Lamis and the First Rain of Winter

In the town where Lamis lived, it hardly ever rained.

The sun shone almost every day. It warmed the sand dunes until they glowed like honey. It made the sea sparkle and the palm trees cast long, cool shadows. Lamis loved the sun. But more than anything in the world, she wanted to see rain.

She had seen it once, when she was very small, but she could only remember it like a dream. A grey sky. A cool smell. A sound like tiny fingers tapping on the roof.

"When will it rain again?" she asked her mother every morning, all through the long, hot summer.

"Maybe in winter," her mother would say. "Rain is a special visitor here. It comes only when it is ready."

So Lamis waited.

She waited through the hot days of summer, when the air felt like a warm blanket. She waited through autumn, when the evenings grew a little cooler and the family began to eat dinner outside in the courtyard. Every day, she looked up at the sky. Every day, it was clear and blue.

Next door to Lamis lived an old man named Uncle Juma. He had a white beard, a kind, crinkly face, and a walking stick made of smooth olive wood. Uncle Juma could not walk very far anymore, because his knees were tired. So he spent most of his days sitting by his window, watching the street and waving to the children.

Every afternoon on her way home from school, Lamis stopped at his window.

"Any rain today, Uncle Juma?" she would ask.

And Uncle Juma would look at the sky and stroke his beard. "Not today, little one," he would say. "But I can feel it coming. My knees always know."

Lamis did not know how knees could know about rain. But she believed him.

Then one morning in December, Lamis woke up and something was different.

The light coming through her curtains was not bright and yellow. It was soft and silvery. The air felt cool on her cheeks. And there was a smell, a deep, fresh, earthy smell, like the ground was taking a great big breath.

Lamis jumped out of bed and ran to the window. The sky was full of clouds. They were big and grey and puffy, rolling slowly over the rooftops like sleepy elephants.

"Mama!" she cried. "Clouds! Real clouds!"

The whole family hurried into the courtyard. Her father, still holding his coffee. Her mother, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. Her baby brother, Zayed, in his pajamas with the little stars.

They stood and looked up. The palm trees were very still. The birds had gone quiet.

Then, plip.

A single drop landed on Lamis's nose.

Plip. Plop. Another drop landed on her hand. Then another on the tiles. Then another on her father's coffee cup.

And then, all at once, the sky opened, and the rain came pouring down.

Lamis shrieked with joy. She held out her arms and spun in a circle. The rain was cool and soft and tickly. It ran down her face and dripped off her eyelashes. It drummed on the roof, pitter-patter, pitter-patter, just like the sound in her dream.

Her mother laughed and held out her palms. Her father tipped his head back and let the rain splash on his face. Baby Zayed squealed and stamped his little feet in a puddle.

"It's raining!" Lamis sang. "It's raining, it's raining!"

The whole street came alive. Doors opened everywhere. Children ran out in their slippers. Neighbors stood on their doorsteps, smiling at the sky. Someone began to clap, and then everyone was clapping, as if the rain were a friend who had finally come home after a long journey.

Lamis splashed and laughed until her hair was dripping. Then, suddenly, she stopped.

She looked at the house next door. The window where Uncle Juma always sat was closed. The curtain was drawn.

"Uncle Juma can't come outside," Lamis said. "His knees are too tired. He's missing the rain!"

Her mother's face softened. "Oh, you're right," she said.

Lamis thought hard. Then she had an idea. She ran into the kitchen and came back with her favorite bowl, the blue one with white flowers painted around the edge. She held it up to the sky. Drop by drop, the rain filled it, until the water trembled at the top.

Then, holding the bowl very carefully with both hands, Lamis walked next door and knocked.

Uncle Juma's daughter opened the door. "Lamis! You're soaking wet!" she laughed.

"I brought something for Uncle Juma," said Lamis.

She tiptoed into the sitting room. Uncle Juma was in his armchair with a blanket over his knees. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

"Uncle Juma," said Lamis, "you said your knees knew it was coming. You were right. So I brought you some."

She held out the bowl.

Uncle Juma looked at the rainwater, cool and clear, with a few little drops still bouncing in it. He dipped his old fingers in and touched them to his forehead. Then he closed his eyes and smiled.

"It smells like when I was a boy," he whispered.

Lamis had one more idea. She went to the window and pulled back the curtain. She opened the window wide. At once, the sound of the rain poured in, the drumming on the roof, the splashing in the street, the laughter of the children. The fresh, earthy smell filled the whole room.

Uncle Juma leaned forward in his chair. He watched the rain falling on the palm trees and the shining street. His eyes were wet, but he was smiling the biggest smile Lamis had ever seen.

"Thank you, little one," he said. "You have brought the winter into my house."

Lamis sat on the floor beside his chair, and together they watched the rain until it softened to a gentle drizzle and then, slowly, stopped. Above the rooftops, the clouds parted, and a pale rainbow stretched across the sky.

"Will it come again?" Lamis asked.

Uncle Juma patted his knees and chuckled. "When it does," he said, "these old knees will tell me. And I will tell you."

Lamis grinned. "And I'll bring you the first bowlful," she promised.