#72- Rain Storms

There is no activity more humbling than carrying a jerry can full of water up a hill. I can tell you from experience.

It was August, 2008 and I was in Salabwek in Kenya's Maasai Mara region with Free the Children. We were given the afternoon off to go on what was referred to as a "community walk".

At one point in our tour around the village we came to a pond and beside it a tiny stream, a creek with barely any pulse to it. Our guide pointed to the stream, the water limping along over the rocks.

"That is where we get our water," she said, "the pond is for the animals."

There had been a drought, she explained, for months and months and water was already a scare resource.

Now this was a major reality check for a city boy from Toronto who had spent many a gleeful hour filling and refilling water guns and water balloons as a child.

We were asked if we wanted to carry some water in jerry cans for some of the people who had been at the stream when we arrived.

Reality check or not, I still had an over-exaggerated macho streak in me so I ran to the front to pick up one of the faded-yellow jugs.

What no one told me was that it was heavy. Really heavy. Also, the walk was uphill.

While I struggled up the hill, several five year old kids overtook me, carrying, with ease, the very same thing I had trouble lifting off the ground. Seeing something like that does something healthy to your ego; it deflates it, it humbles it, it puts it in its place.

Just when I was coming to the top of the hill, the rain started coming down.

It came down harder than I had ever seen rain fall. It felt like a giant hose had been pointed at me and was dousing every inch of my body.

Our group lugged the jerry cans quickly to where they needed to be and headed off at a trot to find some sort of shelter, like we had always done when a storm hit back home.

And that's when I witnessed one of the most amazing things I will likely ever see; the kids from the village who had gathered around us were going crazy. Some were dancing, others running around, and some were just looking up at the giant hose in the sky, smiling.

The drought had ended.

We all slowed down, stopped and began to join in. We laughed, we slid on the mud covered paths and we walked with the kids, all the way back to our camp in a downpour that didn't really faze us anymore.

That night there were more smiles in our camp than at a synchronized swimming competition. We had experienced pure joy in a burst of rain.

That day made me realize a lot of things. It taught me to stop thinking in a negative, cynical way all the time and about things I couldn't stop. It made me realize the magnificence of things I took for granted way too often. It uncovered the power of life-affirming, refreshing, smile-inducing water. And it made me realize that you can go five days without showering it you get caught in a rain storm at some point in those five days.

And now every time I get caught in a rain storm I try to think about that day instead of how wet my socks are or wondering if the bus will be late because of the weather. I try to think of the contagious euphoria of that day in the rain in Salabwek.

So I am grateful for rain storms. I am grateful for the way they nourish the Earth, our bodies and most importantly how they can nourish our souls.