In General, I Almost Always Watch Foreign

The Land Itself, Of Course, Was Careless Of Its Name. It Still Is. You Can Call It What You Like, Fight All The Wars You Want In Its Name. Change Its Name Altogether If You Like. The Land Is Still Unblinking Under The African Sky. It Will Absorb White Man's Blood And The Blood Of African Men, It Will Absorb Blood From Slaughtered Cattle And The Blood From A Woman's Birthing With Equal Thirst. It Doesn't Care.

The Rains Are Rhythmic, Coming Religiously In The Afternoons (after Lunch Has Been Eaten But Before Tea, So That The Nights Are Washed Clean-black With Bright Pinpoints Of Silver Starlight Hanging Over A Restless, Grateful Earth).

It's A Long Day's Drive Any Way You Look At It. With A Man Who Has Taken Your Sins - Real And Imagined - And Stitched Them Onto The Sackcloth Of His Own Soul, It Is Endless.

In Ways I Don't Entirely Have The Words For An Experience, Thought Or A Lesson Isn't Real For Me Until I've Written Down.

There Aren't Enough Doctors In Africa. Those Who Choose To Become Doctors Here Don't Do It For The Money Or Because They Want To Do Good. They Do It Because They Have To Heal, The Way Most People Need To Breathe Or Eat Or Love.