There's something about the rain. The alarm on my watch is beeping but I'm already awake, listening to torrential rain beat relentlessly on the sheet metal roof of our hotel. While East Africa is generally dry, the rainy season brings lush greens and dark earth. Perhaps it is the promise of a quiet day, an excuse to not go for a walk or run or trip to the beach, a day to drink coffee hidden from the deluge and read, or perhaps the rain adds to some romantic ideal in my head of living abroad, somehow exasperating the exotic nature of the experience, as the ceiling fan rotates lazily above my bed and I think of the fresh squeezed guava juice waiting for me downstairs. I like rainy days.
Touring. The inconveniences are many, but the rewards are vast. Before the rains came, with the sun cooking the dried foliage as thoroughly as my pale skin, hearing drums and chanting off in the distance, I grabbed my camera and sought out the source, and was amazed to find multitudes gathered to witness a dizzying array of traditional dances from all over East Africa. I sat and roasted with the locals and let the drums and chanting wash over me, and captured what I could with my NEX-7.
Coffee beckons, it's time to get up. The rains have slackened but I doubt we'll see the sun today. If it wasn't for the rainy days, what attraction would the sunny days hold?
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