I didn’t expect to find the President of Sicily when I headed to the Italian island last August. “Georgi, beddu”, my host had said in a British accent, “we’ve never had a Bulgarian! Hop on the bus to Sciacca and I will come pick you up.” Weeks later a broken Fiat Panda with painted amputated Trinacria legs and amateur Photoshop stickers reading “Il Presidente” stopped by me abruptly. Inside sat a man of sixty. A cigarette was tucked amidst his warm grin. He rose slowly, his black eyes ping-ponging left to right in mechanic synchronicity. “You must be Franco”, I said. “President Francosi.” “Presidente”, flew a passer-by’s salute. Franco’s eyes illuminated. “Let’s go, Georgi.” “You mean “andiamo”?” “Nah, beddu, amoni. I mean amoni.” “Welcome to my country, Georgi”, said Franco, while the Panda maneuvered through the labyrinthine cobbled streets. There was a heavy smell of laundry. “Now, you are coming at the proper time, Georgi. My Pa is sick. The President needs help.” Franco’s home was a former restaurant. Inside, on a hospital bed right in the centre of an empty hall, lay a skeleton of a man, muttering “Mamma Mia”. “This is Pa. He was a shepherd, you know.” Franco’s eyes were fixed in one point. This meant he was serious. “Worked his butt off all his life. He was sending messages for the Mafiosi, my Pa.” “Mamma mia…” “Anyway, Pa’s uncle, Tony, he was diagnosed with almost the same shitty cancer. Believe it or not, beddu, the doctor gave them both 18 months. Guess what. Tony died on the 18th month! My Pa is still kicking it, three years later.” Franco studied me. Then a sigh relaxed his features. “Georgi, the President has decided. I like you. I did want to keep certain matters a degree more enigmatic… Whatever. I will be telling you the important lessons.” “Mamma mia.” “Sure…, of course.” “Right. The important lessons will be five, Georgi. Lesson one. Keep your back straight.” I was soon enjoying thoroughly my life with the President. We were attempting to revive Franco’s garden, taking passegiatas around the beach, semi-successfully looking after signor Giacomo, once I prepared a Balkan soup. Franco initiated me into the ritual of making steamed couscous, “softer than the veil of the Sahara sand, scattered on rooftops here by the scirocco winds, beddu.” A couple of weeks passed. “Lesson two. Everything craves life”, Franco said, while I was carrying dead plants to our pile. “Learned this in England. Everything, everyone. My Pa, full of cancer and regrets. The cabbage seeds in our garden, dancing in feverish trance, after you chose to water them in midday… When you learn this, you let others be.” On Midsummer’s Eve signor Giacomo could not sleep. “Mamma mia.” “Perhaps he is jealous of his uncle Tony. Pa’s mother was breastfeeding them both at the same time. Let’s carry his bed outside and ignite the pile, Georgi.” “What?” “Do things immediately. That’s lesson three. Amoni.” All the bonfires of Midsummer’s Eve could not match our fire. Tonight Etna fell in love and sighed a breath of heat that traversed whole Sicily down to Sciacca. Signor Giacomo was ecstatic. “This is why I am who I am, Georgi”, Franco disturbed my trance. “The President, that is. I want to light a fire in the hearts of Sciacca people. They’ve turned siesta into coma, you see. But President Francosi is teaching them.” Signor Giacomo soon dived into blissful sleep. “Mamma mia, we’ve done a decent job, Georgi.” Franco brought a bottle of Malvasia. “Lesson four. If you’ve caused pain, let people heal. Do not go back. Pa learned this from the Mafiosi. Are you here because you were hurt by someone, Georgi?” “No. Quite the contrary, in fact.” “Then my lesson is surprisingly appropriate. Cheers.” Silence. Charcoal, ashes and a hospital bed in front of us. “What would be your final lesson, Presidente?” Franco fixed black eyes on me. “Travel”, he commanded. “I suspect Bulgaria is beautiful and what-not. But do become an Ambassador to the President, Georgi. Travel.” “Presidente? Shall we take your father inside and finish that couscous from dinner?” “Amoni, beddu.” Our pile kept puffing vapour for two days.