The germ of the Poisonwood Bible has oozed into my subconscious. I dream of Africa by night and wonder about her by day. How would the villagers of Kilanga perceive Keewaydin? Would they find us to be “stupid ghosts, non persons”? Would two people on two hundred acres seem blasphemously close fisted? “You could support an entire village”, they would holler, and the women would scold us for being too lazy to bring in the last of the tomatoes before a bitter night. Their fictional accusations echo in my imagination eardrums and I think, “Yes, we will support a village, welcome and build a community who will experience the life of this land”. Their voices will make sure of it.