My daily walk to work always feels like a grand event. Within minutes of emerging from my home, the neighborhood children announce my arrival with joyful shouts of “Muzungu! Muzungu!,” a term used to describe foreigners. My procession up the hill is usually accompanied by two or three of the children brazen enough to follow me wherever I go. The words “Good Morning, Sir” and “How are you?” echo across the valley, often coming from unknown sources.