by Antonio Napoli

In a remote African village, under a blazing sun and a burning moon, life moved slowly, steeped in ancient legends and jealously guarded wisdom. Every evening, the elders would gather around the fire, where the crackling flames and the aroma of the baobab’s hard bark accompanied the tales of the spirits of the earth.

One evening, beneath the towering shadow of the baobab, an albino sage gathered the younger ones, who had always approached him with a mix of reverence and fear. With a calm voice and eyes filled with ancient knowledge, he began to speak:

“The true path seems to have been lost. Once, there was a line traced upon the earth that led to it, visible to all. By day, it shone like a burning flame; at dusk, it darkened, leaving behind the repeated call of a creature never wounded by daylight. Those who saw that line would say: ‘I must walk upon it. But now I have no time—I must fetch water, care for the child, sharpen the knife, defend the flock from predators, cultivate the field, guard the fruit from birds, bathe in the river, repair the hut, dance to calm the spirits, read the signs in the sky. I have no time for the true path, but I will find it later.'”

And in truth, none of the young people present, though they had heard of it, had ever seen that precious and unique line—the path that led to the true path.

“What happened to that line?” one of them asked, plucking a baobab leaf that tickled his ear.

“They say a strong wind erased it, or perhaps it was swept away by warhorses, or trampled by elephants driven by fear, tracing new lines with their trunks. Who can say what truly happened? Only the spirits of the earth hold the secret.”

Another young man shook his head. “Only the chosen ones could walk the true path, isn’t that so?”

“No one was destined to walk the true path,” the albino replied. “That is our consolation. All we can do is wait for the return of one who has crossed it, to be nourished by their wisdom.”

“Or by their horror!” exclaimed a youth, spitting on the ground.

The elder paused for a long time, letting the silence of the night and the murmuring fire, now dying down, speak in his place.

“What use is it to keep speaking?” he resumed, his gaze meeting the attentive eyes of the young. “Look at this tree. It does not need words, yet it teaches us constantly. The wind rustling through its crown speaks with a rough voice, commanding us to endure, while the sweet songs of the birds reveal forgotten secrets, like that of love, which brings us into being, one among many. But when fire torments it, the tree does not reveal the mysteries hidden in its roots—like that of the true path, which, they say, has its beginning in a baobab…”

At that moment, the moon, delicate and silver, caressed the sky, its rays illuminating a tangle of paths far from the restless hearts of those young men, each path holding a fragment of truth: path and heart.

Another elder approached to rekindle the fire. He had been listening to the albino’s words. He spoke.

“Perhaps the true path was never a road traced upon the earth, but a journey within our own hearts, revealing itself slowly, in the silence of a night, in the great desert that stretches between small steps and great decisions. Today, the true path is even harder to imagine, for it is born from the courage to carve any path at all in the vastness of life.”

“Yes,” the albino confirmed, “even though the ancient line has vanished, each of us holds the power to trace our own road, as if it were the true path.”

And with that, he walked away, like an animal going off to die, leaving an imprint in the ashes, before the fire dissolved it into the wind.

The young men remained silent, watching the embers flicker, as if in the trembling glow of the night, the lost line might still shine.

One of them, the most restless, stood up. He gazed at the twisted shadow of the baobab and then at the sky, where the moon, pale and pensive, seemed to be searching for a path of its own in the infinite darkness.

“If no one has ever returned to speak of the true path,” he murmured, “perhaps it means that those who find it no longer need words.”

The others did not answer, but in their eyes burned a new reflection, a restless spark—like that of those who, without realizing it, have already begun their journey.