Sadio Mane, a Senegalese soccer star, earns approximately $10.2 million annually. He gave the world a rude awakening after some fans were flabbergasted when they saw him carrying

Sadio Mane, a Senegalese soccer star, earns approximately $10.2 million annually. He gave the world a rude awakening after some fans were flabbergasted when they saw him carrying a cracked iPhone with a screen that looked like it had been run over by a lawnmower, wearing sneakers that had clearly seen better days – possibly several decades ago – and a tracksuit that appeared to be from a discount bin, several seasons out of fashion. The paparazzi, usually clamoring for designer labels and flashy watches, were utterly bewildered.

The photos went viral faster than a perfectly executed counter-attack. Social media exploded.

"Is this some kind of performance art?" tweeted one perplexed fan.

"Did his entire fortune get invested in a very ambitious baobab tree farm?" wondered another.

"Maybe he's just incredibly humble!" offered a third, quickly drowned out by a chorus of "Or incredibly broke!"

Reporters, scenting a story juicier than a perfectly ripe mango, cornered him after a training session. "Mr. Mane!" one shouted, microphone practically shoved up his nose. "With your immense wealth, why are you carrying a phone that looks like it survived the apocalypse and wearing clothes that, no offense, suggest you lost a bet with a time traveler?"

Sadio Mane, with his characteristic humble smile, simply shrugged. "Why would I want ten Ferraris, twenty diamond watches, or two jet planes? What would these objects do for me and for the world? I built schools, a stadium, we provide clothes, shoes, food for people who are in extreme poverty. I prefer that my people receive a little of what life has given me."

The reporters, initially stunned into silence, looked at each other. They had expected an eccentric millionaire, a quirky fashion statement, or perhaps even a secret endorsement deal gone wrong. What they got was a dose of profound, no-nonsense perspective.

One journalist, still clutching his designer pen, mumbled, "So… no private jets then?"

Mane just laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh. "Perhaps one day," he said, "if it can carry enough medical supplies to my village." He then picked up a well-worn soccer ball, dribbled it expertly, and jogged off, leaving the flabbergasted media scrum to ponder their own priorities, and possibly consider whether their own iPhones were really necessary.