Though we have no chimney, the stockings have been hung with care. The tree is up, hung with makeshift ornaments and draped with red akimat beads. Cookies are being consumed as fast as they can be produced while Christmas music, from Bing to Buble echoes through the hallways of the mission house, and wafts outside to where our slashers work and the dry Karamoja wind coats our world with the dust of everyday life.
Mom and Dad left this morning to drive to Kampala to pick up Emily from the airport. The British Airways threat of a strike caused us all much worry earlier last week, as it seemed to make it impossible for Em to return home for Christmas. But soon--oh so soon-- we shall be a family of seven once again. Until then, Maria, James, Joshua and I are alone at the house for a few days, baking enough cookies to feed our workers and ourselves until Christmas.
Its almost time.