Lightening

The house which was struck.

Although the clouds roll and rumble above, this ‘rainy season’ has been considerably dry. In fact, daily the Sudanese staff are praying for more rain; their farms are languishing; their river beds are mucky and low.

But when the rain does come, it stomps its way in like a two-year-old having a tantrum, and makes everyone stop to take note. But then it’s over.

However, these tantrums often cause significant damage.

A few weeks back, Sabet told me that 3 people had died in a nearby village when their tukel hut was struck by lightening in the night.

Confused I asked him to explain why the lightening would strike a place that had no metal in it. Was this common? He couldn’t explain to me why --only that three had died and we should pray for the family’s loss.

Well, it happened again. But this time, it was much much closer.

Last Thursday, I was standing under my veranda talking to my translator about a patient. The rain was falling so hard we had to shout to be heard over the drumming on the tin roof.

Electricity crackled above in the clouds, hanging low. Then CLACK! --a sudden bolt hit not far away and fire flew skyward.

It was impressive ... and close. But I didn’t think much of it until later when I got back to the clinic for another patient.

I could smell wet ash, like an enormous bonfire was extinguished and I asked my translator about it.

-- Don’t you know? The house over there was hit by lightening.
--What? Really?
--Yes, didn’t you hear?
--Well, of course I heard. How could I not? But really, a house was struck?
--Yes, and the woman inside was killed.
--A woman was inside?

Together we went to investigate. A tukel just over the fence from our clinic, no longer had a roof. The woman and her belongings were taken by her son (who was outside the tukel when it hit) to a friends house.

I was told that Sabet went to pray with them and find out how we could help.

Remarkably, the lightening hurt no one else, even those just a few feet away.

Please pray for the woman’s family during this sad time.

Electric Darkness.

The dark rumbling started low, but screamed to a crescendo by the time it hit. Glowering clouds, pregnant with malice converged in a desperate clap of thunder, followed by a deluge of rain.

ping-ping-ping-pingpingpingpingpingping. The rain beat relentlessly on my roof.

Screaming in sideways, the wind knocked over metal drums and rolled them about with evident distain. Trees danced in dismay. Animals fled. I hid.

Craaackkk! The lightening struck out high above, weighing the air down with dread.

The storm chased what was left of the day away, leaving muddy drowned darkness in its place. Dancing with rage at each clap of thunder, it wailed on and on.

It was awesome to behold. Absolutely marvelous.

The pounding on my tin roof made thinking difficult. Mesmerized by its fury, I stood in my doorway and watched.

Soggy, raging darkness punctuated by brief flashes of lightening, it was hard not to be impressed. Plus, there was no time between the roar of thunder and the bolts of power that lashed out above. 

The storm was upon us.

Then suddenly as I watched from my doorway, one of those bolts struck land. KA-BOOM!! Even though it hit at quite a distance, I could see the individual sparks flicker and fly, then fade.

Within milli-seconds the blast of energy raced toward me like a wave and jolted my body. What a rush! The same wave that hit me, fried everything electric in sight. The lights blew with a snap.

Darkness.

All I could think at the time was, “Did I just get electrified?” Still bristling with electric juices, I stood there more in shock than actually shocked. “I did. I was after-shocked by lightening.”

I’ve heard of lightening striking a person. But this? It was wild! How many other people were slammed by this wave of energy?

Anyway. The storm raged on through the night, and I eventually fell asleep. When I woke, the land was battered and bruised; but it would recover. So would I.

Sadly, our electricity has not faired so well; we have been limping along ever since. Most days we run out of electricity shortly after dinner, and have spent our nights in various shades of night.

It’s not so bad really. It could be worse.

The hardest part so far has been not having the internet. It’s hard not keeping in touch with friends and family. Worse still, I’m not able to complete my college classes online. I hope my teachers give me some leniency when they find out the extenuating circumstances. Imagine the email I’ll have to write for that one. It makes ‘my dog ate my homework’ sound good.

“Oh. Sorry I couldn’t take my test this week, Professor. Lightening hit our town and knocked out all forms of communication for over a week.” Do you think they’ll believe me?

No (or honestly, very little) electricity makes me feel like a real missionary! Ha!