decision is made to look rather tame when a motor cyclist raced past us in his just flip flops, shorts, a vest and naturally... no helmet. As usual I spotted the same road sweeper I see every morning and even today she has no additional protection from the weather save for the giant orange traffic cone she always has balanced on her head.

At times the rain comes down so hard and fast that the water runs like rivers along the gutters, across the roads and over paths, covering everything with a fine red silt, small stones, plastic bags and other associated rubbish discarded on the streets. If you are lucky this waste is taken along the open sewers that skirt most roads, then via the rivers and streams, which, running freely for the first time in months, ferry this foul brown concoction to the sea. Later, much of this, especially the ubiquitous plastic bags which stain so many African cityscapes, will be seen washed up on nearby beaches or floating in the surf just off shore.
It appears that most people are oblivious to the adverse conditions changing neither their dress nor behaviour when it rains. As always those children not yet of school age play barefoot in the rain, wearing just their underwear, while their older brothers and sisters trudged to school in thin cotton uniforms and sandals their wet clothes clinging to their bodies. The adults seemed dressed as if the rain is only a minor inconvenience and which will pass at any minute. Very few have umbrellas, some have small towels over their heads to keep their hair dry, but most go without any protection. No water-proofs, no jackets, no boots, no hats.
Food cooked early every morning is already on sale out on the street. Freshly baked bread, rock cakes and doughnuts, whether on tables or balanced on heads may are covered in plastic sheets for protection. In the market stall holders continue as normal. Although clothing may remain in their sacks everything else, shoes, DVDs, electrical and household goods, toiletries etc are displayed under giant plastic sheets. The only exception to this are the fruits and vegetables which are left out in the open to acquire that dew-like splattering as you see in the all the best M&S adverts.
Although it’s raining women still do their laundry outside and hang the washing on the line to dry. In some cases this might be covered with plastic sheets... probably all ready to be whisked off if ever the sun makes an appearance. And if not washing then cooking. Women sit hunched over pots stirring their brew, the smoke from the fires mixing with the mist and rain to produce the murky illusion of Shakespearian witches around a cauldron.
When eventually I arrive at work I changed into my dry work clothes, grateful of having the good fortune to be able to do so, but angry with myself for ever having thought I had been dealt a bad lot. On such occasions it is always good to be reminded, that compared to some, just how fortunate I am...