In Central America, the flooding is relentless — the kind of flooding that turns streets into rivers and neighborhoods into isolated islands. Entire communities have vanished under brown, debris-filled water. Families are being evacuated in fishing boats, makeshift rafts, even on doors ripped from their hinges. Rescue teams have been working around the clock, slogging through waist-deep water, pulling people from rooftops and treetops, fighting exhaustion as the rains refuse to stop. Bridges have collapsed, roads have washed out, and power outages stretch for miles. The situation was already bad before this week; now it’s spiraling.

On top of it all, a massive Saharan dust plume is blanketing the Caribbean — a thick, chalky haze that blurs the horizon and makes every breath feel heavier. Cars, porches, crops, boats — everything is coated in fine sand. Health officials are issuing warnings across the islands. Anyone with asthma, allergies, or respiratory conditions is being told to stay indoors. The air is dry, gritty, and oppressive. Visibility is dropping, flights are preparing for potential delays or reroutes, and people step outside only when absolutely necessary, shielding their faces with masks or cloth.

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