It was the last night in my Canadian home.
The day, a busy one, the end of a stretching week, was spent keeping some semblance of order, some idea of knowing what, with the dwindling time left, was still most important.
I was outside my front door, in the dark, fumbling with my keys, looking for the right one. The inside of the house was bare, hollow, ready for the tenants. Again.
The next day I’d see my wife and children, and soon after …
It crept up on me, the realization, this way, in the quiet dark.
I’m going to Africa. God, I’m going to Africa.
Why, this remarkable opportunity. This fortune. Why for me?
Good God, I’m going to Africa.