Cassandra Vivian’s The Western Desert of Egypt describes the Khamseen as such:
In the spring, from March to May comes the special sandstorm, the khamasin, (the 50). The season lasts for 50 days, and most storms are a few days in duration. Called siroccos in Morocco, qibli in Libya, cheheli in the northern Sahara, irifi along the coast and ouahdy in the central Sahara, the storms of North Africa each have their own special personality. Some, like the khamasin, are hot winds, others cold winds, but all are laden with sand and dust. The khamasin blows from the south to the northwest, in opposition to the prevailing winds. The harmattan in West Africa is a cold northeasterly wind that blows in November through February. The simum, ‘poison wind,’ is hot and dry and temperatures reach 55C or 130F. The habub is hot and moist and is prevalent along the southern edges of the Sahara and in Sudan. It carried sandstorms and duststorms, but can be the harbinger of thunderstorms and small tornadoes. With each storm lasting about three hours, the habub is mostly a summer affair. Its wall of sand and dust can be as high as 900 meters (3,000 feet).
Fantastic. Why couldn't I have chosen fall semester to come, where instead of fifty days of sandstorms there's a month of fasting, sleeping, eating and partying?
When I heard about the Khamseen, I expected something like this:
(taken by US Marines Gunnery Sergeant Shannon Aldredge in Iraq, 2005)Not quite. It comes on much more slowly; as Neil Gaiman would say, like a migraine. You wake up in the morning to catch the shuttle to campus, and the sky is bit hazier than it was yesterday. Crossing the 26th of July Bridge, you can't quite make out the high-rise hotels in the distance along the Nile. Have they always been that far away? Walking to class, you smell a faint whiff of burning, or of something dusty. Take a deep breath in; it's a little harder to breathe now. Later, as the storm progresses, the sky turns orange and the sun blots blue, and it looks like the apocalypse. Dust gets everywhere, even inside--especially inside, where it falls in almost invisible layers on your desk, laptop and food.
Yesterday's Khamseen shut down the Cairo airport for awhile. Here's what it looked like:
(Getty/AFP)Needless to say, I stayed indoors. Like I was going to go running along the Nile anyway.
5 comments:
Travis was in a sandstorm while he was in Iraq. He said it took shaving his head to get all the sand off his scalp. I don't suggest that for you...hopefully covering yourself tightly with a scarf will be enough! Good luck running to class without breathing! :)
If the weather system persists south to north and there's some rain in the way, you get to see Turkey's famous mud storm, the sandstorm's fine dust mixed with water and descending like a bad joke.
Don't know which is harder to wash off, although the mental picture of Kari sans hair is intriguing!
Muddy rain? Ew!
This was the same ugly storm that Dad and I drove through on our way out of Cairo to Taba. The trip across the Sinai was supposed to take about four hours, but the poor visibility (like driving in a dense fog) stretched it out to almost six.
We pitied the poor guy on a motorcycle- sans goggles or helmet- who was exposed to the brunt of the scouring sands. He may have needed a full body wax after the punishment he took!
quite interesting post. I would love to follow you on twitter.
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