Do we live in the same world?

Victor. Have to wonder where he’ll go next. He’s a Nigerian. But left his country. Because of religious strife. A constant battle/feud between Muslims and Christians. One might think that religions are designed to bring people together. Thinking kindly of each other. Seems that should be the basis of religions. But it isn’t. Maybe religions divide us instead. My way is right. Your way is wrong. I see light. You see darkness. Anyway, I met Victor on a street. Via Gramsci.  The main drag. In Carbonia.  In Sardinia. Victor and I are sharing the same world. The same island. In the Mediterranean Sea. We were strangers yesterday. Now we are friends, of sorts.  Our paths crossed. Victor is a peddler. Selling wares. Socks. Blankets. Knick-knacks. Told Victor I don’t speak Italian. No problem. He speaks English-accented English. Just like a Brit. That’s the primary language in Nigeria. English got him by, too, in Libya. Where he lived for two years. Just before coming to Sardinia. Victor has no idea where he’ll end up next. He’s 26. Don’t know if I’d rather be in his shoes. Or 50 years older. Like I am now. I have relative certainty ahead. A few more years maybe. And then adios. Maybe Victor has another 50 or 60 years. But what will it be? Living hand- to-mouth? Or will it be a great adventure? I’ve ended up a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a dreamer, a lover. I wonder if Victor and others of the new generation will have the same opportunities.  Do Victor and I  really live in the same world?  --Jim Broede