A · Little · Addition...

Some of you know that I worked at the Laikipia Baraka School in Kenya from 2002-2003, shortly before Melody and I were married. I was a residential counselor and in charge of a dormitory filled with 10, 12 year old boys. The boys at our school came from the toughest neighborhoods in Baltimore, but at our school they really had the chance to be children. In a completely safe environment they could just go to school, play, and explore their new African surroundings. There were difficult times too. The boys struggled with their new surroundings and expectations of them, but most of the time it was a blast.

One boy in particular stands out now in my memory. His name was Charles Pratt and it was easy to overlook him in that environment. He did what he was told, the first time, almost 100% of the time. His demeanor rubbed off on his two roommates as well. I almost never had to tell them to turn off the lights at night or to be quiet. They always made their beds in the morning and their grades were perfect. I say it was easy to overlook Charles because in a dorm full of screaming 12 year olds, you don’t always notice the quiet ones.

Charles had his struggles as well. The boys followed a point system based on behavior. The boys earned greater privileges, like the chance to leave the school and visit the nearby town, as they earned higher and higher ‘levels’. Charles progressed through this system easily and quickly, but once he attained the highest level of privilege, he fell apart. With nothing to work toward he started getting into fights and causing trouble. That didn’t last long, however, and soon he was focused and back on track. He was one of the top performers at the school that year, if not THE top performer.

Yesterday at work I received a message saying that Charles, now 18, had been found dead in a parking lot near his home in Baltimore. The news article, two sentences bundled with other accounts that day of gun violence in the city, said only that he had been shot multiple times.

I lost contact with Charles when the school closed in 2003. Like I said, it was easier to concentrate on the squeakier wheels, those boys demanding attention. Instead I worried about the ones I knew would return to the streets and resume their lives selling drugs or working for dealers. Some of those boys were featured in the documentary, The Boys of Baraka, a film shot during my year at Baraka. I didn’t worry for a moment about Charles, who seemed to have a good home life. Once again I don’t seem to know nearly as much as I think I do.