Randy's Bananas

There are people who pass through our lives for only a brief season, yet somehow leave behind lessons that continue growing long after they have gone.

For me, one of those people was Randy.

I met Randy shortly after graduating from university when I joined Outward Bound Mountain School in Loitokitok as a permanent instructor. It was a remarkable place to work. Every member of staff was allocated a spacious three-bedroom bungalow, complete with a generous compound that practically invited you to become a farmer.

And in Loitokitok, farming almost felt unfair.

Nestled at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro, the land is wonderfully fertile. Give the soil a seed, a little water and a bit of attention, and it seems determined to reward your efforts.

Naturally, I put my little piece of land to work.

I planted beans.

Potatoes.

Carrots.

A few other vegetables.

I liked crops that grew quickly. There was something deeply satisfying about planting today and harvesting a few months later. Patience has never been my strongest agricultural skill.

Around that time, an American volunteer named Randy arrived from Arizona. He stayed with me for about a month while volunteering at the school.

Randy was one of those quietly observant people. He never seemed to be in a hurry to speak, but when he did, it was usually worth listening to.

One afternoon, we were walking around my little garden when he stopped, looked around thoughtfully and asked,

"David, why don't you plant bananas? They seem to grow very well here."

I laughed.

"No, Randy. Bananas take too long."

That was certainly part of the reason.

But if I am honest, there was another one.

I wasn't entirely convinced I would still be living in Loitokitok four or five years later. Like many young professionals, I assumed life would soon move me somewhere else. There would be promotions to chase, transfers to accept and new opportunities around the corner.

Planting bananas felt like investing in a future I wasn't sure I would still be around to enjoy.

Randy smiled.

Then he said something that has stayed with me ever since.

"If something takes a long time to grow, then that's exactly why you should plant it now."

At the time, I wasn't persuaded.

His advice sounded wonderfully philosophical but thoroughly impractical.

So I continued planting my faithful carrots and potatoes.

Randy, however, was made of sterner stuff.

Without another word, he quietly visited a few neighbouring staff houses, collected three banana suckers and planted them in my compound.

No committee meeting.

No strategic plan.

No PowerPoint presentation.

Just three banana suckers and a man who apparently had more confidence in my future than I did.

A month later, he returned to America.

Life carried on.

The seasons came and went.

I planted vegetables.

Harvested them.

Planted again.

Harvested again.

The rhythm became so familiar that the years slipped by almost unnoticed.

Four years later, Randy came back to visit.

By coincidence, it was the dry season.

My vegetable garden had very little to show for itself. The beans, carrots and potatoes I had faithfully planted season after season had all come and gone, leaving behind bare soil waiting for the next rains.

Standing proudly in the middle of the compound, however, were three magnificent banana plants.

Randy's bananas.

Tall.

Healthy.

Heavy with fruit.

They had already produced bunch after bunch, feeding my family long before Randy returned to see them.

He looked at them, smiled quietly and said,

"My bananas are doing well."

I laughed.

He was right.

Technically, they were growing in my compound.

But in every meaningful sense, they were still Randy's bananas.

Looking back, I realise he was never really talking about bananas.

He was talking about time.

How often do we postpone worthwhile things simply because they will take years?

We delay pursuing a degree because it will take four years.

We postpone starting a business because success won't come overnight.

We avoid planting trees because we won't enjoy their shade immediately.

We delay investing.

Saving.

Learning.

Writing.

Repairing relationships.

Improving our health.

Always believing there will be a better time to begin.

Yet time has a curious habit.

It keeps moving whether we start or not.

There is another lesson hidden in those bananas that took me years to appreciate.

Sometimes we underestimate how long we will remain where we are.

We postpone planting because we assume we are only passing through.

Then life quietly unfolds, and before we realise it, years have gone by in the very place we thought was temporary.

How many opportunities have we missed because we were preparing to leave a season that ended up lasting much longer than we imagined?

I still think about Randy whenever I see a banana plant.

Not because bananas are extraordinary.

But because one quiet afternoon, an American volunteer from Arizona saw further into my future than I did.

He understood something I was too young to appreciate.

The calendar never waits for us.

Whether we plant or not, four years will still pass.

The only question is what will be growing when they do.

Life rarely rewards those who wait for the perfect season. More often, it rewards those who are willing to plant while the future is still uncertain.