From my debut novel, Ancient Sands

A lock of hair lashed across Layla’s eyes, making them sting. She swore and pushed the unruly strands back out of her face. The blistering desert winds whipped the damned stuff free every time she tried styling it under her scarf. Layla called those winds the khamaseen, after the local fashion. It meant ‘fifty’ for the fifty-day winds. They spun up to the strength of hurricanes and etched their legacy across the deserts of Egypt.

If the winds weren’t enough, the sun was. The heat ran well into the 40s—Celsius, of course. Whatever unit you measured it in, it went from hot to scorching and the sweat evaporated faster than her ability to cool off. The heat felt like a living thing that embraced and smothered her. Layla shuddered.