Rainy season is beginning here in Murrupula. For me, that means cooler weather, albeit a higher humidity when the sun does come out; the sound of rain pattering on the zinc roof, sometimes relaxing, other times so loud you can’t think; thrill from filling up your water buckets with rainwater; and mud. Walking in the rain, getting a little damp or even soaked, not a problem. The problem is the mud that accompanies.
Here in the north, there isn’t much dirt, it’s mostly sand. Thus, the mud becomes this slushy, sandy, though still “muddy”, sticky substance along the walking paths. There are no paved roads, no cemented sidewalks here, just mud.
You begin your walk tentatively trying to stay out of the mud puddles and mud rivers that form, walking daintily in an effort not to flip up too much mud with your sandal, or more importantly, to ensure you have a secure foothold before lifting the other foot. You forget about the umbrella and realize the wind is blowing the rain anyway and turn your focus to scouting out the best path with the less mud.
Then it gets to the point where you stand, blocked by the mud river that has formed in your path. No way around it. No way over it.
You start to look around and realize that all Mozambicans have vanished and you are the only one walking in the rain. A few people look out from their covered porches. Children take baths in the water falling from rain gutters. But ultimately, everyone has hidden themselves away from the rainwater.
Still facing the mud river, your only option really is to go through it, hoping it’s less deep than it looks.