Invariably, when I invite people to my farm for a BBQ, it rains. It happens so often, I’ve come to joke that I could solve Africa’s drought simply by planning a series of pig roasts in the impacted countries. I guess if you make a joke like this too often, the fates play it back at you.

After 30 hours of travel from Marrakech, we’d arrived in Erg Chebbi; where the rolling red dunes of the Sahara slam up against Moroccan civilization. The last twenty minutes of the drive to our desert camp were along a four-wheel track that had us going over a series of washboards – driver Mohammed called them Berber massage chairs – and across the shoulders of growing dunes. Arriving at the camp, we were offered fresh pressed lemonade while the final preparation of our tent was completed.

Sitting in front of our tent a few minutes later, I was thankful for the clouds that had followed us all morning. Looking over the dunes, I noticed a break in the cloud bank where the sky looked especially dark, almost rusty. The breeze grew to a strong wind and one of the men who’d greeted us rushed through the camp, politely suggesting everyone enter their tents and close the windows. Within moments, we were engulfed in a cloud of sand. Wind tore at the tent making it creak and groan as sand obliterated the view more than a few feet past the window. I’d been an hour in the Sahara, and I was experiencing my first sandstorm.

After about 20 minutes, the air cleared and I ventured out into the dunes. The wind was still whipping but the sky was no longer red. Rather, it was a strange yellow-green, with a sharpness to the light I knew well from the thunderstorms of home. I ran back to the tent as the air grew chilly around me and the sky opened. Thunder crashed and lightning lit the tent a strange blue. The rain storm would continue for more than twelve hours.

A sandstorm, maybe. But a September rain in the Sahara -- everyone agreed, it was the most unusual sequence of weather they’d seen on some time.

Shifting our belongings over the course of the night to avoid the growing puddles where this desert tent was beginning to leak under the relentless lashings of rain and wind, I wondered if we’d ever get to actually see the desert. Or, frankly, how we’d leave it given the roads we’d travelled to get there. A few hours after sunrise however, the sky cleared and we looked out over a desert renewed. Where the sand had been a dusty tan, it now looked like terra cotta and the green of the spare vegetation absolutely gleamed.

Over the course of the morning, we’d watched a herd of camels wander around the dunes just outside camp. Now, a few of these were caught, saddled, and asked to squat on the ground to allow us to mount. Being on a camel as it rises is a bit like sitting on a folding card table as it is erected. First, the camel straightens its back legs, pitching you forward; then, it straightens its front legs, pitching you back.

I’d love to say they handed us the ‘reins’ and we were off to the races, but no. This was a pony ride for adults with a patient guy named (guesses anyone?) Mohammed leading our camels out into the dunes. This rather tame ride after our horse adventure did, however, afford us an opportunity to venture much further than we would have dared on our own.

Cameleer Mohammed leading us out into the refreshed desert.

After an hour of winding between growing dunes, cameleer Mohammed stopped the camels, had them refold their legs and we dismounted. Kurt and I scaled a dune, still damp and cool from the night’s rain, while Mohammed built a tiny fire and brewed us some very strong and sugary tea. Nestled in the shade of some scrub on a blanket that had been my saddle pad, I showed Mohammed pictures of our horses at home. We discussed the merits of different horse breeds in a mix of English, French, and Spanish. But the pictures he seemed most interested in examining were of my pasture -- lush even in late summer — and my truck/trailer set up, which he called ‘Susan’s Caravan.’ “

I come visit,” Mohammed said, as we remounted. And I found myself kind of hoping that might someday happen for this young man who’d never even seen the sea.

Morocco -- Saharan Storm