Chickens, what sounds like thousands of chickens sing their morning song each and every day. Sometimes it’s a nice wake up call, other times I wish they were miles away.
Mothers, up early fetching water with tiny children wrapped on their backs. Colorful fabrics splotched with dirt hold the babies in so tight.
Fathers, already working on their fields as the sun rises. Callused hands and sore feet work endlessly to sew the seeds of life into the brown dirt below.
Children, running down the road, lunch pail in hand, filled with potatoes, rice and stew. Shoeless feet leave footprints in the moist dirt, a trail leading them back to the place of warmth and love.
Students, casually making their way to the center of knowledge. Tattered school uniforms with mended holes clothe their lean bodies. Books and journals sit atop their heads which miraculously never fall off.
Grandparents, slowly rising to the call the sun, rejoicing in the glory of a new day.
And me? I just ride the waves of the day. A storm might hit or there might be nothing but sunshine. But every morning that I wake up in Africa I start the day off with a smile and an appreciation for life. A life that I have crafted from dedication and passion, one that most wouldn’t choose but I embrace with open arms. I just ebb and flow with the East African rythmn, a rythmn that alive and vibrant and colorful and filled with exciting opportunities.