The Grapes of Wrath

This image was taken during a recent "Shamal." Wind speeds were in excess of 50 miles per hour. The dust was so thick, seconds after walking outside, it felt as if I had finely packed grit in my eye sockets. For two days after the storm ended, I coughed up Earth-colored phlegm. It's impossible to escape the dust without a filtered breathing apparatus. While the Army was forced to carry such, civilians were out-of-luck. I was left covering my face with a T-shirt every time I went outside.

Due to the poor air quality, and length of the storm, my fire alarm in my room began going off unpredictably. Every few minutes, it would shriek at me, reminding me of the apocalyptic scene playing out beyond the confines of my room.

In a small way, it reminded me of my life in Utah. During the winter months, blizzards would wreak havoc on our streets, blanketing everything in a blissful, white veil. Beautiful, silent, clean, and cold. But the parallels are few, and unpleasant. As if I were scraping ice and snow from my car on a cold, winter morning, I would have to wipe inches of powdery, red dust off my truck's windshield. Gone was the silent purity of snow; replaced with it howling wind and dust wishing to penetrate everything in its path.

I could end this by saying how thankful I am to not have been born here, but that goes without saying. This place literally is hell on Earth. Violence, religious fundamentalism, honor-killings, bombs, deaths, destruction. . . heat, and dust. To say I'm "thankful" to not have been born here is an understatement.