The rain in Congo is neither the constant slow drizzle in Seattle, nor the dreary thunderstorms of the Midwest.
When it rains here, it pours. And then life becomes one big mud-puddle. In case I failed to mention it, the roads in Eastern Congo are not actually roads. They are simply trails (read: mud paths) which have been blazed through the forest. There are a few select dirt roads which comprise of peaks and valleys and a minor gorge every three meters. When the weather is sunny and dry, the tumultuous roads are nearly impossible to traverse with any vehicle. When the weather is wet, you can foghettaboutit…no transportation, unless you plan to swim through the swampy mire to your destination.
It has rained nearly every day since I arrived three weeks ago. Sometimes, my heart is like a sponge which soaks up all the gloomy rain. Eventually my heart becomes so heavy that it sinks. I’ve been praying for the rainy season to terminate quickly so that the sun dries up this waterlogged heart.
Rather than a dry heart, God simply changed my heart. I began to feel thankful for the rain…
For the past 8 days, we have had no running water. Apparently, there has been a shortage of water in the town of Beni. If it weren’t for the ample supply of rainwater, we would’ve had no water with which to wash our clothes, cook our food, or bathe. (I cannot even believe that I’m bathing in rainwater. Desperate times call for desperate measures.)