Copperbelt Rainy Season

From Great North Road

I was looking through some of my fathers papers and came across this short article on the Copperbelt Rainy season that he wrote. I am sure it will invoke some memories.

Foreword:

Many of the worlds Tropical countries have their ‘Seasons’ divided into, ‘Rainy’ and ‘Dry’. Whilst some of these countries may have two rainy seasons in a year: the ‘Big’ rains and the ‘Little’ rains, others simply have one long Rainy season and one Dry season.

Northern Rhodesia, now Zambia, where the writer and family worked and lived during much of the 1950’s is one of these countries, and local folklore has it that as soon as someone put a match to the Guy Fawkes bonfire, the rainy season would start. Whilst not to be taken too literally, the Rainy season does, almost without exception start in November, gradually increasing during the following 3 months before tapering off in April. The following short article is part of a ‘look back’ at various incidents, triggered by notes, made at the time or since, by photographs taken during that time, and by time being available due to recent retirement.

THE RAINS.

There had been no rain for almost half a year.

Red dust lay thick upon dry grass, and smeared the sparse leaves of the trees into dull lifelessness. The wind fretting and undecided, stirred little ‘dust devils’ into being, whirling and short lived, picking up and dropping dust and dead leaves before vanishing into hot nothingness.

For weeks now the tension of mind and body had been steadily building up. Night time lightning had flickered and flames, far away, without thunder, except in hopeful imagination. During the early morning little fingers of cloud on the far horizon, occasionally smudged the blue sky, only to be swept away, dispersed and melted by the arrogant sun.

Today it could be different.

All morning the moisture-laden clouds had been battling their way inland, thick and black, tearing apart only to reform more dense than ever.

No lightning at first, only a grumbling rumble, trailing off, to be repeated with greater emphasis each succeeding minute. Then a cracking tearing streak, purple blue against the dark clouds, and another, and another, needling flashes stitching one thunder clap to the next. Clouds rolling up, jostling and bumping, piling up, one on the other. The sun surrenders, darkness swamping down to be cowed in turn by bursting sheets of blue hot lightning.

A single drop of rain hitting the thick dust is absorbed, followed immediately by other massive drops in increasing crescendo, hammering at the ground and drumming on the ant-proof iron roofs of the scattered houses. Gusting, tearing, independent fierce winds, battered trees with water laden fists, shaking the windows and shrieking through the mosquito gauze.

The storm drains, choked with the litter of many months, hampers and blocks the coursing water, only to be overcome and swept clear, as yellow-red, mud filled leaping rain water plunges headlong on its way.

The thirsty ground, hard and baked, is overwhelmed, cannot absorb this deluge, and the rejected rain gathers into puddles, then pools and lakelets, frantically looking for somewhere to run. Any slope, any hollow will do.

Then a faint ray of light fighting through the cloud mass, is followed by another, subduing the lightening, and moving on the protesting muttering thunderclouds, trailing their tails of rain. The sun, timidly at first, then growing more brave, bursts through and in seconds the ground is throwing up tendrils of steam. There is a smell of wet earth and washed grass, the leaves sparkle and cling possessively to their rain droplets.

Underground, the white ants long dormant have been waiting for this day, and worming their way to the surface, take off in their thousands for one brief flight, before dropping to the ground and shedding their wings for ever. Swooping and diving through this mass, the swallows and swifts in there hundreds, tear them out of the air in a brief annual feast. They also have waited a long time.

It may not rain again today,….or tomorrow…but tension has already eased. The rainy season has begun, bringing renewed life and well being to the Savannah of Central Africa.

Footnote:

The rainy season on the Copperbelt of Zambia has the highest incidence of lightning in the world.

(Author: Harry Cain)

Contributed by Gordon Cain.

Friday, July 06, 2001