You go to bed early and before dawn you are awakened by the singing of countless birds of many kinds.
The air is fresh and cool, and you draw your woolen blankets a little closer around you.

The tent is closed, but through the little cracks you can see that all is still dark.

In a few moments a faint grayness steals into the air, and off in the half darkness you hear the Somali gunbearers chanting their morning prayers--soft, musical, and soothing.
Then there are more voices murmuring in the air and the camp slowly awakens to life.

Some one is heard chopping wood, and by that time day breaks with a crash.

All is life, and the birds are singing as though mad with the joy of life and sunshine.