The Day It Rained Red

I will not forget this day — January 26, 1983. Nigeria, Africa.

The sound of the horns is distant — sad and low as the rain beats against our hut and the canopy that surrounds us. With each growing second, the brassy and quick toots become louder growing to a crescendo that awakens my stiff body from sleep. What is happening?

There is no time to remain lazily in the comforts of my bed. Every member of this tribe knows what those sounds mean.

“Omeko are u a-wake?” I gently tug at his arm. It is hours away from sunrise and the bright light from the moon is now faint.

His eyes open and he peers intently for a few seconds. His white pupils are bright darts against the darkness that now consumes our small space. His silhouette moves as he stands on his feet and says, “We do not have time. We need to go now.” I hear him looking around for something.

‘What do u think is de matter?”

He throws me a thick piece of cloth. “I am not sure but put this over ya head so we can go to de pit.”

We can hear the sounds of more horns outside. They remind me of the voices of our tribal elders screaming at us, their stubborn children, to leave now.

“Just grab what u can,” he says with a sense of urgency. We are always told to prepare for emergency situations by having some supplies packed and ready to go. We aren’t as prepared as we should be.

“I don’t think we really have much time,” I say as I listen to the sound of the tarpaulin being whipped by the wind while it continues to bang on every part of our home.

Omeko struggles to open the door while the wind blows so strong that we both move like trees. I feel the cloth around me becoming a flagship. It shakes any sleep that remains out of me.

He finally gets the door open and grabs me by the hand.

An angry sky set on fire with the color red as it releases buckets of water upon us is what greets us.

Was it the blood of our ancestors coming to bless us or that of evil spirits coming to torment us?

The wind slaps me in the face and I fall down grazing my knees against some rocks. Omeko pulls me up by the arm. My knees are still shaky but we continue to walk. No one would dare run in this weather. My eyes narrow and I blink repeatedly. Specs of red resembling jewels are carried by wind and rain as the light shines on them.

There is something different about the water falling from the sky. Something grainy is in my eye and I begin to rub it. My vision narrows to a pinprick while I continue to walk hurriedly burying my face in my cloth to protect it from the attacks of the wind. Although we can hardly see, the sounds of voices close to us and in the distance is what we use to guide us towards safety. Fallen leaves tumble around as if caught in a cyclone while the surrounding trees creek–their branches strain and finally succumb to the onslaught. My body shivers as goosebumps appear on my skin.

Omeko’s grasp around my arms grows tighter. I am unable to talk as the wind feels like daggers against my bare skin. My heart is pounding in my chest. The cloth around my face, which is protecting me, but also suffocating me, prevents any words forming in the back of my throat from coming out. I can feel the blood coursing through Omeko’s veins in his wrist becoming stronger and increasing in pace. He is still here with me. I squeeze his hand twice, our usual way of providing comfort to one another.

Omeko glides through the mud robotically as it constantly shifts beneath us, senses heightened as we find our way solely based on sensations and memory. The voices that we once heard are distant as the wind becomes a howling gale. I try to recall a time when the weather was different — when the rain was more of a mist and tiny water particles tickled my face.

Under this rain, little balls are propelled out of the sky and hit anything on its way with force. Our layers of clothes can only do so much to protect us. By now we are both drenched. As we move, splashes of water hit the back of my legs as my toes curl into the mud looking for a way to keep my body stable above ground. I keep my head low and raise it up every now and then to catch a glimpse of what is happening. I touch my face and sense tiny grains on my delicate skin crumbling into dust particles between my fingers. This must be what was in my eye. Was this sand? Where is it coming from?

The wind tries to rip our hands apart but Omeko refuses to let me go. I can, however, feel his grasp loosening. Thankfully, my feet touch the dirt stairs underneath and I know that we are here. We are driven so fast by the wind that my feet barely touch every stair until it lands on the cold, dry earth. We rush away from the opening to a corner joining the others in the underground pit. I am happy that the wind no longer pierces my skin and that I am able to remove the damp cloth from my face — free it from suffocating me. Instantly I take a long, deep breath and close my eyes while tiny particles continue to drop into small nooks and crannies on my face.

Our tribe leader, Somali, turns on the only radio that we have to obtain some answers as to what was going on. All we hear is the sound of static until this scream echoes so loudly through the pit drowning out all other sounds. My eyes scan the room for the origin of that sound. Her scream was the kind that reverberated through the ears, making its way directly to the heart. It’s Kashima.

“Moreti, Moreti,” she screams out.

Her eyes are desolate. The tears roll down her cheek while she rocks back and forth holding on to a scarf that I believe belongs to Moreti. Some of the women are around her.

“When was de last place where you rememba being with ha?” another woman asks her.

“I was holding ha hand while we were walking and my hands got slippery so I told ha to hold on to my dress.” Tears continue to flow down her cheek. “I thought she was right next to me until I looked a-round and couldn’t find ha.”

“I will go out and look for ha,” I say. The words leave my mouth before I can think. The room gets cold as the voices filled with conversations and tears abruptly disappear. The number of eyes that now stare resemble stars that flicker at night against the kerosene lamps making me uncomfortable.

“No u are not,” says Omeko, “it’s too dangerous.” He grabs my hand and stands in front of me staring into my eyes. The areas of darkness and lightness on his face change and his eyes are sad.

“Yes, I am and before u say anything, u are not comin with me.”

“Why would I let u go out deh and why would I let u do it a-lone?” His hand tightens around mine and I can tell by the sound of his voice that he was trying to convince me otherwise. My mind is made up. I am going to look for that child. Just me and no one else. No one else needs to put themselves in danger.

“U cannot convince me otherwise.” I pull away from him and run up the dirt staircase making sure to have the cloth cover my face.

“Do not come after me,” I yell at him. “They need u here to ensure everyone else is safe.”

The men help me through the door as the wind insists on forcing me to stay in. They know better than to challenge my decision. We struggle to get the door open and I hurry out as soon as I can see a small opening. The gusts push me to the ground where my body begins to tumble. The wind howls like a fox in the night and continues to beat on my face blocking my vision, beating on my skin till it becomes raw. I should know by now that the cloth offers no defense.

When I stop, there is a gnawing pain on my side and all that is weakly trying to leave my mouth are whistling between a tight jaw. The gusts come back and my body is projected into another cycle of launches. Both my hands reach out in search of something to grab on to–to put a pause to this never-ending turmoil. My body is growing weak and I am drowning in this rainwater and wind.

My fingers find an object with uneven edges and I grab on to it with all my might. It is bigger than I think and I cradle my body in a small corner on its inside. I sink my face against it and begin to gasp for air. Was this really a good idea? Do I really think I will be able to find Moreti in all this? I don’t know how to explain it, but something tells me she’s still alive. All I have to do is find her.

I begin to pray

“To all the spirit of our ancestors who continue to bless our people and to bless our land, I call upon u to help me find Moreti. Deep inside, I know she’s still a-live. Please, I need a way. Strengthen me and guide me on this journey. Protect me and most of all protect Moreti until I can find ha. All of this I ask in the name of our ancestors.”

While I pray, I feel a sense of calm around me, even if the rain is still heavy. I look up and I have a vague sense of where I am. As the rain continues to fall, the wind touches my skin gently and its sound reminds me of one of our lullabies. The darkness around is slowly starting to fade but all I can really see is red as it spills over me leaving my body like a slaughtered animal. The good news is that I can see, not perfectly but clearer than before.

The paths we normally follow are strewn with leaves where some trees have been uprooted. Our beautiful surroundings are nothing but a chaotic scene.

I call out, “Moreti, Moreti weh are u?” with my voice competing with the sound of the rain. I listen closely for an answer. I do not get one.

“Moreti, I am looking for u. Child weh are u hiding? Your mama needs u.”

I listen again. All I can hear is the sound of the rain hitting the ground, hitting my skin with a thud. The site reminds me of the bloodied scene that was left years ago when I was a child — when so many of my tribe were killed. I watched as their blood, which stained the ground was being washed away by rain.

“I ask u again ancestors, let your blood come down on me. Help me to find ha. Help me find Moreti.” I stand still with my eyes tightly shut, allowing my body to continue to be soaked.

When I open my eyes, I see a tree still standing–the only one whose leaves are shaped like snowflakes. I know exactly where I am. If I can trace my steps back to the village I may be able to find her. What if the wind has taken her far away? I shake myself to remove this thought from my mind.

I walk through the rain screaming, “Moreti, Moreti weh are u?” The wind continues to pick up but it is still not as strong as it was before. My feet struggle through the mud. At times I fall to the ground but I get up as quickly as I can. The weight of these wet clothes is heavy on me.

Is that a noise in the distance? My ears are not playing tricks on me. There, I hear it again. Someone is calling out my name. The voices are familiar. I yell out as loud as I can.

“Okemo is dat u?” I stop moving so I can hear a reply. Over time, the voices become clearer and I am happy to see Okemo, who is with Miakno, one of the other men of our tribe.

“Molefi are u ok? Okemo asks and I nod, then say to him. “Why are u heh?”

“Molefi, Mikano and I came out to find u. You know I would not let u go a-lone in dis type of danger eh.”

I want to roll my eyes but I do not have the strength to.

“Were u able to find Moreti?”

I say sternly “You think if I wuz able to find ha, she would not be with me?”

Okemo does not reply and Mikano also remains quiet.

“Ok, come now, let us go find ha now that the wind has given us a chance.”

He takes hold of my arm and we begin searching the nearby forest, feeling the fallen leaves as they become slippery beneath our feet. Mikano slips and Omeko with such quickness is able to catch him. What strength this man has and one of the reasons why I love him. He understands that sometimes he has to let me be. He doesn’t always challenge every decision I make and really has been so supportive of me. How lucky am I to be his wife.

The river has turned into a pool of red liquid. It is much higher and floods over the land. Our village is close by. I am hoping that if anything, Moreti would think to find her way back home.

We look for her separately through the remnants. Our homes are missing their roofs and walls and the whole area is filled with debris. Trees that were once upright with branches are now resting on the ground on their sides. Nothing is the same. This is the first time I am witnessing such damage. My heart rate goes up and my eyes become foggy while I think about all the losses, but especially where is Moreti.

There is a loud cry from Mikano in the distance.

“She is heh,” he says.

I run towards the sound of his voice where he ferociously digs out the mud, sand and water, which surround the part of her hand sticking up.

My heart stops beating. No air enters my lungs. I rush in and join him. My mind can no longer produce any thoughts. Beneath the mud, there is a blanket covering the rest of her. We remove it as I continue to hold my breath.

Her eyes are closed. Besides being muddy, her face has been barely touched — free of the redness of the rain. We all shake her, “Moreti, please Moreti, wake up!” Before we know it, her eyes open.

I feel my first throb inside my chest and I let out a long sigh as Mikano and Omeko grab her and lift her off the ground. The rain now is nothing more than a drizzle and she smiles.

“We are so glad that u are okay. Your mama is so worried.”

She said, “A man’s voice told me to stay heh and that I would be safe. He said somebody would come looking for me.”

I close my eyes.

“Thank u, thank u,” I scream with my hands pointed towards the sky.

I know our ancestors are the reason why we are safe. Their blood now lies all over this land in a way to purify us. To let us know that they are still around. They constantly speak to me and I will forever remain a faithful listener.

We walk back to the pit with Moreti at our side. I’m tired and I need some food and water. I must take off all my wet clothes as well. We will probably stay there until everything settles down. For now, I am looking forward to sleep. Omeko holds my hand and its warmness is soothing. I turn to both him and Mikano and say “Thank u for coming after me.”

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