the poet from Mwene Ditu

I met him in Lubumbashi
A boy from the village
of Mwene Ditu
Where they live 60 kilometers
From the diamond mines
But don't have running water
Inside, No electricity
Where bicycles run
Like cars

I met him in Lubumbashi
Selling cases of Coke
Primus, Skol and Fanta
from a run down depot
with a broken window and
a metal door
his cot rolled up
behind

He arrived in the capital
Kinshasa
with just one suitcase
a few clothes, some photos
and papers from his past

Yesterday, as we walked
home from the pool
where he's taught himself to swim
I saw him carrying
One of his old school notebooks

What are you reading
I wondered.
Philosophy,
he said.
Descartes, Marcel, Plato
Do you know Socrates
he asked

Playground Philosophy

"Is there a bad God?" Mohamed tilts his head as he asks me this over dinner.
"No." I think about it only for a minute, trying to figure out what he's heard lately, wondering if he is referring to a devil.
"Kagiso doesn't believe with Adam." I am patient as he talks about his classmates. I know eventually the story will come together, revealed in bits and pieces with clarity only at the end.
"Kagiso said God needs sleep and Adam said He didn't. Then Adam went away from Kagiso. They used to be best friends, but now they're not."

World politics reduced to its basic level. I love this moment, discussing the philosophies of the playground with my son as he grapples with the issues. I savour being able to steer him to the right path, knowing even as I do that it won't always be this simple. He won't always take my word as the deciding factor. Things are bound to get more complicated. But for now, we can revel in the innocence.