Originally written Oct 2016, re-posted now in the wake of this most recent flooding in Sumatra, Thailand & Sri Lanka. The wading through the water here resulted in a skin infection that eventually good Doctor Thanni, around in Wong Ah Fook, relieved. Serious medical problems can be expected now.
Recently the rains had been falling on the other side of the world, too. Up in the hills of Montenegro it had been preventing some of the works of mid-autumn. A few days ago Zoro, who worked in the village where he was born full-time now, driving up daily from the coast, reported. When there was a break in the weather, they harvested the potato. Photos from a friend in Australia showing a political rally of the ruling socialists had been forwarded to Zoran, with an enquiry how the long-time president of the republic was faring. Djukanovic was not one to let slip his hold on the throne, Zoro answered, like his father, not a fan of the Left. There was a suggestion of thievery too, as in the time of Tito. Zoran was a supporter of the union with Serbia; opposed to the separation. In Johor, southernmost Malaysia, two days of big bash pour—hujan besar. Streets flooded, drains unable to cope, bedraggled people passing under the walkways. Some of the hard-bitten kampung toughs could be found defiantly stomping through the middle of the downpour, in one case a chap standing gazing up the canal, as if taunting the thunder gods. Two nights ago the dark had closed well before 6 and a boat ordered for the supper table. (The girl at Reception had sat stupefied.) As usual, the event had not been visible for a good while, only telltale sounds and the flashes. Looking down from the fourth floor window onto a patch of concrete outside an awning, there it was alright, machine-gun strafing the narrow little square. For some reason best known to itself, a pigeon had the not very bright idea to peel off from under the roof of the hotel for somewhere across the way. Good luck to you, little birdie! Beating wings. Making heavy weather of it. Crossing a couple of lanes later, the trouser cuffs were rolled and paddle/waddle gingerly over to the far bank. The working gals around the front were keeping under the walkway, on this dark night a lesser crowd gathered. Come up? Honey… The full range of the spectrum between the genders was available there. Reminded of a Central Java girl down in the South, who held love-making more perfect in a deluge. Barnstorming rain on the one hand, and on the other the smoky mountains bursting with hot rock, from where that lass hailed. These big rains often brought the question how in the old days the shepherds had coped up on the mountain sides. Over at Crkvice, not far from Village Uble, they had the second highest rainfall in Europe. (The deluge on the Equator was in fact not dissimilar.) One could shelter in the lee of a hill, beneath a rocky outcrop, or in one of the caves of the karst. The sheep and goats themselves knew the terrain; they would find their own shelter. Another time mother had told of sheep simply hunkering down in a tight flock, pretending they were stone, patiently waiting out the hammer.
Johor Bahru, Malaysia
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