10/04/2026
The evening sun was low over Katondo as I pedaled my big-tire bike toward Kachulu Market. I didn't feel my phone slip from my pocket, but the shout of children playing chimpombwa near Mapili Station stopped me cold.
"Ba Uncle! Mwaponya phone!"
I skidded to a halt. A boy of about eleven ran to me, handing over my device. It was safe. Relieved and grateful, I reached for K7 in coins to reward the group. I decided to test their spirits.
"Who is the oldest?" I asked.
"It’s me!" the boy shouted.
"And who is the youngest?"
"It’s me!" he cried again, without a flicker of shame.
The air went still. Here was a strange contradiction: a boy honest enough to return a treasure, yet greedy enough to claim every reward for himself.
"You did well to return the phone," I told him, "but you are not being honest now."
I distributed the coins to the others, giving the extra K2 to the real youngest. As I cycled away, the boy’s protests—"Aaaa, takwaba!"—faded behind me. I left wondering how a heart could be upright enough to help a stranger, yet too small to share with its own friends.
