ME OUT LOUD

A Tree’s Message

Musings of Mother Earth amidst the COVID-19 lockdown

I have been here since before the existence of civilization.

I can’t particularly remember how I was planted, perhaps it was from a colonist’s hands or maybe my seed simply fell from a flying bird.

Nevertheless, I recall sprouting alongside my vegetative kind, and although we were mere seedlings at the time, our numbers were remarkable.

Sadly, after the series of deforestation made to our plot, I was the only one left standing—the lone survivor, who persevered through it all.

And as months turned into years and years into decades, I grew to stand as one of the most majestic trees on the land of the Great Ife campus.

In my many years, I have seen man’s renovations at its finest; the refurbishment of the Akintola Hall, expansion of the Sports complex, clearing of the SUB car park—I have been here through it all.

During my time here, my branches have served as a home for the school’s infamous bat population, and the leaves on my top have shielded many passersby from the deathly stings of the sun.

I have given so much of me to man, and yet, humanity deemed it fit to pay me back in the most perplexing ways:

I have been choked from the fumes of generators, scarred by the shots of poachers and defended by the noise of nearby machinery.

I have struggled to find nutrients beyond the occlusion of plastic dumped at my base, fallen sick from the liquid waste splashed at me from nearby eateries and I have felt the pain of having my branches chopped off for the sake of aesthetic carpentry.

After the many years of this toxic routine, you’d think I would have to gotten used to it by now; accepting my browning leaves and shrivelling branches, withstanding the pain of bullet wounds and fumes of poison, but no!

On the night of March 19, 2020, I prayed—hoping God was unbiased in listening to the requests of vegetation—I cried for the chance to give my brothers and I the room to grow.

I pleaded for a break from this toxic routine and hoped for a holiday from humanity.

The next day, after having my trunk expunged of plastic litter, I was awoken by the sounds of moving vehicles and bantering of confused parents and students alike—something had happened.

I heard the sounds of a megaphone from the distance echoing the need to leave the premises and that the university was going on lockdown—the great lockdown.

Since that day, I haven’t felt the weight of plastic on my trunk.

My branches grow healthy, and roots run deep.

It’s been a total of one hundred and twenty-nine days since I felt the sting of a bullet on my bark, and my bat inhabitants have returned to peacefully perching on my branches—I missed them.

And for the first time in a long time, the chirps of birds and scurries of squirrels are the only sounds that fill the air.

For the first time in a long time, the only fluid I have been bathed in has been from the showers of the sky.

For the first time in a long time, the wave of fresh air is unoccluded by the fumes of nearby stalls.

For the first time in a long time, the flowers glow brilliantly and the leaves shine brightly.

For the first time in a long time, Mother Earth finally has the chance to breathe.