Lessons from Loss, and New Beginnings

Mandela’s Muses

I would like to share a tribute about I wrote for my father – Please indulge me:

The Tree of Trees. 

Many moons ago, seeds were scattered on the red soil by the river. Few were washed away, yet many sprouted into seedlings and then trees. Amongst the rows of trees, stood some strong and burly, some weak, some crooked with barely a branch, others straight with fruit, stood a giant of a tree, an ọ́jị̀, the size of an elephant. 

This tree was full of branches, offering shade to all those who passed by on their journeys through life, on its hefty trunks, many hammocks were hung, over the years it supplied fruit, wood, and drink to many generations. 

At its base, lovers tied their lives together, fights were settled, children were welcomed, many, great and little sleep their last amongst its burly roots, everyone had a favorite time or story with the tree in it. A landmark, everyone used this tree to find their way to the land of red clay. 

Since this tree was so loved, everyone tried to claim it, the trees it shaded and protected cried – nke anyi (ours), the river from which it drew its essence staked it’s claim, the people he blessed with wood and fruit also cried ownership, even the skies that so loved to look upon this beautiful tree which towered above all others, and bloomed in every season sought to keep the tree for itself. 

As everyone fought for ownership, the mighty tree spoke up, silence fell over the meeting. He sang a song of the ancients, did the dance of those now forgotten, and said: my purpose is neither to be owned nor to own. I walk with those who walk, give love and life to travelers, all bring me as much love as I give. My greatest desire is that you become the best you. 

With that the great tree fell, the trees wailed, the rivers receded, the clouds greyed and sobbed and though the world was sad, they fought no more. 

He never belonged to anyone, they said, he was a gift to all.