Gasping for breath, I leaned against one of the two slender pillars that demarcated the entrance to my former home. I barely made it; no sooner had I stepped under the ledge than the heavens bathed the earth with their fury. Akin to a flash flood, the rain had changed the landscape of the compound in an instant– ankle high water appeared as if from nowhere, and a sheet of rain coated the neighbourhood, extending as far as the eye could see. I had made the right choice to run from my car into the compound. Had I been a second later, my clothes would not have needed their weekly trip to the washers. I sighed - Indeed, I had chosen quite a challenging day to move my belongings.
While I was in university outside the country, my parents had built a new home, but had not moved all my possessions out of the old house. I took it upon myself to do that, but had not anticipated such weather. There was no way I would be able to carry anything from the house to the car without becoming a human sponge. I decided it would be best to wait out the storm. Fumbling for the keys in my pocket as I walked, I tripped on the third stair of the entrance, managing to catch myself before I fell. I let loose a stifled hiss, pressing my stubbed toe against the tip of my shoe in an attempt to dull the pain. Several years of absence must have made me unfamiliar with the architecture of the building, I thought to myself. But as I unlocked the front door and stepped through it, memories rushed to me, as if swept onward by the torrential downpour. In an instant, the house was familiar once more; as if I had never left.
I treaded past the furniture that was left behind, perhaps as a gift for future tenants. I paced furtively, as if not to wake sleeping spirits that lay dormant in that abandoned space. As I shuffled up the stairs, I glanced at the overhead windows; the rain poured ceaselessly, and I was again thankful that I was not outside. As I entered the family sitting room, I realized that, on this rainy day, not much had changed; neither the house, nor myself. When the sun shone, the house was an enclosure – a binding force that I would escape from once I had cut the bonds of assigned school work and household chores. But in the rain, it was the same four walls, with the same boy, now a man, standing within, idle, searching for what to do as the waters fell. Years away from my home had changed nothing. The rain itself stilled time – no, reversed its very flow. Chipped and flaky with age, the taupe paint coating the walls outside the house seemed to take new life, revived by the misty shower - The greyish brownness melding into a glossy sheen provided by nature herself. The hibiscus flowers in the garden glistened and reared their red heads- lifting them continually upwards, if only just to be beaten down by the heavy pellets falling from the skies. On the adjacent stone curb, a snail crawled, making its way towards the leafy plants, sure that no one would impede its path; no children to prod at it with sticks, forcing it back into the safety of its shell; no birds to peck repeatedly at its shell, in spirited attempts to earn themselves a meal. In the rain, the snail found its element – its freedom. These were its better days. And as the soft patter of raindrops upon zinc roofing became nostalgic orchestra, I found my soul cast backwards in time, to better days of my own. To damp days such as this, but when I was more carefree; the days when I was younger -much younger- and my only concerns were for life’s trivialities; for the entertainment I would seek out when the rain barricaded me within my own home.
The television would be my first resort- a haven of pre-recorded entertainment that would engage my senses, taking me far from the bleak wetness of the outside world. My favourite program was “Voltron“, which told the tale of a valiant robot fighting the forces of evil. I always looked forward to watching that show. But that was a pleasure accessible only when N.E.P.A saw it fit to provide us with electricity. And more often than not, the house was without supply. Today is no different; I flick a light switch up and down – as expected, there is no power. I then recall how I would often go to the basket in my room, where an assortment of toys and games lay in wait. I was never for want of activity when it rained, and staring at the gaping emptiness where the basket once lay, I was thankful for my parents, who had done so much for me. Because of them the rain brought no concerns save for when I would be free to leave the house and bathe in the sunlight once more.
With childhood long past, the rain now brings fresh qualms; I think of myself – of my car, which would glisten in the shower, only to become dusty when the waters evaporated and needing to be cleaned again. I think of the commuters, as the rain grinds traffic to a halt. They will be late returning to their homes on this Wednesday evening - and equally late to their offices the next morning. I think of the pedestrians who trudge through the grimy sludge as unpaved roads and rainwater become one, and again I am thankful. Yet I am sombre, for the rain reminds me not only of my fortunes, but of the less privileged; traders in open markets closing down their stalls, lest the deluge ruin their wares; hawkers, who brave the squall, lest they are unable to sell their goods; families whose houses threaten to be swept away with the slightest gust. And, pondering these thoughts, I contemplate the nature of the rain; refreshing the world with its bounty, but equally merciless in its descent, sweeping away everything too weak to resist it. Like a rapturous lover it caressed the earth, but perhaps at times too harshly, leaving moist engravings on its loamy pelt. The rain split my emotions, making me melancholy. Yet I always smiled whenever I gazed upon the moistened ground. It reminded me that I was alive; alive to know of the rain – to bathe in its silken showers; to fear its chilling embrace. Yes, as I straddled the line between past and present, in the place I once called home, I was indeed alive.
The siren cut into my thoughts, stopping them dead, and signalling that the electricity supply too, was once again alive. My eyes caught a glimpse of the television in the corner, which had flickered to life. Someone must have left it on as they left the house, and I would have to turn it off before I left. But before that, I would indulge my inner child once more.
It was an old television; a medium sized, grey model which my parents had owned since their days in University, where they first met. I was surprised they had not taken it with them to the new house, and promised myself to return for it later – it would not fit in the trunk of my car with everything else I intended to take with me. Reminiscence guided my fingers to the tuning knob, and it swivelled effortlessly as I tuned in to NTA 2, channel 5. It was four o’clock, and this time, fifteen years ago, “Voltron” would be airing. The static cleared, and sure as rain and taxes, “Voltron” was on television, thrusting his trusted blade in the face of bio-mechanical threats to the earth and its people.
As Voltron stuck down his final foe, I realized that amidst the action, I did not realize that the storm had waned, the thunderous cascade of water now nothing more than a misty spray. Electricity, “Voltron” and clear skies; I guess good things did come in threes. I turned off the television, perhaps for the last time, and turned towards my former room. There were several fragments of nostalgia for me to move, and the sooner I began the better. I stepped towards the door, but stopped, and took a second glance at the dusty television box.
When I stepped out of the house, I was clutching the dusty grey set to my chest, holding it tightly, as if not to lose my childhood memories; memories of rainy days and of Voltron, when the skies were dark and menacing, and when that grey television set had come to my rescue. Today, that television set was having a grey day of its own, and now I would save it. It would sit in my new room, as close to my heart as it always was. I would never forget it, and I would never forget the rain.
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