We live in a 600 sq. foot cement block house in the middle of the seminary's student "village." The boys sleep in the master bedroom (so that they have floor space to play) under Star Wars Episode I sheets provided by a loving missionary friend. Andy and I sleep in the smaller bedroom that has a storage room large enough to hold a dresser and a wardrobe. (It doesn't lead to Narnia--Benjamin checked.) We all sleep under mosquito nets that hang over our beds.
When we awaken and go to sleep, we hear deep-throated bird calls, birds that repeat the same resonant note over and over like an alarm clock, birds that sing scales. We also hear the rattle of pans as people prepare to cook their meals and singing as women scrub clothes under the faucets and sweep the dirt in front of their homes. In the evening, we can hear TVs playing an American TV sitcom or someone playing their guitar with friends singing on the back porch. Lately, as Zambia has progressed through the Africa Cup to the finals, voices erupt out of the dark to cheer a recent goal.
Our dining room/living room:
Our kitchen cupboard:
Our bathroom, suffice it to say, is functional.
And Benjamin wants me to tell you: "I'm tired of the electricity going out."