For the past four days, rain has fallen with impressive commitment. The dogs and I reached peak cabin fever somewhere between day two and the third damp sigh. Then—miracle of miracles—the sun finally burst over the mountain like it had just remembered we existed.
With spirits instantly lifted, I set off toward a place I’d heard about only a few kilometres away: a sanctuary that takes in disabled cats and dogs, provides veterinary care, and assesses whether they might be ready for permanent homes. Sadly, by the time I arrived, it was closed. Still, the journey itself turned out to be the real reward.
Along the way, I met a goat herder going about his day as if endless rain and sudden sunshine were perfectly normal affairs. I passed gigantic wild gourds that looked more suited to a fairy tale than a mountainside, and I paused more than once to admire the sweeping vista the mountain so effortlessly provides—one of those views that makes you forget wet socks and muddy paths entirely.
During my four rain-bound days indoors, I also became very familiar with the local announcements known as Selâ. Unlike the daily ezan (call to prayer), the Selâ is used to announce a death to the neighbourhood via the mosque loudspeakers. Normally, it’s heard once for each person. Recently, though, it’s been sounding three to four times a day—an unmistakable reminder of life’s fragility, carried across the hills.
So while I didn’t reach my intended destination, the day delivered sunshine, unexpected encounters, quiet reflections, and just enough adventure to remind me why stepping outside—rain or shine—is always worth it.
Not to forget …. A rare white rhino poolside at a small unit block.