Four am and I'm on a bus. All is dark around and as I wait for the bus I think to myself that by taking the 4am I am sure to avoid the crowds of the later buses. No such luck. I hear the bus from a mile away; it is the only thing coming down the road at such an early hour. The bus driver sees me and stops and as I hop on I am greated by the faces of all the other wearly risers. The bus is loaded with people loaded with stuff: things to sell in the market, packages to mail at the post office, luggage to take on the ferry. The rows are squished together, 8 or 9 to each row, but someone gets up in the second row and gives me their seat. I squeeze between Tevaga and two large women and settle down for the ride.
As the bus creeps away from my village the lights in the bus go off and the music comes on. I am shocked because it is not Neifoloa. Could it really be? A bus with new music? The constant skips suggest that the music is not new at all but left over from a time before Neifoloa reigned as "King of the Pasi." I savor the change knowing it will never happen again.
The only thing I can see on the bus is the Bob MArley flag hanging over the drivers head, illuminated by a single light bulb and spreading the message of "freedom." We cruise down the road and I close my eyes and smile, so grateful to be here at this moment in time.