Can somebody please help me understand why I am so always so gol-danged ready to forget that I am one of the luckiest women who ever lived on the face of God's Green Earth???
For example, why do I give in to brief yet epic bursts of whiny lamentation over something as benign as the story of 2 elderly widows getting married??? After all, just 6 months ago, I got all choked up over the adventure of 2 German kids, aged 5 and 6, who tried to elope to Africa. At the time, I even said the story warmed my heart, and made me hopeful about my own prospects.
But reading about Monica and Ebenezer yesterday cooled my jets, for a minute. I guess it's because it reminded me that I'm a lot closer to their stage of life than the German lovebirds. Those plucky children have a good 70 or 80 more years ahead of them to experience what real love and devotion are all about. Realistically, I'm looking at 30 or 40 years, max.
And then a day like today comes along to remind me that as a single, never-married African American woman who's almost 50, I have hit life's Adventure Jackpot! Get this: today, sitting at my desk in Nairobi, Kenya, I'm working on putting the final touches on a workshop I'm leading "next door," in my old Kampala, Uganda stomping grounds. Then I get an email asking me to participate in a Media panel in July...in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. And THEN, just five minutes ago, I got a call from somebody at the U.S. State Department.
They want me to lead a weeklong health reporting workshop in August, in....hold onto your skull...Kigali, Rwanda!!!!!!
Oh, and somehow or another, I gotta squeeze in a trip to Cape Town before September, when one of my colleagues who has graciously offered me lodging, has to leave for a fellowship in Ghana.
So, yeah, I might be single, but I feel thrice blessed. Mama Africa appears to want me, even if Mr. Right is dragging his feet. Later for you, dude!
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