The dust storms have upset me considerably. I know they are usually a harbinger of a change in season, but they choose the most inopportune moment to strike.
Friday is reserved for cleaning and washing. So, a load of clothes were put out to dry and then I got down to dusting every surface in my house. When I had finished these chores, I sat down to catch up on some reading. As I looked out of the window, I could see a haze. From a distance. It looked like wisps of smoke. Wondering if there was a fire somewhere, I continued keeping an eye out for further telltale signs such as the sound of sirens.
It suddenly dawned on me that what I had been watching was dust swirling. Grabbing the clothes from outside, I then tried to find place to hang them inside. Soon, the rooms were festooned with items of clothing like curtains.
Have you noticed that it is only when one sits down to rest that one notices the patches of dust that one has missed? I must admit that I do like dusting, a chore which most abhor. So, I am meticulous about dusting and I was sure I had not missed any spots. That’s when it struck me that this was a new film that had formed only minutes ago.
Determined to beat the dust into submission, I reached for the duster once again and wiped all surfaces clean. However, when the dust storm refused to settle down, I realised my efforts were an exercise in futility. I decided to admit defeat and sat down to read. But my glance kept skimming surfaces and, each time I got up to go to another room, I couldn’t resist running my fingers on the tops of tables. The coating on my fingertips wasn’t a pleasant sight.
It is at times like this that one realises how insidious dust can be. It creeps up on you and settles on your skin, almost caressing it lovingly. Now I have the greatest admiration for camels who have no choice but to live with this. How do they ignore its all-pervasive presence?
On the second day of the dust storms, I had to go to work. I wrapped myself from head to toe until I was completely unrecognisable. But even that covering wasn’t enough to ward off the particles that clung to my skin, urged by the strong wind that was blowing that day. I could feel the grit on my face and, believe me, it isn’t a particularly pleasant feeling.
A sigh of relief
The weather was the topic of the day at the workplace with each one outdoing the other in describing the low visibility and the quality of the dust. Some swore they had never seen anything like this before. I didn’t join in the chorus, but I find that often we feel the most recent experience is the worst.
As the dust settled and life returned to normal, I breathed a sigh of relief. I could finally sit down in peace without being distracted by films of dust.
However, a couple of weeks ago, I read the forecast and was alarmed. Meteorologists said there was a chance of blowing dust on a particular day. Not again, I told myself, even as I prepared to deal with the worst possible scenario. (Isn’t it amazing how dust seeps through despite all windows and doors being locked? It’s like Houdini.)
So, I put off the cleaning for another day and sat down to wait for my nemesis. And waited. And waited. And dust there was none.
It was hard to take it in. Something had gone horribly wrong with the weather forecast. Not having to battle the elements was even disappointing in a peculiar twisted way.
