There's no magic in the rain.

There's no magic in the rain, it's just us.

As a child who didn't know how to hold onto people, Adaorie learnt to build worlds out of how much her mind could observe. It was this desire for a world where a young girl didn't have to sit by herself at lunch time, because she was weird in a way that other girls weren't, that made her run to the window every time her father's tenant returned from work.

She loved watching Papa and Mama Osariemen and their kids. She loved the way the love they had for each other tipped over, until it spilled onto barren grounds. She knew her parents loved themselves, but there was something different about their neighbours' love that she longed for. That she identified with. 

It was a rainy Sunday. They had just returned from church and mama was preparing her signature sunday rice and goat meat stew with fairly bleached plantain and parched vegetables. 

Papa was tidying up their room and folding mama's wrappers; he loved to fold mama's clothes and mama loved that he did these things too. It was from papa that Adaorie learnt to fold clothes in such exquisite fashion. Nedu, her elder brother, was on his laptop, it was the last day of his 6 months AI course and everyone knew not to disturb him. Obinna, their last born was helping mama out in the kitchen, while Adaorie was cleaning their mud-stained shoes at the veranda when Mama Osas ran from their flat at the back of the compound to the main gate, she had on a smile that shone really bright, so much so that Adaorie thought it could burn the people that made fun of her at school. 

Ada watched as Mama Osas jumped up and down under the rain when the gateman opened the gate revealing her husband's car. She could see him shake his head at his wife, perhaps wondering how years had come and gone and this woman was still as excited to see him every time as he was to see her. He got out of the car, kissed her and picked her up. 

They stayed that way for a few more seconds, looking lovingly into each other's eyes, not minding the driver who hurried to carry Oga's luggage to the house, nor the children who stood at the balcony shouting, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”, Ada felt privileged to watch them up-close. To almost taste the love they had for the other. 

She watched as they kissed again, this time slower, the rain bouncing off of their lips and their bodies calling out to one another with acute desire. This is what I want, she said to herself. A love so tangible you could almost hold it. 

Drenched in rain and the steam sweating through their bodies, they walked back to their flat. Ada continued watching them. She laughed when he carried Osas, their 3 year old son, and threw him in the air pretending to not want to catch him. Ofure and Eseosa clung to his body asking for what he got for them while their eldest child who was studying business administration in the University of Ife busied herself with the digital camera he had bought her for Christmas. 

It was Mama's voice that brought Adaorie back to the veranda, asking whether it was shoes she was cleaning or if she was in the labour room. Hurriedly, she finished with the shoes, tidied up the veranda and went inside. Mama had dished the food and set it on the floor of the sitting room. It was a Sunday tradition; everyone, no matter how busy, ate from the same plate. So when Papa sat down, ready to eat, even Nedu got up from his laptop and helped himself to his spot. 

Blessed are you Lord our God, who provided us with this meal that we are about to eat. And we ask that you help us to provide for those who do not have to eat. Amen. They all chorused Amen to Obinna's prayer except for Ada whose mind couldn't stop thinking about how beautiful it was to love someone with such audacity. Such recklessness. Such continuity.