Sunday 08 / February / 2026
I will let you into a secret and tell you how curious I was about a certain man. I see him almost everyday sitting on a bench as I speed past him on my way home. He always looks peaceful as he sits there watching the world go by.
One evening, I decided to join him so I could see what he found interesting there. I parked my car a distant away and walked towards the bench and sat quietly three feet away from him. At first, I saw people walking past meaninglessly but as I watched closely, a picture formed in my mind.
Most of the people I saw were expatriates. They all had one story to tell but with a few variations. They were all very far from home, most terribly missing their families. These are labourers and semi-skilled workers who keep each other company to while away the time. They throw themselves in their work in the morning where they have very little time to brood but the evenings are difficult.
Although they know exactly where they are going, their faces betrayed their feelings. You could tell that they are lost in a jungle of loneliness. The only thing that keeps them going is a thought that they keep their families well provided for.
They hold hands as they walk as if they needed to feel each others’ souls to strengthen the belief of their course. They are people in a mission who gave up luxuries and comfort knowing what they denied themselves is passed to their loved ones. I watched a building material’s shop and the shining bald head of Raju, its owner.
Raju, an expatriate himself, has a television outside his shop to entertain at least a hundred people who closely huddle together to watch it. Their shoulders touched and their eyes fixed on the screen, hanging on every word that is said about their homelands. As the sun goes down, the hours of the night seemed to bring little comfort to them. They get tired of the television and disperse to their homes for a troubled sleep. They would end up in wooden shacks with no comfort.
When I went home that night, I saw just enough what the man repeatedly see every evening. I am not sure what history would record about people like them that we pass without noticing everyday in our lives. Collectively, their contribution in the region is immeasurably. We pay rich tributes to bureaucrats, businessmen, and engineers for the development but nobody gives a second thought to the real power of progress. When I drove past the same spot the following morning, the place looked different.
Raju had stored away his television and the labourers busy in the construction sites, building bridges and sweeping roads. The bench I had sat the night before with a stranger was empty. I did not need to be in the same place that evening because my curiosity was satisfied. However, I had more questions than answers. The kind of questions perhaps would never be answered.
