Following on from my Fifty Shades of Yellow post the other week, here’s the sequel! This is what the sky looks like when a shamal (sandstorm) is being whipped up. Pretty amazing, no? And the best way to ensure a sandstorm appears out of nowhere? Have the car washed. Or leave a window open and go out.
Once again, I have my friend Elin Boyd to thank for the photography
There’s nothing quite like a howling sandstorm outside and the sound of your kids howling and fighting inside to bring you back to reality with a bump.
When you're surrounded by sand, being engulfed by a shamal (sandstorm) is inevitable from time to time
Blowing sand gets into your ears, in your eyes and up your nostrils. Your scalp feels gritty and your skin is exfoliated by nature’s loofah.
Everything outside is covered with a coating of dust, making the garden look like a scene from the nuclear-war movie Threads and sand even gets indoors, through gaps under doors and air conditioning ducts. Heaven forbid you accidentally leave a window open, and you come home to find the whole room’s been landscaped.
Dubai this weekend: A Mission Impossible 4-style sandstorm - stay safe peeps
When it’s all over, the blue skies return, as though nothing ever happened, and then the big clean up can begin.
Yes, sometimes it does feel like we’re living in a giant dust ball.
Talking of inclement weather, the boys were playing on an inflatable slide at a park the other day and this safety notice made me laugh. Kids take note!
It was mid-morning when the school sent text messages to all the mums.
I say mums, but ours actually came to DH, as the teachers still seem to think he’s a better bet.
The first words, “The Civil Defence has advised…” were carefully chosen to make sure we sat up and took notice.
“…that students should go home due to the possibility of fumes coming from a fire in the industrial area.”
Of course, this unscheduled evacuation sparked a flurry of text messages and phone calls among the mums – to spread the word that any afternoon plans were toast.
“Have you heard?”
“The kids are coming home!”
“I was planning on an 11am Ashtanga yoga class, followed by a gellish manicure and a triple berry smoothie at the Lime Tree Cafe,” I imagined inconvenienced mums saying. “And the nanny insists on resting in the afternoon, I might actually have to take the kids to Magic Planet.”
My work plans thwarted yet again, we headed out when BB got home – and were plunged straight into our second excitement of the day.
While driving along, the 4WD was suddenly engulfed in a billowing sand storm. One minute the sky was clear and blue, the next minute a yellowish mist had descended, the wind was gusting and there was sand swirling everywhere. Visibility quickly reduced to about an arm’s length.
Apart from the high temperatures, we don’t get much in the way of extreme weather here so everyone in the car with the exception of me was loving it.
I was having visions of being swallowed up by the desert, while innocently on our way to watch Horrid Henry. I could see the headline in my mind, ‘Expats vanish in Barsha triangle’
Either that, or we’d get into an accident on the road, which you could hardly see through the thick, fog-like dust.
Thankfully, DH was at the wheel, and noticing that I was clutching my seat, he smiled and said kindly, “Don’t worry, the visibility is at least 50 metres – still legal for landing an airplane.”
Which is precisely why he’s in the right job, while I – my eyes nearly closed by this point – could never do it in a million years.
The sandstorm rolling in
Sand flying about everywhere (and if you happen to be outside, sand gets in your eyes, mouth, ears, hair and up your nose)
With visibility so poor, driving becomes hazardous