AP Photo

Sixteen years ago, my wife and I, along with our friend Audrey were standing outside a guesthouse near the towns of Boabeng and Fiema in Ghana when Kojo, a young boy, approached on a bicycle. His whole shadow rose and fell with each turn of the crooked front wheel. Behind him were miles of fields and the dust-dry trees of forest. He stopped in front of me and opened his hand to reveal a small crumpled note.