The Rains Came

I wonder if the expression “raining cats and dogs” translates into Spanish? Lloviendo gatos y perros? I’ve caught myself wanting to say this all day as I stare out the doorway to find rain, rain and more rain. Between the hours of 8 and 12, one girl came to the library to borrow a book…maybe she stayed 45 minutes then left. So, there I sat all morning alone in the library with my co-worker, Myrna. To try and at least efficiently use this down time, I began work on the month’s report we have to turn in at the beginning of each new month. There I sat as the rain poured down around me, crunching numbers and finalizing statistics. I did this work as if it weighed heavy importance, but still felt like something in my day was lacking. “Wow…1,137 people visited the library this month and more than 4,500 books were used.” I said this out loud to my co-worker as if to make us feel important or useful, but through the doorway the rain still fell, and we sat in the library with nothing to do and not really much to say. We commented on the cool weather the rain had brought in, but then just listened to the music made by the rain drops.

Watching the rain fall and the puddles grow, I couldn’t help but think of all the potential library users at home, dry in their houses not wanting to leave as I sat awaiting them and now growing bored. I stood in the doorway under the awning enjoying the cool breeze and spotted some chickens squirming around futilely trying to avoid the rain, and for a second I felt sorry for them wishing I could provide for them some shelter, but as I thought about all those in Managua living on the streets or in houses made of scrap metal, my sympathy quickly shifted away from the chickens who were now crouched under the lid of a barrel open to catch the rain and towards all those who were suffering or in a difficult situation because of all the rain. Of all the poverty that exists in this country, today there was no lacking of water. If only they could build an economy on water alone…

At lunch some of the other workers in the project and I opted to not make the daily trip to the nun’s house, but to stay and eat with the kids at the comedor (the project’s soup kitchen for children). We noted the low attendance due to the rain and worried for what the afternoon would bring. Continuing on the topic of the rain, I wanted to mention that I had mistakenly forgotten my rain coat at home, but at that moment the clouds were not only housing the rain in the sky but were also in my mind cause what came out was that I had forgotten my “folder of rain” at home. Upon saying this, I tried hard to mask my embarrassment, but after a few seconds I began to laugh at myself along with the others. Hum…maybe now would be a good time to ask if “raining cats and dogs” was also a Nicaraguan expression?

As expected, the afternoon only brought more rain and fewer students. With little urgency, I balanced the afternoon between helping with English homework, finding stories for two young eager girls to read, and trying to repair the computer currently dying from a virus. At about 4’oclock when the small group that adventured to the library that afternoon was beginning to trickle home, a young girl, Rosita who had just been happily reading fairy tales burst into tears. In between sobs, she explained to me that her umbrella which was neatly placed along the wall was missing. Her panicking quickly increased, and she began searching all over. Those still remaining in the library joined in the hunt, and we efficiently scoured the entire library hoping the missing umbrella would magically appear between the pages of books or under bookshelves. Her tears continued to pour, and as we were beginning to give up the search, she sniffled to me that if she didn’t return home with the umbrella, her mom was going to hit her. How was I supposed to respond to her fears especially when there was no sign of it appearing soon? I offered to walk her back home with a mangled and semi functional umbrella that had been in the trash can earlier that day to keep her from getting wet on the walk home and to explain to her mother how the umbrella was lost. As I walked out the project gates holding a sick looking umbrella in one hand and the hand of poor, sobbing Rosita in the other, I knew that anything I could communicate to her mother could not prevent her inevitable beating for loosing the umbrella. We took at few more steps together warning each other of approaching puddles, while up walked a miracle: Myrna had just made a trip to the corner store to buy instant coffee packets and taken the umbrella with her knowing that she would just be gone a few minutes. Rosita still continued to cry and couldn’t wait to get her umbrella back and walk home. Was a missing umbrella suitable ground to beat a child? To me that answer is obvious, but maybe not to a family like Rosita’s that had to save up for weeks to buy an umbrella. Now probably wouldn’t be a good time to ask if raining cats and dogs was also a Nicaraguan expression?

On the bus ride on the way home from work, I went to go sit in the only available seat to find that it was available because it was totally soaked from the window which was stuck and couldn’t close. Not acknowledging the confused looks on the faces of the Nicaraguans traveling in the rain that day also, I sat in the seat feeling my pants soak up the water and rain spit on my face. Cause that’s what happens when it rains, you get wet…I figured I would just wait until tomorrow’s rain to ask if “raining cats and dogs” was also a Nicaraguan expression; I imagined they would say something like “raining chickens and pigs,” but who really knows what that expression means anyways? I don´t really think it matters, and although the rain brings hardship for some, it is joy for the farmers and their crops. So for now, I am just going to remember how the grass is getting greener.