I am held bound by the wonderful experience my Ground Mother,Madam Iyono Ajogo bequeathed to me. A sound life nurtured by the way of nature. She is pragmatic,bold and down -to-earth. Instead of pampering as other grannies do. She was frank enough to tell me to always go with her to the farm to drink the down dew, as we were sneaking through the wet ears of grass by the farm paths at dawn. She was telling me, 'Fande' , the derogatory pronoun of Friday. I loved that sound as it echoes through all the fabrics of my being. All my marrow resound the tone like thunder claps. She always say "Land has a language, listen to understand." "Child," she said, "the land is a living, breathing entity. It has a rhythm, a heartbeat that we must learn to listen to and respect." Claws Of Time, is a simple narrative, from one of her various pre occupations, farming. She was a trader, a herbalist and she has indulged so many women in her clime. The tribe she cultivated. She was highly honoured and respected in the community. Through my granny, I was always full headed for every task. I began to see in the farm the interconnectedness of all things, how every creature and plant was inextricably linked, each one relying on the others for survival. She brightened my horizon of viewing things on a new pedestals. "This is a dung beetle," she said, holding it cupped in her palm. Making me see value in all things. She said,"It plays a crucial role in the health of our soil, breaking down organic matter and returning nutrients to the earth." This is my story of growing up under a firm granny, ain't I not lucky? She was a star. May her rest be blessed. Thank you, Mother Iyono Ajogo. © El-yadirf Adokauhil.
Chapter 1 Claws Of Time
Chapter 1
I slinged my mini hoe, strapped across my neck with a denizen rope, and followed behind my aged Grand-Mom to the distant farm.
As we made our way, I excused myself to avoid my bowel by the side of the road.
There, I noticed a dung beetle rolling a large pile of past excrement; it was surprisingly big for its size. I was amazed and wondered at the sight.
Before I knew it, Mother had gone far ahead, and I moaned and moaned, trying to catch up.
Along the way, I saw what appeared to be monkey-looking rats, with stripe marks across their bodies.
And then, a long rope-like creature came chasing after them.
The creeping thing tried to catch the rat, and I took to my heels, moaning "Mother!" again and again.
The roads seemed to be swallowing each other, twisting and turning, with 'T' and 'Y' junctions leading to other farms.
You can't see a rabbit cross your path, as that would be an omen, nor a chameleon - there were so many such inconceivables along the way.
Eventually, I caught up with Mother, my steps heavy with exertion.
I gawf and inane-ly laughed, though she thought I would say a word.
I "shakara" her, expectantly, but a long silence ensued before we finally reached the farm.
As I aged along, I was full of questions - so many unanswered queries. I became dubious, and struggled to believe.
I swallowed the saliva of pains, beleaguered. Many things created stomach and nerve pains.
You never know how ignorance has breached - information is everything:
The earth's hauled and beaten
Pounded and dug
Sometimes blood spills
It quakes in tremors
The wound the earth bears,yet
It never stops to flow, her fruits keeps the world going
In her pain all creatures gain
The earth never one day exacerbates her integrity
Despite man's misuse of her bounties.
From this moment, I found solace in nature.
We attain our intricate vibrancy from the abode of nature and all that we are are lent to us.
Just free of charge, in the ethos of glory, also echoing our dependence on nature.
It's a fact, we live and move and have our being in nature. Nature is our home, our haven and our hell if we trample on its 'adder.'
Achadu, my maternal grandfather, did say one day, " live your life earnestly in the guidance of nature"
The old man used to invoke the power of thunder on thieves, if they refused to repent.
Such times, a sudden gathering of dark clouds, followed by drizzling mist.
Surprisingly, the sky would belge a lightning spark, it would deliver a thunderbolt on the culprit.
The culprit will be roasted like meat in dark ash. As always nasty to behold.
The farm became the best place to inundate the ability to be part of nature.
It seems western education was a distraction, because the ability to know who you are shelved.
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