Joy Comes in the Morning

When I was young and restless, I had a propensity for driving in the evening whenever I was on a long journey. Some many moons ago, I started from Chama at 16:00hrs, and by 18:30hrs, I was already in Lundazi. Sable Construction Company Limited had just completed work on the Lundazi - Chipata Road. It was a smooth, unadulterated, and unmarked highway.

There I was, cruising at an average speed of 140 km/h.

The air conditioning was set to its lowest, fast-paced music blared at high volume and adrenaline rushed through my veins. I wore the cloak of invincibility from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet. I felt the need for speed.

At around 20:30hrs, I reached Chipata.

Against my better judgment, decided to pick up four people who were hitchhiking. Sitting in the front passenger seat was an elderly man. Behind was a young couple and another elderly woman.

I later realized that the old man had appointed himself the responsibility of keeping me awake by telling endless stories. He also doubled as my navigator.

“This stretch usually has domestic animals on the road,” he would say.

“There’s a large hump in 500 meters.”

“There’s a dangerous curve in this area.”

He genuinely looked out for me, and for everyone else in that car that night. By extension, he helped in keeping us alive. As a result of his close supervision, we reached Lusaka at around 04:00hrs the following morning. Very late for my Satwant Singh alter ego.  

After dropping off three people, including my assistant driver, the elderly lady remained. Apparently, she didn’t know where she was going; her son was supposed to come and pick her up once we arrived in Lusaka. She was in terra incognita. 

Unfortunately, her phone had run out of battery and we couldn’t call him.

After some frustrating conversation, she asked for her backpack, which I had kept in the boot. She began searching through it, eventually pulling out an old, worn-out A5 exercise book. She flipped through pages filled with scribbles, some in pencil, others in pen. By then, my already thin patience had completely withered.

At last, she found the page she had been looking for and showed me her son’s phone number. The very son she had come to visit.

However, there was yet another problem: his phone number wasn’t going through, and my conscience wouldn’t allow me to leave her anywhere.

In Obotunde Ijimere's The Imprisonment of Obatala, the multifaceted Yoruba deity Eshu makes a profound observation: kindness has never killed anyone but brings a lot of problems.

It was almost 05:00hrs. when I decided to park in front of Radian Stores on Freedom Way.

This decision was as strategic as it was an act of resignation. Strategic because I was assured by the security guards at Radian Stores that I would be safe there; resignation because I truly didn’t know what else to do with my only remaining passenger, who had no idea where she was going.

Sleep eventually set in, only to be interrupted by the hustle and bustle of Lusaka’s morning. I checked my watch, it was almost 07:00hrs, I tried the lady’s son’s phone number again.

And voilà, it rang.

Truly, joy comes in the morning. By 07:30hrs, he had arrived, explaining how he had started panicking when his mother’s phone stopped ringing, fully aware that she knew nothing about Lusaka.

From this experience, I learned a few lessons.

Firstly, there are people sent to look out for you. You may never get the chance to thank them, and often you may not even know their names. These are people who mention your name in corridors of power and influence, who believe in you more than you believe in yourself.

By the same measure, there are people who will dislike you for no reason other than you being yourself. They use frivolous justifications: “I don’t like the way he walks,” they’ll say, or “I don’t like his head or his nose.” Nothing about character, only things you cannot change.

Secondly, don’t be too quick to judge people unless you fully understand their situation and perspective. As humans, we judge others by their actions, but we judge ourselves by our intentions. We must extend to others the same grace we so readily give ourselves.

The old lady’s life experience had taught her to keep important phone numbers in an exercise book. Experience, often held by the elderly, is the antidote to the reckless invincibility that many youths exude today.

Thirdly, humanity thrives on interdependence, and interdependence is a never-ending chain. I cared for the hikers by giving them a ride. The elderly man cared for me, and everyone else, by navigating and keeping me alert. I cared for the old lady by not abandoning her. The security guards at Radian Stores cared for me by providing a sense of safety. The old lady’s son cared for his mother, and his relief completed the circle.

No one is truly independent. Our survival and success depended on a network of mutual responsibility. At various times, we are all the driver, the old man, the old lady, and the waiting son. A functioning society relies on these roles being fulfilled with patience and duty.

In the end, this journey mirrors life itself: moving from the arrogance of solo speed, through the humility of accepting help and bearing responsibility, to the exhaustion of persistent duty, and finally to the redemption that comes with dawn and resolution. It reminds us that speed is not the same as progress, and that while our greatest trials on the road often come from our fellow travelers, so do our greatest lessons and aids. As we step into the new year, slow down when needed, be kinder than required and always assume that the person besides us may be fighting a battle we cannot see. The road ahead should be shared, just as the one behind was.