The Talking Baobab Tree

By Joanne Ijeoma Ulonnam

In the quiet village of Nando, Anambra State, there stood a strange, ancient, baobab tree. Its trunk was thick and twisted, its roots curled up to the ground like the fingers of an old hand. The elders say it was planted by a spirit long before the first shrine was made.

Many believed it was just an old tree, but Ikenna, a bright 14-year-old boy with a strong spirit and sharp ears, always believed what his grandmother told him, “That tree listens. It also remembers. If the truest of hearts speak to it, it’ll answer.”

Ikenna wasn’t like other boys. Instead of playing football with a burst, weathered ball and dreaming about becoming Bellingham, he spent his time in the bushes. Not because he was forced to, but because he wanted to. He loved nature and felt a natural connection to it.

One quiet evening, after bringing all the chickens back to their coop, Ikenna snuck away. It was too hot that late evening, he just needed some cool breeze. So he went to sit under the baobab tree.
The tree loomed over him like a giant, the shade wrapping his body. He took a breath of relief
and sunk into the long trunk of the tree, resting his back in the rough but comfortable bark.

“If you really are alive,” Ikenna said, stroking the tree tenderly, “Say something, prove to me that the rumours are true.”

As if on cue, the leaves of the tree rustled; the earth beneath him buzzed.

Then a deep voice came out loud and powerful, but kind. “Ikenna, nwa oma, I have waited many seasons for a person like you.”

Ikenna froze, then knelt. “Are you a spirit?” he asked, tilting his head to see the leaves of the
tree.

“I am the memory of this land. I watched Nando rise from dust into this amazing community. I
remember when masquerades danced from dusk till dawn. I have seen peace, I have seen war.”

Ikenna began visiting the trees daily. It taught him the names of ancient herbs, the stories of the ancestors, and forgotten rituals. But most important of all were the stories his grandmother didn’t get to tell.

Ikenna loves Grandma as much as a person could love another person, maybe even more.

But once her condition worsened, Grandma became almost dumb, sitting on the parlour chair like an aged China doll. Because of this, conversations between her and Ikenna lessened as her
memory faded. Ikenna stopped trying to talk to her because it always ended in tears when he realised Grandma couldn’t understand him. He spent many nights crying because of the pain in his young heart.

But this tree, this tree had filled his empty heart. It had helped him realise things he never knew. Best of all, it had helped him have a means of communication with his grandmother. After every visit to the tree, he would go back home and explain everything he had learned from the conversation with the tree.

This did not require grandma to speak. But it was obvious she was paying attention, with her yellow-stained eyes fixed on him. It was obvious he was going to lose her soon, but at least she would be free from all the struggles of life, and her belief in the baobab tree would live on forever.

By Joanne Ijeoma Ulonnam