Heavy torrents of rain landed majestically upon the small village sandwiched among mountains and hills that threatened to clap together with each rumble of thunder. The night was dark and eerie with no living thing in sight, as they had all sauntered off for shelter. Somewhere distant, a shrill cry tore into the atmosphere. It was a deep wail, a voice of one in agony.
‘One last push, do it!’ shouted the woman bending forward on her knees. ‘Almost there.’
Sweating profusely now, Salome tightened her fists and writhe her face as she squeezed another groan through gritted teeth and slumped back on the bed.
‘Get me a bowl of water, quick. Her temperature is rising!’ An older woman (Salome’s mother) pointed sharply.
A younger woman rushed out and came back with a bowl containing water. She then removed her head gear and handed it to Salome’s mother.
Salome opened her droopy eyes as soon as the cold water made contact with her skin.
‘It’s crowning!’ exclaimed the woman, bending between Salome’s thighs. ‘One last push , will do’.
‘I’m tired ‘Salome muttered slurring her words.
Her mother only nodded with pleading eyes and held her hands.
Salome caught it firmly in a tight grip and made a loud, deep groan jerking her upper body forward simultaneously. Her veins were popping out, glistened with sweat and shining like the moon from the reflection of the lightening casted upon it. For a fleeting second she looked like the plain statue of a pained goddess! She caught a sharp breath and fell back onto the bed. It was her last.
The woman withdrew her head from between Salome’s thighs with a baby and blood smeared on her arms.
‘It’s a girl.’ She declared grinning.
Salome’s mother remained listless as she fixed her eyes upon the body sprawled on the bed.
The woman dropped the baby on her laps saying ‘He gives and takes’ then she shook her head and closed Salome’s lifeless eyes.
Salome’s mother stood up with the child in her hands and made towards the door.
‘Where are you going? It’s raining cats and dogs out there.
But she ignored her and continued moving, with vacant eyes as she went out into the heavy downpour.
She then lifted the crying baby, amidst thunderstorms and began:
Gods of our fathers!
Thank you for this blessing
The rain you held back for years
You’ve chosen tonight to give to us
A night marred with curse and blessings
Drenched in joy and anguish
With tears and laughter
Arise and pour your blessings upon her
Like this incessant drops of rain
Shower her in wisdom and might
And like the voice of the thunder
Let her greatness echo all over the world
And may she shine like the lightning
Upon the face of the earth
She drew the child closer, and whispered, ‘today child, I call you Rain.’
The air was chilly and humid as expected as a result of the heavy rain that felt the previous night. A few people were already up and going about their various activities, the rest remained in the houses cozying up on their beds reluctant to leave the warmth of the blanket.
Rain belonged to the latter with her big blanker well draped over her lithe figure. She gently rolled over to lie on her other side from the window she was now facing. She opened her eyes and squinted them immediately, creasing her forehead and blinking rapidly before sitting up. She yawned and stretched fully before rubbing her eyes vigorously.
She went over to the drape-less window on the wall adjacent her bed and slided it open. The scent of morning glory flowers and fresh mangoes filled her nostrils. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.
‘Happy birthday to me’ she smiled.
In twelve hops, she was at her grandmas room but stopped abruptly when she heard her praying. She walked to the kitchen, picked a basket and headed for the woods, taking the route through the back yard.
Theirs was the last house in the quarters formerly occupied by the white missionary men.
Her grandma had once worked as a cleaner for Mr Clinton, the owner of the house they now live in. Many moons have sailed away since his demise.
Mr Clinton was different from every other white men in the village, he was a happy man with a crude sense of humour. She spoke fondly of him but rarely went further and was into the habit if evading some of Rain’s curious questions at those times.
The woods, as usual was fresh and lively. The air was heavy with mist and scent of diverse fruits. The birds sang melodiously and she didn’t realize when she started humming a song Aunty Rahila had taught them in school as she bent down and began picking fruits.
Before long, her basket was filled with mangoes, Paw-paws and guavas.
‘Good morning Nana’ she shouted as she walked towards the kitchen where the sound of clanking plates and cutleries came from. She dropped the basket on the floor and flung herself onto her grandma.
‘Good morning and a happy birthday to you my darling.’ She grinned before scooping her up into a hug.
.....................To be continued,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
