my own kind of rain dance

We are in the middle of the rainy season here in southern Mauritania. The roads are washed out. The mosquitos are biting. There is so much water between my village and Kaedi I only got into town with the use of a brave horse and a motor boat. The breeze is cool and we drink, wash clothes in, and bathe with rain water. It's pretty sweet.

As egocentric as it may sound, it is me, actually, that makes the rain come. On nights when we can see the stars (not too cloudy) and there's a light breeze, I think to myself, it's pretty safe to set up shop for sleeping. I strap on my headlamp and begin the process of bed-readying. I lug out my cot, mat and sheet. I string up my mosquito net. I close up my bedroom and head outside to lay down.

This seven minute ritual is enough to invite the rains. By the time I settle onto my cot and tuck my net around my mat, ensuring a mosquito free slumber, the sky becomes less clear. People start tsking at the sky, saying it could easily rain tonight. Sure enough, my falling asleep does the trick and it's time to move all my gear back into my room.

My pre-bed routine can also prevent the rain. All it takes is me waiting for it. While I get sleepy around 9pm, I sit around drinking tea and chatting, waiting for the threatening clouds to begin their work. I watch the minutes tick by, struggling to stay awake for the start of the rain. It is on these nights, when I nod off to sleep, net-less, mat-less, waiting for the sweet relief of rain that I can ensure the storm does not arrive. At least until morning.