The boy lies the way I love to - curled up on his side, head in the sunlight. But rather than a bed or a couch or even a carpeted floor (sometimes I love the floor), he is sleeping in the dirt. I turn the corner and he is there, mid-footpath between the low parking lot wall and busy city street. I will walk past him in less than ten steps. I slow down as I approach, checking for signs of breath or movement. What if he is dead? What do I do? Who would I call? Would anyone care? It is unclear to me if he is, in fact, alive, but I reassure myself that he must be and keep walking. This is the first time I have ventured out alone in Kampala – if you can call walking from one mall to another “venturing.” City planning is not a Ugandan forte; the capitol has two malls, approximately 250 metres apart. Walk out of the Garden City parking lot, turn left, and there are three driveways before you reach the Oasis Mall entrance. I step onto the patio at Cafe Javas. Do I seat mys...