Rain

The rain is so loud I can't hear anything else. Partly because it is streaming down from the sky and partly because it bounces off the corrugated tin roof I am under. Steve is sleeping off the stomach bug he got sometime yesterday afternoon. I am trying to process today and feeling like the sky is doing my crying for me. 

Mostly I feel empty.  Hollow. That's not good, I know. I wonder if it is because we are just on pause here - not having the court finalized. The judge dismissed us for today.  I should be able to go back to court tomorrow and maybe everything will go as it should have today. 

I didn't think it was possible for the rain to be louder but it is raging above me now.  The ground is supersaturated and puddles of mud are appearing between the blades of grass. The thunder sounds like 18 wheelers driving overhead.  There is a chill in the air, and I know the Ugandans are huddled under sweaters and scarves while I feel mildly cool in my Capri pants and tank top.  There are no sheets draped across the bushes to dry in the sun today. I imagine the mouth of the Nile swelling rapidly in Jinja, where the dam has replaced the beautiful waterfalls. The dam is one of the reasons we haven't had power outages in recent months. Just an occasional 24 hour period in the dark, which is no big deal compared to the 24 hours on- 24 hours off rotation people were furious about. 

The mile from the guesthouse to the orphanage is a steep continual hill that we walk. Sitting in the shelter here, I wonder about all the people who are walking now. Do they carry umbrellas?  Do people go about their lives and their business wet?  How do they travel by boda boda?  Sloshing through the streams of red muddy water that must be sliding from the street to the ditches on the sides of the roads?  It is not the easy house-to-garage-to-car-to-parking- lot existence that I know.  Our ride back from the courthouse was a taxi bus - more like a minivan- that carried 3 people to a bench seat for 5 rows. 700 shillings each - about 30 cents. Then a boda boda ride, with Fort sitting behind the driver as comfortably as you can imagine. He held onto the driver, and I slid behind him, with our court file and my bag slung across my chest. I think of the American reaction to 3 people on a tiny moped, zipping through traffic. One who a child, no one in helmets.  This cost us 2000 shillings- about 80 cents. The boda bodas used to scare me- Steve was not up for the adventure until we had no choice, following the lead of the social worker back to the orphanage. But it feels surprisingly secure. Slow enough through the pot holed streets that there is no danger of falling off, and maybe with the mzungus, they drive a little slower anyway. After the 20 person taxi barely moving through the streets, the boda boda feels easy, breezy (although not so much CoverGirl).   Fort's little body rests so easily in front of mine. He now trusts me completely and I cannot swallow if I contemplate for a moment that the judge will disagree. No. I cannot breathe. It is easier to feel empty than to think of the what ifs. Let me be empty. Just for today.