I spoke again with Arafat, and his mother, with whom I haven’t talked in possibly two years. A nice reunion, even if under exceptionally gruesome circumstances.
Despite his weakness and addled state, Arafat gave me a refined diagnosis: along with his malaria-like illness, he has typhoid. Seriously, typhoid. I tried to make a joke about getting cholera and/or TB next, but the humor was lost.
He still sounds awful but says he’s getting out of the hospital tomorrow. Hopefully, this is good news.
His mother is very upset! And asked me repeatedly to pray for her son.
She didn’t specify to which God.
