An African thunderstorm

There is a poem of the same title written by David Rubadiri.
People know cold but few have the profound experience of intense willful cold.
It was a crusade. 'Twas the last day of the crusade and I had a friend me drag to it. Standing in the chaplaincy arena, we prayed vigorously until midnight when the rain started.
It sounded terrible; it issued strong winds.
All signs of an impending thunderstorm. Few showers turned into a vigorous down pour. I stood still in prayer, knowing I can't die while praying and won't be sorry if I did.
Now it was one hour, thirty minutes into the rain and I was still in it. We were well over hundred when the rain started. Peering at the "about a little over hundred people" still in the rain, I stood my ground.
Now the last batch of people left, then I felt cold for the first time in over two hours in the rain.
Just as I stepped out of the rain into the pavilion crowded and hot, my muscles all started that involuntary vibration. I heard a voice said, "sorry". And as I tried to respond, I found out that the muscles in my upper and lower jaws were gridlocked like they were frozen.
That wind of fear blew in, and like a kick, my heart started pounding alarmingly.
I was muttering words I didn't mean to say,
"dididididididi"
Experiencing an almost hypothermia, I crawled into the core of the crowd and felt a little bit warmer.
Before long, most people who lived around left for their hostels leaving very few people to share body warmth with.
It was three in the morning, cold and still raining.
Everyone was dead quiet. I knew if I shut up, the night would be longer than necessary.
So I started an argument. And everyone almost forgot how cold it was to the extent that someone stood from where he was crouching and started raising his voice as he argued.
The argument soon became boring and a long silence ensued.
At six, a bus came and took everyone to the main campus.
That day, I crossed out 'praying in the rain' off my bucket list.
Heat is terrible, and so is cold.