At dawn, while the sky was still dark, Randa was already on his way to the plantation. Neither the heavy night nor the biting cold bothered him.
Dressed in simple clothes and carrying his farming tools, he finally reached his banana grove.
Seeing the banana trunks scattered in disarray, Randa immediately set to work. He hauled the heavy stalks with great effort and carried them near the cattle pen.
Once moved, he began separating the leaves from the trunks.
As he worked, his mind drifted back to the previous night. He had hoped for a large profit from selling bananas, but his excitement quickly turned into disappointment when he learned that a whole bunch sold for only sixty thousand rupiah—about four US dollars.
His family, hearing his complaint, simply sighed and explained that the price was actually standard.
But that was the price from middlemen. Normally, his family sold bananas directly in front of their house. If sold that way, a single hand of bananas could fetch twenty thousand rupiah, about a dollar and a half. With sixteen hands in a bunch, the total could reach three hundred and twenty thousand rupiah—roughly twenty dollars.
The difference between selling to middlemen and selling directly could be as much as fivefold.
Even so, most farmers still chose to sell to middlemen. Not only was it still profitable, but most farmers also lacked the time or resources to market their produce themselves. They could only focus on farming, while middlemen already had extensive networks that ensured the bananas didn't spoil.
Randa's family was different. They sometimes ate the bananas themselves or sold them little by little, so direct selling was still possible.
Still, even with that knowledge, Randa couldn't shake the feeling that his hard work wasn't worth it. Anxiety gnawed at him. At one point, he even wondered whether choosing to become a farmer had been a mistake, considering how little his harvest was worth.
Before he could get lost in thought, his father appeared.
"How's it going? Ready yet?" his father asked.
"Not yet, Dad. I'm just about to cut them up," Randa replied.
"Oh, alright then."
Faisal, his father, started up the chopping machine. Randa fed the banana trunks into it. The loud whir of the engine was softened by the wet stalks as the blades sliced through them. Chopped pieces spilled out the other side. They worked together until not a single trunk remained intact.
Afterward, Randa began making silage from the chopped stalks. He carried out each step calmly and methodically, as though he had been doing it for years. Once again, Faisal was surprised at his son's skill.
Meanwhile, Randa felt relieved that everything was going according to plan.
"Hahaha, looks like I'm really lucky!" he said cheerfully.
Before long, the silage was ready. Randa stored it in a dark, sealed place for fermentation.
By the time they finished, the sun was peeking over the horizon, lighting up the sky. Randa and Faisal headed home, carrying several sacks of banana leaves that could be used as mats or food wrappers.
At home, Randa's mother greeted them.
"Come inside quickly, I've made sticky rice with fried bananas for breakfast."
Randa nodded, washed his hands, and sat down to eat.
The Minang-style sticky rice his mother had prepared was soft and chewy, paired with savory grated coconut and the sweet-sour taste of fried bananas. The fragrant aroma of pandan made it even more irresistible.
Randa was captivated. He thought about how amazing it was that such a simple dish could taste so delicious. That was why he felt even more reluctant to accept that bananas were valued so cheaply.
As Randa and Faisal enjoyed the meal, his mother, Siti, asked:
"So? Have you figured out how to sell the bananas yet?"
Randa paused, then shook his head, looking weary.
"Not yet, Mom…"
Siti gave a faint smile. "That's alright, just think it over. While you're still farming, you should also think about how to sell your harvest. Farmers may be good at planting, but whether it makes money or not—that's another story. Now's the time to learn how to sell at a fair price, so your effort won't be wasted."
She spoke at length out of pity, seeing her son so shocked by how little his crop was worth. But she knew sooner or later, Randa would have to face this reality if he truly wanted to farm.
Faisal added, "If you can't sell to the middlemen, then sell it yourself. If that doesn't work, process it first and then sell. This is your first try—no harm in experimenting. Even if you lose, it won't be too bad, since we're not farming seriously anyway."
Randa nodded, understanding his father's point. His family's main focus was caring for their twenty cows. The grocery shop and banana grove were only supplementary income.
As he pondered how to sell bananas, his gums accidentally struck something hard—he had missed his mouth while eating a fried banana because he was daydreaming. He gave a bitter smile, then popped the banana into his mouth properly.
Suddenly, an idea struck.
"Ah, that's it! Why not sell fried bananas instead?" he exclaimed.
But Siti and Faisal only exchanged glances, unimpressed by his "brilliant" idea. They had been growing bananas far too long. Siti, who came from a Minang trading family, had already tried countless ways: fried bananas, sticky rice with bananas, grilled bananas, cheese-topped bananas, banana compote, and more.
But the results had never been worth it. A single bunch contained sixteen hands, each with about eighteen bananas, totaling 288 bananas. If sold as fried bananas—two pieces for three thousand rupiah—the total revenue would be only around 432,000 rupiah, about twenty-six dollars. That was just six dollars more than selling them fresh, yet so much more work to prepare.
Still, Randa was convinced his idea was good. Siti just shook her head, unsure where her son's confidence came from.
She and Faisal were now more certain than ever that Randa only wanted to "play" at farming, not take it seriously. Even so, they didn't stop him. Let him learn in his own way. After hitting reality a few times, then they would suggest he look for formal work.
With renewed enthusiasm, Randa began searching online for information about the fried banana business.
...
By midday, Randa was busy buying supplies and equipment for selling fried bananas.
Seeing this, Siti couldn't help but ask:
"Are you really serious about selling fried bananas?"
"Yes, Mom!"
Seeing her son's enthusiasm, Siti wondered where this sudden motivation came from. But she couldn't bring herself to dampen it.
"Alright then. I'll call a friend from my hometown. She has a shop near an upscale neighborhood. You can sell there, so you won't have to worry about finding a spot."
Hearing that, Randa grew even more excited and thanked his mother warmly.
Siti then left, while Randa continued preparing his things.
...
The next morning, Randa was up early, ready to sell fried bananas. His whole family helped load the goods into his father's old car.
While lifting the items, Nisa suddenly noticed a bright yellow paper with bold red writing.
"Ahhh, Brother! You really are heartless!" she cried, teasing him.
On the paper, the price "Rp10,000" was crossed out, with "Rp6,000 per piece" written underneath.
Siti and Faisal, curious, came closer. When they saw the writing, they looked at Randa strangely, as if they no longer recognized him.
Who in their right mind would sell an ordinary fried banana at such a high price?
Randa could only smile awkwardly. He couldn't explain the real reason.
The truth was, Randa hadn't chosen the price at random. Having worked as a logistics coordinator, he was sensitive to numbers. He set the price that high because he believed Tirtha water had health benefits. In his view, crops grown with its help must carry similar qualities. He even planned to add diluted Tirtha water into the fried banana batter.
For Randa, the price made sense. But he couldn't say that to his family. So he just smiled awkwardly and carried on with his preparations before they left.
Nisa chuckled to herself, thinking how "sly" her brother was. But Siti and Faisal were worried. They thought Randa was rushing too much for success, to the point of doing something unreasonable.
...
Randa finally drove to the location his mother had mentioned.
After getting out of the car, he surveyed the area with satisfaction. The place was just as promising as his mother had described.
The shop hosting him was a Minang breakfast place owned by his mother's old friend.
Randa approached the shopkeeper.
"Excuse me, are you Aunt Rani? I'm Randa. My mom said I could sell here?"
"Oh, you're Randa? Yes, yes. Come on in. Your mom already told me."
Randa nodded and began unloading his things. Since he was only selling fried bananas, the equipment he brought wasn't much.
Seeing his simple setup, Aunt Rani nodded quietly. Still, she offered help.
"So, Randa? All good? Need anything?"
"No, Auntie. I've prepared everything from home."
"Alright then, I'll get back to work. You just do what you need to do."
"Thank you, Auntie!"
Rani went back to work while Randa started arranging his stall.
...
As he set everything up, Randa pulled out his sister's phone tripod to record video. He still had faith in the internet and hoped to gain some followers.
He wasn't exactly sure what he would do with the recording but figured it was better to have footage just in case. Still, he tried not to show his face too much—whether out of shyness or for some other reason.
Once everything was in place, Randa began mixing the batter. He didn't forget to add a little diluted Tirtha water.
Then he heated oil in a wok. While waiting, he peeled bananas and sliced them vertically a few times without cutting through, pressing them into a Hand fan shape. He dipped them into the batter and kept preparing more until the bowl was full.
To test the oil's heat, he dripped a bit of thin batter into the wok. It sizzled instantly—just right. With steady hands, Randa began frying the bananas.
Although it was his first time selling, his movements were neat and controlled, thanks to his cooking experience and muscle memory.
From time to time, Aunt Rani glanced over. She was impressed—young people these days could be so skilled. But her admiration faded when she saw Randa's price list. Like his family, she doubted the impulsive young man's decision.
Meanwhile, Randa remained unaware of everyone's unease. He kept frying his bananas with a cheerful heart.