By the right corner of my grandmother’s kitchen was an orange tree. It grew just behind the wooden kitchen facing the main entrance. The kitchen had no window nor a door. With a roof penned over some wooden pillars, the kitchen stood strong enough to withstand the heat from the fire, the occasional whooshing of wind and the heavy downpours. Inside the kitchen, there lined the mud wood stoves, the chicken coop and some carved wood stools.

The orange tree shadow sometimes enveloped my grandmother’s kitchen when the sun shone its full light from behind. This tree had its strength with its towering length. I am unsure if it was as tall as the main building in the compound. The old building- the main one in the compound- was the first to see when you walked into my grandmother’s compound. It was a villa with an uncompleted upper roof.

The ground floor was a gorgeous abode with beautiful purple and white paint—a Cass style of building from the exterior. The top floor was a complete contrast; its construction was abandoned, but it stood composed showing its toothless gum to all and sundry. In front of this building were two English oak trees safeguarding the territory while holding hands. Taller than any tree nearby, they had broad crowns with sturdy branches.

The Loyalty Of The Trees

The English oak trees stood out in beauty, uniqueness and vigour. They were different in appearance. My uncle brought their seedlings home from abroad and tended them until they reached maturity. Despite their fertility, robustness, power and endurance, they didn’t leave lasting impressions on me. They caused chaos during the African Harmattan seasons. The oak trees shed off their leaves leaving piles of brown crusted debris for the children to clear. Hard, intense and back-crushing labour at no price. Furthermore, they had the habit of stoning people with their stone-hard acorn fruits.

Despite the bliss the orange tree offered, it wasn’t the only fruit tree around the wooden kitchen. Adjacent to the right was a guava tree. Lanky in sight with branches poking all around it; it was playful and popular among children. The guava tree was loved for its forbearance, forgiveness and abundance. A few yards away from the guava tree stood the tropical almond tree locally known as fruit. It belongs to the leadwood tree family. It had an upright, symmetrical crown and horizontal branches.

The tropical almond tree flattened as it grew older. Naturally arranged in tiers with distinctive branches hanging low. It provided shade while the sun lashed out its fieriness and canopy during the monsoon. The guava, orange and tropical almond trees were comforting, reassuring and protective. They gave succour when needed to the wandering visitors and children. The refreshment and intense feeling of happiness one felt around them were intoxicating.

In the Precense Of Others

I have known the orange tree at the back of my grandmother’s kitchen all my life. It was there in my formative years and I remembered its solidity as a teenager. I knew of its existence years before my self-awareness. It symbolised unity, forgiveness and togetherness. Its fruits were always sweet no matter the season. The combination of the orange, guava, and tropical almond trees represented life stability to me.

School holidays were a joy with these trees. The recreational functional activities of being around them; the feel of fresh air and the freedom it entailed. The curiosity to learn more, of the birds that held their little communities in their branches. They exhibited the goodness of nature and the state of tranquillity and calmness.

Surrounded by other species; a banana tree stood not too far away from the guava tree with its large green leaves swinging with every thrust of movement. The pawpaw tree harboured snakes and scorpions. There was a foreign breadfruit tree which stunned visitors with its strange captivating fruits and textures, but of no great advantage. All around were colossal trees of varying degrees, none of which was willing to give as much as the orange, tropical almond or guava trees.

More often than not, my imagination took me on a journey where I compared the loyalty of my grandmother’s trees with humans’. I think I would be forgiven for letting the trail of my thoughts lead the way. You might be surrounded by people, but feel completely lonely. Just like the trees of my childhood; there were tens of them, but only a few imprinted themselves in my memory.

Life And Its Parables

In life, wellness and emotional stability don’t come from a town full of people. The trees that comforted me as a child stayed with me till adulthood. As I write, I see their different shades season in and season out. I see their leaves turned brown under the scorching sun and I see their fresh lushness with heads full of delicious nutritious fruits. The smiles they wore when I climbed and fell. I saw them bending slightly and playful as I grew a few inches taller pinching their tender branches as I passed the climbing challenge.

They showed pride in my achievements. When I stoned them for fruits, they rained down on me an abundance of their nutritious goodness and compassion. The loyalty of these trees makes me wonder if human beings are wired differently. The comfort the trees give isn’t freely seen in humans. Their loyalty is not readily available in those who reared them to life.

The Crab Mentality

One of the attributes I found missing in these trees was the crab bucket syndrome. Do you know of the crab mentality? Well, it is generally believed that if you put crabs in a bucket without a lid, you don’t need to worry about the crab escaping. In contrast, any crab that tries to climb out of the bucket will be pulled back down by other crabs in the bucket ensuring that there is a collective failure, demise or destruction.

A certain percentage of the human population has the crab mentality. However, the act of pulling down into the proverbial bucket might not be in a literal manner. Pulling could be through word of mouth, untruth whispers or unhappiness about the “progress” of others. It might even be snooping around to know more about others, but protecting your stories, your reality from getting out into the light. There are people whose only existence is to see others’ downfall. People who see no good in others.

My grandmother’s trees were different. What you see is what you get. They were pleasing, agreeable and delightful to be around. Every so often, inanimate objects have so much to teach and give.

And there is no creature on (or within) the earth or bird that flies with its wings except (that they are) communities like you.

Quran 6:38