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.
