Nairobi, September 23, 1997

He had come from south Sudan
to the Refugee Office in Nairobi.
He was wearing a tattered
formal jacket and dress shoes.
I had on a t-shirt and Reebok runners.
He approached me with, “Where are you from?”
then a smile and a formal “Welcome!”
He asked how blacks are treated in America.
“Could a black man become President?”
We walked and talked for awhile.

A schoolteacher, he taught history,
geography, and English. A Christian,
he had refused to convert to Islam.
He brought two of his children with him.
He said that they gave him much trouble.
He had to wait six weeks for an answer
from Geneva.

When I asked where he was headed,
he asked if I could spare
ten minutes to talk about America.
We sat under a tree.
Then awkward silence.
I asked about his plans.
He said that he wanted to
sell newspapers. This was a good
job, he said, because
the more he worked
the more he would earn.
To get the job he needed a surety –
1200 Kenyan shillings.
Would I help him?

I handed him the money.
Then he said,
“I must go.
I will pray for you,”
and hurried away.