It has become somewhat of a normality to hear the name of King David called out repeatedly during my day. Not in use during any bible study, sermon, biblical reference, or any other place you would expect that name to be uttered. Rather I hear it repeatedly as I work, toil, and sweat; as I mop the floor and scrub the stairs. I hear it as I do the kind of work I’m sure David never did during his kingship. I hear this name called out, not in reference to the classic tales of old nor in reference to my self, but rather it is directed to the man who forever stands at my side through out the day; a short, youthful, saleon bobo with skin dark as a panther’s majestic coat. His clothes do well to mirror his body, tattered and dirty. He looks nothing like what you would call king. He spends his day keeping me company, sweating, and toiling just the same. They see him as he is on his knees doing the most humble of work and they call him king. Not quite what you would expect, but let me tell you before you make your judgments on the matter. Although he spends his day face to the floor, his is undoubtedly David, king, a man after gods own heart, and it is my distinct honor to work beside him.
(Saleon bobo: krio for Sierra Leonean boy/man)
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