the day the desert swallowed us whole

i've been trying, for a few days now, to come up with a way to describe what a sudanese sand storm looks like from the seventh floor as it slowly overtakes the capital city.

i'm still not sure i can do it justice, but here goes: from the seventh floor of a friend's apartment complex, the sky looked like it was split in two. there was the upper-most part of the sky, a steely gray-blue and then the lower half, a murky light-brown. it didn't register at first what was happening until the brown began to grow, taking the sky completely. it was as though the desert had decided to open up and swallow khartoum whole.

when the storm finally made its way to us, the air, which had been still just minutes before, was suddenly manic with movement and dust. this damp, earthy smell -- the same smell as comes from the water left over after washing clothes here -- surrounded us. grains of sand found their way into our mouths and between our teeth and stung our eyes. past maybe five feet, nothing could be seen. not lights, not other buildings, nothing.

it stayed this way for a good fifteen minutes, everything a copper haze. and then, just as suddenly as it came, the storm left, leaving behind a thin layer of settled dust, a cool wind and a short -- but so, so sweet -- desert rain.