On Monday it was extremely windy. I taught my classes the word 'blustery' that day. Then Tuesday began with calm, and so came the storm: a giant charcoal bank rising on the western horizon. By noon it was pouring rain. I found myself in a dilemma at this point. Tired of winter and yearning for warmth, I wanted it all to stop. I wanted sun. But having gone through three winters in Ts'oeneng with no snow . . . maybe it will get cold enough to finally happen, I thought. The idea of playing in the snow in my village in Africa sounded cool.
My throat tickled menacingly during the last period of class that day, Tuesday. It worsened into a full cold by evening. I slept frustratingly little that night and rolled out of bed around 11 am, Wednesday. When I looked out the window I noticed the rain falling strangely. In slow motion. When the drops hit the window they, they were snow flakes! It's snowing! My head felt like mud, I couldn't even get myself to take pictures of it let alone play in it, but at least it was finally snowing. I had gotten my wish.
School was let out when the snow started. One student told me he went home and built a snowman, which his little brother promptly destroyed with a fusillade of stones. The students were released early on Thursday and Friday also: It's incredibly chilling in those classrooms, with the breezes through the broken windows and open ceilings.
I was frigid as well, huddled sick in my house. My heater was broken. I wore many jackets, gloves, and wrapped myself in a blanket. I incessantly boiled water and sipped it. My breath was visible inside the house all the way until the sun finally emerged on Saturday.
So, though I got my snow, I didn't get to play in it. Now the sun's out and that, I've discovered, is what I really want anyway.
Peace Corps volunteers from cold parts of America tell me winter's not as bad back home because all of the insides are heated. You go from a heated house to a heated car to a heated store. I don't care. I'm never living in any of those places. I've done my time in this African refridgerator. Bring the sun, and forevermore.