the rain returns

Rain storms are often preceded by windstorms. I wake up balanced on my cot. The midnight wind moves a steady curtain of sand over the sleeping village. My face feels like sandpaper- every orifice is clouded with dust. I struggle to curl into a ball without toppling my rickety cot and cover my head with my twisted sheet. It is only from other's shouts that I noticed I can't see the stars due to the rolling clouds and relentless dust.

A calm compound only seconds ago jumps into half-asleep panic.

Flashlights sweep the ground like search beams, lighting on dinner dishes and plastic mats, all hurriedly dragged inside. Kids are hoisted into indoor beds and clothes are plucked off the clothes line. All the while sand is thrown everywhere and tree limbs threaten to detach from their trunks. Once possessions are inside, humans follow suit, retreating into the steamy sauna of safety.

Then the thunder and lightning are on top of each other, the hill and crashing onto the tin roof. This kind of weather gets me almost scared and I can feel my heart pumping with my slight mistrust of the construction of the house. My bathroom is full of water and its rushing into my toilet hole. I try bailing some water out, teeth chattering, rivers of rain running into my eyes and down my goosebumped legs- so accustomed to dryness and heat.