I am not an ignorant man. I know that black pod is a fungus, not some pestilence brought on by an enemy’s curse; I know that malaria is spread by mosquitoes, not palm oil. Yet when I stopped at the road, I couldn’t see my son anywhere. I dropped the sack of cocoa beans and ran. I ran until I found him, face down in the dirt. I lowered my water bottle to his lips. He glanced up at me as if he was ashamed. He didn’t tell me the bag was too heavy, just as I never told my…