Missionary Time.

There is a running joke among the staff here that things start and stop on missionary time. The best example of that would be bedtime.

When I first got here, my cruel jet lag insisted I wake at 2:30 a.m., but within a few days I was waking up a the more reasonable hour of 4 a.m. And since naps are often out of the question with all there is to do, that means I’m dead to the world by 8 p.m.

For anyone who knows me well, this reversal in my sleep schedule is massive. I’m a night owl if there ever was one. To think that I’m up with the songbirds and off to bed with the chickens would first make my mother laugh… then (hopefully) make her proud.

My mother is one of those ‘early to bed, early to rise’ kinds, and I’ve always been the opposite. But Mozambique has reset my internal clock, and I’m on Missionary Time now.

Don’t tell my mother… but I kind of like it.