“You don’t understand. You sound like a man who just ate a big meal who then tells a hungry man food won’t make him happy; dreams will. But don’t you think we must eat first before we can dream?”
Al looked at Haile Marium and smiled. “You are right, but beware. It can be difficult to get up from the table of a big meal. Eating a lot can make you lazy and satisfied. Then you just live to eat and forget your dreams. Your stomach and all your physical needs are more than satisfied, but inside somewhere you are starving.”
“I will remember that.”
CHAPTER 56
Special Bread
“All this talk of food is making me hungry,” Al said as he pulled the rolls from his duffle bag ... the “special bread.” He unwrapped them and handed one to Haile Marium.
“Please, eat with me,” Al invited as he handed a roll to Haile Marium.
“Thank you,” Haile Marium replied as he broke off bite-sized pieces of his roll, eating each slowly, one by one.
Al looked out the window to view the passing countryside as he took big bites of his roll, devouring it in just a couple minutes.
Haile Marium was still eating his bread and engrossed in the stories he was reading in Amharic on the newspaper that the bread had been wrapped in when Al turned to him and asked light-heartedly, “What’s new?”
“Do you know the singer, Cat Stevens?”
“Yes. He’s British and is very popular in the States now. I like his songs ‘Wild World’ and ‘Father and Son.’ Why do you ask?”
“He is coming to Ethiopia,” Haile Marium reported as he pointed to a story in the newspaper.
“No, really? Why is he? Ethiopians don’t know his music, do they?”
“He is not coming to sing. He is coming as a guest of the United Nations, to see how smallpox is ending in the world and how the hungry are being fed in Ethiopia. The UN, with the help of Peace Corps, is doing this work.”
“Wow. That’s something. Maybe I’ll get to meet him. I’m Peace Corps and I’m going to Dessie to work in the famine relief shelter there for the UN.”
“Peace Corps. I thought so. Most Americans I see are Peace Corps. I wish Ethiopia had volunteers that worked in America. I would be one,” Haile Marium said with a whimsical smile. “But America does not need help from others. It helps itself.”
“Not true. America needs and gets outside help, but not from people paid by other governments. America has millions of immigrants who come from other countries to live and work.”
“It is not the same. You came here with a paid job. That’s what I mean.”
“Maybe America can pay you to teach young people in its schools to appreciate the opportunities they have to learn, so they don’t waste them. You can tell them about how getting an education in Ethiopia is considered a special privilege.”
“Yes, Mr. Al. I can do that. Please ask your government,” Haile Marium replied sincerely, without recognizing Al’s humor.
“I wish I could. It’s not so simple.”
“So you do not have the power to do that?”
“Oh, I have the power to ask, but not the power to make anyone listen.”
“I understand. It is good that you can ask. We can’t even do that with our government. We can only ask God.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Maybe it is not so bad. I trust God more than governments.”
“I’m so sorry,” Al added while thinking to himself, Good luck with that.
Haile Marium hadn’t heard Al’s last comment because he had reached across the aisle to give the remaining half of his roll to a young child who was sitting with his mother. The child, about five years old, took the bread and looked at his mother, a poorly dressed peasant woman with shiny, braided black hair. She nodded yes to her son and then smiled appreciatively at Haile Marium.
“You said you are going to help feed the hungry in Dessie. Look, you are helping to feed the hungry on this bus now,” Haile Marium told Al.
Al smiled at Haile Marium and wished he had at least a few bites of his roll left to share with someone else on the bus. “Yes, I begin managing the warehouse of famine relief supplies tomorrow.”
“I hope you meet that British singer. What does he sing about?” Haile Marium asked.
“‘Wild World’ is about a young, childlike girl who relied on her physical beauty to get what she wanted, but she is warned that she better be careful because ‘a lot of nice things turn bad’ and it’s hard to get by on beauty alone,” Al paraphrased.
“Yes. I know a girl like that,” Haile Marium said with a nod.
“That’s probably why the song is so popular. There must be girls like that everywhere.”
“In some ways, people are the same everywhere. What is his other song that you like?” asked Haile Marium.
“‘Father and Son’ is a short conversation about a father advising his son to stay at home and love the life they know, and not leave for some dream life that popped into his son’s head. He told his son that he could count on their lives as they were, not some elusive dream. The father told him, ‘Look at me, I am old, but I am happy.’ But his son told himself, ‘How can I try to explain? When I do, he turns away again.’ He knew in his heart that his father was wrong. The son finally made up his mind to leave, to make his dream come true.”
Al had been looking out the window, taking in the scenery as he discussed the song. When he finished, Al turned to Haile Marium who was strangely silent. Al was surprised to see Haile Marium staring blankly at the newspaper he was holding in his hands.
“What’s the matter?”
“That song you just told me about ... I’m going home now to tell my father that I am leaving, that I will not live the life he wants for me. I have a dream, too. I will graduate from a university and then look for work in America.”
Al smiled and thought to himself how interesting it was that the same song spoke to both him and Haile Marium. In Al’s case, he had left his home in New York City to chase his dream in Ethiopia, and in Haile Marium’s case, he wanted to leave his home in Ethiopia to follow his dream in America. Al knew now what he’d say to Cat Stevens if he got to meet him in Dessie.
The rest of the bus ride to Dessie seemed to fly by as Al and Haile Marium talked with great anticipation about their dreams and future lives. Their conversation energized them both, and when the bus arrived in Dessie and they said their good-byes, they wished each other well.
“I will remember what you said. I will not live just to eat after I become a rich man in America,” Haile Marium told Al. “Maybe I will return to Ethiopia and do something good with all my money.”
CHAPTER 57
Money Isn’t Everything
That night, after eating dinner alone at the bunabet hotel where he would live until he found something better, Al laid in a cot-like bed that reminded him of those he had slept in at summer camp a decade earlier. His thoughts drifted to the conversation he had had with his dad before joining the Peace Corps. The Cat Stevens song and hearing about Haile Marium’s plan to tell his father that he would travel a different road in life probably triggered his thoughts.
Al and his dad had been watching a New York Yankees baseball game on TV as they sat in their New York City home, munching potato chips and drinking Cokes.
“It’s your life. You can do what you want with it, but I think it’s a mistake,” Mr. Masterson told Al. “Think about it. While you’re in some God-forsaken place somewhere in the world, the people graduating with you from college this year will either be getting valuable job experience or making themselves more employable by getting post-graduate degrees.”
“I’ll be getting valuable job experience. I’ll be a teacher,” Al countered.
“It’s not the same. Who do you think will get the teaching job you apply for when you return to the States: the guy who has been teaching two years here or you?”
“Me, because not only will I hav
e teaching experience, but I’ll also have shown them that I can teach under challenging conditions, and teach students with a different culture.”
“No. None of that will really matter. They’ll just want to know that you can teach in their school, in their culture, not some poor school in a third-world country.” Al’s dad shifted his eyes to the baseball game on TV as he talked. “Damn! Will you look at that! Another run for Boston. Send in a reliever already. Please!” he implored the Yankees’ manager, as if he could hear him.
“So even if you’re right, that my next employer doesn’t see the value of my Peace Corps experience as it relates to my job, I’ll know. It will give me an edge by giving me confidence that I can do just about anything.”
“You’re not getting it, what I’m trying to tell you. You want confidence about being employable? Then you’ve got to do what I’m saying: get a master’s degree or get a teaching job here,” a frustrated Mr. Masterson replied.
“What if I don’t want to be a teacher? I may discover it’s not for me after trying it for two years in the Peace Corps,” Al said, tossing him a literal curve ball.
“That’s your problem. You don’t know what you want to do. When are you going to make up your mind and go for it? When I was your age, I had my whole life mapped out for myself. Everything I did provided the foundation for the next job I wanted to do,” Mr. Masterson replied, fouling off Al’s curveball.
“You’re right. I don’t have a master plan for my life. I wish I did,” Al said, throwing his dad a changeup this time.
“Double play! He got out of the inning, finally,” Al’s dad interjected. “Can you believe it! Look at that. He is the leadoff hitter. I guess the manager left him in so he could pinch hit for him.” Al’s dad returned to his conversation with Al. “To have a plan, you need to make some choices. You can’t keep putting things off. This Peace Corps thing is just delaying the inevitable,” Mr. Masterson replied, taking Al’s changeup for a ball.
“How can you say that? Going to work in a strange country for two years isn’t a big decision? Maybe it will lead to some kind of related work. How do you know what opportunities will present themselves, what things I’ll learn about myself that will be the foundation for the rest of my life?” Al replied with a fastball at the knees.
“Let me put it this way: life is a game. You’ve got to know the rules if you hope to win. I’m just trying to tell you the rules. My father told me the rules, and now I’m telling you,” Al’s dad said sincerely, hitting a base hit up the middle and ending their conversation.
Al then fell asleep in his Dessie hotel bed. That night, he had a strange dream. It brought together his earlier life in the States with his life in Ethiopia. In the dream, Al found himself sitting around a game board. The game was about to begin with the other players: Al’s dad, Tsehye, Bookie, Tadesse, Bob Dylan, and Haile Marium.
“OK, guys, here are the rules for Monopoly International. Now, remember, I didn’t make these up. So don’t shoot the messenger,” Al told the group. “If you don’t like them, you don’t have to play.” He then distributed money to everyone: $100,000 to each of the American players, and $1,000 to each of the Ethiopian players.
“Where’s the rest of our money?” Tsehye asked.
“That’s all you get. The American players get one hundred times more because it costs one hundred times more to live in America,” Al explained.
“That’s still not fair,” Tadesse said. “We’ll never be able to have as much money as the American players.”
“Don’t worry; you don’t need the most money to win this game,” Al replied.
“Why can’t I play as an American?” Haile Marium asked.
“The answer is blowin’ in the wind,” Bob Dylan told him.
“You can change your citizenship during the game if you land on Chance and pull a Citizenship card,” Al revealed.
“What happens if I get a Citizenship card?” Bookie asked. “And how many Citizenship cards are there in the deck?”
“If an American gets a Citizenship card, he just puts it back in the deck and pulls another card. There is one less Citizenship card than the total of non-American players at a given time, so not everyone can become an American even if they want to.”
“Don’t worry,” Tsehye told his fellow Ethiopians. “I won’t be changing my citizenship if I get a Citizenship card, so I’ll put it back in the deck for you to use.”
“I ain’t gonna live on Maggie’s farm anymore,” Dylan interjected.
“OK, the next rule is that American players will all live thirty more years than the Ethiopian players,” Al said.
“Hey, hey! I’m liking this game more and more. My odds are looking real good,” Bookie exclaimed.
“Thirty more years? Are you going to tell us we don’t need to live long to win?” Tadesse asked.
“Well, to tell you the truth, it does put you at a disadvantage. But think quality and not quantity,” Al explained.
“Oh, but I was so much older then. I’m younger than that now,” Dylan offered.
“Please stop that. We’re trying to learn how to play this game and you keep interrupting,” Al told Dylan.
“How does it feel to be without a home, a complete unknown, like a rolling stone?” Dylan added.
“Damn! I give up,” an exasperated Al blurted, acknowledging Dylan would not be silenced.
“OK. Just a few more rules to cover before we begin,” Al said. “Now remember, before you say anything about them, they may or may not help you win the game in the long run. Americans will also start the game with more material things than the Ethiopian players: big comfortable homes with lots of modern conveniences; big, powerful cars; and lots of paved roads to drive them on. They will also have a stable, responsive government, and access to lots of well-paying jobs in many industries.”
“So do we get all this if we land on Chance and pick a Citizenship card?” Haile Marium asked.
“Yes, you can if you choose to,” Al said.
“OK. Then I’ll play,” Haile Marium replied.
“Take me disappearin’ through the smoke rings of my mind,” Dylan told them.
“I’ll take that as a no, you don’t want to play,” Al surmised. “What about you?” he asked Bookie.
“Are you kiddin’? Hell yeah. I’m playin’,” Bookie affirmed.
“I’ll play just so Tadesse and Haile Marium can both get Citizenship cards. I’m too old to start over, and even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t leave Ethiopia again. I’ve learned to love it for what it is,” said Tsehye.
“Are you playing?” Tadesse asked Al’s dad.
“Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do,” Mr. Masterson replied.
“Then so will I,” Tadesse said.
“Now that we know who’s playing, let me tell you the object of the game, how we will declare a winner. The one who produces the most smiles among all the people in their lives, including themselves, before they die, will be the winner. Smiles are the international currency we will be dealing in, and they will be accumulated in many ways,” Al explained.
“What kind of stupid game is this?” Bookie barked. “Smiles? What happened to money? The more money, the more smiles, anyway.”
“Sure, money will produce smiles for you, but so will lots of other things. We’ll need to be creative and find more ways to collect smiles,” Al explained. “So we’ll want to make lots of money, but with the idea of creating lots of smiles with it. As we play the game, there will be many opportunities to produce smiles without money, too.”
“I’ll start the game, since I’ve played it before and can show you what to do as I lead the way,” Al said as he tossed a pair of dice.
CHAPTER 58
Leveling the Playing Field
In some ways, the game was like the original Monopoly game, with players moving around the board, collecting money after passing Go and purchasing properties that they could develop
with their earnings. But instead of just land that could be developed into homes, rental properties, and hotels, the properties included resources, like energy supplies, technology, manufacturing facilities, farmlands, communication networks, and an educated, skilled workforce.
Depending on how players conducted themselves in their work and leisure lives, they’d earn or lose smiles, each of which had the equivalent value of $1,000. With one exception, smiles had to be earned. They were not just given away by passing Go. The exception was charitable donations. For every $1,000 donation, a player received a smile to bank. On the other hand, smiles were taken from players when their actions harmed another player.
For example, Bookie lost a smile when he purchased Ethiopia’s coffee crop from Tadesse for less than half its actual value. Tadesse needed the money right away to increase his coffee crop yield for the next harvest, and Bookie was the only one with extra money at that time, so Tadesse had no other choice but to accept his offer. However, as soon as the money and the crop changed hands, the smile meter, which was worn like a wristwatch on all the players, began beeping and flashing red on Bookie’s arm.
“What’s that?” Bookie asked.
“Your smile meter indicated that you knew you were treating Tadesse unfairly, so you have to return one of those smiles you bought for $1,000,” Al explained.
“No. No. That’s not right,” Bookie complained.
“The smile meter is never wrong because it’s connected directly to your soul,” Al added.
“OK. What the hell? I still came out ahead by thirty grand,” Bookie concluded. “Next time, I’ll be careful not to feel sorry for the guy so this stupid thing doesn’t go off again,” he added while pointing to his smile meter.