Amaadi kugwa

    Although the rain here dampens my efforts at doing laundry, it gives me a good excuse to stay inside, lounge and read a bit.  I’m doing some small work as well--Peace Corps assignments and scheming.  Right before the downpour, I heard some neighbor kids squealing right outside my door.  Taking advantage, I took my Lusoga textbook and asked them, pointing at the sky,...
    “Kino, kino ni olukuba?” This, this is thunder?
    They stared.  I tried something else.  “Agya amaadi?” It comes water?
    They stared again.  One of the kids offered Shakira, the neighbor girl, to go to me.  Considering that sometimes people will threaten their children to be taken to the mzungu to be eaten if they don’t do such and such, Shakira started to cry. 
    Two older boys who always say hello to me were walking by.  “Hello!” I motioned, in Ugandan gestures (open and closing of hand, palm forward) for them to come to my porch.  “How do you say ‘rain?’” At this point, I think the younger children start to play the game let’s-get-really-close-to-the-mzungu-then-run-away-terrified.   
    “Ntambula gawa amaadhi.”  (I think?  I have such a poor short-term memory).  Shakira’s mother, Sarah, returned from wherever.  I asked her as well.
    “Agya kutambula amaadhi itono.”  It’s going to rain? More like, it’s going to travel water...itono.
    “Ah--kitufu?” It’s true? I asked
    “Kituf-” she said, cutting off the last vowel, as most Lusoga speakers do.

    No matter how you say it, rain is very welcome to me.  As long as I don’t have to go anywhere and manage the slip n’ slide that is Wanyange hill.  So, not only does the actual downpour give me an excuse to stay inside, the after effects hold me captive as well.  Thank goodness I’ve stocked up on mangoes and spaghetti, with a good book to read!