Roob Been Ah by Jack Steer

I watched in awe as the rain fell in gallons. Raindrops as hefty as apples tumbled from the heavens in munificent volumes, muddying the desert sand. Whenever a giant drop smashed against the window, the pane would rattle like ice cubes in a jar. On the floor behind me, a dog howled at the storm. The stout woman cooking in the kitchen hushed the hound in quick Somali. I didn’t pay either of them any mind. 

The shack was made of splintering plywood and chipping stone, lit only by flickering candles. On the horizon, I could make out the blotchy shape of the nearby village. I wondered if they were celebrating the rainfall. I wondered why my host wasn’t. 

In my countless voyages, I had learned that Mother Nature was subversive. The previous year I accompanied a fishing crew across the Atlantic. I had prepared for freezing rain and vehement oceanic gales, but it was the sun burning my skin red and raw that had been the cause of my suffering. Likewise, I had come to Ethiopia to report on the extreme drought, but it was the unexpected rain that snared my attention. “Torrential Rain Falls in Drought-Stricken Ethiopian Region” Quite the eye-catching headline. “Journalist Gives a Firsthand Account” A simple subtitle could propel it to the front page. Such a miracle of nature was not something to watch behind glass.  

Of course, I hadn’t thought to bring a jacket, so I settled for my wide-brimmed sunhat. The dog yapped fervently egging me on as I tightly laced up my worn leather boots. The rain seemed to drum harder and faster on the rooftop like a necromancer’s incantation as I readied myself to face the storm. As I opened the door it was violently forced inward by an eager gust. Curiously, the outside door handle was covered in rust. 

The woman, who had until that point hardly acknowledged anything but the barking dog and her cooking, snapped her attention to me. She moved toward me with a limbering intensity. Though I could not understand what she was saying, her tone was molten hot and scolding. 

“Ex- Excuse me?” I stammered. 

“Roob Been Ah!” the woman said as if the three Somali words were as plain in meaning as my own name. 

“Roob… Been Ah?” 

“False Rain.” The ominous words cut through the drumming ambiance of the storm. 

I stared dumbfounded. False Rain? As if in response, a flare of hot desert wind ripped the doorknob from my hands with the force of a crashing wave. The door swung and cracked against the wall as the storm swelled. Rain began to pour in, soaking the floor like blood through a rag. The woman screamed words I could not understand.  

A flash of movement caught my widened eye; without warning, the dog fired out the door into the elements. Its hind legs, bounding across the sand, were stark white under the dark clouds, and its furious barks and howls were drowned out by the roar of the wind. I turned to pursue the dog, but the woman clutched my wrist with iron strength. She looked into my eyes with a haunting mix of rage and despair. “False Rain,” she uttered, before turning to the window. 

The dog was a speck of paint in the grayscale world outside. It flailed and howled and reared and snarled, the apple-sized raindrops pelting the ground around it like cannonballs. Witnesses, we stood in perfect stillness, me wondering what would happen and the woman wondering when. 

There’s a nauseating humor in seeing something you can’t explain. It’s like being told a joke by the universe and not understanding the punchline, and all you can do is laugh uneasily. As the dog began to lift off the ground, the storm swelling and the wind screaming, I felt the air leave my lungs, and I scoffed. It was completely involuntary. My stomach lurched. The woman looked at me, her pupils dark pools of fear. I chuckled and then giggled, and soon I was howling, screaming like the wind with tears in my eyes. The dog continued upward, gaining speed, flipping head over tail through the air until it was less than a fleck of paint in the sky, and then it was gone, swallowed whole by black velvet clouds. The moment it disappeared a crack of thunder split the sky in two. The rain ceased, as did my laughter. The candles went out in smoke. For a brief moment, everything was as quiet as an unplugged heart monitor. 

And then the rain returned, the drops as red as apples.