How a Storm Cured Depression

I served as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ghana from 1982 to 1985, first as a teacher then as a supervisor on a rural development project.  After my service, I stayed on for another year as a contractor.  Looking back, I’m not sure why I joined or what I expected when I did.  I do know that I never expected to get depressed.

One afternoon, near the end of my first year, I stood outside my bungalow, looking into my empty, fifty gallon drum wishing it were filled with water.  Dust had coated its lining for the last six months now, since the start of the dry season.  Thirsty, tired and probably a little smelly because I hadn’t bathed in a couple of days, I wished hard, concentrating with all my might, summoning every drop of psychic energy.  “Water appear!” my thoughts shouted.   Of course, no water appeared.  I had no psychic ability.  

In my bungalow I had one gallon of water left, what remained of five gallons I managed to scavenge a few days earlier when I happened across a broken water pipe near one of the government buildings in town.  On this morning I pedaled my bicycle back there and, to my disappointment, they had fixed it.  I thought I could make my little stash of H2O last at least two more days.  

“Don’t worry.  The rain will come soon,” one of my students promised me before he left for summer break.  But I had reason for doubt.  The history of Africa is full of accounts of droughts lasting a decade or more.  But there was a reason for hope.  For the past three weeks it had been getting gradually more humid.  Humidity means rain, right?

Along with the rising humidity came rising temperatures.  At mid-day they reached 130⁰ and never dropped below 110⁰ even at night.  That made moving around uncomfortable.  Actually, it made everything uncomfortable.  My bungalow had ceiling fans but there hadn’t been electricity since the temperatures started to climb.  Most power was diverted to run the air conditioners of the hospital and government buildings.  Out of session schools didn’t have enough importance to warrant the expenditure of precious fuel.  So the fans didn’t turn.  Nor did the lights come on.

No lights, no fans, high heat and humidity meant no letter writing or reading; my favorite things to do to relax.  Sweat ran down my arms in rivulets to ruin any paper I tried to write on and the kerosene lantern was too hot to sit close to. 

And sleeping was impossible.  Heat and mosquitoes, I learned, are a recipe for insomnia. 

I looked up from my dusty drum to the clear blue sky.  Not a single cloud, not even those high wispy ones.  Then my thoughts plunged.  There’d be no rain today and probably not tomorrow.  I’d have to spend another sleepless night slapping mosquitoes.  I’d have to go out again looking for water but it would be no use.  All I’d get is hotter and thirstier.  The negative thoughts kept coming, like rocks rolling down hill, building momentum and speed, until I was cursing Ghana, my students and the Peace Corps. 

Then I heard a rumbling.  At first I thought it was thunder but I pushed that thought down, worried I get my hopes up for nothing.  Then I heard it again but this time louder.  Yes, it was thunder, I decided.  But how long would it take to get to me?  Would it get to me?  What if it turns and misses me?  It wasn’t until the storm actually hit that I relaxed.

The cold rain drenched me and flooded me with relief.  Everything about it felt good.  The cold, the pelting rain drops and the shivers.  It was the most beautiful storm I ever experienced. 

Within minutes my drum was overflowing.   I fetched my cup and dipped it in.  All my discomfort, the heat, the sweat, the thirst, and the depression was gone with one long drink.  Except the mosquitoes, they were about to get worse, but one can’t have everything, can they? 

Standing there and relishing every sensation and I realized I had experienced a miracle.  The beauty and wonder of it soon overwhelmed me and I started to cry.  When I think back to that moment,  I knew I had encountered God.  I don’t know how I knew, but I was as certain of it as I was the relief I felt.  I thanked him, over and over. 

During the nearly five years I lived in Africa, I had many experiences like that.  Some like the relief I felt during the storm were profound.  Some tested my fortitude and almost broke me.  They moved me and since I’ve been home, I miss them.  When I really think about it, I miss them because it was during those times that I was close to God, more so than I had ever been.  God, I learned, expresses his love for us through nature and when we are exposed to it, He is easy to see.

To me the most amazing thing about those experiences is that God didn’t have to make them beautiful.  He gave us so many things to help us survive; the fight or flight response, hunger and anger but why did he give us the ability to recognize beauty or to feel the awe and wonder of a storm?  Why do we recognize a rose as beautiful?  How does that help us?  There’s no survival value in it.   What are they for but for our enjoyment?  They are gifts.  It’s as simple as that. 

Some people I’ve met think storms are a nuisance.  For pleasure they play games on an electronic device or watch TV.  Storms are things that knock out electronic devices and not something inspires belief in God.  That’s too bad.