One of my favourite seasons of the year growing up is Harmattan. 

The air is dry, sharp and nips at your nose, colouring the tiny hairs with dust. No matter how many times you mop the tiles, dust stubbornly settles uninvited on it. Your skin turns pale, coercing you to constantly moisturize which I always ignored because I didn’t mind looking like The Return of Annabel. Most of all, the sun has this crisp scorching feel to it that makes it impossible to wander for long.

Why on earth would this be my favourite weather?

It’s simple. Harmattan is the welcome note for the holidays. Waking up in the morning, breathing the dry air and knowing it is going to be hot as hell somehow forces honest smiles to cracked lips. 

I am yet to find a person that hates the connotation of Harmattan. Except for those who have dry skin, but they can feel better if they stay moisturized and drink plenty of water.

For me, it meant days lounging in public swimming pools with friends, making school breaks then even more memorable. It was the one time my parents didn’t mind scanty dressing and loud noises – that is how infectious the mood was.

Best of all, it is the perfect ice cream weather. All you need during Harmattan season is a scoop of ice cream sending bursts of flavours to your brain as it melts in your mouth while looking at ecstatic children to remind you that Christmas is around the corner.

Harmattan is whispers of the jolly season and two activities that never grow old are swimming and indulging in ice cream with the best evenings spent with family, recounting embarrassing stories of your childhood you can never avoid.

The perfect leisure activity is shopping for Christmas ornaments, fantasizing about the taste of the looming Christmas chicken while lowkey wondering if Aunty Grace would make it in time for Christmas with your present. 

Now I spend my time during the Harmattan making travel plans back home while taking notes of Christmas presents to purchase for my siblings knowing that for one of them, I am the ‘Aunty Grace’.

In all, ‘tis the season to be merry and that is what it is all about. 

What memories does Harmattan bring for you?

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