#ClimateStory4Kids: The rainmaker’s secret

rain - climateaction

#ClimateStory4Kids: The rainmaker’s secret

Hello Kids. Welcome to #Climatestory4kids!

 

A long time ago in Jumunga village, drought fell upon the land and even the watering places began to look dismal; the leaves of the trees curled up and withered; the moss became dry and hard and, under the shade of the tangled trees, the ground turned a powdery black and white, because there was no rain.

 

Summer had become an anguish to live through. Even the air was so dry and moisture-free that it burned the skin.

 

Many of the villagers had lived off crops, but with the changing weather pattern, they had nothing to feed on. Witch doctors were making a huge amount of money because people were always turning to them in desperation for herbs to rub on their farmlands for the crops to grow and the rain to fall.

 

Much to everyone’s surprise, the rain did come but it wasn’t the full, steady downpour. Instead, it was thin, scanty, and misty but It softened the earth enough for grasses to grow and animals.

 

One day, the villagers were called to the village to hear the proclamation of the beginning of the plowing season. Soon after, they began to move off to the lands to plow.

 

There was a family among them, the family of Mr. Gonji. They had a donkey cart and piled everything onto it. They were excited about the promise of rain.

 

In the rush of the first hope of rain, they cleared the land and then fenced the area to protect the future crop from the goats they had brought along for milk. They cleared out and deepened the old well with its pool of muddy water. The land was ready and plowed, waiting for the crops.

 

At night, the earth was alive with insects singing and rustling about in search of food. But suddenly, the rain clouds fled away and left the sky bare. The sun danced dizzily in the sky, with strange cruelty.

 

Each day the land was covered in a haze of mist as the sun sucked up the last drop of moisture out of the earth. The family sat down in despair, waiting and waiting. Their hopes had run so high; the goats had started producing milk, which they had eagerly poured on their porridge, now they ate plain porridge with no milk.

 

It was impossible to plant corn, maize, pumpkin, and watermelon seeds on the dry earth. They sat the whole day in the shadow of the huts and even stopped thinking, for the rain had fled away.

 

Only the children were quite happy in their little world. They carried on with their game of making the house like their mother and chattered to each other in light, soft tones. They made children from sticks around which they tied rags and scolded them severely in an exact imitation of their own mother.

 

Their voice could be heard scolding the day long: “You naughty doll! When I send you to draw water, why do you spill half of it out of the bucket!” “You naughty doll! Can’t you mind the porridge pot without letting the porridge burn!” And then they would beat the rag-dolls on their bottoms with severe expressions.

 

The adults paid no attention to this; they did not even hear the funny chatter. They sat waiting for rain; their nerves were stretched to breaking point willing the rain to fall out of the sky. Nothing was important beyond that.

All their animals had been sold during the bad years to purchase food, and of all their herd only two goats were left. It was the women of the family who finally broke down under the strain of waiting for rain.

 

Each night they started a weird, high-pitched wailing that began on a low, mournful note and whipped up to a frenzy. Then they would stamp their feet and shout as though they had lost their heads. The men, however, sat quiet and self-controlled as it was important for them to maintain their self-control at all times but their nerve was breaking too. They knew the women were haunted by the starvation of the coming year.

 

Finally, an ancient memory stirred in Mr. Gonji. When he was very young, he had witnessed a rain-making ceremony.

 

“Aha! He exclaimed.” He had remembered the age-long ritual that could save them.

 

He called his wife and told her about what he had remembered. He instructed her to search his rucksack for his native salt.

 

He hoped it was still there because it had been given to him by his great-grandfather many years ago.

Some minutes later, his wife returned with the pouch of native salt.

 

Mr Gonji took the pouch from her and stepped out of their hut, walking some distance towards the steep hill that was not too far from where they were.

 

When he got to the peak, he untied the pouch and took some native salt. He raised his palms to the sky, still holding the salt, and like magic, rain clouds began to gather. He maintained that stance until rain droplets began to fall.

 

Soon after, it began to rain heavily and as he made his way towards his hut, he could see people coming out of their huts one after the other, shouts of joy filling the air.

 

“The gods have heard us.” They chorused.

 

Mr Gonji took that moment to steal a glance at his wife and as their eyes met, he winked and grinned. She smiled and nodded at him.

 

Thanks to Mr. Gonji, the village was saved.

Related Post