El Salvador’s rain is
completely mystical.
Thunder foreshadows
the daily afternoon routine. Flashes of
light in the distance highlight our extraordinary ritual.
Those lucky enough to
be inside when the rolling thunder begins, secure their homes and shops. Window shutters slam and latch. Black plastic bags blanket fruit stands,
notebooks, and ponytails.
For the first thirty
seconds or so, the rain is delicate and people begin moving with haste,
frantically skipping from cobblestone to cobblestone. There’s always a bit of giddiness in the air
as we have the same frenzied, short-term goal. In these seconds, those who work in the
field, market, bank, are one in the same.
Everyone scurries, like the school children, for shelter. And then…THUD,
THUD, THUD, CRACK!
Rain wallops the few
left in the streets. Dirt paths leading to community homes become riverbeds.
Water rushes, swiftly transporting trash from location to location. Creeks become whitewater ways
in a matter of minutes. Tin roofs transform to
instruments of a deafening symphony. Power
flickers and eventually goes out.
Our daily storms are
more powerful than anything man-made, maybe even the internet.
They force everyone to stop.
Pause. We have no choice but to
sit together, as family, friends, as a community. The rain is unlike any rain I’ve seen
before. Restaurants close due to power
outage. Schools cut classes short so people can return home before paths wash away.
After the frantic rush, everything stops. Grace. We willingly surrender
to that which we cannot control, then sit and admire its beauty.
