Little Drops of Water…

It is night as I type this. And it’s raining. Not a whole lot, just the slow, lazy type; the kind that isn’t “falling” so much as it’s sliding down some unseen slope. The kind where all you hear is the sound of water dripping from the roof, and the only reason you know it’s still raining is because roof-drips shouldn’t last this long. The kind that (at least in Lagos), may well flood the city because, light as it is, it just won’t stop.

It reminds me of another night just over two weeks ago, the night of our now-famously (and relatively) “free and fair” presidential elections (which produced the infamous aftermath that we were distracted from only too gladly by the British royal wedding) – it rained that night, too.

The reason I remember that night isn’t really the rain, though; it’s because of what a friend said the day after. We were talking and I’d made some forgettable comment on how much rain had fallen, and he’d responded with: “I really wished the rain had fallen all around the country, like a cleansing of the land.”

Normally I’d poke fun at that kind of wishful thinking (cleansing, indeed!), but not that day. Instead I found myself wishing with him that I could believe there really was more to the rain, and said nothing.

That day, I remembered what I like best about rain: it’s the earth getting a bath and actually smelling like it.

Just please don’t flood the bathroom, OK?

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