HERE COMES THE RAIN AGAIN

To say that it rained last night would be an understatement. The rain started at around 4:30 in the afternoon, not with a sprinkle that developed into a steady rain but with a straight-out-of-nowhere downpour. Without warning - to the untrained eye, anyway - the heavens opened and unleashed the deluge. The raindrops were so heavy that you were actually able to photograph them falling out of the sky. At home, we located the places where the water was dripping in through the roof. Finding that there was no major concern, we settled in for the night, listening to the rain hammer on the rooftop and the choir of froggie voices belting their tunes into the night air in something akin to a good pub-song.

I can not tell you how long into the night the downpour continued but, faithfully, the morning arrived. Isn't the morning funny after a heavy night of rain? The sky was clear and blue, the sun shining, the birds singing. The air seemed crisp and fresh, as if washed clean by all the rain. It's as though the morning wanted to convince us that last night had never happened, that the rain was just a figment of our imagination. The ruse was unsuccessful, however, because the rain had left proof of it's visit.

I first noticed it looking out the bathroom window - the neighbour's yard full of water and Jaymon and Brenton wading around in it in their pyjamas. We have got to know these people well enough that J and B refer to them as Archie and Seeya (Grandma and Grandad) and it is not unusual to find them over there on a weekend morning. Hastily, I pull some clothes on to investigate, dreading what I might find.

Our house is built up and aside from a few leaks we dont even have so much as a puddle in our yard. The same cannot be said for Archie and Seeya's house, which has received the majority of the runoff from the surrounding land. As I wade out to offer assistance I can see the high tide mark on the door frames and walls and note that the water has already receded 200mm. This still leaves some 600mm of water in the yard and approximately 400mm in the actual house. As he takes me through the house we talk and he is surprisingly cheerful and resolute, recounting the last time this happened some three years earlier.

As he outlines his plans to limit the damage next time, we walk out the front gate and find the main culprit of the damage. A large drain is swollen with water, waist-deep, flowing unimpeded past the front gate. Coconuts, rubbish and wood lie in a pile a meter up from the path of the flowing water, indicating how wide this temporary river once was. Ironically enough, at the front of the drive men work to put in a new tube well, commissioned to provide cleaner water to the properties that now lie partially submerged.

A man pulls up on his bike with a clipboard and starts taking down names. He has been sent by a government minister to allocate lunch packets to those affected by the flood. He will be busy. A ride down the main road paints a grim picture. Anywhere low-lying has been flooded. Driveways act as huge funnels for the deluge filling houses and shops, steps become small waterfalls. Canals have burst their banks and the shanties that line them are abandonded. Men sit over the freely flowing water with nets, catching fish where there was just a trickle of water the day before.

Our neighbours are lucky and wise. Next door, his son's house has been built above the flood line (it missed by approximately 20mm). They at least have a place to sleep and eat, but others who have so very little to begin with are facing a grim few days until the waters recede. There is no rain tonight but the sound of hundreds of frogs reminds me of the damage that is still outside in the darkness. All this after 8 hours of rain, I can only imagine the carnage after the tusnami.