Disaster strikes...again

Trip Start Dec 01, 2007

Trip End Mar 27, 2010

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Flag of Guinea Kissidougou, Guinea
Friday, April 17, 2009

I was recently told I am the epitome of Murphy's Law. I'm starting to believe it. Yesterday was a good day. I painted a mural advertising the moringa garden in preparation for World Malaria Day on April 25th (We'll be giving out moringa powder to all the dignitaries that come). I met with "Les Superstars", my peer educator group, to finalize their first presentation. I felt accomplished as I roamed the few market stands buying onion and tomato paste, greeting the villagers in whichever four languages (Kissi, Malinke, French or English) they decided to use. It started to rain just as I reached my hut. I was happy about the rain. It'd been awhile and the moringa leaves were starting to turn yellow. I turned on BBC's "World Have Your Say" anticipating the enjoyment of listening to all the dumb people that call in. From 18:00-19:00 most everyday you can find me arguing loudly with my radio. I settled in for another routine night in the hut, chopping onions and preparing spaghetti. I got up from my stool three times to turn the radio up until it was at full volume and it was still having a hard time competing with the increasingly heavy rainfall that was pelting the tin roof of my bathroom and the gusting wind. Straw from my roof swirled around the hut and everything quickly accumulated a layer of straw dust. I was grumbling to myself about my dust covered sheets when lightning struck too close. I doubled over in panic and could feel the electricity in the air. When I ascertained my hut hadn't in fact been hit and therefore I would not die in a raging hut fire, I righted myself and continued to put spices in my sauce. Water began pumping through the crack below my front door which was pretty exceptional considering my hut is on a raised concrete slab and my door is covered with an overhang. Slowly but surly my hut began to flood with this unusual onslaught of water.
Maybe you don't remember the description of my hut from one of my earliest blogs. My bedroom is a 6x8 round mud hut with a pointed straw roof. Attached to the back door is a bricked in bathroom area. Six months ago I switched out the straw roof of the bathroom for one made of tin. The door that separated those two rooms only closed when it rains and the wood swells. I had closed the door to deafen the sound of the rain.
All of the sudden the door burst open; wind and rain hit me with such force I was almost knocked over. I stared into a gaping hole where my tin roof was just seconds before. The rain was torrential and I knew all of my stuff was getting soaked but I put all my weight against the door to close it again and walked over to my bed where I sat down in a daze. Then I paced to my desk chair and grabbed the back to steady my shaking limbs. This is not happening. But of course I knew it was as rain continued to enter my hut from under the front door, the small holes dotting my roof and now a large hole torn away with the tin. My shoulders began to heave and disbelieving gasps escaped my lungs. Even then I could see the humor in the situation which is why I wasn't sobbing but neither was I laughing. I believe the correct term is hysterical; yes, I was quickly becoming hysterical. I walked out in the blinding rain and flashing lightning to assess the damage, oblivious to the cold that was seeping into the thin skirt and shirt. The lightning nearby had hit a huge tree close to my house and cracked it in half. Another forest giant in front of the health center had been ripped up by the roots which were now mournfully facing the black sky. Down the street my favorite tea cafe was not just a twisted piece of metal and shattered wood. A thick mango tree had fallen and crushed it underneath. Fortunately not one of the 10 people trapped inside at the time were injured. In fact, as far as I know, no one in my village was hurt. The rain turned to a sprinkle though the electricity still crackled in the clouds. Some boys found my roof caught in one of the fallen trees and promised to help me repair it today.
But even after all danger had passed I was still shaking like a leaf and I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. My roof being ripped away kept rerunning through my head in slow motion like some nightmare from the movie Twister. I knew I couldn't stay in my ruined hut that night. Which is why I'm in Kissidougou, dreading the return to my personal ground zero. Those of you who've followed my Peace Corps experience shouldn't be all that surprised. Just another day my misadventure-filled life.