The dust from the roads burn my eyes and coat my feet. The dust fills my lungs and absorbs into my bloodstream. The dust gets matted in my hair, the stale heat provides no wind to free it from the grasp of tangles.

The women pass by in a kaleidoscope of colors. The heavy burden of a pot on their heads and a child's grasp in their hands. They squat by the depleted river, desperately trying to wash the stain of the dust and dirt out of their child's cheeks. As hard as they try, the water has evaporated, along with the hope of expelling the dust through their heavy breath.