My makuti roof is parched, burning in the hot equatorial sun while clouds promise rain and no drops ever fall. The tangled palm fronds which compose this Makuti roof no longer shelter the children within, they no longer protect from the sun, and if a single drop of rain fell, the fibers would collapse. The roof would become heavy, the building would fall on the children, and then the fronds would disintegrate, leaving a broken home, bruised children and nothing to protect them from the sun as they lay, damaged and in pain, wanting shelter from the sun, which returns quickly after those first drops of rain. My makuti roof is no longer shielding us from the sun, no longer able to shield us from the rain. It is yet another possible death trap in this desert of too many broken promises. but I do not have the strength to tear it down, nor the resources to construct another, nor the desire to live through the eventual rain storm that promises to collapse my home. But for the children, I will attempt to use what we have to shield us from the sun, and when the first drop falls, we shall run from the house, and in our attempts to save ourselves from inevitable collapse and ruin, we will once again silently sadly and with great hope, Dance in the rain.