The weather

People say that, while it gets hot in Zambia, it is a dry heat. They say that sweat is lifted into the parched air before you even notice it on your skin. This is true; Zambia sits on a plateau over four thousand feet above sea level so the tropical heat is offset by altitude. But it is not entirely true.

When temperatures reach forty degrees Celsius during the day and remain close to thirty degrees Celsius at night, it is difficult to appreciate that being almost a mile above where the Indian Ocean gently laps at the shores of Eastern Africa makes much of difference. Pools of sweat form behind my knees and everywhere else imaginable as soon as I get out of the shower; and they remain there until I shower next.

The days are tolerable enough so long as I keep a bottle of water within reach (I am currently drinking about four litres of water every day), but the nights are insufferable. The nights have always been warm, but the heavy heat used to lift sometime after midnight and by morning I had occasionally pulled the empty duvet cover over me. Now the heat no longer subsides. Lying in bed I often feel as though I am suffering from a terrible fever, only without the icy, shivering interludes. What sleep I get is shallow and interrupted.

In the morning I no longer linger in bed; I quickly remove myself from the damp sheets, peeling them from my clammy skin. The shower is cool and refreshing, and, for a few brief minutes, I do not feel the same unrelenting weariness that the heat induces the rest of the time.

People say it will rain soon. It has thundered a few times in the past week, but the distant growls have been empty promises. In Zambia, it seems, rain is not foretold by the ears or the eyes but by the nose. Only when the air is bursting with the revitalizing scent of water can you be sure of rain.

People say it will rain soon. People say.