Good morning! It's 6:30 am and I awake to a 4 year old jumping up and down on the bed next to me, screaming,"Shannon, take me to school!" "Ok Jeremy. Just a second," I groan. Pinned against the wall by Elissa snoozing in her sleeping bag, I struggle to a sitting position and rub the sleep from my eyes. I silently vault over Elissa onto the dirt floor by our bed. From the clothes line hanging over our bed, I haul down my sarong and wrap it into a skirt. Stumbling outside into the sunshine, I slip Jeremy's arms into his backpack straps and follow him as he sprints out the door of the compound. I hop over the creek running across the road as we walk to the main road leading to school. Jeremy meanders along beside me. My mornings usually begin with this relaxing stroll to school where I leave Jeremy and wave goodbye to the kids crowded around the windows.
Several hours later, we meet at church for door-to-door evangelism with different members of the congregation. Thus, most mornings, our team walks through Kenya. We stop at a hut, share with the family, laugh, sing, and pray. We then weave through a field of corn stalks stretching higher than our heads, only to climb over a barbed wire fence to reach the next home.
After lunch, we head over to school to play with the kids during recess. Taking the shortcut, Amy, our contact's wife, leads us through various back-yards and over fences of complete strangers. On the way home, I am escorted by around 15 kids from school, all also on their way home. One afternoon, I lose sight of my "muzungu" friends for some time as we wended our way home, ducking under barbed-wire fences, hopping over running water, dodging cow manure, and finally scaling our neighbor's stone wall. All during the walk home, the kids keep up a constant chatter of Swahili, "Leopard…chewy. Lion….simba. One, two, three…..moja, bilay, tatu." They only want to hold my hand and walk with me.
Flash forward to the next morning. My eyes fly open at 4:30 am in our pitch black bedroom. I look at my clock, just 10 more minutes to sleep. I snuggle back into my sleeping bag and hope I can drift back into dreamland. No such luck. A few minutes before 5, I again vault over Elissa's sleeping form and struggle to pull clothes from my backpack, "neatly" tucked under the bed. I wince as the lock on the door screeches as I pull it open a slip outside. I meet Pastor Patrick in yard as he's fanning the coals to restart the fire for the day. It is time to head to church for morning prayer time. In the pitch black morning, we hurry along the main road to church. Without my contacts or a light, it is a walk of faith. Each time I put my foot down, I pray that it is not landing in cow manure or an errant puddle of water. Pastor Patrick walks very quickly, so I jog periodically to keep up. Suddenly, he swerves down I side street, we've reached the church. For half an hour, we pray African style in the church – walking up and down while praying aloud.
