Sandstorm

Every morning during this frigid winter ranging between 65º-95º, we open our windows to let some fresh air in. This is something that never tires me. When we lived in Sudan, our windows were opaque to reduce sun and for security. Around our home were tall concrete walls laced with razor wire around the top. It was a very secure habitat, but not very view-friendly. So when we moved to this new location, I couldn't believe it. Windows with clear glass! I could...see out!

A particular morning this week, John opened the windows and noticed that the wind was gusting. I smiled. (It's the only kind of weather we ever get here. Seriously...no rain. Ever. Sun 365.) The sky turned from blue to gray to orange. That could only mean one thing...sandstorm.

We had these as well in Sudan. Although "sandstorm" doesn't adequately describe what took place there. A giant wall of dark gray would form on the horizon and grow bigger with amazing speed. Once you saw it you knew you had to rush home, close all the windows and begin stuffing towels into every crack and crevice. 

The wind and such here I call, "Sandstorm Light." Yeah, it was windy and dusty but definitely manageable. Until now.

The papyrus began to fold sideways, the water in the Nile began to show whitecaps and the air became thick. I continued puttering around the house keeping my eye to the window because I'm weird that way. I'm an honorary member of the Addams Family because I just love inclement weather and here I am in a place that has none. 

Soon we could smell the sand and dirt in the air and we began to close up everything and just ride it out. It's usually a couple hours, then the wind and sand settle down. 17 hours later I couldn't find one thing in our house without a coating of sand on it. 

Our Nubian friend told us later that this was a special wind called an "omsheer." This wind will last 2-3 days in March indicating that winter is over and summer has arrived. Noooooooooooooooo!!!!!

When winter is so warm, you can maybe imagine what summer is like. Sort of like a toaster oven and I'm a perpetual Hot Pocket.

The rest of the day I spent dusting the furniture, rewashing some dishes and commenting on my darkening socks.

Everyone in the village just takes it in stride. It's part of the life of desert people. Storms come and they go. Expect it. Endure it. The sun will reappear. Good wisdom and free exfoliation.