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From out of the blue it came. Like a gift from above. More money than I ever dreamed of. I'M RICH, RICH, RICH. The refrain from "The Sound of Music" washed all over me. Julie Andrews was warbling, "Somewhere in my wicked, miserable past, I must have done something good." My ship has come in. My pot at the end of the rainbow just lifted its clay lid and dumped its gold coins all over me . I am one rich little mama.  
 
No, my uncle Ervin didn't die and leave me his stash. I didn't surreptitiously enter the SuperBall Lottery and win a bundle. Ed McMahan didn't send his stooges to knock on my front door.  
 
Instead it came from, of all places, Ivory Coast, West Africa.  
 
Today I received an Email from an enterprising 24-year-old African who informed me I'll receive 15 percent of his $16,500,000 immediately. Is that great or what? My trusty little ole computer tells me my share is $2,475.000. Whoooopie! Think of all the Little Debbie chocolate cupcakes that'll buy. My biggest worry now is whether I'll like the color of my new Lamborghini I can purchase with my newfound riches.  
 
Peter Mutumba, writer of that Email, said the Chamber of Commerce in Abidjan, gave him my name because I am reputable, trustworthy and because I have an "esteeming nature." Wow. That is hardly faint praise.  
 
It seems Pete's late father was a wealthy cocoa merchant in Abidjan before his sneaky business associate served him some grape Kool-Aid. (Shades of Et tu, Brute!) Before his death last year, the rich-but-poisoned daddy informed his astonished son that a vast sum of money lay in a secret trust account in the local First Native Bank in his son's name.  
 
Poor Peter. Now he's gotta find a way to get that money outta Dodge before Kool-Aid Katumba, his daddy's business partner, comes lookin' for him.  
 
After the Abidjan Chamber of Commerce gave Peter my name, he even prayed about it. (He didn't say to Whom he prayed; maybe I should ask.) Peter feels sure I have an appointment with the dollars of destiny.  
 
You have to feel sorry for poor Pete. He's motherless, too, which makes him an orphan. Good grief. She went on to her eternal reward over18 years ago so Peter has only vague memories of her.  
 
So, what is my responsibility in all this scenario? It's three-fold:  
 
I have to send Peter the name of my bank and my account number. (No big deal since I only have a $23 balance, anyway.)  
 
I have to agree to serve as Guardian of the $16.5 million since he's only a boy of 24.  
 
I must make arrangements for Peter to come to this country after the money has been transferred to my bank.  
 
I guess it's Number 3 that gives me pause. Hmmm. Does that mean I hafta meet his plane and put him up in my guestroom until I get him an apartment or a castle or whatever? I wonder if I can really, really trust Peter with my bank account number. But he seems like such a nice boy, so not to worry.  
 
I have a week to decide what to do. After that, I forfeit this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  
 
My brother always said I'd never be rich because I'm financially challenged. (What he really said was "stupid" but the other sounds better.)  
 
After I receive all my money from Peter Mutumba, I'll tell my brother. Then we'll see who gets the last laugh. HA!