In the dusty outskirts of a West African town, where the red earth stretched endlessly toward distant horizons and the air shimmered with heat waves that danced like spirits, there lived a man who made his living from an unusual combination of trades. By day, he drove his candonga, a battered truck whose open bed had long ago lost its canvas covering, leaving passengers exposed to the merciless sun and sudden downpours that swept across the savanna without warning.
The vehicle itself told stories of countless journeys along rutted roads that connected scattered villages. Its metal sides were dented from years of navigating narrow paths, its paint had faded to the color of dried clay, and its engine wheezed and coughed like an old man climbing steep hills. But despite its weary appearance, the truck remained faithful, carrying people and goods across distances that would take days to walk.
What made this particular candonga driver unusual was his secondary occupation, he was also a collector of coffins. In the back of his truck, secured with heavy ropes and covered with old canvas when not in use, sat a beautifully crafted wooden coffin. Its polished surface gleamed even under layers of road dust, and its brass handles caught the light like promises of dignity in final rest. The driver had acquired it from a carpenter whose customer had changed his mind, and now it served both as merchandise and, occasionally, as an unusual form of storage.
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On this particular day, the morning had dawned clear and bright, with the promise of good traveling weather. The driver and his conductor, a young man whose job it was to collect fares, help passengers aboard, and announce stops along their route, had loaded their usual cargo and prepared for the journey to Safim, a market town several hours away where people came to sell their goods and buy necessities they couldn’t find in their own villages.
As they rumbled along the main road, picking up passengers who waved from roadside stops, the sky began to change with the sudden drama that characterized the region’s weather. Clouds gathered like dark armies on the horizon, their shadows racing across the landscape faster than any vehicle could travel. The air grew heavy with the promise of rain, and the first fat drops began to splatter against the truck’s windshield like warnings of the deluge to come.
Within moments, the heavens opened with the violence of a burst dam. Rain poured down in sheets so thick that the world beyond the truck’s windows disappeared into a gray curtain of water. The driver hunched over his steering wheel, peering through the windshield where wipers struggled valiantly against the torrent, while passengers in the open bed huddled together like refugees from a flood.
The conductor, soaked to the skin within seconds of the downpour’s beginning, looked desperately around the truck bed for any form of shelter. His eyes fell upon the coffin, its sturdy wooden construction offering the only protection available. Without hesitation, he lifted the heavy lid and climbed inside, pulling the cover down over himself just enough to block out the driving rain while still allowing him to breathe.
The driver, catching sight of his conductor’s unusual solution in his rearview mirror, burst into laughter despite the challenging driving conditions. “Look at you, practicing for your eternal rest!” he called out jovially, before reaching back to secure the coffin lid more firmly against the wind and rain that threatened to tear it open.
Inside his wooden sanctuary, the conductor found himself surprisingly comfortable. The coffin’s silk-lined interior provided cushioning, and its solid construction blocked out both the sound of rain drumming on the truck and the feeling of wind trying to steal the warmth from his body. As the truck continued its journey through the storm, he allowed himself to doze, lulled by the rhythmic swaying of the vehicle and the muffled sounds of travel.
Meanwhile, more passengers had flagged down the truck despite the weather, desperate for transportation and willing to endure the discomfort of traveling in the open during a storm. They climbed aboard with their bundles and packages, squeezing together under whatever small pieces of plastic sheeting or cloth they had brought, sharing the misery of their soaked journey with the solidarity of travelers united in their determination to reach their destinations.
By the time they reached Jugudul, a small village that served as a halfway point on their route, the storm had begun to exhaust itself. The rain dwindled from a torrent to a steady patter, then to occasional drops that fell from leaves and roof edges with musical precision. The sun broke through gaps in the retreating clouds, sending shafts of golden light across the landscape and creating steam that rose from wet earth like incense offered to the sky.
The conductor, feeling the change in weather and growing stiff from his cramped position, decided it was time to emerge from his unusual hiding place. The truck was moving at good speed now, making up for time lost during the worst of the storm, and the road ahead stretched straight and smooth toward their final destination.
Without thinking about how his emergence might appear to the passengers who had boarded during the storm passengers who had no idea anyone had been inside the coffin, the conductor pushed open the heavy lid and sat up, stretching his arms and blinking in the sudden brightness of the afternoon sun.
The effect on the passengers was instantaneous and catastrophic. Here, they thought, was a dead man rising from his coffin while the truck sped down the highway. The sight triggered something primal and terrifying in their minds visions of the walking dead, of spirits that refused to rest, of supernatural horrors that their grandmothers had warned them about in whispered stories told around flickering fires.
Panic swept through the truck bed like wildfire consuming dry grass. One passenger screamed, then another, and soon the air filled with cries of terror that rose above the sound of the engine and the whistle of wind passing over the moving vehicle. In their desperation to escape what they perceived as a supernatural threat, the passengers began throwing themselves from the moving truck, some leaping individually while others jumped in groups, clutching each other in their fear.
The conductor, still befuddled from his long rest and sudden awakening, stood frozen in the truck bed with his mouth open, trying to process what was happening around him. He wanted to explain, to call out that he was alive, that he had simply been hiding from the rain, that there was no ghost or supernatural danger. But his words came too slowly, his voice too weak to carry over the screams and the sound of bodies hitting the ground behind the speeding truck.
“Wait!” he finally managed to shout. “I am not dead! I was only sheltering from the storm!” But his explanation came far too late to help the passengers who had already made their fatal leaps from the moving vehicle.
The driver, hearing the commotion behind him, tried to slow the truck and understand what was happening, but by the time he could safely stop the vehicle and turn around, the damage was done. The road behind them was scattered with the broken bodies of passengers who had chosen to leap from a moving truck rather than share space with what they believed was a walking corpse.
By the time they reached Gã Mamudu, their final destination, the truck carried only the driver, the conductor, and the empty coffin that had caused such tragedy. All the passengers who had jumped in their terror had perished from their falls, their fear of death having led them directly to the very fate they had tried to escape.
Word of the incident spread quickly through the communities along their route, growing in the telling until it became a cautionary tale whispered in markets and shared around evening fires. Some versions blamed the supernatural, others pointed to the conductor’s poor judgment, but the wisest voices recognized a deeper truth about the nature of fear itself.
The Moral Lesson
This tragic tale serves as a powerful reminder that fear, when it overwhelms our reason and judgment, can become more dangerous than the actual threats we face. The passengers’ terror of what they perceived as supernatural danger led them to choose certain death over an imagined threat. The story teaches us the importance of pausing to think clearly even in moments of panic, and reminds us that our assumptions and fears, when left unchecked, can lead to consequences far worse than the situations that originally frightened us.
Knowledge Check
Q1: What was unusual about the candonga driver’s secondary occupation? A: Besides driving the transport truck, he was also a collector of coffins. He kept a polished wooden coffin in the back of his truck, which he had acquired from a carpenter and intended to sell.
Q2: Why did the conductor climb into the coffin during the journey? A: When a sudden violent rainstorm began, the conductor was getting soaked in the open truck bed. The coffin was the only available shelter from the driving rain, so he climbed inside to stay dry.
Q3: What caused the passengers to panic and jump from the moving truck? A: When the storm ended and the conductor emerged from the coffin, the passengers who had boarded during the rain didn’t know anyone had been hiding inside. They thought they were witnessing a dead person rising from a coffin.
Q4: What was the tragic outcome of the passengers’ panicked reaction? A: In their terror of what they believed was a supernatural threat, all the passengers jumped from the speeding truck. The falls from the moving vehicle killed every passenger who had leaped in panic.
Q5: What does the candonga truck represent in this West African story? A: The candonga represents informal public transportation common in African cities, where the term relates to informal markets and unofficial economic activities. It symbolizes the everyday struggles and communal travel experiences of ordinary people.
Q6: What is the main lesson about fear taught in this folktale? A: The story teaches that uncontrolled fear can be more deadly than actual danger. The passengers’ terror of a perceived supernatural threat led them to choose certain death over an imagined danger, showing how panic can override rational thought with tragic consequences.
Source: The Multicolored diary
