Thunder and Lightning Nights: The Rainy Season has Arrived

It’s a really good thing that I have (mostly) gotten over my terror of thunderstorms. I no longer go diving under the closest bed at the slightest rumble of thunder, and can even appreciate the beauty of a uniquely great storm. Most of my evening yesterday was spent securing down items in my apartment (papers, books, lamps, rugs..) that otherwise would have flown away like Mary Poppins, but with much less grace. No measurement of how strong the winds were or how much rain we actually got, but it definitely ranked among the top five I think I’ve experienced. I live on the second floor of a building, and my front “patio” was flooded from rain coming in, and is still wet almost 24 hours later.

When it rains here, contrary to intuition, I open all the windows. The crosswind is amazing, and the temperature drop is a godsend. I guess that can get categorized under “habits I’ve picked up in Africa that will most likely get left behind”. (Along with: using my freezer as a pantry for dry goods, sleeping in DEET, and showering more than three times a day. Two is highly sufficient.)

sitting in front of the Niger River

Saturday, Bamako celebrated fête de la musique – one of the (rare positive) traditions passed down from ye olde French coloniser. Music emanates from every street corner. This is the third time I’ve celebrated fête de la musique in a francophone country, and I must say, France has got nothing on Malian music.  We went to Palais de la Culture to listen to a bunch of different groups play, see the Niger River by night, and inevitably, get rained on. The thunder and lightning started at around midnight, right as Amazones de la Guinée were finishing up, and the skies finally opened up for real an hour or so later.

What happened next was a chaotic mass exodus of thousands of people, all trying to get in their cars and on their Chinese “djakarta” motos at the same time. Classic Bamako style, everyone became a traffic director, shouting and waving in different directions, only adding to the chaos. After sitting in a quickly flooding parking lot (read: mudlot), we ended up at Amandine, a Lebanese-run 24-hour resto/bar/club with hot beverages, hamburgers (West Africa style : fried egg, fries, the works..) and mussed up hair. Not a bad way to spend the fête.

it's like the pac-man of burgers

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