The Smell of Savannah Rain

I’m not sure I will ever forget the smell of the warm rain on the African savannah. It was powerful and earthy, the kind of smell that seemed to rise from the ground itself as the first drops of rain touched the warm, rust-colored sand. Everything around me felt more alive. Bright green plants eagerly pushed their way through the red earth, their color so vibrant against the landscape. The land stretched farther than my eyes could follow, wide and open beneath an enormous sky. There were no buildings crowding the horizon, no traffic, no noise of ordinary life. There was simply earth and sky, rain and wind, and God’s beautiful creations. 

I stood in the back of the safari jeep as the rain chased us across the savannah and turned my head upwards toward the heavens. Drops landed on my face and arms, mixing with the dust until little trails of dirt stained my skin. I didn’t care. I wanted to feel every bit of it. I wanted the wind in my hair and the rain on my face. I wanted the red dirt beneath my feet and the smell of wet earth filling my lungs. I wanted to somehow hold onto the feeling of being so small in a place that felt so magnificently alive. 

Animals wandered through the landscape as we stepped into their world. Around every turn there seemed to be another reminder of how wildly and beautifully God creates. The land needed no decorating. Nothing needed to be improved or rearranged. It was humbling. There was something freeing about being surrounded by creation that simply existed as God had made it. Everything simply belonged. I belonged. 

As evening came, the African sunset seemed to catch on fire around us. Brilliant oranges and reds spread across the horizon, pouring light over the savannah until the entire world seemed to glow. Behind us, the rain continued to fall. Above us, a rainbow arched boldly over the acacia trees. Beneath us, the tires of the jeep splashed through puddles gathering in the red dirt. Ahead of us, nothing but miles of open land. For a moment, I felt as though I had found a corner of heaven.

There are moments in life when God seems to gently remind us to slow down long enough to notice what He has made. Moments when there is nowhere else we need to be and nothing else we need to accomplish. We are simply invited to stand still, breathe deeply, and be in awe. I think those moments do something powerful to us. They quiet all the voices telling us where we should be going and who we should be becoming, and for a little while, they allow us simply to be. Africa gave me one of those moments. It provided for me a sacred space quiet and still enough for me to listen. 

And I did. 

I heard my creator remind me that I am still alive beneath the expectations and responsibilities, beneath the rushing and the doing. I can still be curious. I can be brave. I can hunger for beauty and wonder. I can create. I can dream big. It’s ok to feel things deeply. It is ok to want a life that isn’t passed through, but one that is noticed, touched, tasted, breathed in. I want to stand beneath 

enormous skies and remember that being alive is itself a gift. Africa didn’t put those things inside me. It revealed them. 

Standing there in that moment, I began to understand that sometimes we travel across the world only to discover a piece of ourselves waiting for us when we arrive. Maybe that is part of becoming. Becoming is not always about changing ourselves into someone new. Sometimes it is about recognizing what has been quietly living inside us all along. It is discovering the pieces of ourselves that have been buried beneath responsibilities, expectations, noise, and ordinary days. It is remembering what makes us feel alive and then having the courage to make room for more of it. Africa did that for me. Perhaps I had traveled all that distance not only to discover Africa, but to discover me. 

A piece of me belongs to Africa. Maybe it always did. It became more than somewhere I had visited. It became sacred ground. There, beneath skies that seemed to go on forever, with rust-colored dirt beneath my feet and rain falling against my skin, I felt the power of God’s creation in a way I will never forget. I felt alive, awake, inspired, and grateful. 

I am reminded that becoming does not always happen in the big decisions or defining moments of our lives. It isn’t always bold or loud. Sometimes it happens quietly, while standing in the back of a safari jeep with rain on our skin, when something beautiful opens our heart just wide enough for us to see ourselves differently. I can almost feel the rain and see that endless sky. I can still smell the wet dirt of the savannah. And somewhere in that memory is the woman I met there. The woman I had been all along and the woman I am still becoming. 

Thank you, God for the smell of savannah rain.