At the back of a classroom full of grade-school students, Marta Kifle spies a boy who doesn’t look busy. “Where is your homework?” she asks. “You don’t have any?” Go get your backpack, she tells him. ...

The young man whose name I withhold in this story, is probably in his late twenties, tall, handsome with curly hair that he had made in Rasta dreads that fall down his neck. The day I met him, he was ...