Read Online Gift of Revelation by Robert Fleming - Free Book Online

upper-class Egyptian who possibly thought all of this was beneath her.
    â€œI’m just taking all of this in,” I replied. “I’m a student. I’ve not drawn any conclusions or formed any opinions. I’m on a fact-finding mission.”
    Elsa roared with laughter, then said something about Africa being a continent of contradictions and missed opportunities, a continent addicted to tradition, tribalism, corruption, and violence. It seemed that Nawara’s query had unleashed a flood of British egotism and imperial superiority. Next came Elsa’s colorful résumé of her global travels.
    â€œI was born to do this,” she bragged loudly. “I’ve covered a malaria epidemic in Cameroon, a famine in Somalia and the Congo, Baby Doc’s fall in Haiti, the sex trade in Bangkok, the AIDS battle in Central Africa, the Israeli bombing of Lebanon and Gaza, the Arab Spring revolt in Egypt, and the conflict in central Ukraine. This thing in Sudan is a piece of cake.”
    As I watched her, I summed her up. She was a prime example of the whites in action in Africa, who were living up to the dream of themselves in the golden days of colonialism. They were entitled because they were white, and they were never stopped by their darker brothers or questioned. I remembered my travel to Sudan just a few days ago. I had discovered that as a black man, I was not afforded that privilege. Even yesterday I had determined that someone had gone through my luggage, searching for who knew what.
    â€œElsa, you think a lot of yourself,” Addie finally said.
    Again, the raucous laughter. Nawara joined in for once and giggled, knowing that my Southern gal had struck home.
    â€œHoney chile, I’m not a shrinking violet,” our British buddy said, doing her imitation of a gum-smacking homegirl.
    Nawara turned her attention to me again. “You would think that the West would throw in the towel. Elsa, did I say that right?”
    â€œYes, you said it right. A perfect Yank expression.”
    â€œYou would think the West would feel like a fool for all the money and technology it has pumped into Africa over the course of so many years,” Nawara said harshly. “What do they have to show for it? Nothing.”
    The tension was thick. Both Addie and Nawara expected me to answer the question. It was a trap. My answer would initiate a lengthy argument, which I did not want to have at this time of the morning.
    Elsa saved the day. “Nawara, you know the Yorkie pup I just bought in the Netherlands? I’ve always envied women who had children and that mothering instinct. Sophie—that’s the Yorkie’s name—got out of the yard one day through some hedges and got lost. It was like losing a child. I was so distressed. I cried and cried and cried. Thankfully, I found her.”
    Nawara gave her a bewildered look.
    â€œI give her so much love, and she gives it back,” Elsa added, almost weeping like a sentimental animal lover. “She’s the sweetest dog. Everyone in my district simply loves her. She’s a part of my family.”
    Addie seemed perplexed. But I knew what Elsa had just done. She’d done an end run to eliminate any possibility of a battle royal.
    â€œI have always wondered why dogs sniff other dogs’ behinds,” our BBC pal joked. “Even my sweet little dog does it.”
    Nawara had had enough of this canine chatter. She wanted to get down to business, to discuss the logistics of our Sudan journey, the nitty-gritty of our travel to the refugee camps. After her little ASPCA stunt, Elsa got serious. She explained what awaited us: a short flight in a prop plane to the southern frontier, a hazardous road to the two Doctors Without Borders sites, a hard trek with convoys carrying USAID food and supplies to the camps, and a final destination at one of the big refugee facilities in rebel territory. Both Addie and Nawara took notes, filling up