By Fernanda Santos | The New York Times
The best way to explain a haboob is to say it is a tsunami of sand, in the sense that there is no stopping it or outrunning it. It is a supreme spectacle. The fierce winds that precede it make the leaves on palm trees stand as if they are hands waving an effusive goodbye, the sky darkens and the world takes the color of caramel as the dust swallows everything in its path.
Last week, a dense dust storm turned daytime into night in Palm Springs, Calif., “blowing so bad that I could not even see 20 feet in front of my Jeep,” Scott Pam, a local photographer, wrote on his Facebook page. The last haboob struck Phoenix in late July; streetlights came on as it rolled over the city’s center, even though it was still afternoon.
Coping with a haboob becomes a way of life in the Southwest, so frequent are dust storms in the region’s driest parts. But it takes time for newcomers to learn to pull to the side of the road and turn off the headlights at the first sign of such a storm.
