I checked the house throughout the night. We were riding the storm quite well. The main problem was water running down the walls from the air conditioning units on the roof.
The rain had stopped by dawn. The air conditioning units had stopped leaking. There was a lake where the computer used to sit. Water had somehow managed to work its way through concrete ceilings onto some of our islands of stuff in the rooms above. Otherwise we had survived quite well. Outside the compound was a different story. We were surrounded by fast flowing rivers of cocoa-coloured water. Local ch
ildren stripped down to their underwear to play in the water as drivers performed three point turns to avoid tuning into boats.
The wadi behind the compound where I normally run had been transformed into a powerful river. As I stood above a waterfall of churning brown water to take a photograph, I noticed a person of limited intelligence attempting to cross the wadi. Two things crossed my mind. I was not going to rescue him; it would make an interesting photo. To my relief (and slight disappointment), he returned to dry land.
As Phet headed away from Oman, we gathered around the pool for sundowners with many of the compound residents to swap stories and make comparisons to the ‘great storm of 2007’.
The rain had stopped by dawn. The air conditioning units had stopped leaking. There was a lake where the computer used to sit. Water had somehow managed to work its way through concrete ceilings onto some of our islands of stuff in the rooms above. Otherwise we had survived quite well. Outside the compound was a different story. We were surrounded by fast flowing rivers of cocoa-coloured water. Local ch
ildren stripped down to their underwear to play in the water as drivers performed three point turns to avoid tuning into boats.
The wadi behind the compound where I normally run had been transformed into a powerful river. As I stood above a waterfall of churning brown water to take a photograph, I noticed a person of limited intelligence attempting to cross the wadi. Two things crossed my mind. I was not going to rescue him; it would make an interesting photo. To my relief (and slight disappointment), he returned to dry land.
As Phet headed away from Oman, we gathered around the pool for sundowners with many of the compound residents to swap stories and make comparisons to the ‘great storm of 2007’.
1 comment:
Geniuses.
I stayed up all night praying for friends who had to work saving other dumb peoples' lives for trying to cross the wadis.
All while every radio station is saying, and DO NOT TRY CROSSING THE WADIS, STAY AWAY FROM THE WADIS.
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