A couple of weeks ago, I visited a church. My bike rider kept going further down a dusty path with nothing more than white chalk to direct us along. The noise of the poorly fueled motorcycle kept me focused on an important topic: death. I believed we were lost and surfaced from my trance. "I think I'm going to that church." "Which one?" "That one," An attempt to have a conversation since there was nothing else for miles around except banana trees and maize fields. "The one with the large cross at the top." I entertained my new friend, my inner eyes-rolling. "Woah, that cross is big, bro," I nodded in agreement. We had become fast friends, him sharing his life in intimate detail in the thirty minutes it took to get there. The cross grew more prominent as we got closer. What structure lay below it? Could it support all that? I had arrived at a funeral. Expensive four-wheel-drive cars clogged the large parki
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