I was 12 years old and living in Lagos, Nigeria. Our house was outside of the city near the ocean. There was not much else around. The bush (jungle) started across the street. It was so dense that it looked like a solid green wall. In the other direction about 2 miles, down a deserted road, was the ocean. Nigeria sits right on the equator and has a serious monsoon season that lasts for several months. The rains come everyday during this period at 3pm and lasts about a half hour. It’s a hard rain. Gray and impenetrable.
Nearly every day when school let out at noon I would grab my fishing gear, hop on my bike and ride out to the deserted pier at the end of the road.
Most of the time I would have a little luck, get on my bike and be back home before the rains came. But not on this day. I lost track of time enjoying the tranquility. And then I looked up and saw the rain. It was about a mile out and to my 12 year old eyes it looked like a giant steamroller.
I quickly grabbed my gear, ran to my bike and started pedaling for everything I was worth.
The gray wall was now only a half mile away and gaining on me. The pounding of the rain was getting louder. I was breathing hard from the excitement and exertion. Looking back. 100 yards if that. Pedal harder. One mile. There’s my house. The sound is deafening. It’s nearly on me.
I screech to a stop under the carport and before I’m even off my bike the rain covers the house. I start laughing. I am triumphant. I am 12.
This post was submitted by Steven Casper.