Khamseen

I like your khamseen. But it'd look better on my floor.

It’s official. Khamseen is here.

Even before I made it Djibouti, I was told the timing of my arrival was unfortunate. May and June being incredibly humid, followed by two months straight of khamseen and then a September equal to May. A true baptism by fire, sweat and sand; if I make it to October than I will have earned the full price of membership into the Djibouti ex-pat club.

A few days ago, realized it was 3pm and I could look straight at the sun, covered by ominous clouds. And strangely, I wasn’t completely dripping sweat. Fellow colleagues kept asking me I too was sweating less, and it was true. The mornings grew increasingly hazy; a welcome respite for the arduous bus trek to work, but something was array.

One of the house cleaners at the office issued a warning on Wednesday. She told me in French, “It’s July 1st. Close your windows at home and wear sunglasses. For 2 months. And I will be bothering you in your office a lot more for a while. Khamseen is here.”

On a recent trip back from the camp, we were driving though the desert I saw 5-6 incredible dust tornados. They were really quite beautiful, especially from the inside of an air-conditioned 4x4. I am just a chick from the burbs, so this I thought was khamseen.

I was wrong.

Given the Muslim work week (Sunday to Thursday), Thursdays become the new Friday for big nights out. As it is becoming increasingly more impossible to get home before 4am on Friday mornings (I have recently been appointed social coordinator at the UN and I must live up to the title) I came home as the sun was making an appearance. In need of a snack, I quickly made a delish baguette sandwich of emmental and moutarde a l’ancienne with a side of Skype. Pleased by my culinary skills, I went off to bed as happy as a little Djiboutian camel.

I woke up 4 hours later to my windows shaking. I had slept through two sets of prayers from the mosques but it was my epileptic blinds that stirred me. Outside, it was like a good old Chicago-style white out- but with dust. The streets were empty, the cafes closed, and barely a car on the street. Clouds of dust had taken Djibouti (literally) by storm, and all you could do was stay inside. This was khamseen.

It was at this tragic moment that I realized that I had left my living room window open.

Slowly opening my bedroom door, I assessed the carnage that had taken place during the past few hours of slumber. A thick crust of dust had settled on to each surface and in every crevice of my living room. Like animal tracks in the snow, I left full footprints across my floor. CSI would have loved the potential for evidence in my apartment after my unfortunate date with Mr. Khamseen.

I spent the next two hours working off a dull hangover with a nice cocktail of brooms, mops and bleach.

Check out this link for more on my hot date, khamseen: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khamseen