A journey in the bus of hope

So, in our same remote village the farmers have a problem. Heavy rain this year has made for a poor harvest. The rains came at a bad time so their crops are small and unripe. To make matters worse, their neighbours are on higher land with better drainage, so their crops are in better condition and have taken the market.

Our villagers do not know what to do. They come back from the market with their baskets still full of the produce they have not sold and those that did sell have made such a poor price that they do not know how they will manage. Gloom hangs over the community.

Our two bus drivers are discussing the situation. As usual they have different opinions.

The first is direct as always: They will have to put up with it. Look at us, when their produce is selling well, do they pay us extra? They should carry their goods to market and get what they can

and stop moaning. If they get to the market early before their competitors they will sell.

The second sees it otherwise: No, this could go on for a long time. Something must be done. I know there is another market I have heard of where they pay good prices. I am not sure exactly where it is but I am sure I could find it.

The elders discuss the opposing views of their two drivers and make a proposal to the chief that is accepted.

As always, the second driver wants to go first. He makes the market women and farmers meet earlier than usual. They have to set off before it is light. The road is still dark, rough and full of beggars (just as it was last week) and everyone in the bus complains: Mind that pothole, why are we going this way, cant you be more careful?

The driver ignores them and, grimacing, propels his bus so as to arrive at the market town very early, well before anyone else. His people are battered and bruised but ready to set up in the best spots because they are ahead of their competitors.

You see nah! says the driver as he goes to relax under a tree and eat kola. He is expecting that after the market they will reward him. He is badly mistaken. Later that afternoon he is awoken by kicks and abuse. Useless man, you are not serious! Blows rain upon him. If it was not because he would have to drive the bus, many believe the women would have killed him!  Apparently, it started well as the first customers found our villagers set up and prepared and they started selling. However, when the women from the other village arrived, their produce was of better quality at the same price. From then on our own sold nothing. That night the village returned to its gloom and despondency while the driver nursed his aching body.

Our first driver, who had accepted to go second, was ready with the bus.

Where are we going? said our women.

In his head he was pretty sure of the direction of the other market. He had travelled that way but it was many years before when he had a motorcycle and he was not absolutely certain.  Hmm, he thought. If I tell my customers I cannot remember exactly where the other market town is, they will not follow me. In addition, he thought there was a farmer on the outskirts that knew the road and if he could stop on the way he could ask him or even carry him along as a guide. Unfortunately, that farmer was not popular amongst the villagers and if he told them he would be his guide he thought they might not trust him. He decided to keep that to himself until he felt the right moment had come. Dont worry, he said. You trusted me before, so trust me again. I will take you to a new market where everything will be better.

What market? Where?” they retorted. Why dont you tell us?

His reply went thus: If I tell all of you, some of you may tell somebody else who could get there before us. I dont trust everyone in this village and even my colleague the other driver might be spying on us.

They were not convinced but felt they had no choice. After all, was he not a better driver than the one who had taken them to the old market with no success? They climbed aboard and he set off in a new direction to a place no one knew but they all dreamed of going to.

Next week. Will our driver meet his farmer friend who he hopes will advise him of the best way? Even then, will the villagers trust his advise? Will our villagers arrive at the new market before they realise they are in the hands of a man who lives in hope? Still, as the wise man says, “When the bush is on fire, the antelope ceases to fear the hunters bullet.”