The Facts

I've decided that Kenyans are made from high-grade stainless steel:  endurance, stomachs, muscles, neck strength, sheer will.  You name it...steel.

I, on the other hand, was crafted from a substance that falls somewhere between putty and powder.

In my pathetic putty state, I have not been feeling so well for the past couple of days.  Don't know what it is, but I'm more certain than ever before of three things:

1.  That the six-fingered man said it best--if you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything.

2.  That there's not an ounce of steel in my body.

3.  That the hearts of Kenyans are made of pure gold.

Never in my life have I had so many concerned co-workers call me to ensure that I'm doing OK.

Not being one to relish attention under such unpleasant circumstances, I made Aaron answer the phone every time, except one.

And that was the call of Mama Rose...who just last week was diagnosed with Malaria, given three days off of work, but who only took one.

Steel, I tell ya.

"I just wanted to call and make sure you're feeling OK.  Get better soon.  We miss you around here."

And solid gold.