I met a Little Prince yesterday, in the heart of Africa.

In the distance, I saw a child walking slowly, gently touching every tree he passed. He wore torn clothes, had nothing — yet moved with calm and pride.
It wasn’t sadness I saw. It was something older, quieter.

I followed him. Something about the way he moved made me want to be near.
When I reached him, I took his hand and asked,
“Why do you do that? Why touch the trees?”
He looked at me and said,
“So they grow faster. They give us shade. I love trees.”

I asked, “What else do you love?”
“My parents, my brothers, sisters… and the trees. I have nothing else,” he answered.

He wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t afraid. Just still — like someone who had made peace with the world.
I gave him what little I had: a banana, some bread, water, and a few bracelets.

And yet, I left feeling that he had given me more.

He reminded me of something I had forgotten — the quiet dignity of those who have very little, but live with grace.

He didn’t let my restlessness disturb him.
Maybe he was afraid I’d try to tame him — and then, like the Little Prince, he might cry.

But he didn’t.
He just kept walking.