The African Rain.

"We are like the rain- an equal opportunity element. The dew fall on the head it sees!"
Son! I love rainy-days! I love the impressionable fact- that the Big Man Upstairs frequently plants his feet apart on a hard ground, loosens His huge belt, and let loose His huge bladder to water His earthly gardens. It's a moment of freedom to take open shower by playful kids- as if that frivolity was some kind of physical ablution-such only dedicated to the cleansing of the body, but not touching the Soul. It feeds the joys of the green earth as it release its poisonous stress into the atmosphere after absorbing much needed natural fluids to nourish itself. It helps the replenishment of the natural aquifers- and its many profligate river-beds. It's the humidity-slayer; for muggy days of unabated sun-rays directed upon our tender skins are washed away in just a day or night of a lengthy downpour.
Animals and mankind alike sleep stuporously through a rainy night as if the world was collectively anesthetized- all to wake up the next morning entirely rejuvenated- as if the world just a day before was a total drag. It makes the African wet season-its boisterous downpours particularly, somewhat of an ultimate hypnotic agent. The African rainy days- make lovers yearn to want to be home, but nowhere else- exlusively next to their love interests- cuddling, touching and impulsively making love to a steady music of drops of heavenly juice bouncing off corrugated roofing sheets. The African rainy nights instinctively weakens the defenses of hard-headed wives- those stubborn women whose weapon of choice to punish an errant hubby is the withholding of conjugal benefits- their own way of reminding the men they rule everywhere else-including the bedroom! It's as if these women were born with no souls- their collective sense of empathy accidentally or deliberately detached with the expendable placenta at birth! Of the most innocuous things to punish a man with- that shouldn't even factor within the heart of a woman- the universe's most dominant emblem of kindness; after all, the "milk of it, supposedly flow through them!"

Rainy nights does many things in such instance. One is that the keys to the crotch area suddenly goes missing- the usually "locked" legs suddenly opens at the man's slightest, but mischievous touch. The labia-the twin doors to paradise part away hydraulically- like the magical door of the mythical Ali Baba cave. The only difference, would be that- a smart man would sneak up on it without a whisper of "Open-Sesame", or the slightest disturbance of its peace. If the rain is heavy outside, well...the "doors of Paradise" could grant you entry into its inner-recess with hints of wetness too. It's a great possibility. Don't take my word for it! The African rain softens the hardest heart of a woman- just as it notoriously softens drylands suffering from extended periods of drought. It in turns fill the head of the man with luscious visions, to the point of helping to harden his own major member. It fills the woman's soul with indecisions- should I allow him in, or should I keep the fool out? It fills the man's soul with the gentle resolution- to forgo his manly pride and take what he's been consistently denied, but considers to be his very own! Sad that some.sex-starved husbands oftentimes don't make it past the tenth shaft strokes or less than those ridiculous fake pumps before ejaculating- thus flooding the sweet hole with his own milky-rain. It's the physiology of an hungry man at a Buffet table. His first plate, if he's not careful could be his last plate before his carefully nurtured hunger entirely dissipates. Shame that oftentimes the African rain- like its attending flood sweep in things wanted, and, or unwanted. Some babies have been documented to be byproducts of such rampaging flood too. One can see the African rain as God's own bedroom peacemaker.

And to you naughty kids- the African-rain makes corporal punishments harder to take- but easier to metabolize. So I advise that if you must take your lashes during a downpour, please take them stoically. Allow them count toward future good behavior boys and girls- for the sleep that follows an episode of an African ass-whooping was usually the best- quite unforgettable, and please correct me if I am wrong here. It's the classic analogy of dying and going before God. He throws open the secret doors of His secret chambers just for only you to take all in. He allows you play with all the wonderful kiddie toys in Heaven. He allows you the exclusive permission to pet the fiery horses that drew Elijah's Chariots of Fire without ever feeling their residual heat or getting burnt. He allows you view your emblazoned future in a close and quick-sweep- how glorious it could turn if you stay on course-on the narrow path of obedience and how awry it could abruptly end if you dance crazily to the beat of your own foolish drums. And through this heavenly odyssey- your ears are given inner strength to hear your own hefty, sleepy sighs- as loud and as clear as you've heard, many times- the intruding, scratchy noises of the pesky mouse running rampant in the food cupboard at the foot of your parents bed- the only furniture in a one-bedroom apartment hardly holding an infantry of five souls. Your chest pumps hard-up and down in mostly three quick flats- and not more than the fifth pump! That's the moment you are good to resume your ass-whooping-induced-dosage of a good night sleep. That's equal to the nanoseconds it'll take you to descend down to earth from your "heavenly" elevator.

By the early morning, all would have been forgiven- almost forgotten- till the transient pain from the welts on the fleshy backsides, quickly reminds of a previous night entirely gone sour. And till you step into the heavy muddy ground. If you happens to be deposited where good drainages are lacking- you are left to waddle like a duckling through clusters of puddles or high-racing flood water. It's nothing too difficult to navigate through- it's the African-Rain- we are used to it!

Odolaye Aremu