The sands miscalled it

We (that is Neale Venise and myself) had been trying to work out what had changed in the Ténéré – an area of sandy plains located in northern-central Sahara desert. It is within the shifting topography of this desolate region that immense storms, manifesting as curtain walls of roiling dust hundreds of feet high, lay down their foundations. Once they grow beyond a certain critical mass they untether themselves and advance approximately westwards at a walking pace, until they hit the coast, at which point they deviate north or south, entering the subtropical zones as windless monsoons that leave incongruous dunes in their wake.

These storms are slow to germinate, usually building to a peak over several months. Their roots lie in the electrical charge that is generated by sand particles moving against each other. These currents form meandering v-shaped channels in the sand that can stretch for thousands of miles. Typically when a gathering storm decamps it will remain close to the ground and follow the electro-magnetic charge along the most pronounced of these troughs. This makes it easy to determine the pathway of a storm, and to either take avoiding action or temporarily evacuate any affected settlements.

Predicting the course of a storm used to entail placing sentries on high ground where they could establish a pseudo bird's-eye view of the surrounding land. The nomadic Sagembu were reputedly able to train ravens for this purpose. These days, predictive measurements are taken by satellite.

Since 2019, more storms have been observed deviating from their established courses and lifting off into the heavens, only to descend from the otherwise clear blue sky days later, like sudden ambushes, scattering tents and tearing down mud brick buildings, before rising once more, leaving behind an eerie stillness.

Neale and myself witnessed a small storm detach from its expected pathway and rear off at a slant, like a derailing locomotive. We believe that a storm's separation from its electromagnetic root system causes it to become susceptible to localised forces outside of those that generated it, and thereafter wildly unpredictable.

Beyond that hypothesis, we were never able to make any sense of it. Inconveniently, a few hours after our arrival in Tahoua, I fell down the stairs at the hotel and broke my right foot. There was no doctor available and I was forced to rely on the ministrations of a local pharmacist. Of course, Neale had to do all the driving, which was often difficult.

He had brought his seven-year-old son, Graham's, fridge magnet collection with him to “supercharge” along one of the storm lines. He put them down on the ground for no more than a minute, while we took some topographical readings. When he turned around to retrieve them, they were gone, engulfed by the sands. We could never find them.

Graham is autistic and was devastated by the loss of his magnets. It was the cause of an enormous row between himself and his wife Fiona. I believe they even separated for a while.

As if that wasn't enough, Jack Sibson had returned to the Unified Wells & Aquifers Company, following his exile in Germany. Predictably things went very much as they had done before. Neale took Jack's side, which I think he would agree in hindsight was a mistake. It put a distance between the pair of us that neither of us was able to cross. Neale is retired now and I wouldn't know how to contact him directly. For reasons I will not go into, I have been on permanent sick leave since 2015.


Afterword

There is a eBook available, existing in the same world as what you have read above, and tenuously related to it:

The Missionary Dune - Sam Redlark


 

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