(Rain) Storm

I arrived back at site at dusk. As the crew violently extricated my bike from the belly of the bus, my friend the director of the Arab college, with whom I’d been riding, remarked in English, “We will have rain tonight.” Still thinking in French, it took me a moment to understand, but then I followed his gaze south to where faraway monstrous heads of cloud appeared out of the darkness in intermittently quick flashes of white. “Yes, good. I hope so,” I said, genuinely eager for a real rainstorm. Last year’s rains were terrible and a repeat this year could mean famine, among other things, so a head-start on the moisture would be a great thing.

We said goodnight and parted, I mounting my now suspiciously squeaking bike. I came through the Neem grove by Ecole “A” onto the broad sandy soccer field and was presented with the full panoramic storm front edging slowly and silently towards us. Finally, some rain! I got home and prepared for bed, hanging up my mosquito net over my cot and air mattress with my plastic mat on the floor. Our porch faces south so I sat for a while just watching the way the light streaked through the clouds, wondrously bulbous and rounded like a bunch of grapes. The town was strangely quiet for this time of night (something I probably should have taken note of); not a single donkey whining, child crying, guitar and synthetic drums straining the speaker of someone’s phone to muffle the soft swish of the coolish breeze through my net. Under such rare favorable conditions, I must have fallen asleep, only to be woken up about ten minutes later by something markedly less soothing; my mat flying into my face and my mosquito net collapsing around me.

I shot up with a start. In the flashes of lightning, now directly overhead, I saw a great hurtling fog of sand and dust blowing laterally through the trees and buildings around me, already piling up a layer on myself and my bed. I never heard the sound of the thunder for the roar of the wind. I grabbed all my things, as quickly as possible and threw them into the house, chasing my pillow as it blew into the yard. I shut the door behind me and stood for a minute trying to process. I must have been gaping outside because when I closed my mouth to swallow, my teeth closed on fine grit. Dust was literally everywhere. Nature had undone in five minutes what it takes me two hours to do every week. Laying down my air mattress on the floor, I listened to the bangs and strains of the tin roof and became afraid. What if it blows away? Does that happen? What if a roof beam falls down on me? Could I choke on dust in my sleep? But for the absolute and disappointing dryness of the storm, I felt like I was in a hurricane. Unable to sleep, I lay for an hour listening to the cacophony of elements, before that too became just another thing to get used to and I drifted off.

I woke in the morning in a layer of dust.