One of my fondest
memories as a kid is watching the movie FANTASTIC VOYAGE. In it, a group of
scientists and their ultra-futuristic laser-packing “submarine” are reduced to
cell size and injected into the blood vessels of a world diplomat in order to
destroy a blood clot in his brain.
What would a FANTASTIC
VOYAGE: Breast Cancer look like? I’m going to write a novel here, short chapter
by short chapter and I’m going to include the latest research and I’m going to
imagine the entire story here for your delectation. If you want to start at the
beginning, look left. Scroll down to LABELS. The first one is “A Fantastic
Cancer Voyage”. Click on it. Scroll to the bottom and you will find episode on.
Let me know what you think after you’ve read the whole thing!
Dr. Nwagbara looked up, clearing the virtual work screen that had been shielding her from having to talk to the Reverend Isamar Noor directly. The blackest man she’d ever met, he was an Ethiopian Jewish convert first to Islam as a boy – in order to fight against Somali terrorists – then to Christianity at a London research hospital where he’d had his lost leg replaced by an experimental “living” prosthetic. He’d completed his first degree there, then transferred to Weill Cornell Medical College in Rehabilitative Medicine.
He was now an evangelist to secular Americans – as well as a
poster boy for the prosthetic surgery. He was intelligent, persuasive –
uncommonly charming when he felt like it – and did a wildly popular weekly podcast
explaining science to the masses. He was the bane of her existence both
personal and professional.
Ohloo glared at him now and said, “What do you mean, ‘...if
Kim Lin Ghandi is the incarnation of Anti-Christ and you help her live, you may very well be labeled the Great
Whore of Babylon.’?”
He shrugged broad shoulders. “Since the resurgence of faith
in the States – faith separate from politics, I might add,” he paused and she
granted him a nod. THAT split had been welcome. “I have tried to be realistic
in my explanation of the limitations of science as it has an impact on everyday
life.” He paused, she nodded again. He had done some good for America. But... “But
I am not the only one to find the religious mumbo jumbo espoused by this woman
to be offensive. How is it she feels she can merge the Hindu faith with
Ohloo looked at him and said, “Do you know the origin of
that phrase?”
He started. “What phrase?”
“‘mumbo jumbo’.”
“I don’t see how...”
“Of course you don’t – sometimes, Dr. Noor, you toss around
phrases you haven’t really dug into,” she said, smiling to take the edge off
her jibe.
“It’s not...”
“It’s very relevant.” Ohloo stood up and strode around her
desk then to the window as solitary snowflakes fell beyond, drifting slowly
from a leaden sky. She said, “During the latter part of the eighteenth century,
a wealthy Scotsman name Mungo Park was ‘exploring’ western Africa, specifically
the Niger River. Along the way, he came into contact with the Mandingo people and in addition to learning their
language, recorded his explorations in a book called Travels in the Interior of Africa. In
it, he came across the practice of the men of the Mandingo tribe solving
intractable domestic problems. While later writers made it seem like the men
used the Maamajomboo to keep the women under control. Recently, his lost
journal was discovered in the keeping of the monks of an obscure African
Catholic monastery. In it, Park talks about the diversity of work performed by
the masked dancer who took part in religious ceremonies. He describes Maamajomboo
– the same one later writers butchered into the phrase ‘Mumbo Jumbo’ – as a
character, complete with “masquerade habit” as a complex cross between a
marriage counselor, a judge and a sheriff.” Ohloo paused, but Reverend Noor
watched her, now captured by the vision. “You should read it. The third to the
last entry held what became the title, An
End To Travels in the Interior of Africa and the Failure to Find the End of the
Niger. It’s illuminating.”
“What does it have to do with your anti-Christ?”
Ohloo snorted and said, “Nothing.” He lifted his chin as if to say that he knew it, but she continued, “and everything. She’s the one who can mediate between Beijing and New Delhi – and you confirmed it, my dear Spirit-led preacher. Without you even knowing it, God has spoken through you and rather than crushing my belief, He has confirmed it. Kim Lin Anzan Ghandi will mediate this domestic dispute.”
“I hardly think the threat of thermonuclear war is a ‘domestic
dispute’!”
Ohloo shrugged, “Compared to the greater universe – whether you
are an atheist or a Muslim or Christian or Jew – our little arguments are
domestic, not matter how big they appear to us. If New Delhi and Beijing nuked
each other, from orbit you wouldn’t be able to tell.” She paused, tapping the
cold glass of the window. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not let us
come to that.” She turned to face the Reverend Noor, “I’m going to do
everything in my power to save this woman who has a better-than-even chance of being
instrumental in averting war. If that means that I risk being called the ‘Great
Whore of Babylon’ or if the Jews think Christianity is the ‘Great Whore’ or
Islam thinks the United States is the ‘Great Whore’ – I’m going to do it
because,” she turned back to the window and tapped it, “Despite the weather, I’m
rather fond of this world.”
She returned to her desk, ignoring the Reverend Noor – whom
Alex called The Crackpot – and replaced her virtual work screen, enlarging it
and making it opaque. She worked for half an hour, working hard not to look
when the chair creaked but her office door didn’t open. After another half an
hour, he cleared his throat.
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