intruder in the dust

Four months have passed since the conjoined villages of Villa Obregón and San Patricio Melaque -- along with Pinal Villa and Jaluco -- were inundated with what seemed like a re-creation of Noah's flood.

I have been here for two major floods. The rains that followed hurricane Jova in 2011, which I thought was about as bad as a flood could be. Until tropical storm Hernan sashayed by this year -- well offshore. But the weather pattern disturbance it caused brought flood waters that made Jova look like a warmup act.

Affected households lost everything due to the fast-rising water. Motos and cars were effectively drowned. Streets were washed out. 

And, after the water receded, the residents were left with a sea of mud that filled houses and streets.

The mud was also a problem after Jova. It had the consistency of an over-egged pudding. But, once again, I was astonished by the way that Mexican neighbors and friends joined together to replace damaged goods and to clear out the mud.

So, out of the houses it was washed into the streets. That mud was then heaped into piles.

One thing I learned following Joven was how quickly the mud dried. And when it dried and was broken up, it turned into a fine silt that was easily airborne. For weeks following the flood, vehicles stirring up the dust on the streets gave the impression Melaque had been transported to Sudan in the midst of a haboob. After Jova, that same effect lingered for several months.

Inconvenient weather events may not repeat themselves, but they do echo. For the last week, I have been driving through the areas that were flooded. Even after a couple of summer rains, the flood dust lingers. Not only along the sides of the road in the remaining clean-up piles, but also hanging in the air.

It is most noticeable at night when car headlights take on the appearance of a movie projector beam in a smokers' theater. Bit by bit the dust will settle. But it is still with us now.

I have had conversations about the dust with visitors who like to practice their imaginary degrees in virology. We all seem to be seduced by theories not based on a factual foundation. Almost everyone I have talked with claims they know someone who has contracted one disease or another from the dust in the air.

I have no idea how scientific those assertions are. (Dammit, Jim! I'm a lawyer, not a doctor!) I do know that when the flood water rose so did the sewage. And common sense tells me there are probably endospores riding the wind in the clouds of dust.

But, as doctors continually remind us, chronological correlation does not imply causation. It is why doctors find it almost impossible to determine where a specific patient contracted a cold.

After this year's flood subsided, several people contacted me asking if they should come to the area this winter. Almost all of them were concerned about two things: covid-19, of course, and the dust from the flood. A number of them have severe respiratory conditions exacerbated in the past (they believe) by the dust.

First, I test-drove my Star Trek joke on them. Then, I made the same suggestion that I provided to people who were experiencing trepidation about traveling here this year. They needed to do their own assessment and then test the facts against their tolerance for risk. Most of those people decided to avoid the dust this year.

This area will never be without dust. The villages are surrounded by cultivated acreage. Some of our streets are little more than sand and rock. At least, we do not suffer the particulate pollution of urban areas. At least, I hope we don't. That not-a-doctor thing, again.

In time, the flood dust and its spooky passengers will be gone. And we will wonder what it was that caused us concern.