The walk through dust

Walking across campus to grab something to eat, the wind whips dust into the air and into my eyes. I can see but only barely. The dust paints the air brown with thick strokes, shrouding the only non-brown color in sight.

Goggles, that’s what I need. But my yellow sunglasses will have to do for now. The sand blasts across my face, gusts of wind threatening to sting my skin. I squint despite the shades.

It’s not even hot yet, but it’s starting to feel like Arabia.

As I make my way across the drive, a Saudi man dressed in a thawb nods to me. He must know I feel out of place. He must know the clothes I’m wearing aren’t meant for this. I smile and continue.

This is what it means to walk through dust.

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