There are days when I question why I do this. It is my choice after all. There is no mandate to board the plane, to cross the Atlantic Ocean and wake up to roosters crowing half way around the world.
And somewhere between the intermittent electricity and cold showers, as the African sun burns into my skin and the wind embeds the red soils into my every crevice, the questions come…why do I continue to do this?*
Sure, there is adventure. But adventure would invite me on safari or white water rafting down the Nile. Adventure doesn’t invite you to the middle of a field.