The sun had barely crested the hills when the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. Tafari lay in his crib, eyes wide, watching as a stern-looking man entered. He wore the robes of a priest-scholar and carried a thick leather-bound book.
"Good morning, young prince," the man said, bowing slightly. "I am Abba Tekle, your tutor. Today, we begin your lessons."
Tafari cooed softly, aware that his voice could not yet form the words of a man, let alone a future emperor. But inside, his mind raced, remembering centuries of history, strategies, and treaties.
Abba Tekle opened the book. "We will begin with the Psalms and the history of our people. Ethiopia is a land of kings and saints, a land the world has sought to conquer but has never broken. You must know your past, Tafari, to guide your future."
Tafari's mind translated every word into strategy. Knowledge is power. Understanding is survival. He remembered Dawit Mekonnen's lectures, the lessons he had once taught about foreign powers, and the mistakes of Ethiopian leaders. He knew he would remember this lesson forever.
As the days passed, Tafari's intelligence became evident. While other children played with sticks, he observed. He memorized family lineages, noted the strength and weaknesses of advisors, and even predicted the outcomes of discussions before the adults finished speaking.
One afternoon, as his father discussed supplies with a visiting officer, Tafari, in his tiny cradle, listened closely.
"Ras Makonnen, the northern roads are in disrepair. If the Italians advance, it will slow our troops," the officer said.
Ras Makonnen frowned. "Then we repair them. We cannot rely on luck. A strong army needs strong roads, strong supply lines, and strong minds. Tafari," he said, glancing at the infant, "watch and learn. You will one day carry these burdens."
Tafari's mind raced. This is why I was sent here. Not just to survive, but to remember. To act. To prevent history from repeating its mistakes.
As he grew older, his lessons expanded. Abba Tekle taught him scripture, arithmetic, and history—but Tafari quickly surpassed the curriculum. He asked questions that the tutors could barely answer, about the Italians, European politics, and the intricacies of alliances.
One evening, Tafari's mother noticed his curiosity. "You are asking questions no child should know," she said softly.
"I must know," he thought, though no words came. To guide Ethiopia, I must see everything, understand everything.
Ras Makonnen, watching from a distance, nodded slowly. "A keen mind is a weapon," he said. "A sharp mind can save a kingdom."
Even as a child, Tafari began to understand diplomacy. Every smile, every bow, every careful word in his father's court was a lesson. He learned that words could build bridges, but they could also hide knives.
By the time night fell, Tafari lay in his cradle, eyes wide open. The stars above seemed distant and cold, yet he imagined them as watchful witnesses to Ethiopia's future.
I will not allow our people to suffer like I once saw. I will not allow our nation to be humiliated again. I will learn, I will wait, and when the time comes, I will act.
And with that, the first true sense of purpose filled the heart of the boy who carried the soul of an old man.