Before I made the decision to leave MTN and move to Altron, I spoke to Sifiso Dabengwa, whose wisdom I value. As usual, he helped me to connect with who I am. He guided me to find my own answers. We meet once a quarter and he gives me a fresh perspective, or confirms that I’m on the right track. One of the greatest values of mentors is their ability to see what you may not be able to and to help navigate a course. Meetings with Sifiso leave me motivated and that’s what mentorship is about.

I was puzzled. Not trying to be clever or correct him, I raised my hand and said that Jesus did not speak English: the Bible was a translation. My comment elicited laughter from the class and a sheepish silence from Smith. Then he gave us a short sermon on willingness to learn. Remember you have come here to learn, not to teach. Or do you want to change places with me? he asked, holding out the chalk to me. There was tense silence. He now explained that he was talking about the King James–authorized translation of the Bible, which had inspired many writers of English prose and poetry. It had excellent English, for those who wanted to learn. Smith’s testy response froze questions and differing perspectives.

She touched her heart in blessing. These days there’s no Luo or Gĩkũyũ, she said. We are all the children of Kenya.

We are all the children of Kenya. All the children of Africa. All the children of the world. Even though she has long passed on, I remember her words and looks and smile. It was another case of wisdom and enrichment from the street. Knowledge gained inside and outside a formal setting impacted my life equally.

I was desperate to play piano but there weren’t many spaces, so I got stuck with the violin. At first, I hated it, but I still had to practise. For the first three years my playing sounded like a cat being skinned alive but, to the credit of my family, no one ever complained. I passed my grades and got quite good at it despite my brilliant but miserable tutor. Oh, she was awful! And clearly hated the job. I eventually became a soloist and was one of only five kids who played in the chamber group at the front of the orchestra. After six years I was pretty good, and had fallen completely in love with the instrument, but it got to the point where I had to buy my own violin and give mine up to a first-year student. I just couldn’t afford it, so that was that.

It wasn’t until years later that it struck me what a wonderful training violin had given me. Having an instrument so close to my ear meant I had to hit the strings at the correct point, and that gave me an invaluable ear for tuning later on, and fuelled a love of orchestral music that has never left me.

Coltrane’s musical freedom, like most freedoms, was hard-won. He spent many hours a day practicing—rediscovering, investigating, and revising his ideas from the day before. He was determined to keep digging until he hit bedrock—the solid, essential truth at his own core. He wanted to share that truth with others. Music, he believed, was the language through which to do it. “You can’t ram philosophies down anybody’s throat,” he said, “and the music is enough!