The Rainstorm - A Short Story

It was mid June, back then when the seasons respected their timetables, the weather was predictable and a fog of dark cloud always gathered to usher in an downpour of rain.
Today, the morning had predictably given way for the afternoon to emerge, the noon too did not deny the evening and its dusky outlook a chance to exist.

The cool evening breeze, caressed our tender skins. The tall trees and thick shrubs danced as one to the soft melodies of the east wind. Gradually, the sky began to dim its smile, darkness approached confidently.

If Grandma was here, she would allude the sudden change in weather to the death of a Lion in the wild. Sometimes she even contradicted herself and blamed it on the death of a powerful chief somewhere yet unknown to us. Once in a while, her later prediction usually coincided with the death of someone prominent. In our infant minds, Grandma was a wise sage, possessing the monopoly of knowledge. This evening, Grandma was not here, she was miles away at our village somewhere in Ibeku.

Early this morning, even before the first crow of the cock, Mother had left for the garden egg market in the heart of Owerri, the State capital. She had left me with clear instructions regarding the feeding and conduct of my siblings and I, while she was away.

I was the eldest Child and in the absence of a Dad who worked in far away Lagos, i became her trusted lieutenant. At the age of ten, i was already a good cook, an expert at bathing my Baby sisters, and the foremost caretaker of our ill-furnished one room apartment.

My Sisters I, sandwiched in an isolated house shamelessly sitting in the middle of a semi-forest had weathered many rain storms together. Although the angry bangs of some thunder strikes sent us into scamper, we had learnt to predict the magnitude of a thunder strike by the length and brightness of the preceding lightning.

Over the years, we had also learnt to expect the mopping which succeeded every rainfall, since the whole floor of our one-room habitation was sure to be drenched in water.

The rains had begun by five that evening, it started on a slow fashion, then gradually grew in momentum and intensity. The Thunder strikes tonight betrayed the warnings of the lightning. No matter how bright and long the lightning flashes were, the thunder strikes seemed to outdo them threefold. The rain kept pelting the zinc roof of the house, deafening us with loud spattering noise, like the beating of a thousand cymbals at the same time . I looked out of the low window, and the flood outside was already rising to a terrifying height, it sped with so much intensity that i doubted if the house would still be standing when this rain's onslaught was over.

What made me really scared however was the thought of the Biblical Noah. We attended the little Church two miles away, the pastor was a very sad man, who derived so much pleasure in terrifying his membership of eight adults and five children with the horrifying stories from the Bible. Whenever he was not talking of the horrendous death experienced by the inhabitants of Sodom and Gormorah at the hands of a fiery conflagration, he would be threatening us with drowning like the world during the time of Noah. It seemed that the only way for us to escape such painful deaths were to pay more into the church coffers, the only problem however was that if we had as little as enough bus fare, we would have preferred to attend the big Cathedral at the City and not this shack for a Church.

So tonight, in my Childish mind, i considered the Pastor's prediction and the possibility of its actualisation. Maybe God was tired of our widow's mite and had come for a revenge mission. I peeped through the window again and this time, was blinded by the powerful flash of a lightning, i cringed, expecting the explosion of a mighty thunder, none followed. At this point, I was convinced that God was surely annoyed at us, the lightning was just him taking a last photograph of me, before increasing the knob controlling the rainfall. The flood outside kept rising.

Both my sisters were huddled up together beneath the bed, i could hear them whimpering and calling out for their Mum; a mum who was stuck in a market somewhere. One a normal day, she never made it home before Ten at night, with the weather condition this night, i did not even bother to imagine what time she would come back home.

Sullen, I knelt beside the bed and started confessing my Childish sins. The other day, i had taken Chidi's pencil without his consent, Chinedu had said my Mum was Mad and i immediately wished his mum same. Today in school, i had admired the small outgrowth of Maria's breasts beneath her blouse, i was not sure if this too was a sin, but i confessed it anyways, i confessed everything that crossed my mind that night.

I turned around when someone insistently tugged at my Shirt. It was Mum, her calm face radiated care and concern. I could see the first sign of daylight seep through the sleeping window. Mum searched my eyes and let a tear escape her sad face. She reached for me and we held in tight embrace. "D'im" she whispered in Ibo, she always called me that in appreciation, whenever i had done something a Child of my age would never have the courage to face. "D'im, Ogadinma" she whispered into my ears once more. "My Husband, things will get better", i held unto her as i would dear life.

Written By Onyeoziri Favour
Email: favouronyeoziri@gmail.com