"I Wanted to Go to Africa"

I was about to walk into my local watering hole when a man across the street yelled out to me, “Hey brother!”

I'll stop for anyone who calls me “brother.”

He sprinted across the avenue, carrying in the manner of Santa Claus, a huge clear plastic bag full of stuff.

He was Oregon Homeless Age and missing most of his teeth, but didn't seem addled or insane. He asked me if I could help him out. I fished out a couple of bucks. I asked him where he was going. He told me to hell if he didn't straighten up. I asked if he was living on the streets and he said he was. He kept to himself, trying to avoid being ripped off.

I said I didn't know how he managed his life. He told me it was better here than Nova Scotia.(!) I said there was a lot of new transitional housing opening in the near future. He said that probably wasn't for him. He liked to be alone.

Then he told me he had always wanted to go to Africa.

What?

He wanted to go fight Ebola.

What?

He said it with perfect earnestness and with no sense of delusion.

I had always wanted to see the Pyramids; he had wanted to fight Ebola when it struck. I made it; he hadn't.

I told him there was still time if wanted to visit Africa. All he had to do was get his shit together. Then you can travel there and help.

He perked up.

I think I would have made a great street preacher. It's in the blood.

Sweet Jesus! I was counseling a toothless homeless man to get clean and sober so he could travel to Africa!

Was I out of my mind?

No. When I engage the homeless and a door creaks or blasts opens to their abandoned aspirations, I will bring it up. I will kindle that fire. Yes, it is rubbing sticks together, but that can ignite if you are persistent.