My lucky day

I came home for lunch today in the hot sun and heat that is the Rwandan dry season. Julie had been here to wash my clothes and the sun was so warm, my sheets - which she always starts first - were dry and on my bed. The rest of the clothes were hanging and nearly dry. My lucky day.

I ate lunch and called Patrick to see if he would drive me to Nyamugali. No answer. Oh well. It's just up the road so I head out of my gate to catch a bus or moto, whichever happens to come by, when who do I see? Patrick! My lucky day.

We get on the moto and we roll along the road when he begins to slow down. Surely we are there yet, Patrick? "Anna," he says as he points down a path through a thicket, "My home is down there." So I reply "When job is finished, we'll go there!" (I was needing a hug from little Pamela). My lucky day.

We arrive at the school and I am greeted by a woman that seems to know Patrick. It's a teacher at the school and his mother! I'm sure that she tells him in Kinyarwanda to drive carefully with me. Patrick says he'll be back in an hour to collect me. My lucky day.

The head master was at the school and prepared for our meeting. He has his teacher timetables and we proceed to draw up a Library timetable. He's prepared and our meeting is efficient. My lucky day.

We sit out on the veranda and I wait for Patrick. I have a few minutes as our meeting finished early. The sun is low on the horizon, a rainbow is in the distance and the breeze is gorgeous. My lucky day.

And then Patrick doesn't come.

And I try to call him but there is no answer.

So I wait.

And I try him again.

And the sky begins to get a bit darker.

And finally I reach him. He can't come because there is a "problem with the police."

The sky is getting darker still and from either direction, rain is coming.

And Patrick tells the head teacher that we will send another driver.

I wait. No driver comes.

I go out to the road. The sky is getting darker. The tempurature drops. I feel a few drops.

I wait.

Motos pass but have no helmets or no space. (I won't get on a bike without a helmet.)

Feel a drop. Then another.

A bus comes along. There is space. My lucky day.

We get closer to my house. The rain gets heavier. I tell the driver to let me off at Vundika. He knows my house - kwa Karangwa. It's pouring now. He pulls up close to my gate. My lucky day.

I rush through the house, to the back yard where my clothes, when last I saw them, were baking in the hot Kibungo sun. They were nearly dry. Now they are drenched. Every last piece of clothing is wet. I rush around trying to bring them in. It's no use. My lucky day.