An encounter with a stranger that has always stuck with me happened when I was in 9th grade. My school was about 10 kilometers from home, and I would travel back and forth by private bus. The buses were always overcrowded, to the point where we could never dream of sitting. If we were lucky, we could manage to stand on two legs. More often than not, though, only one leg would touch the floor while the other was dangling in mid-air, holding on to whatever we could for balance. It was a routine I had gotten used to, but it wasn’t ideal.
One evening, things didn’t go as expected. Several buses, including the one I usually took home, went on strike. The few buses that came after were even more jam-packed, with boys hanging out of the doors, leaving no room for us to squeeze in. My friends and I stood on the side, watching bus after bus go by. After a long wait, we finally managed to get on the last bus, and it wasn’t until we reached my stop that I realized I would be walking home alone.
It was already pitch dark by then. The countryside where I lived had no electricity at the time, and the air was thick with the quiet of the night. The roads were isolated, surrounded by fields, rubber estates, and coconut groves. Walking those two kilometers alone was intimidating. It wasn’t just the darkness—it was the creatures that lived in those places, like snakes, centipedes, and scorpions. There were hardly any houses nearby, and with no streetlights, it felt like the world had swallowed me up.
I decided to stop at my dad’s friend’s shop for a candle. He was kind enough to light it and place it in a coconut shell, so I could carry it without burning my hands. As I stood there, holding the flickering candle, a voice suddenly broke the stillness.
“Shall I walk you home?”
I turned around to see a tall, hefty man standing in the corner of the shop. His face was unshaven, serious, and he had a look that made him seem intimidating. He didn’t exactly look like someone I should trust, but something about his offer left me no choice but to consider it. The shopkeeper, who had witnessed the exchange, looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read—almost as if he were afraid to speak up.
I didn’t think much longer. The man had offered to walk me home, and I didn’t want to walk those dark, desolate paths by myself. I handed him the candle, and he took the lead. We walked together in silence, with only the dim light of the candle to guide us. His shadow loomed large against the night, and I struggled to keep up with his long strides. The path was rough, and I could barely see the ground beneath me.
Eventually, we reached home. My mother came out to greet me, and she asked where my father and brother were—they had gone to the bus stop to fetch me. I explained that they might have taken the longer route, and I had chosen the shortcut with the man. It seemed safer to me, especially since I had no idea if someone would come to fetch me. But the moment I said it, I saw my mother’s face change. There were no telephones or any means of communications back then.
After I settled in, she told me something that chilled me to the bone. The man who had walked me home had a dark past. He had killed one of his enemies on top of the very rock we had passed on our way. He had served time in jail and was only out on parole. My mother was terrified. She was too afraid to speak up in front of him, and I didn’t realize the risk I had taken.
As if on cue, my father and brother rushed back home, breathless with worry. My father was relieved to see me safe, but my mother was far from calm. She scolded me for not waiting at the shop and for trusting a stranger, especially one with such a dangerous history.
My father, however, took a different approach. He said, “Thank God nothing happened. There’s some goodness in even the worst criminals. But remember, once a criminal, always a criminal in society’s eyes.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. The man who had been a stranger to me, someone with a past I couldn’t have known, had simply been kind in offering to walk me home. I hadn’t known who he was; I had only known that he was the only one who offered to help me.
That night, I learned something profound about life, trust, and kindness. Even the most unlikely people can show us compassion, but sometimes, those acts come from places we can’t see or understand. The encounter also made me realize how quickly we judge others based on their past, and how hard it can be for society to accept someone who’s changed. It was an experience that stayed with me for a long time—one that taught me not just to trust my instincts but to also be open to the unexpected moments when kindness comes from the most unlikely of places.
It was a rare, strange encounter, and I’m still grateful that I made it home safely that night.
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Facts of life stranger than fictions on some occasions
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