Last Christmas my family got together in Houston, even though it is a town none of us actually live in. We were staying at a La Quinta, and next door was an authentic Mexican restaurant (none of the staff spoke English authentic). The second or third night there, after downing a delicious quesadilla and some decent horchata, I was making my way out when I saw one of those little coin operated vending machines, the kind that dispense goodies in roundish plastic balls that have to be popped open. As a kid I always lusted after these items, in large part because my mom rarely was forthcoming with the requisite 25-cents. Anyway, this one was offering, in garish lettering, “Lazer Fingers!!!” How could I resist? I dutifully dropped in my 50 cents and was rewarded with an LED flashlight small enough to be attached to the first knuckle of your index finger. Initially, in the light-pollution inundated Houston parking lot, I was quite underwhelmed with my purchase. It was difficult to see the light, it felt a little small, and the implied ability to cut my older brother in half with its awesome power never materialized (not for lack of trying).
Why this long-winded reminiscing? Somehow my lazer finger made it to Africa to me. While it may not have seemed like much in Houston, in the darkness of Maseru it has saved me a couple of times. Maseru gets dark like nothing I have ever experienced in a town in the U.S. At night you can stand in “downtown” and see the Milky Way clearly; my neighborhood is nearly pitch black after sundown. Anyone who has significant experience with true darkness can relate to how useful I have found this tiny, quiet powerful, seemingly inexhaustible flashlight. I carry it in my pocket at all times and when I have found myself walking in the evening it has often steered me clear of ditches, mean dogs, groups of questionably unoccupied young men, and other dangerous spots.
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