The wind had picked up. It was impossible to see. The stories were true; if you were to place your hand in front you, it would be invisible in the gusts. There was a tremendous amount of sand. It roared passed my ears and slammed into me at all sides. I shielded my nostrils with my navy polo and hands, but it was not enough to keep the massive amounts of sand from seeping in.

I eventually lost all sense of direction – whether it was from the gritty sand in my vision, the howling sounds of the windy weather, or just the frightfulness, I didn’t know. My knees seemed to collapse and as I was taken by the wind. It was as if I was floating through the sandy air, for a moment, as I slowly drifted towards the earth and landed with a thud.

Finally, as I landed, the sand did, too. The storm had ceased. Once the wind had stopped, it was as if the storm had never happened. It did happen, though. My caravan was no where in sight. Even my camel was missing. Looking down, I saw my gray shoulder bag – now ripped and covered in sand. Its contents were splayed all around.

I began to gather all I could find. I had included everything in my bag from the survival list that the tour guide had given us, but it wasn’t all here. I still had my canteen, at least. I took a sip and noticed it was friable with sand. Yuck!

After fixing my bag and collecting all my belongings (all that I could find, at least), I decided to try to figure out where I was. I realized I was in a valley, between three large mounds of sand – one was at least 300 feet taller than the other two. I decided to climb to the top of the dune and see if I could find my group – noticing, as I trudged up the hill, it was harder to climb sand hills in the desert, than it is on the beach. There is no water to pack the sand tightly together. It was taking a long time and was very exhausting.

I began to think about home.