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ROB’S STORY
I awoke to a tentative tap on my door. Two thoughts slowly wandered across my groggy mind: “I probably just imagined that.” “If I didn’t imagine that, whoever it is will go away.” Again came the mouse-like tapping. I thought it was probably Jules – some evenings he comes to talk and make sure everything is going well. Upon hearing my hoarse invitation to come in, my mystery visitor – Carrie, it turned out – slowly opened my door and edged her way in my room.
Her first words to me were, “Wake up. The house is flooding and I’m freaking out.” Carrie turned on the lights and her story was immediately corroborated: roughly two inches of muddy water were in the place normally inhabited by my tile floor. Outside my window, I could hear the massive thunderstorm continuing to rage – looked like the flood was just going to get worse.
As I was taking in the situation, Carrie informed me as to the flood’s first victim. “My laptop was on the floor. It got wet and now it won’t turn on.” Oh man… Having once had the hard drive of one of my computers erased and thus losing thousands of pictures and thoughts, I remembered the staggering grief that accompanied the loss. First move: comfort Carrie.
As a child, my parents made sure to train me for emergency situations (my dad being a firefighter; my mom, a nurse). I surveyed my room, thinking about what could go wrong. The electricity was still operating and we had a number of appliances plugged in. Don’t watch television while in the bathtub, right? As a physics student, I had ample opportunities during experiments to electrocute myself and each time I was ‘shocked’ to discover that it hurt. So Carrie and I put on rubber shoes (mine are a retina-destroying green) and went around the house, unplugging everything that might later electrocute us. I woke Chadd up to let him know what was going on, and he unplugged his laptop and went back to sleep. Well played, my friend.
I’m scared of lightning. To my defense, I wasn’t always afraid of it. I used to love watching the flashes during rare Oregon thunderstorms. This changed when I lived in Tanzania and my house was struck by a bolt when I was inside. When lightning hits that near to you, it is an explosion of blinding white light and deafening sound. It’s terrifying. You hear a woman screaming and then suddenly realize that it’s you. As we were sloshing around, Carrie and I saw a flash of lightning, and I counted to see how far away it was. “One…two…thr-” KABOOOOM! Less than a kilometer away. And here we are, standing in a pool of water.
Carrie saw the fear in my eyes as I told her how near it had struck and that I thought we might be in danger. Rather than taking care of the flood, I suggested that we climb up and sit on our beds until the lightning moved further away. From her reaction, she didn’t think it was as imminent a threat as, say, a spitting snake. Nonetheless, five minutes later we were perched on our respective beds, trying to laugh about the situation while we waited. It felt like a slumber party, just with moderately fewer pillow fights.
Eventually, the thunder abated and we got back to business. My mom taught me to handle the cause before treating the symptoms, so Carrie and I hunted for the source of the flooding water. It didn’t take long – following the swift current backwards, we came to the house’s big metal doors. Despite the valiant efforts of the rubber flaps under the doors, the water attacked each miniscule gap and flowed in unabated. I guess the doors weren’t designed to hold back a flood. Unless I could figure out a way to entreat the clouds to hold back their rain, we weren’t going to be able to handle the cause. Plan B…
Jules had built the house with drains in the floor in several locations. I remembered seeing Boniface scooping the gunk out of one with his finger several days prior (it was foul, trust me). Maybe the drains were plugged? So I went drain noodling, wiggling my fingers through the muck and grime in search of the plastic plugs. Upon finding them, I would latch down and yank, popping the plugs out and creating water vortexes. After removing three, Carrie and I watched the water level slowly drop – the worst was over.
As the water receded, it revealed a layer of brown silt coating the entire floor. There is a pond near our house which contains a number of frogs and other semi-aquatic denizens, and I could imagine them eagerly taking up residence in our newly swampified house. So, slip-sliding around in our rubber shoes, Carrie and I began to use squeegees to herd the mud towards the drains. True to form, Mike got up and helped out, alternating between documenting and cleaning. Chadd rolled over in his sleep.
Slowly winning the battle against the mud
We put in an hour of mud-herding before the house reached a state of relative cleanliness. I have to say, I was impressed with our efforts, considering that at this point it was around 3am. The storm had continued to lessen during our squeegee attack and the water entering the house had slowed to a trickle. As the situation resolved itself, the adrenaline that accompanied such a dramatic event began to wane, and we headed to bed.
If not for the damage to Carrie’s computer, I would have said that this was one of my favorite nights so far in Rwanda. It was ridiculous experience – so out of the ordinary, even for Africa – and one that we all shared (more or less…Chadd). I’d like to think that it will be one of those nights that we’ll look back on together with laughter.
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