Sometimes, what seems to be a blessing at first, can quickly turn into a curse.
I woke up Tuesday at 6:30 AM, and heard the rain fall heavily on my roof. Considering it is the rain season, this was nothing new. I figured that the rain would last another hour maximum, and would then diminish or stop, and after an extra half an hour of so, the street would be dry enough for me to cycle to the embassy and be at work just a little late. However, at 7 o’clock, the outside world was still grey with rain. I decided it would be better to ask a colleague to give me a lift to work. She agreed and said that her husband and she would drive by my house as soon as the rain would get less.
I waited and waited, but the weather did not improve the slightest bit. My garden quickly turned into a shallow lake. Leaving the house without standing in ankle-high water became impossible. My terrace slowly but steadily flooded. Inside, water leaked into my bedroom through the sealing.
It was around nine when the rain seemed to become lighter. I ran into the street, or at least into the river which had replaced the street, and jumped into my colleagues car.
We already had the embassy in sight, when we had to stop and turn around: the road ahead had turned into a mud pool, and several cars were stuck in there. On our way back, we got a call from another colleague of ours, who lives next door to me: she had an emergency situation, with the water from the street flowing into her garden and into her garage, where she had stored many pictures, videotapes, books and furniture. When we got there, many things had already been ruined.
My other colleague found out that her roof and the gutter had not been cleaned properly, which caused a lot of leakage inside her house. Her husband, a Dutch ambassador in another country, who was visiting for a week, had no other option but to get onto a ladder and get the mud and dirt out of the gutter with his bare hands, in the pouring rain. I just had to take a picture of that one.
The embassy, in the mean time, had no electricity, apparently, and only a few colleagues had made it there, after taking many detours thanks to blocked roads. They literally had to wade through 50 cm. of water to get in. Many colleagues had been unable to leave their house: one had found his car drifting in the garden.
The ambassador stopped by at everyone’s house to see how everyone was coping. He told us that many houses of poor people had been destroyed: they build them from a kind of mud, which does not hold well in such violent rains. Also, part of the hospital broke down. Adding to that, the harvests will probably be ruined: at first, the farmers were worried that draught would ruin their harvest; now, everything has probably been washed away. In a country which is very poor, even compared to other poor countries, this is a true catastrophe.
I spent the rest of the afternoon with my colleague, who gave me dry clothes and food, and finally, around 15:30h, the rain stopped. I waded through the water in the street, which had no doubt mixed well with the sewage by then, once more, to spend the night in my own house. After the noisy violence of the rain, the night was remarkable quiet, and also very, very dark, because the lights outside had stopped working. I stood and watched the serenity of the night with my guard for a while. He told me that my American neighbours had fled into a hotel – I guess they are not the adventurous sort of people.
The next morning, we learned that at least eight people had died in Ouaga, and many, many people have lost their houses. But, after two days, the streets are dry and dusty again, generators help out with the lack of electricity and water is running through the taps again. For anyone who doesn’t know (or doesn’t care), all seems to be well again.
I woke up Tuesday at 6:30 AM, and heard the rain fall heavily on my roof. Considering it is the rain season, this was nothing new. I figured that the rain would last another hour maximum, and would then diminish or stop, and after an extra half an hour of so, the street would be dry enough for me to cycle to the embassy and be at work just a little late. However, at 7 o’clock, the outside world was still grey with rain. I decided it would be better to ask a colleague to give me a lift to work. She agreed and said that her husband and she would drive by my house as soon as the rain would get less.
I waited and waited, but the weather did not improve the slightest bit. My garden quickly turned into a shallow lake. Leaving the house without standing in ankle-high water became impossible. My terrace slowly but steadily flooded. Inside, water leaked into my bedroom through the sealing.
It was around nine when the rain seemed to become lighter. I ran into the street, or at least into the river which had replaced the street, and jumped into my colleagues car.
We already had the embassy in sight, when we had to stop and turn around: the road ahead had turned into a mud pool, and several cars were stuck in there. On our way back, we got a call from another colleague of ours, who lives next door to me: she had an emergency situation, with the water from the street flowing into her garden and into her garage, where she had stored many pictures, videotapes, books and furniture. When we got there, many things had already been ruined.
My other colleague found out that her roof and the gutter had not been cleaned properly, which caused a lot of leakage inside her house. Her husband, a Dutch ambassador in another country, who was visiting for a week, had no other option but to get onto a ladder and get the mud and dirt out of the gutter with his bare hands, in the pouring rain. I just had to take a picture of that one.
The embassy, in the mean time, had no electricity, apparently, and only a few colleagues had made it there, after taking many detours thanks to blocked roads. They literally had to wade through 50 cm. of water to get in. Many colleagues had been unable to leave their house: one had found his car drifting in the garden.
The ambassador stopped by at everyone’s house to see how everyone was coping. He told us that many houses of poor people had been destroyed: they build them from a kind of mud, which does not hold well in such violent rains. Also, part of the hospital broke down. Adding to that, the harvests will probably be ruined: at first, the farmers were worried that draught would ruin their harvest; now, everything has probably been washed away. In a country which is very poor, even compared to other poor countries, this is a true catastrophe.
I spent the rest of the afternoon with my colleague, who gave me dry clothes and food, and finally, around 15:30h, the rain stopped. I waded through the water in the street, which had no doubt mixed well with the sewage by then, once more, to spend the night in my own house. After the noisy violence of the rain, the night was remarkable quiet, and also very, very dark, because the lights outside had stopped working. I stood and watched the serenity of the night with my guard for a while. He told me that my American neighbours had fled into a hotel – I guess they are not the adventurous sort of people.
The next morning, we learned that at least eight people had died in Ouaga, and many, many people have lost their houses. But, after two days, the streets are dry and dusty again, generators help out with the lack of electricity and water is running through the taps again. For anyone who doesn’t know (or doesn’t care), all seems to be well again.
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