footprints.

During my phone interview for the SFS program, I was told that there was a running path around camp. Perfect!

Running trail reality: dusty, sandy, rocky, hilly, horribly uneven.  Not the ideal situation. 

Nonetheless, after a few times walking it with a small group, I decided to take a break this afternoon from my report and brave the menacing trail. Without a doubt, the scenery trumped the terrain. 5:20 pm. Beaming African sun overhead; scattering red dust beneath. Winding through a jumble of small houses and fields overflowing with sunflowers. Rolling hillsides in the distance.

I was at the crest of a steep hill when I spotted five young children jumping, screaming, and waving from the bottom. Two little boys ran to meet me, each grabbing one of my hands and falling into step with me. I slowed down at the bottom of the hill to exchange with them as much Swahili as I knew, but somehow language didn’t seem to matter.  Dancing, smiling, jumping and singing were the only languages we needed.  Our little troop gallivanted along the path a little farther.  We were soon met by another towering hill, equal in caliber to the one I just sauntered down. But then again, how could I stop now with this jubilant parade surrounding me? We ran, and we ran...