The wind blew angrily, it was as if it was offended by someone and wanted to take deadly revenge. It was dark and loomy, if it was a person, it could easily be described as being sorrowful, the greyness of the clouds no doubt poses a strong warning of the rain about to fall.

Kamasi looked out of her window and into the greyish cloud and concluded she had to decide between risking the rain to get what she needed to prepare dinner or going to bed starved, she chose the former.

Truth be told, she had no choice but to choose to go out despite the cloud. Aside from the fact that her only meal of the day was an egg roll (a kind of flour to which an egg is popped in the middle and then fried), her grumbling stomach was already reminding her of its need to be fed.

She reached inside her closet and picked a thick black raincoat, which she draped over her green sleeves gown, she picked up her equally black umbrella and slipped her feet into black flats.

Twenty minutes later, she was smiling to herself as she made her way back to her house after purchasing her kilogram of Semovita, pepper, and palm oil (all African, precisely Nigerian food.) She was about to turn the corner that leads to her street when the downpour started. So much for rejoicing, or it was probably because she rejoiced before getting home. She opened her umbrella to shield most of herself from the rain when she felt a presence beside her.

She looked up, only to stare into the most beautiful grey eye she has ever seen, and she wasn’t even kidding. It was as grey as the sky when it was about to rain and boy does it penetrate deep into you. She swallowed and tried redeeming her dignity. “Hello, I presume you’ll have a reason for stepping in.”

“It’s quite obvious, it’s raining and you have an umbrella, it’s only normal to share.” The rich grey eyes voice was unsurprisingly deep and rich.

Determined to be unaffected by both the eyes and the voice, Kamasi frowned. “I clearly could see that it’s raining, but the last time I checked, the umbrella was mine and that means you ask before using it.”

“You didn’t let me, hardly had I slipped in when you started talking,” he lifted the umbrella out of her hand to raise it above both their heads, as he was taller. “I’m Kwame and I would be glad if you let me share your umbrella.”

“I don’t think I have a choice anymore,” Kamasi laughed, “I’m Kamasi.”

“Why are you out in the rain?” Kwame he studied the beautiful lady with a dark eyeball which was the only thing he could see since the rest of her were considerably hidden by the raincoat, and maybe the eye was captivating enough, he couldn't get his eyes to see anything else even if he tried. “Seeing as you have an umbrella with you, I figured you must have gotten out in the rain, or is it that African thing of taking an umbrella everywhere?”

Kamasi raised a brow, “African thing? You are what? Asian?” She asked and then sighed. “I was out while the wind was blowing because it’s either that or I starve to bed and my stomach just wouldn’t let me starve.”

“I’m African-American or so.” He smiled when she just raised her eyebrow. “My father is Nigerian, but my mother is not.”

“So you’ve lived in America all your life?” Kamasi found herself asking, not out of interest but because it was the proper thing to do to keep a conversation, or maybe that was just the excuse she gave hereself.

“Well, yes. I lived there until recently when I came to Nigeria to identify with my roots .”

“Ah, ah, ah,” she imitated laughter, “very funny.”

“I guess.”

"So no one told you not to go out in the rain?”

“My cousins would rather say that’s an African thing to do,” he laughed when she looked at him in horror. He caught a glimpse of her long dark hair and fought the urge to run his hand through it. “My car broke down on my way home from work and since my house was just around the corner, I thought I could beat the rain.”

“Me too,” Kamasi confirmed. “I guess we are both very African.”

"Kamasi,” he called her name perfectly to her surprise, “tell me an African rainy season story.”

She whirled towards him, causing him to stop abruptly, and almost ran into her. “When did I mention being a storyteller?”

“C’mon Kamasi, every African child is a storyteller, Africans are known for folktales.”

“Well then, tell yourself one since you are African also.”

“In my defense, I’m just trying to find my African roots, won’t you help a desperate African child find his root?” he mimicked a sad sorrowful expression, his eyes squeezed like tears would drop from them in any minute, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you one.”

He bumped a fist in the air and smiled at her.

“Aside from folktales, what’s that one thing Africans are known for again? One thing they do so elaborately, they could use months in planning for it?”

“Parties?” He answered, not sure of himself.

Kamasi patted his waist, which was where her hand could touch, “you’ll be a great and fast learner.” She commented. “You see this story involves a party during the rain.”

“Wow, that’s nice.” Kwame turned her gently to the front so they could continue moving, as they had been standing since she whirled towards him. “I’m glad to learn under your feet,” he took a dramatic bow.

“Screw you,” Kamasi laughed. “So during a certain rainy season, a very rich man had a baby, a son which he had been looking for for years and planned on having a very elaborate christening for the child.” She paused to be sure she had his attention and found him looking intently at her with interest, proving his total attention. “Unfortunately for the man, the rainmakers confirmed it was going to rain on the day of his son’s christening or any other day he chooses to do his son’s christening before his son clocks three months and even they couldn’t do anything about it, he would have to wait three months before he could have an elaborate christening.”

“Wow.”

“Right? The man was devastated, he thought if he waited three months, many people would have gotten over the excitement of the new child and he probably won’t have a lot of crowds as he wished by then.”

“Phew, so what did he do?” Kwame couldn’t resist asking.

“I am going to get there, won’t I?” Kamasi hissed, she was annoyed at the interruption just when she was getting into the story.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” he managed to look chastised.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you till I’m done with the story.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Shut up.”

Kwame nodded and made the zip sign.

“So after discussing with a few friends, he concluded on appealing to Osun, the goddess of rain, to withhold rain and enable him to have his son’s christening ceremony,” she paused. “Are you following, don’t talk, just nod.”

Kwame nodded.

“Good. So he went to the riverside and met with the Osun priestess, they call them Yeye Osun. The Yeye Osun told him after she consulted with the goddess that he would have his son’s christening when he wanted to instead of after three months, but after the ceremony, he is to bring his son to the riverside to bathe for a month. In his excitement, he accepted and went back home, he called his friends and family and asked them to get prepared for the party.”

Kamasi saw that the rain had reduced to drips and took off her raincoat, by an unspoken word and agreement, she passed the raincoat to Kwame and he took it, hanging it over his shoulder. He could see the fullness of her hair, the roundness, and the beauty of her dark face and he wanted to tell her he has never seen anyone as beautiful as her but knew better than to interrupt her story.

“The party day came,” she continued, “and everyone came out glamorously. They were expensively dressed and the party was the talk of the town. Everyone who came ate to their fill and even took home which is what truly describes an expensive African party.” She turned to Kwame, “Guess what the man did after the party?”

“Take the baby to bathe by the riverside I guess?” He replied

She shook her head, “I’ll tell you. Truly, he took the baby to bathe by the riverside, but it was only for a week. After a week, he told his wife to stop going to the riverside to bathe the baby, as the baby was still young and doing that was exposing him to cold. When his wife expressed her concern, he told her they had had the party and there was nothing Osun could do, so his wife stopped taking the baby to the riverside.”

“Wow”

She glared at him. “Life goes on smoothly, but on the night the baby clocked three months, a great wind blew and thunderstruck. The whole village was awake and everyone came out to check what went wrong, including the man and his wife. To everyone’s surprise, it started raining, but only in the man’s house and it soon became a storm, by the time the man’s wife rushed inside to check on and carry her baby, she saw him being carried away by the storm and tried as much as she could, she couldn’t touch him. Immediately the baby was out of sight, the rain stopped and the ground became dry.” She paused and turned to him, “can you imagine?”

Kwame nodded for fear of talking and getting her glare.

“What did the man do? He went back to meet the Yeye Osun, but she told him the Osun would never hear his plea and he would never see his son again and the man didn’t see his son nor have another son till his death.”

“Oh wow, one must be careful of the promises one makes,” Kwame commented once he saw it was safe for him to do so.

“Exactly,” Kamasi agreed. “And perfect timing, for this is my house right here.” She pointed to a beautiful green-colored bungalow.

“Mine is just down there,” Kwame gestured, his hand pointing to the direction of his house.

“I could lend you my umbrella and get it later, besides, what would you do about your car?”

“My cousin would call his mechanic and I fully intend to lend your umbrella as I have made a promise to myself to see you again.”

Kamasi laughed, “and one must always fulfill one’s promise.”

“I’ll come by later at night after the rain to return your umbrella and get your number, till then, stay safe stranger.”

“Same, stay safe Americana.”