Peak of Summer

April and May are months when dry season in Mali is at its peak, when atmospheric temperature is 49°C, that's under the shade. When under the sun the temperature is 59°C.

Fever is 37°C and up and boiling water is 100°C. Just imagine you are in high fever and dipped in a pool of hot water over half-way to boiling . This is what you feel when you suddenly go outside in the open sun at midday. But when already exposed since morning time, the increasing heat of the sun is unnoticeable anymore. The body seems to get used to it.

Heat is peak at 3 PM such that tap water is too hot to bear. Even at night and morning time the water is still warm. Nature is the water heater. In the evening time you can't stay outside because the heat that the ground absorbed during the day is given off and its just too hot for comfort.

My job requires me to be out in the sun the whole day. I don't want to wilt like dried prunes so I protect myself with sunblock lotion (SPF 45) and I wear long-sleeved shirt. This way, skin cancer and premature ageing is prevented. Who wants wrinkles anyway?

I can consume 4-5 liters of water a day easily without emptying my bladder. All go to rehydration. That is why wherever I go I bring with me my water bottle or "die" with thirst.

This situation has made me hypothesized that Africans have dark skin because it adapted to the hot condition of their place. After 30 million years of human evolution their skin turned dark to fend off illnesses that sun exposure brings. Light-skinned race are more prone to skin cancer than the brown-skinned race but the blacks are not.

This is the climate here in the sub-Saharan region. Half of the year is dry. When its dry, it's literally dry. No rain whatsoever. Grasses die and trees deprived of leaves for the entire season. Dust is everywhere. This is the so-called summer of Mali.

Obviously, for us coming from the temperate zone this kind of environment is a punishment. But what brought us here is another story... I won't elaborate it for now, perhaps in the future.

This is my twelfth dry season here, nearing its end, yet, still counting. Only God knows when will I stop here.