The rains had just broken over the Zambian capital, Lusaka. Lightning was tearing open the skies. And we were sitting on a tiled veranda listening to the bedlam of water crashing off the tin roof, the thudding percussion of thunder and the thrilled shouts of children in the street beyond the hibiscus hedge.
It is moments like this that make you fall in love with Africa: the drama, the excitement.
Minutes earlier, darkness had fallen in the sudden way it does here, as if God has just hit the light switch. There were hordes of frogs hopping around our wicker chairs, and our hosts had placed storm lanterns (a power-cut was expected any minute), bowls of nuts and biltong jerky on the table. Another round of gin-and-tonics, and then the (shouted) conversation shifted away from the topic of ex-President Frederick Chiluba's expected indictment on corruption charges.