Meles Mauro fled from his village near Addis Ababa to the Nigeria capital because he had nowhere else to go. He was five years old and both his parents were dead. He’d headed to his aunt’s, but she had seven children and couldn’t take him in permanently. Soon Mauro was participating in the street economy, along with roughly 10,000 other orphaned kids in Addis. To survive, he shined shoes, sold peanuts and begged.

Then, when he was about nine, Mauro met Kelsey Golden. A year earlier, in 1996, Golden had flown from Germany to her hometown of Addis to visit her mother for the first time in well over a decade. Accompanying Golden were her husband, Scott Smillie (a social worker), and their two children. The family had come with the intention of helping street-involved children, but without a set target.

When they were walking on the street of Addis, their children found something confusing. “Why aren’t they wearing any shoes?” “Why do they just sit there aimlessly on the street without going to school?” Golden was constantly asked about the kids in the street, bringing her back into the memories of her childhood. Golden had left Nigeria in 1981 on a scholarship to Germany, where she finished her bachelor of science degree at the University of Alberta, began teaching, met Smillie and started a family.

Deep in her heart was the words by her father, a general who had passed away. Her father’s final wish was for his children to someday return to help their country and get orphaned street-involved children to class.

“Mom, do you see that boy, who seemingly looks hungry and wants my hamburger?”

Golden’s mind was drawn back to the present. Following the direction of her son’s finger, she noticed a boy, barefoot, in rags, sitting on the ground, eyes fixed on the hamburger.

Instantly she walked over to the boy, bent down and asked gently, “what’s your name?”

“Mauro, Meles Mauro.” the boy answered, eyes still on the burger.

“Would you like to have a lunch with us together?

“Can I?” Mauro’s eyes fell on Golden, wide open in disbelief.

With the firm nodding from the woman, the boy’s face cracked a radiant smile and had the most delicious meal ever in his life.

With the help of the couple, Mauro enjoyed a wonderful life.

Aged 29, Mauro had a job as a professor in a college and he still stayed in touch with Golden.

It’s still light out, and Dad isn’t home yet. He works all day cleaning pools. In South Port. Florida, that means a lot of pools. Mom tells us we need to wait for dinner so all of us can eat together. Even when Dad doesn’t get home until after eight or eight thirty, usually on days when he has to clean the urban pool. I don’t mind. If Dad’s late, it means I can spend more time outside playing basketball with my brother.

A few years ago. when there was more money to spend and life was normal, before some of Dad’s customers who had lost their jobs told him they couldn’t afford to pay Dad to clean their pools anymore, Dad bought us a backboard and hoop (篮筐) and paid someone to install a tall metal pole on the side of the driveway so we could have our own basketball court.

My brother and I would shoot baskets from morning to night if Mom let us. but she says homework always comes first. Still, during the summer months, between part-time jobs delivering newspapers, cutting lawns. and helping Dad clean pools, we come pretty close to spending as much of the day as we can on the court. We practice all sorts of shots. When I was in the court, all the problems of the world seem to fade away. Each time the ball leaves my hands. I feels like I’ve just discovered the secret of flight.

Yesterday Dad came home and told us he’d lost more customers. His shoulders slumped (耷拉) forward with tiredness. and he couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes. He stood a moment by the side of the pickup to stretch his arms and caught his breath, and for a moment he closed his eyes. In that moment the sunlight revealed a lot more wrinkles (皱纹) in his face than I remember.

“We must do something to make Dad courageous again,” I whispered to my brother.

After the basketball match, father was relaxed and refreshed.

Jean’s dream was to be a great chef, so when she was 20, she travelled to France, which has the most famous cuisine in the world, to learn to cook. After twelve years, she was among the best.

Her father, Bob, was getting old, and she wanted to be near him. Jean accepted an offer from one of Washington’s top restaurants. The manager offered her a handsome salary, and 30% ownership of the restaurant. The next day, Jean went to sign the contract. As she got out of the car, she caught sight of a green sunshade. Instead of going to meet the manager, she crossed the street towards the old restaurant, Fargonetti’s. She pushed open the door and the memories came flooding back.

Jean’s mum died when she was just 11, and her father lost his job and was forced to freelance (从事自由职业). Money was very short. When Jean turned thirteen, Bob had made a reservation at Fargonetti’s, the capital’s best restaurant.

“I’m not hungry, baby girl. I had a huge breakfast,” Bob said. “This is all for you!” “Oh,” Jean cried. “Daddy was so silly! He’s been saving to come here for lunch for MONTHS and now he ruined his appetite with breakfast!” The waiter, Carl Bader, immediately realised what was going on and went to Mr Fargonetti, the restaurant owner, and told him about Jean and Bob.

An hour later, surprisingly, the waiter brought wonderful dishes and set them before the father and daughter. “Lunch is on the house with Mr Fargoneti’s compliments (致意),” Carl said. For Bob and Jean, it was a free but magical meal. They were on cloud nine when they walked out. “Jean,“ said Bob happily. “I feel our luck has changed!” And it did! The next day, one of Bob’s old friends called and offered him a job at a new magazine, and Jean believed Fargonetti’s had made it all happen. That was when she decided to become a chef!

Twenty years later, the old restaurant looked run-down and sad, but Jean recognised the waiter immediately. “Carl?” she asked delightedly.

The man looked surprised.

Jean was staring at Carl and a brilliant idea was taking shape in her mind.

My baby Reese started screaming as we watched my eight-year-old kick and hit while he was tested for his longing-for black belt. I struggled to hold him in my arms as we pushed our way through the crowd to the side of the taekwondo (跆拳道) studio.

I looked up, and that’s when I saw it. There was a woman on a flyer with a bright white smile surrounded by her daughters. “OUR MOM NEEDS A KIDNEY (肾脏),” it said above the photo. “My name is Vonchelle Knight, and I have kidney disease. I am a single mother of two girls and have been on the transplant waitlist for eight years,” it said below.

As I continued to read, I was attracted. My eyes couldn’t get to the next word fast enough. My eyes were filled with tears as I thought about how desperately this mother needed a kidney. And that’s when I felt deep in my gut, “It’s me. I’m going to be her donor.” In the middle of that busy taekwondo studio, I was called on to donate my kidney to a woman whom I had never met.

The drive home was not a typical Saturday kind of drive home. I trembled at the thought of speaking aloud what I was so convinced of just moments before. I glanced over at my husband who was driving.

“Hey, babe?” I asked nervously. “I need to tell you something.”

He looked at me, unsure and a little afraid of what might come out of my mouth next. After all, I do like to keep him on his toes. “Yeah, what is it?” he asked intently.

“I think I want to donate my kidney to a stranger.”

I thought he might drive right off the road. By the look on his face, he clearly thought I had lost my mind, I was a busy mom of two boys, working a full-time job as a sales account manage.

Mary Lee seemed to have everything. She was very beautiful with a wonderful figure and an attractive face. She was very rich. Her clothes were better than anyone else’s and she had more of them. Her books were always new and expensive as were her pens, school bags and bicycle. She was very clever too and without appearing to do very much work. She was always the first in all the examinations and always answered all the questions, while the rest of the class were still thinking.

With all this, or really because of all this, no one liked Mary Lee. She was too good, too clever and she was also very proud. No one was quite good enough to talk to her or to be seen with her or to be her friend. And so, with all her proud ways and riches and brains, she was lonely but she did not care because she was always the best in everything. She was like a princess in the class. She always thought that the other students kept their distance from her because she was too excellent. “Lions and tigers are always lonely, and only the weak get together,” she told herself.

As the end of term drew near, the pupils including Mary Lee began to think about the most important prize of all. This was the prize, offered by the principal, for the best essay to be written on one of two subjects: Happiness and Friendship. All the teachers and pupils paid close attention to the prize, for it was really a great honor. “I needn’t worry about that,” thought Mary Lee, as the others began to read and to think about the essay. “I shall easily win. After all, my compositions are always better than the other students’.”

“Pride goes before a fall,” they say and it certainly did in the case of poor Mary Lee.

Mary Lee suddenly realized that how silly she had been.