“Should we talk about the weather?”

REM has really driven me crazy over the years. I used to interpret that line from “Pop Song ’89” as a way-existential and non-conformist rejection of trite and meaningless excesses. I still do, actually. But this phrase has really needled me over the years, because I find that I talk about the weather often and sometimes with great enthusiasm and interest. And every single time I do, I feel like I am betraying the way-existential and non-conformist rejectionism that has been my beacon since 1988. Damn you Michael Stipe!

This is a defensive prelude to the fact that it is H-O-T in Gulu. I know this is not a news flash, but I’ve been rather uncomfortable the last two days in particular. I was lying in bed last night under the net in my undies afraid to move because it would raise the temperature even more. My mosquito net seemed more impenetrable than usual – more like a mosquito iron curtain. My mom asked me how it was going yesterday and I weakly replied, “hot.” She laughed and said the enthusiasm I had for the extreme conditions of Gulu seemed to have waned quite dramatically.

The first dry season I spent in Gulu I couldn’t figure out why after lunch I was completely unable to get any work done until around 5pm. I literally drooped over my desk and stared at my computer screen, trying to will (without success) my mind to type until the sun started to set. Around 5pm, I experienced a dramatic physical rejuvenation. My back straightened and my email output increasing tenfold in a matter of minutes. I had an “a ha” moment too. I realized that Siesta in Spain wasn’t some lazy European, socialist holiday, but a truly necessary and weather-related pause to maximize one’s performance. (Of course they have air con in Spain now, so maybe my New York sensibilities aren’t too far off  )

Two months into dry season, people become desperate and delusional. It’s so so hot and dry. Everything is cracked and I think this has some effect on our ability to process information. What’s worse is that this year’s countdown to rainy season was interrupted by a cruel trick of nature: it rained for a week in February. It was glorious and confusing. All of Gulu was buzzing and everyone was asking two questions “Is this really rainy season?” and “Should we plant now?”

During this rainy season mirage we convinced ourselves that the global climate change had shifted rainy season by a month and a half. My garden was starting to look like the Sahara and it was bringing me down, man. I decided to trust the new rainy season and plant some lettuce and herb seeds. I was conservative – kept a few packs back, but as I started to oogle the packs of thyme and coriander and arugula, it was hard to hold back. Salads at Café Larem would be a perfect decadent addition to the menu. So I sowed some seeds, beeyotch.

I am pretty sure climate change had something to do with the week of rain in Feb – it was around the same time as the Haiti earthquake. There is certainly more and more evidence that the seasons do not fall as they used to. However, given that it’s dried up again in Gulu, I think the change was not as dramatic as we had hoped. My sowed seeds are tucked away under dry grass nursery beds, so I think they’ll make it until the rain starts.

Oy, I never wanted it to rain so bad. I’ve been fantasizing about that moment when the clouds burst and a tremendous downpour floods everything and turns my white dog burnt sienna. As a control freak it is difficult to accept that there is absolutely nothing I can do to make the rain come.

Mercy! Let it come!