shower power

We had a blackout yesterday. For those of you just joining the fun here, a blackout on the ship is where, for certain technical reasons totally unknown to me, they have to shut off the engines for the whole day. I think there's a lot of cleaning involved, but what it means for the general public on board is a day without electricity. Now, before you call me a terrible missionary for even needing electricity, let me explain one little thing: as far as water is concerned there is no such thing as gravity on this ship. Every drain (toilets included) operates on a vacuum system that sucks the water right down. No power equals no suction, or, as we generally say around here, Hey! My shower isn't flushing! Keep this in mind, because it becomes important later on.

I spent the day in the company of the duty nurse pager and a really long book. It was wonderful and relaxing, albeit a little warm and stuffy. (We have portholes, but they don't open, so when the air goes off, it gets hot fast.) Once the engineering crew had done whatever they needed to do way down on Deck Two, the familiar hum of the engines let us know that all would soon be well. Sure enough, the lights flickered on, our fridge came to life and the reassuring sound of air whooshing through the vents greeted my ears.

I was about to jump into the shower, figuring that all was well, when an announcement from the Captain came on the speakers. Good evening crew. Please be aware that all vacuum systems are now operational with the exception of port side forward. Which, I'm sure was wonderful news, except that my cabin is most definitely located port side. Forward.

I gave up my hopes for the shower I'd been looking forward to and wandered up to Deck Five to gaze longingly ashore from the gangway. Instead of the clear night air, I was greeted with an epic rainstorm, completely unexpected because it's not the raining season yet. Water fell in grey sheets, almost rivaling the intensity of Liberian storms, and lightning lit up the sky, silhouetting the cranes against the clouds. Everything smelled like wet concrete and summer, and it didn't take me long to realize that this was the best shower I was going to get.

I was wet to the skin within seconds of walking down the gangway, the warm rain beating on the top of my head and running down my face like tears of joy. The dock was two inches deep in water, and the puddle-splashing was inevitable and glorious. I felt like a little kid again, head upturned to feel the tiny fingers of water moving over my face, arms outstretched to embrace it all.

There's something about rainstorms in Africa that isn't like anyplace else I've been. I know I've still got half a year here, but I'm already starting to tuck things away in the back of my head, making a mental catalog of all the things I'll miss when this season of life is over. Rain in Africa is somewhere near the top of that list.