187 euros. Stella clutched her purse tightly to her chest. It had taken her two years to save this kind of money. She pushed through a small crowd of people walking through the park near the town centre, soaking up all the new impressions.

With iron will, she had managed to squirrel away 8 euros a month. Living in one of the poorest areas in Europe, this had not been easy. Too much money to die, but too little to live, as they say. Stella knew first-hand what that meant. But she was strong and determined. She wouldn't spend her life in this dump with more people on the dole than in actual employment. She had decided to make it somewhere else, and she had been ready to make the necessary sacrifices.

It had seemed to take forever, but Stella was not the type to give up easily. Two years later, she was standing in the middle of a Dutch city, no plan on how to multiply her capital. What to do now? How to start the rest of her new life? How to get rich in this shiny new country?

She noticed one curious thing. Every so often, she would pass people in expensive-looking suits who gave money to shady-looking men with furtive looks in their eyes who handed back little plastic bags. Stella wasn't naïve. There were drugs all over the streets where she came from, but no people in expensive-looking suits.

Hmm. That could be it! 187 euros should get her something, she thought, especially an in with the pinstripe suits, if she timed it right.

So when she spotted the next customer approaching a lowlife dealer, Stella pushed out her bosom.

"I also like purchase good stuff!" she addressed the man in broken English, which was still better than her non-existent Dutch.

"Doniet!" the man responded gruffly and walked away from her in a hurry.

'Donate?' Stella was confused, but was sure that that was what the man had said. She didn't know that the man had responded to her poor English in dumbed down Dutch. "Doe niet!" meaning something like "Don't do it!"

Stella decided to wait and try another suit.

"Doniet!" came the same reply promptly.

'Donate? Is this some sort of custom here? And where should I donate?'

Lost in thought, Stella carried on walking. Suddenly, she spotted a group of people with banners that she couldn't read. Lots of men in suits and women in smart office wear stopped to drop a note or coin into the electronic device that had been placed on a collapsible table, then taking a little piece of paper from the stack next to it.

'Ah, this is where you get the necessary ticket to buy drugs!' Stella told herself, not questioning the system because she was proud to know that drugs where legal here.

She dropped a tenner into the device, which promptly started to chime a happy tune. Stella jumped, when a lady from the group clapped her on the shoulder, speaking gibberish. All Stella could see was the giant cheque the lady held out to her, which said: 'Congratulations! You're the 1000th donor!' And underneath: 5000 euros.

Stella fainted.

Author's note:

The title is a reference to one of my favourite short stories of my childhood. It's called "Kannitverstan" (1808) and was written by German author Johann Peter Hebel. It describes how a young poor German workman visiting Amsterdam is overwhelmed by all the riches he encounters there. Every time he asks who the owner is, he receives the answer "Kannitverstan", which means "I cannot understand you". The young man, however, believes it's the name of the owner of all those riches. When he comes across a funeral procession and asks who the deceased is, he receives the same answer. Saddened but at the same time with a light heart, he now realises that money is fleeting and death universal.