A song in every language

Rose was a hairstylist in Juba, skilled with her hands and soft-hearted with everyone except careless men, whom she turned away politely and permanently. Paolo, a Filipino tourism executive who visited East Africa regularly, matched with her and opened with a line she had never heard: "You have the patience of someone who has heard a thousand stories. May I begin yours?"

Their first date was a karaoke room, where Paolo sang Filipino love songs and then, to her delight, attempted a South Sudanese song he had practiced. His voice was terrible. His courage was magnificent. Rose laughed until she cried and promptly forgot every rule she had made.

He took her to a rooftop dinner at the Pyramid, to seafood nights by the river, to hidden gardens, always with a song in the car and a plan for the evening. He courted her in four cities — Juba, Manila, Addis, Dubai — because work took him everywhere and, he said, so did his heart.

He proposed in the karaoke room where they first sang, with that same terrible song, and this time he invited the whole room to sing along. The wedding brought Filipino and South Sudanese families together like an old reunion.

"People think a man taking care of you means money and dinners," Rose says. "Paolo taught me it means showing up off-key and unbothered, making you laugh in every city, and loving you in public. That is richer than anything in a bank account."