God Bless the rains down in Africa. Oh what a sound! Rwanda has two rainy seasons followed by two dry seasons in a year. The long rains last from March to May, and the short rains come around October to December. Thankfully, we are are just about the beginning of Itumba, the long rainy season. We've had a few tempters so far, but nothing substantial to warrant the official start of the season. I've always attributed it to my growing up in a desert, but rain, especially when falling on a tin roof (and no this actually is not just a cliche), is still one of the most beautiful sounds I know. It starts with the anticipation. The big, fluffy white clouds begin traveling across the sky, playing peek-a-boo with the sun. One moment the sky will be a stark bright blue, and the next moment, you look up and see only the white of the clouds, stretching the whole horizon. If you pay attention, you can almost pick out the exact moment when they start gathering together and drooping heavy with rain. Off in the distance you watch the color take on a a pale gray, darkening with every passing second. The gradation is so subtle that is hardly seems to be changing at all, but again, you look away for a second only to look back and find those seemingly friendly clouds are now menacing and angry. Even the air changes, form the free-flowing, light breeze to heavy and thick. You can sense the building pressure. It starts slowly with a few spitting drops, a good warning if you happen to be sitting outside. Then, once it has established it's presence, the downpour lets loose. Being in a building or under a roof is a deafening experience, amplifying the sounds to a dull roar equal to any waterfall. The best seat in the house is being outside, under a porch where you get to watch the flood fall. It's the sort of rain that invites you to come out and dance in. It's the kind of rain that will drench you in a split-second, but still be varied enough to keep you entertained. It pours, hammers, showers, drives itself mercilessly onto the hard cement, and washes everything in sight. It's an energizing fascination. Imagine an American summer storm in August, where the world crashes down, and you have a small idea of what the rains here are like. Whether it's the overused idea of washing the world clean, the novelty and significance the sound of rain brings, or just the plain beauty of watching water pour down, rain never ceases to amaze me, but ask me again after Itumba. I might be singing a different tune.