by a Lump of Clay
Pheeew! I don’t know, but apparently it’s the equinox. What does that have to do with a country sitting smack at the equator? Beats me. But I’m told the heat has gone up to 39*C in some parts of this equatorial paradise where I live. And is expected to go even higher. (Probably in tandem with the local political temperature? I don’t know. Not really into politics. Too hot to handle). I don’t know about the *C, but I can tell you this. It has been blooming hot lately, that’s for sure.
The authorities assure me they are desperately trying to do something about it. I’m sure they are. After all they ARE the authorities, right?Apparently they are deploying military C130’s (the ones that got left out of the dozen or so international wargames going on at any one moment, and finally withdrawn from the off-again-on-again search for the missing Boeing 777 - remember that one?). The big green behemoths are busy in the skies above the capital, seeding clouds so as to make it rain, in the hope that it might help cool things down a tadge. What a laugh! No way that’s gonna work, you know.
For starters, rain is not made by pumping up clouds with salt. That’s a cock-a-ninny idea! I mean everyone and his wet dog knows for a fact how rain is really made, don’t they? What? You never heard? Sigh. Okay, I’ll tell you. But I must warn you, it’s not for faint-hearted fair damsels. So be warned!
Rain is made by the RAINMAKER, armed with the relevant rainmaking paraphernalia – mainly a loin cloth, a bunch of turkey feathers and walking stick (optional). I know this for a fact because my neighbor at the back was one. And he was good, I tell ya. How do I know he was a Rainmaker, you ask? You would, of course. You don’t happen to have a Rainmaker for a back door neighbor, do you? Well I do. And I discovered him by accident.
You see, every time it rains, I have to rush over to the back room of my house to shut the windows. The ones in the wall, darling, not the one in the computer. And what do I see? (Before closing said windows, of course). There is my elderly back door neighbor in a loin cloth, a bunch of soppy feathers in one hand, and walking stick in the other, doing the rain dance in his back yard. (Well, sometimes sans the loin cloth. Maybe that’s optional too? How would I know? I’m no Rainmaker!) See? Whadja tell ya? Rain is made by the Rainmakers. Like my back door neighbor, who lives by himself. Presumably to guard his well-kept rain-making secrets.
But there’s a sorry end to this tale. You see, the last time I saw him was during one especially heavy downpour. There he was as expected, in full cry, bringing down the heavy downpour. And as I watched in fascination, out of the blue, he was rudely interrupted by 4 burly chaps dressed in white overcoats. They rushed at the unsuspecting Rainmaker, and roughly bundled him tip-over-arse into a van with red markings! The bastards! Didn’t even have the decency to let him bring along his loin cloth! Never saw him again. I have this strong suspicion that he has been … err “escorted” to India. Why India? Well it is rumoured that that’s where valuable people are surreptitiously whisked away to. Why else do you think the Ringgit has been falling against the Rupee for sometime now? Moreover, soon after, it was reported to be pouring like hell over there. Such a deluge, that their main airport in the south-east of the country was flooded for weeks! Well, serve them right for interrupting the serious work of a Rainmaker in MY country.
Never heard of him since. Poor chap. His optional loin cloth is all that’s left to remind me of this uniquely-gifted but poorly-appreciated individual. It’s still lying there in his backyard you know - testimony to a strange, reclusive neighbor, and a brilliant Rainmaker. And believe it or not, it hasn’t been raining much since then. Hence the current heatwave.
Now, it must have surely dawned on you by now, that this story can have serious socio-emotional repercussions at both the personal and national levels, and especially on the teetering global financial markets. So please, if anyone (especially burly chaps in white overcoats) comes around asking about Rainmakers, you didn’t hear this from me, ya! And don’t call me. I’m busy cooling off with a tall glass of iced milk tea.