Most Fridays my son and I have breakfast in an inner city public market before I take him to morning class. We have a simple Filipino breakfast with native coffee. It’s our Friday treat.
One morning a few Fridays back, as we were walking out of the market, an assertive tricycle driver enthusiastically offered to drive us to the school. Usually we ride a jeepney in that direction — because the fare is only 15 pesos and it stops right in front of the school. Tricycles cost quite a bit more and don’t always have permission to use major roads.
I reluctantly agreed. But not before explicitly telling him ‘The school is far Sir‘ and pointed to the emblem on my son’s uniform shirt.
‘DB School, Sir‘ I said firmly. ‘It’s far …’ this time pointing in the general direction of the river.
‘Ok lang Ma’am’ he replied ‘ok ah’
We walked across the busy road with our driver, and when we got to the other side I couldn’t believe it — he didn’t own a motorised tricycle at all but a pedicab. A pedicab is an old bicycle (with no gears) and a little sidecar attached.
‘Are you sure’ I said one last time, ‘it is far.’
‘Ok Ma’am, ok Ma’am. Get inside.’ And with that rode us off in the direction of the city.
He was pedalling along enthusiastically, but when we got to the bridge, instead of turning right to take us over the river and into the city, he just kept going straight ahead.
‘Sir,‘ I called. ‘DB School! This is the wrong way.’
Oh, that poor man when he realised his error. ‘All the way?’ he shrieked. ‘All the way?’
‘Yes Sir,’ I said, ‘We need to go all the way to the DB School.’
Now any other driver would have just thrown us out, left us on the side of the road, and ridden off — but not this guy. Clearly upset at his mistake he turned around and pushed up and down on those pedals, moaning the words ‘all the way’ as he tried to get us up an incline and ride us over the river.
‘All the way!’ he repeated as the pedals refused to budge.
‘All the way!’ he gasped, getting off the bike and pushing his bicycle and sidecar (with us inside) up the slope and onto the bridge.
By this time the morning traffic was letting us know they weren’t happy about following us single file ‘all the way’ across an inner city bridge. They honked and blasted their engines. But our driver didn’t care. Not one bit.
‘All the way.’ he said with some relief, reaching a point where he could get back on the bike and pedal us the rest of our journey.
I stopped him about 100 metres from the school, (on a corner near traffic lights just where the traffic gets thick) and told him that would do. I handed him 65 pesos. He smiled.
I smiled back thinking ‘Oh, I bet he never does that again.’
But I was wrong.
Because just 2 weeks later, as we again walked out of that same inner-city public market on a Friday morning, there he was. Our driver.
Spotting my son in his school uniform he burst through the crowd calling happily ‘Ma’am, you will ride. Ma’am, you will ride with me.’
I crinked my head, in a REALLY? kind of way and said ‘Sir? What? All the way?’
‘All the way ma’am,’ he replied with some conviction. ‘All the way.’
And with that, he confidently strode us across the road to his little pedicab and loaded us inside. This time as we approached the river he turned into that corner like an Avenger, pumping his legs so hard, and pedalling us up over that bridge with such enthusiastic force and infectious energy.
There were no cars shouting their horns at us today, and we waved to the traffic laughing along with our superhero driver.
I stopped him again on the corner about 100 metres from the school (at the traffic lights just where the traffic gets thick) and he grinned expectantly when I got out my wallet to pay him his 65 pesos.
‘Salamat Ma’am’ he shouted. And rode over the bridge back towards the market.
Isn’t it wonderful when you meet those rare souls who stand out for a lifetime — just for their willingness to live their lives ‘all the way’?