I landed in the dry, almost oppressive heat of Africa with a suitcase full of broken dreams and unkept promises. That battered suitcase was getting heavier by the minute as I stood there sweating to the oldies while waiting for a Mrs. Westfield to arrive to take me to the village co-op I’d only recently volunteered to help. Actually, volunteer isn’t the right word. It makes me sound magnanimous or philanthropic, which isn’t really the case. I wish it were, but I’ve never really been one to donate anything more than the almighty dollar. This was more of an emotional safe house for me as I navigated through the shark-infested waters of a divorce court bent on making sure I walked away with pennies in my pocket and my self-esteem in the gutter. I needed some place to clear my head—some place other than the ruins of a carefully constructed life that had succumbed to the wrecking ball of infidelity by a man who was nothing more than a rat turd...