I asked myself that question as I was stabbed with vaccines for Yellow Fever, Meningitis, Polio and Hepatitis A and B – actually a series shots. I asked it again as I was popping pills with live virus for Typhoid. Malaria meds start in a couple weeks.
I asked myself, “Why?” Contemplating 19 hours in the back of a plane and another dozen hours of layovers – and that’s just one way.
Because I am sick. And I need to heal.
The sickness comes from decades of an almost steady diet of bad news. Not just bad. Evil.
Evil making war on the helpless. Evil destroying homes and families and lives.
Institutional evil. Mob evil. Personal evil.
I am sick of the senseless.
The bomber. The shooter. The robber. The con. The bully.
The father who takes an ax to his two young sons and then sets ablaze the house they are all in.
The mother who would sell a daughter into sexual slavery in exchange for an illicit drug.
Looking for a cure
Like anyone who's sick, I need time, rest and the right medicine.
I need a dose of reassurance.
That’s why I am going to Africa.
I long to tell a different story. A story of hope. A story of people who can’t do it all, but do what they can.
A story of Utahns who give the children of a Nairobi slum a school and then fill it with textbooks and pencils and paper – the tools of learning.
Tools of hope.
No superheroes. Simple heroes.
I go to Africa looking for a little light. When I find it, I promise to share it.
Perhaps someone else may also benefit from such medicine.