When it rains, it pours

A few nights ago, I discovered that it rains in my apartment. I'm not sure what most of you picture when I describe Patel and my little one bedroom high rise in the center of town. It’s got great views of the city, with huge, 5 x 8 ft picture windows overlooking the bus station, and we are comfortably situated on the fifth floor (walk up, of course. No elevator in these swanky digs). So, imagine my surprise when I get home from a restless day at the office to discover that, while the windows provide glorious natural sunlight and a variety of dream-disrupting, old school tunes from the early 90’s blasting from the streets below (this morning-Lady in Red and an old favorite from the Pretty Woman soundtrack), the windows also aren’t sealed. Like at all. Here I am, laying in bed, journaling about the trials and tribulations of my week, when I hear rain pouring in through not one, not two, but count ‘em, all three windows in the apartment. With appalling speed, a puddle of water forms on the floor, and the next thing I know, I’m wringing out towels and wading through ankle deep rain water that’s collecting in my bedroom. Troublesome. The irony is that we haven’t had running water in the apartment for over two days.

I know, I know. For those of you that have had the fortunate pleasure of reading my emails since my old Peace Corps days in Togo and my last semester in Ethiopia, this water issue is becoming old news. Africa has water problems, blah blah blah. Aimee never showers. Yada yada yada. Ok, fine. This is true. It seems worth mentioning though (just to put things in perspective) that I also have a third eye growing out of my head from some newly acquired thirtysomething acne problem. Not only does this growth merit a good face scrubbing, but quite possibly a warm compress to expel whatever it is that is taking over my face. I’m expecting to wake up tomorrow with blurred vision in my left eye. It’s remarkable, really.

Not only do I have the ol’ acne concern, but my feet have been traipsing through the streets of Kigali for two days in my trusty Tevas (yes, the same pair the freaky foot fetish man in NYC asked to sniff way back when)…and I’m almost 100% certain that my foot abscess is rearing its ugly head again. Is that even physiologically possible? Maybe I should see this ankle deep water issue in my bedroom as a blessing. I just saved myself the use of a minimum of three, much-coveted wet wipes that I can save for, ahhh, yes…a rainy day. I’m not entirely clear what to do with my room at the current moment. I called Patel. He was solution-less as to how to remedy a few, unwanted gallons of rain water on the fifth floor of an office building. He was encouraged that I would have something to do to occupy my time on a rainy Thurday evening. Thanks, roomie. There is no maintenance man to speak of. I’m not even entirely sure anyone knows that people live here. So, while Patel is at the restaurant, serving Kigali’s elite chicken tika masala and lentils and drinking fine wine, I’m laying in a puddle (pun intended. Please.) of my own sweat in a puddle of rainwater in my random room on the top of Ecobank. Awesome.