Right then. In the preface, I gave you my spin on how Raya ended up an Aussie. And at the end of the preface, I promised you that I would give you Raya’s spin on that. I’ll use this introduction to do that, starting with a recap on my own spin.
Once upon a time, so my spin went, I grew bored with my leisurely existence here in Australia, and I took off overseas for a sea change. And in landlocked Ethiopia, of all places, …
… I met an ambitious and charming young man who, if you could tear him away from his work for a minute and get him around a barbecue, was in possession of an endless supply of interesting ways of looking at things.
An example before I continue. One of many I can choose from.
One night, as we sat around his barbecue, tediously, I brought up the subject of the 2016 election in the United States. As if that wasn’t being done to death by the entire planet already. And then I banged on about that for a full hour before, with a flourish, determining who would win. Clinton, of course.
“Well,” said the young man carefully, once he was sure I was finished. “My prediction is that the losers will go completely off their heads.”
“Oh,” I thought, as I slowly figured out what he meant by that. Because I’d got to know him by then, and I had learned that he always meant something by what he was saying. “How come I never come up with stuff like that?”
But, I don't. So, let’s continue.
And eventually, I came to decide that this young man’s talents were going to be wasted if he stayed in Ethiopia. Especially the way that country was going at that time. And that it would be better for all concerned if I brought those talents back with me to Australia.
And that was the end of my spin.
And then, suddenly, here he was, the same old Rastas, except now he was an Aussie. Well, he was well on the road to becoming one, anyway. Because if there’s two things I’m good at, as an ex public servant, it’s paperwork and lying without lying.
And the only thing that seemed to have changed was his name. Because by now, I was no longer calling him Rastas, as I did back in Raya. By now, I was calling him Raya. I'm a big one for making up names for the people I like. As is Raya, incidentally. He's got a few for me, too.
And then, here was I, too. Once again dragging him away from his work. But this time here in my backyard here, instead of in his back there. And once again, there I was, banging on and on about not the 2016 election in the U.S. this time, but the 2020 election in the U.S.; same shite, different bucket. And once again, Raya was roasting his coffee and listening patiently.
“Well,” he said, once I’d finished. “This time, I predict no trouble at all.”
“Seriously?” I replied, incredulous. “It seems even worse over there this time, to me!’
And at that, he laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair. And I felt embarrassed. So, I picked up a cut of raw beef that was sitting by my chair and hurled it at him as hard as I could. Which was not all that hard, because I was sunk fat, deep and awkwardly in my camping chair.
“Thanks,” he grinned, catching it neatly, without flinching. And immediately starting to chop it up.
“Here,” he said, offering me a slice on the end of his knife.
“Yeah feck you very much, feck features” I grumbled.
But I took it. And it was nice, too. A lovely cut indeed.
And soon enough, I was back to myself, blood dripping down my chin and rabbiting on happily about something else. Me, this time. And I was giving a magnificent speech about what a king of immigration I am. Who knows what’s best, when it comes to deciding who should be allowed to come into this country and who bloody shouldn’t.
And then, as I finally finished my oration, well pleased with myself as I tend to be after distributing largesse, and as I leaned even further back into my chair and burped a full stop, of sorts, if you catch my drift, Raya finally gave me his spin on the circumstances of his coming to Australia.
“Yeah, that’s right Fat Guts. That’s how it happened!” he laughed.
“Sorry?” I said, caught off guard.
“Well, are you sure it wasn’t me who lined you up?” asked Raya, laughing. “I mean, think about it. Back where I come from, when whopping great white whales like you come heaving into town, you stand out like Fat Elvis!”
“Oh,” I said.
“Ah, just winding you up!” he soothed, smiling. “That doesn’t mean you weren’t lining me up too. And don’t worry, I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”
And bang, he’d done it again.
***
All right then. Let's slow this down. Done what. I need to think about that.
Well, it’s a fairly minor example of Raya and what he does, on this occasion. But I think it's a good one, all the same. You see, he’d caught me off guard once again. But this time, thinking in a wrong way. In an either/or way, if I can put it like that. And he’d got me reflecting that yes, it’s true. More and more, as I get older, and grumpier, I’m falling into that trap of thinking everything’s either one way or another.
And this wasn’t the first time Raya had pulled me up on this one, either. I remember another time, not long ago, having gone on and on and on about how Ethiopia was going even worse now than when I was over there. What with this new Spawn of Satan prime minister they’d brought in. And once again, Raya had surprised me.
“It wasn’t necessarily a bad bet, bringing Abiy in,” he'd said. “I mean, for better or worse, foreigners feel they can do business with him. And that's been getting some capital going. And back when I was there, that’s what I needed. My quarry would’ve pulled through, if I could’ve got a loan. I’m seriously thinking of going back, you know. If what he’s trying to do doesn’t explode in his face. I’m thinking of expanding what I’ve got going here back there.”
“You’re actually amazing,” I'd said, genuinely impressed.
“Thanks,” he'd replied. “I know.”
And that’s what I love about Raya. Because he knows no such thing.
All right then. I think that’s enough for an introduction. But before I go, I’ll leave you now with a couple of travelogue-style pictures. One of a new railway China has been getting going in Ethiopia as part of its silk road into Africa, and one of Ethiopia’s controversial new Grand Renaissance Dam. This while we are still so firmly on the subject of Ethiopia.
“Off which,” as Churchill would joke, “we will soon get.”
Fat Guts Thredbo, 26 Sep 2020.