The Sahara sends the Harmattan


The Sahara Desert wants its presence felt,

It wakes up its wind to send it over the tropical forest and lands,

Red soil, red soil stir up from the burning ripples,

From around the oasis pick up some cold,

Harmattan Winds listen, you are going to trade,

Blow north-easterly, blow the dry silt,

Dust the trees and leaves, the houses and the people,

Dust their possessions, dry their throats and eyes

Make the day hot and hazy, warm sweat drips white hankies dusty red

And the nights cold and still, present cold water for early morn baths,

The Sahara has acted to let us know,

Its wide expanse of red soil is not just for decoration.



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