Lost on Earth

Last night, as I nibbled on bananas and oranges and read the Marie Claire magazine that my deranged friend Pie sent to me (if only you know how I loath girlie magazines, than you will know how deranged Pie is, although since I was actually reading the English words with interest I guess it is debatable that I might be MORE sick in the head than him) I felt a familiar warm breeze on my face and the curtains jumped up in the wind - rain was coming. I thought very little of this at first. The rain comes suddenly, with a roar, not softly like in Seattle. For another hour or so I turned and read pages of vapid materialism and looked enviously on pictures of toned, tanned waifs and the rain intensified.

Then it occurred to me that rain meant more water, which meant that the already swollen river would rise and rise. First I pulled out my rain pack that I made for myself: one pair of pants, a synthetic t-shirt, headlamp, sandals with straps, passport and receipts and bank cards in a plastic bag. Note the absence of rain gear. The pain pack is for me to grab in the event that a damp, hasty exit is necessary. Next I thought about going to the school to check on the water level. Eventually I decided that it would be more of a hazard for the people to have a clueless farang in a headlamp scampering around in the dark near a flooded river than it would be to just stay indoors and hope that Kham Chuen was already at the shelter assessing the situation.

Fortunately, my cowardice paid off this time.

Kham Chuen went to the shelter at 4 a.m. and sure enough, the water was reaching the wall of the school. He woke the children and staff and they waited. The rain stopped the the water level remained steady. Bill walked to the shelter at ten this morning to look at the damage. By the time I made it to the shelter an hour later he and Han were scrambling to shore up the wall of our pig pen with boulders. The water was gushing over all of the banks, overflowing the rice paddies, eroding what little was left of the land in front of the shelter, and tearing trees from the ground at a terrifying rate. It looked brown, like Willie Wonka's Chocolate River in the creepy Gene Wilder version, only this river was creepier.

We decided that until the water level recedes we cannot risk working in the river. The current is strong enough to wash large boulders downstream – despite what my tailor might way, I am still light enough to be easily carried away. The skies are growing more ominous with rain clouds, and I think tonight is going to be a long night.