A wind storm preceded our arrival in the Sahara, etching deep linear patterns across the dunes. I stood before the expanse of space, the clear sky, and the afternoon light that defined the hills and valleys. The first two images show this quiet Sahara.

Within hours, a second, stronger storm blew in, reconfiguring the patterned mounds. The wind blew relentlessly, moving clouds of sand horizontally across the open spaces and filling the air. The remaining photos are taken looking into and through a sand storm.

For the next three days, protected by layers of scarves and clothing, we pitted ourselves against the cold winds, while sand infiltrated our every body crevice. I buried my camera inside my jacket, taking the lens out only when I felt compelled to take a photo.

When the rains came, they darkened the lava surfaces, barely exposing the stones that marked the graves in a cemetery we came upon.

I cleaned my camera in my tent at night, huddled under a sheet to protect it and me. I fell asleep, gritting the sand that remained in my teeth.

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