Last August, my husband Kofi and I took our two children camping in the mountains of Wales. The first two days were perfect — sunny skies and beautiful views. Then, on our third night, everything changed.
At midnight, I heard a loud crack of thunder. I woke Kofi immediately. The wind started shaking the tent so violently that the children woke up, too. Then, suddenly, the tent collapsed. We were lying in the dark with canvas on top of us.
First, we grabbed our bags and our torches. Then we ran to the car through the heavy rain. The children were scared, but they were brave. Next, Kofi drove carefully down the mountain road in the dark while I searched for somewhere to stay on my phone.
After a few kilometres, we found a small village. I spotted the lights of a guesthouse at the end of the main street. Kofi stopped the car, and we all ran to the front door. I knocked loudly.
The owner, an elderly woman, opened the door. She took one look at our soaking wet family and smiled warmly. She gave us dry towels and made us hot chocolate. After that, she showed us to a large, warm room, and we all stayed the night.
In the morning, the storm was over. The mountains looked calm and green, as if nothing had happened. We will never forget that night — but I am very happy that everyone was safe.