Recently I’ve found myself thinking of death and taxes. Not so much the way I’ve always thought of them, as inescapable realities, but more as dueling forces.

Each time I bound down the dirt and gravel road  toward my compound – stomach uncomfortable and complaining for the fourth day in a row – I have to admit that I’d happily pay a toll to pass if I though it might one day bring a paved road. This feeling intensifies as my eyes wander over the open garbage pits and the canals clogged with stagnant water made all the thicker by plastic wrappers, discarded water bottles and other debris.

Today it struck me that though death may be an inescapable end, taxes surely have helped us to stave it off a while.