How Do We Show Solidarity?
Dust bites. Red storms strip all before them. Grains of sand are sharp, gritty, punishing. Winds come suddenly, filling the sky with feminine pink. Hazy colour has the thrust of pestilence, steals your breath, fills your lungs and blasts your eyes.
The blistering orb strips clean your bones, X-rays skin’s thin veneer. There is nowhere to hide from sun such as this. The Sahelian sun is different to the one under which I live.
I love rain.
I could not live there.
I did live there once in a mud hut with a grass roof. I fended off scorpions and hunting spiders. I slept beneath a mosquito net. Nevertheless, mosquitos found…
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