The dirt on the floor rises in puffs under the shoes of every person who passes.
The wooden shutters slam randomly in the wind.
The Rutooro praise song sounds above the chickens calling to each other outside.
In the air are the scents of curry and onions being cooked nearby, dirt, and unwashed bodies.
The songs flow one after another. Rutooro, Runyankore, English, Swahili.
"Hakuna Mungu kama wewe."
Ugandan voices sound loudly next to me. Accompanied by the sweet voice of my six year old.
"Tunasema Asante. Tunasema Asante. Tunasema Asante. Wewe Mungu Wangu."
Someimes, even after these many years, a moment hits me.
I am in Africa.
And it feels like home.
The adjustment here is continual.
And often excruciating.
But, today I gave deep thanks.
Praising Him Who brought us here... keeps us here... works despite us, here.
You Are My God.