Chapter 2 ~ Rain

We had to move to Aimutin, it’s on the other side of the Comoro Road, but in a much safer location. We don’t need to go into the details, let’s just say we’re in a better place now. We have a different view from our new house now, rather than the gritty streets of Marconi we have some open space around us and a view of the surrounding mountains.

I look at the mountains daily, I can’t get over their majesty and I wonder if I’ll ever get the opportunity to traverse those rough country roads that will take me over the mountains to new Districts, Sub-Districts, Suco's, Alienda’s and places of reported peace and beauty. There’s a greying
that started after we’d been here a couple of weeks that occurs between the mountain tops and the start of the azure sky. Each day the grey gets slightly darker and the edge of the mountain line starts to mist over, there’s rain on the mountains and it’s slowly getting more visible as the days roll by. After about a week there are rumblings in the afternoon. Rumbling of distant thunder on the mountains. Those grey clouds are getting darker and are rolling further down the mountain side, whose edges are no longer etched against the sky line, but hidden in tumultuous dark clouds. In the morning the sky is as clear as the sunshine that beats upon us, but as the afternoon progresses, the lines start to blur. It’s getting closer each day, rolling further and further down the mountainside. Until, eventually, it gets very dark – it’s charcoal grey now, the clouds are foreboding and threatening.

Shhhhht! The first lightning shoots across the sky, it seems to go sideways, across the very close horizon, and it’s really close to the ground. The hairs on my body stand to attention from the static in the air. One Thousand and one, one thousand and…Crack, rumble, rumble rolls the thunder and
then Shhhhht!, another bolt of electric light traverses the sky with the inevitable crack of thunder so very close behind.

The first drops of rain seem to be the size of a small egg as they plop onto the searing concrete, splat, Intermittent at first and then within thirty seconds they are cascading out of the sky. The tin roof roars with the impact of water and the Shhhhht………..crack rumple rumble of the storm continues to add the crescendo to this orchestra of nature.

I ran out into the rain the first time it happened, the rain was warm and it seemed to contain a healing effect of washing away the weeks of sweat and dust that we had endured, Alofa giggled as we played in the rain, just being kids again – fantastic. I suppose it lasted for half an hour. Unbridled silliness rained in Aimutin that afternoon and the power went out about half way through the storm. Nothing much left to do after that – was there?

We ventured out onto the Comoro Road, the dust (remember the dust) and the rubbish on the Rua’s and Avienda’s of Dili were flushed, and I was surprised to see how quickly the storm drains backed up and the water flooded the streets. I thought it was probably too many plastic bottles in the
storm drains, but the following morning was going to show us a different cause.

That Dust!, it was the next day, as the searing sun evaporated the residual pools of rain, that we saw the dust, it was now baking mud – Crunchy on the outside, but soft and clay like inside. Later that second day, same time, same orchestra, Mother Nature did it again, a little longer this time, maybe an hour, maybe less, but it poured down. A moat of water encircled our little house and large puddles soon appeared in the vacant lot beside the house. The water hit the roof so hard as to make conversation impossible and whilst on one side of the house it fell to the courtyard as a curtain of translucence, on the other side of the roof, the wind hurled into a cloud of mist and spray.

Everything is wet; even those small denomination bills are soggy with the rain.

That night we heard the frogs, singing for a mate in their newly created puddle homes and swollen drains.

Day three, same time, same orchestra, this time it just bucketed down and whilst the thunder and lightning desisted within the hour it just kept raining until early the following morning. The morning was cool, the dragonflies were swarming the floods and our house was cut off, we waded our way out the driveway up to our knees in tepid rain water and squelching mud. The day is cooler now, the humidity seems to be a little higher and the dust, remember the dust, has gone. There’s a muddy ring in the ocean around Timor Leste, the wet season has begun, and those roads, across the mountains to far away exotic places, are now closing down as the sides of the mountain slip and crumble, in order to make a new batch of dust.