I can’t remember how old I was the first time I heard this story. Probably ten or twelve. It’s stuck in my head ever since and I’ve told it a million times. I was talking last week with my friend Didier, a graduate student from Burundi who used to work at the same newsweekly I worked at in Bujumbura, having left just before I arrived. He and his wife, her brothers and a few of his friends and classmates have started a campaign to feed, clothe, house and provide activities for street kinds in Ngozi, his hometown. He was worried that the problem might be too wide for a dozen people, that housing and supplies and a loving host family might not be found for every kid.
I explained it to him this way.
A guy is walking along a beach at low tide and sees thousands of starfish, stranded…
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