There is no need for an alarm clock in Timai, as the muezzin from the five to ten surrounding mosques would make the beautifully haunting call to prayer at the crack of dawn. I only stirred in bed as I am used to it, but others woke up alarmed. We all got used to it, and eventually we didn’t really notice it.
We would try to get out of out netted beds without getting tangled and get ready. I get up hoping no one is using the washroom. Wash my face, dig pants on, long-sleeved checker shirt on, hat, dig satchel, socks and those heavy boots. I have PB on bread and drink mango juice before heading downstairs to pack the truck.
Bilal would rock up with the truck at 5:30 and Claire and Sarah would open the roller door of the magazine. We pack the ute still bleary-eyed. We…
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