Every evening, when the sun began to hide it self behind the tall palm trees and the sky turned pale like a tired canvas, this narrow sandy path came alive. It stretched gently between thick green bushes, curving like it had secrets it wasn’t ready to reveal it self. On the right side of the path, beneath the wide branches of an old tree, a small pile of neatly stacked blocks sat patiently. They had been there for weeks. The villagers said someone was planning to build a house there, a new beginning waiting for a courage. But for now, the blocks remained silent, like dreams have been paused halfway. The wind moved softly through the leaves overhead, making them whisper to one another. If you stood still enough, you could almost hear the conversation among them, if only you could understand the language.
Stories of footsteps that had passed, laughter that had echoed, and tears that had fallen quietly onto the dusty ground.
Earlier that day, a young boy named Stephen had walked down this very path. His slippers dragged slightly against the sand as he kicked small stones out of his way. He was returning from the farm, tired but thoughtful. The bushes on the left rustled as small birds darted in and out, startled by his movement. Stephen paused for a moment and looked ahead, staring at where the road curved out of sight and tiredness.
He always wondered what was beyond that bend. To him, this path was more than a shortcut between the village and the main road. It was a symbol. Every day it reminded him that life does not always show you the full picture. Sometimes you only see what is directly in front of you, which is, the dust, the dry leaves, the roots sticking out of the ground. But beyond the curve? Possibilities of greatness lyes there.
In the mornings, women carrying baskets filled with Oranges walked along this road, their conversations mixing with the chirping of birds. At noon, farmers/ trades pushed bicycles loaded with cassava, some on foot, going back to their various homes. In the evening, children raced barefoot, their laughter louder than the wind.
And at night, when darkness swallowed the path and the world went still, the road rested. The tree stood guard. The blocks waited. The bushes breathed. This simple sandy path had seen ambition, struggle, hope, and determination. It had carried people chasing dreams and people returning home defeated. only to try again the next day.
Because that’s what this road truly represented. Not just a way through the bush, But a journey. A quiet reminder that even when the way looks lonely and uncertain, if you keep walking, you will always reach somewhere and beauty lyes at the end of the journey.
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