The city of brotherly love was peaceful
until one morning, an impending hurricane was broadcasted.
It took one more day for this warning to sink in
then two more days to spread the bitter news to the populace.
In three hours, the weather forecasters had to rally around
to ensure that they had accurately tracked the path of the hurricane.
Then the emergency response department had five days to prepare as
Ms. Sandy was expected to hit in eight days.
On the morning of the hurricane,
I realized that I had less than thirteen hours to prepare.
After church, I scurried to the grocery store
and oblivious to the extent of the crowd,
I began to wiggle to the music in the background,
stilettos on my foot, cart moving at lightning speed between the aisles
as I grabbed almost everything off the shelves.
I intended to buy twenty-one items
but ended up with over thirty-four.
When I got to the queue,
I noticed how calm the fifty-five-or-so people in the store were.
Maybe it was because I had only experienced one hurricane,
but this African girl was not going to take chances with some crazy winds
that could roar at speeds up to eighty-nine miles per hour.
As I was about to curse the hurricane for making me spend close to
one hundred and forty four dollars on groceries,
I realized that I had two hundred and thirty three reasons to be grateful because
as a broke college student, there’s nothing more invigorating
than to have enough food to last an entire week
after hosting a hurricane sleepover.
