A fool will not even find water in the Nile!

The Niles 23
Short fiction
from Sudan
& South Sudan
Labour
Victor Lugala | Juba
I
361-11. Kuli Village /
Nuba Mountains /
Southern Kordofan / Nov 2003.
© Claude Iverné / Elnour
t was late afternoon. The sky was a dark cotton wool
of wandering clouds. A cool breeze whistled through
the tree leaves. Then the sky rumbled like barrels
rolling down a hill. Suddenly the dark clouds parted
and cracked with a spark of frightening flashlight.
Thunder. The pregnant cloud turned darker and
menacing, as a strong wind began to blow, swaying
tree branches violently as if about to uproot the trees.
The first rain of the year was imminent.
The dark cloud that hung heavily over the village
caused a commotion. People scampered pell-mell:
lactating mothers collected their babies and rushed
with them to their huts lest they get drenched, lest
they catch a cold, lest they develop fever. The bigger
children jumped up and down, giggling.
The villagers were happy because rain was about
to fall. The fields would be wet, green vegetation
would sprout and the villagers would grow crops.
When there are crops in the village there is life.
Water is a source of life.
Rain drops began to fall, wetting mother earth....
tap tap tap.... they pounded the earth ferociously.
Then the sky opened her flood gates, soaking the
whole village. The heavy rain made visibility difficult.
The main road of the village and the huts were covered
in mist, rain. The leaves and grass were wet. The
village huts were wet and dripped with water like
a spring, yet smoke escaped gently from the roofs
of the huts. The huts’ interiors were warm. The
prudent ones who had dry maize cobs in their food
granaries were roasting some for hardening their
teeth, while leaving some for the planting season,
which was at hand.
The main village road was wet with pools of water
here and there. The water seemed to speak in their
language as they rushed and gurgled down the gullies,
gutters, streams. The wet, dirt road turned slippery.
It was muddy, sticky and foreboding as the angry rain
continued to pound with impunity.
It was as if the sky was angry.
Now the road was foggy.
At a distance a hazy, staggering figure could be
discerned, struggling against the wind. The figure
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