The Rains . . . in West Africa

from my porch 

  I am getting attached to the rainy season.

  Tuesday evening when I went to bed about 10:30p. About 2a I awoke to some low persistent thunder. I lay and enjoyed if for 30 minutes or so.

 It was rolling thunder, as in it seemed to roll from one side of the house to the other. It reminded me of that first stereo we got in the late 1950s—the one that came with a demo record that included someone walking across a hardwood floor in hard-soled shoes. We listened over and over as some unseen, unknown person enthralled us with the illusion that someone was walking above and around us.

I know, now, that the demo record was more than DEMOnstration. Maybe it was DEMONstration. It was a tech hook. The novelty of hi-fi and stereo needed a hook. What better hook than to include a demo record with every purchase, knowing that this new experience would demand new owners to invite friends to the house to hear and experience the wonder. Customers, then, became unknowing and willing salespeople.

Nipper

What worked in the 50s has been refined in twenty-teens in ways we could not have imagined “in the day.”I know, now, that the demo record was more than DEMOnstration. Maybe it was DEMONstration. It was a tech hook. The novelty of hi-fi and stereo needed a hook. What better hook than to include a demo record with every purchase, knowing that this new experience would demand new owners to invite friends to the house to hear and experience the wonder. Customers, then, became unknowing and willing salespeople.

 What worked in the 50s has been refined in twenty-teens in ways we could not have imagined “in the day.” 

  Still, I listened to the rolling thunder for thirty minutes or so.

  Then—like the "Victory at Sea" orchestral band on the demo—all of West Africa exploded in the night. The storm that had been rolling toward us hit with a fury. Flashes of lightening turned the palms into silhouettes. The thunder wasn't rolling, anymore. It had found its destination and hit with a force that shook the house and, even though I was anticipating the detonations, caused me to flinch.

  The show lasted another 30 minutes.

  Then it was the hard rain that I never thought would let up. When the alarm went off at 6a, it was still coming down.

 My friend and the new General Secretary of the Liberia Baptist Missionary and Educational Convention, Justus Reeves, read a version of this memo on FaceBook. His comment was, “the rains in West Africa are so different, especially the sound of the lightning and thunder.” Preach, brother!

  By 7:30a there was a respite. I grabbed my briefcase and umbrella and headed off to campus, surrounded by that ephemeral coolness of high humidity that hangs in the air after the rains. Within ten minutes it was, however, a sauna.

  Today it was raining when I awoke, but stopped enough for me to get to the campus dry. During chapel the rains came, once again making it hard to hear the preacher. (If it is hard to hear a Liberian preacher, well, . . . .)   

  As we were leaving, the rains came, again, with a fury.

  I made it to the portico of the admin/classroom building, named for Billy Graham. The rain was exquisite, again. 

  I’m getting attached to the rainy season.