Some still call it “the dark continent” for the light that flickers under the tunnel is not that of hope, but an approaching train. And because countless keep waiting in the way of the train, millions die and many more remain decapitated by the day. “It’s amazing how you all sit there and watch yourselves die,” the man next to me said. “Get up and do something about it.” Brawny, fully bald-headed, with intense, steely eyes, he was as cold as they come. When I first discovered I was going to spend my New Year’s Eve next to him on a non-stop JetBlue flight from Los Angeles to Boston I was angst-ridden. I associate marble-shaven Caucasians with iconoclastic skin-heads, most of who are racist. “My name is Walter,” he extended his hand as soon as I settled in my seat. "What's yours?" he still asked I told him,"Harry.." with a precautious smile. “Where are you from?” he asked. “Nigeria.” “Nigeria!” he exclaimed, “Obasanjo’s country.” “Yes,” I said, “...