Return of the wind: Harmattan

I woke up in the early hours of the day one morning in December wondering who had become my benefactor overnight. Just last night, I struggled to find some sleep after countless baths and an inevitable stripping, I finally made it to the roof tops when all else failed. There was going to be a feast up there with all indications, but I didn’t mind – a few milliliters of my sacred blood is worthy to be traded off for some molecules of the elusive air. Last night, the wind literally went to sleep.

If I had slept indoors, I’d have thought the blast of cold air was from my air conditioner that had been forced into early retirement, thanks to the power brokers in charge of my neighborhood. It was hard to tell if the bumps that showed up on my skin were feeding spots of those feasting flying infidels or goose pimples from the cold air. I gathered what scanty clothing I had donned earlier and found my way back to the room. Harmattan is upon us, I almost mumbled as I felt ripples of joy, or was it cold, through my skin!

For me, it was the perfect period to have it all. A hot bath on a cold morning, a triple attire that turns single at noon, a repeat routine every other day till it ended, the season! It was an icing on the cake really to appear all dressed up at work and look all different within a few hours, what better time to show off my designer sweaters that had hung in my closet begging daily to be showcased.

The season was not without its troubles, sadly. It’s also the time to lose my bids for ladies – many thanks to the dry air that turns all moist to crusts in my nostrils. My nose picking and subsequent epistaxis is no joy at all. Well, it’s either that or I blow my brains out! Have I told you about the constant smell of smoke and soot even when nothing is burning, or the dry as a desert throat that attends? Arrrghh! Some mint and menthol on my buds are always to the rescue thankfully.

Now to the best part – the evenings! I held a routine of long walks once it’s dusk. I always looked forward to the orchestra of birds chittering their tunes, frogs croaking, crickets chirping their notes in harmony. The sound of dry leaves rumpled under feet was like the clanging of cymbals, a near perfect percussion to the hymn of nature! What better way to end a day than that!
Even though the nights still started off with the familiar heat and stuffiness, it was not without hope of a surging chill that makes you cling to your sheets and snooze with reckless abandon waiting for yet another morning of a hot needful shower!

Another season of such bliss shall soon be upon us, and I cannot but count down patiently to its glorious arrival!

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