Dust bowl

Yambio's dustiness in the late dry season would make even the hardiest Oklahoman weep. African women in pristine white dresses saunter amongst the red earth whereas I only have to look out of the window to acquire a dishevelled layer of orange. My pillow is a disturbing shade of iron, from all the dust trapped in my hair.

The weather is attempting to move into the wet season with strong winds that blow dust into our eyes and a mugginess that saps energy. The worst of it has timed with trying to complete the most unrealistic to-do list I've put together in a long time. Without any in-country counterparts who are computer literate or who can handle complex project management I'm in manic mode on the last full day in Yambio on this trip.

I've been shepherding in emails with a weeklong delay, replacing printer cartridges, writing field reports, drafting permission letters, paying rent, bundling cash, assessing rations, learning about fish ponds, organising camera traps, downloading GPS data, cooling off with bucket showers, renewing visas, sorting travel arrangements, testing car brakes, worrying about the roof caving in because of bat guano and sweating. Lots of sweating and not enough fluids.

These kids smiled through the dust and their energy was infectious.