It was about six in the evening. The storm was creeping quietly but quickly from afar. Filled with reddish sand and dust, the storm was ready to squeeze itself through the valleys of Golden Gate Mountains. Like a funnel, the location of my house is right at the entrance where the neck of the funnel starts, i.e. storms usually hit really hard at my house.
While the storm continued to engulf the faraway scene, the late afternoon sun was still shinning brightly above my house. Birds continued to sing, oblivious to the approaching storm. I quickly went into the house to grab my camera and contentiously closed the main door behind me. I was determined to film this storm.
The bright spring scene at my house was quickly taken over by strong winds and gloomy clouds. Rain drops hit hard against the wall of my house at an almost parallel angle to the floor. The wind was so strong that the bushes in garden looked that they were doubling over from a severe tummy ache. My roof rattled so violently that I swore it would have blown off if the storm just tried a little harder. Either I was being brave or naive, I excitedly continue to film my National Geographic documentary show, giving a “live” commentary as I described the storm process.
Fifteen minutes into the filming, I realised that I was simply naive, and was nothing close to brave. I was getting soaked through, and the storm was getting more aggressive. I was drenched in no time, in a short sleeve white t-shirt and (thankfully black) quarter pants, and fighting a losing battle with the storm. Temperatures were dropping a degree every two minutes. I was freezing, and the sky was darkening quickly. Moreover, it was time for me to take out my dinner from the oven.
To my horror, Murphy decided to visit at this inappropriate time, and like any predictable B-grade movie, I just could not open my door!
The next hour was the most dramatic experience I ever had. Went over to neighbour's house, contacted the technicals (they were 28km away, busy with another repair), waited and prayed that my dinner would not burnt too badly. Technicals came, tried to open the door and failed. The reassuring thought for me was that by this time, there were two other people who were also miserably wet and cold like me. I had company while the storm continued to enjoy its torture. The technicals then jumped over the fence, into another neighbour's garden and broke my window grills to access into my room. Filling confident of my agility, I followed suit. Tore a hole in my pants and poked my palm into the barbed wire as I jumped over. Only to find out that I was too short to climbed through my window. Borrowed a chair from a concerned neighbour who was shocked to see me appear from his back door, drenched from head to toe with a bloodied shirt and torn pants. As I climbed through my window, I was welcomed by a string of granny underwear which I had to duck under before I was safely in my room.
Thankfully, the technicals were very professional, and only commented about the lock which they eventually managed to break and fix from the inside of the house. As appreciation for their efforts, I shared my burnt dinner with the technicals, and made them hot chocolate.
Yo, what a stormy evening!
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