The rain of Rwanda first arrives with the scent of dust, as it rises in the air. The cool damp breeze to announce the coming of heaven’s blessings rouse the red soil. The birds twitter and chirp in their frenzy of joy, and it arrives. The dust that tingled our noses has fallen from the air and along with it the sweet scent of the quenched earth rises. All is silent in the roar of the rain. The rumble of the tin roofs, the bowing of the branches.
As suddenly as it came, it disappears. The first call of the perching bird, the thinning of the clouds. Rain is still heard in its pitter patter. The sun brightens as the veil of rain has been lifted from its way.
All is bright and new once more.