And the rains came down …

The rain beat down on the tin roof and we could not hear each other speak. This is the rainy season which means that at one point in the day a mist of cloud seeps over the mountains behind us and as the sky dulls, rain looms. The difference in temperature and daylight is considerable and this change can happen very quickly. Usually there is enough time to run home or to shelter; the locals use this as a time to cram into the nearest shop and gossip about the new gringos in town.

As I said, this is the norm. Sweet Agatha changed all that. I think that from this point I shall not be so removed from news of natural disasters that we watch from our sofas in temperate climates. A tropical storm is far more real and threatening first hand; especially when the river is about 20 metres from the front door. The rain hammered on our roof and all plans of a meeting at the kid's dining room were called off. Not, however, before we ventured out and got completely soaked and squelched back home to tip out the rainwater from our shoes. At this point we just thought it was really heavy rain and would stop and be soaked up by the sun that had come out most days. Agatha was more determined than that.

Not pleased with whipping up a rainstorm she was becoming the talk of the town. On our way back from the cancelled meeting we stepped into a shop with the drone of a TV in the background. We started to realise that the rivers that were forming from the amount of rain were not normal. I asked if this was indeed the norm. Nope. The locals were watching the local news channel and although the Pakaya eruption was taking first place, storm 'Agatha' was hot on its heels vying for the headlines as the more serious natural disaster. We bought some provisions and went home.

The rain continued overnight with the same intensity and woke me at 5am. I opened the curtain to see a violent stream of water and had to second take the flash of a baby´s bottle quickly followed a shoe as they raced downstream to the river. Now our street slopes down at a fair angle and when it rains this washes the street but this was now a torrent and I thought if this is this intense here then what is the river doing.

The 'river' is not a river at all. It's a kind of overflow for the water that collects in the mountains behind the town. It separates our street from the dense forest where the family's get their firewood, herbs and avocadoes (Dad, you got to see them, they're enormous and delicious, no prawns and thousand island though)! So this is normally a dry bed and a walkway, and incidentally where I start my morning run; yep still running. The river was awesome, it had turned into a brown rapid and boulders were being carried at high speed down to the lake. I went down to check it out and there were a few locals doing the same.

Chit chat started to turn into serious speculation; would the river rise as other rivers burst their banks and the thunderous noise of landslides on the hillsides meant that more debris was getting sucked into the raging river. As nightfall came those who owned a tele had it on and as national state of emergency was declared no one was laughing. The neighbour just below us on the slope and closer to the river packed up enough for the night and took her three kids to Candelaria's house, a safer distance up the hill. You´ll meet Candelaria soon.

'Vanessa, we´re packing up, let's get one of the rucksacks filled and the documents and laptop in a smaller bag. We should be prepared for the worst.' Vanessa was scared and I was too, as all uncertainty breeds rumour this was no exception and some neighbours had begun to talk about earthquakes. (This was later confirmed to be tremors associated with the Pacaya eruption some distance away and did not affect us). Nonetheless, I imagined the river bursting it´s banks and the combined threat of an earthquake. Not funny. However, a kind of flippant humour came out in me and I managed to crack a few jokes at Candelaria's house. Luis her husband was really scared and he is a massive ball of macho muscle. I asked him if he needed anything and we gave him a half a diazepam.

We did sleep and although the threat of a disaster was very real, when we woke the three day downpour was easing off, the river was calmer and we knew things were ok. When the sky cleared later the only reminders were two packed bags and two marooned cows that were now happily munching the grass at the end of the street. Moo.