Seeds of Home

 By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

The day Adaeze planted the mango seed, the sky glowed softly, warm and gentle after the morning rain. She was only ten, barefoot and full of laughter, wearing a white summer dress and a butterfly clip that held her hair together. Her grandmother, Nnenna, sat on a low stool nearby, smiling as Adaeze dug the soil beside the dusty road.

‘Are you sure it will grow here, Adaeze?’ Nnenna asked, squinting at the roadside where goats, chickens and sheep wandered freely.

‘Yes, Mama,’ Adaeze said proudly, her fingers brown with wet earth. ‘It will grow fast, and people will stop here to rest under its shade. It will also give succulent fruits to the hungry soul. You will like it one day that I did this, Grandma.’

Nnenna chuckled, her eyes bright like oil lamps. ‘You have a big dream for such a small seed.’

Every morning, Adaeze went to the roadside before school to check on her seed. She carried an old tin cup filled with water, careful not to spill. Sometimes neighbours laughed. ‘This one thinks she’s farming the road!’ they said. But Adaeze didn’t mind. She talked to the soil as if it were a friend, whispering, ‘Grow, my mango, grow strong. Become a shield to everyone. Become food to hungry souls. Bring relief to all who pass by.’

Soon, a tiny shoot appeared. Adaeze screamed with joy, running to call her grandmother. ‘It’s alive, Mama!’ she shouted. Together they stood over the fragile plant as if guarding treasure.

Years passed. The tree grew slowly, stretching its green arms wider each season. By the time Adaeze entered secondary school, it had become a young tree, tall enough to give shade but not yet bearing fruit. Travellers rested under it, traders tied their goats nearby, and children played around its roots. People began calling it Adaeze’s Tree.

Even as school life grew busier, Adaeze still visited every morning. The tree had become her diary, the one that listened but never spoke. Whenever she was sad, she would rest her head on its trunk and feel its calmness steady her heart.

But life was changing. Her grandmother’s health began to fail. Her mother sold firewood to pay hospital bills, but the money was never enough.

One afternoon, a man stopped near the tree. He was tall, dressed in clean white, and drove a shiny car that looked out of place in their village. He spoke to Adaeze’s mother.

‘Madam, I want to buy this land. I’m planning to build a small shop and a resting place for travellers. I’ll pay well.’

The amount he mentioned could cover all their debts. Adaeze’s mother was overjoyed. But Adaeze stood still, her eyes on the tree.

‘Can’t he buy another land?’ she asked quietly.

Her mother sighed. ‘My daughter, sometimes we must sell what we love to save who we love.’

That night, Adaeze sat under the mango tree until the stars came out. The wind moved softly through the leaves, and she imagined the tree was whispering to her. ‘It’s all right, Adaeze. You planted me with love; I’ll remain even if things change.’

When the man returned the next morning, Adaeze faced him with courage. ‘You can buy the land,’ she said, ‘but please don’t cut down the tree.’

He smiled gently. ‘I promise, I’ll build around it. It’s too beautiful to destroy.’

True to his word, he built a small wooden shop behind the tree. Adaeze’s mother used the money to care for Nnenna, who soon recovered enough to smile again. Months later, the tree bore fruit for the first time, golden mangoes that hung like drops of sunlight.

Travellers passing by often stopped to buy mangoes or rest under its shade. Some said the fruits were sweeter than any they had ever tasted.

Years passed, and Adaeze left Orodo village for the city. She gained admission into the university to study Environmental Science, a course that made her think of her mango tree even more. The city was full of noise, cars, and tall buildings that blocked the sun. She missed the sound of birds that perched on her tree’s branches and the smell of wet soil after rain.

Every Sunday, she called home to speak with her mother and grandmother. Her grandmother’s voice always came soft and cheerful. ‘Your mango tree is growing well, my Adaeze,’ she would say. ‘People still rest under it, and the man who bought the land keeps it clean.’

That comforted her. In her heart, she believed that the tree carried a part of her soul, the part that never forgot home.

During her third year at the university, Adaeze joined a student environmental club. They planted trees, cleaned gutters, and taught children how to care for nature. That was where she met Emeka, a quiet young man who always carried a camera around his neck.

One evening, after a tree-planting event, Emeka showed her the photos he had taken. One picture caught her eye, a small seedling pushing through dry soil with a drop of water on its leaf. Adaeze smiled, remembering how she had knelt earlier that day to pour water at its roots, hoping it would live.

‘It looks alive,’ Adaeze said softly.

Emeka smiled. ‘That’s because you watered it.’

They talked for hours, sharing stories about their childhoods. Adaeze told him about her mango tree, how she planted it as a little girl, and how it became part of her life. Emeka listened with a gentle smile. ‘You must be proud,’ he said. ‘Not everyone plants something that lasts that long.’

From that day, they grew closer. They studied together, visited parks, and sometimes sat under trees, sharing bread and laughter. Adaeze found peace in his calm presence, the same kind of peace she once felt sitting under her mango tree.

After graduation, Adaeze got a job with an environmental agency in Abuja. The work was demanding but fulfilling. She often travelled to different states to lead tree-planting projects. Whenever she saw a healthy young tree, she thought of the one she had left behind in Orodo.

One December, her grandmother passed away peacefully. Adaeze travelled home for the burial. The moment she arrived in the village, she went straight to the mango tree. It had grown taller, its branches wide and strong. Beneath it stood a simple wooden bench. Someone had carved into it: For Adaeze’s Tree.

Tears filled her eyes as she touched the trunk. She whispered, ‘Mama is gone, but I’m here.’

As she sat there, she heard a familiar voice behind her. ‘You weren’t easy to find.’

She turned. It was Emeka. He smiled shyly, holding a small bag. ‘I came to see where it all began.’

Adaeze’s heart softened. ‘You came all this way?’

He nodded. ‘I wanted to see your tree.’

They sat under it, talking as the afternoon breeze brushed their faces. Emeka plucked a mango and handed it to her. ‘It’s sweet,’ he said after taking a bite. ‘Just like the story you told me.’

Adaeze laughed through her tears. ‘Maybe it’s sweeter now because it’s home.’

A few months later, Adaeze decided to honour Nnenna’s memory and the mango tree that had stood through time. She and Emeka met with the man who had bought the land years ago. His hair was now grey, and his shop, though small, was still neat and busy.

When Adaeze told him her plan, he smiled warmly. ‘I remember when you planted that seed,’ he said. ‘It would be an honour to let you have this land back.’

He sold it to her at a modest price, saying it was his way of thanking her for keeping beauty alive in Orodo.

With Emeka’s help, Adaeze cleared the area, added wooden benches, flower beds, and a small signboard that read Nnenna’s Rest: A Place to Breathe, Reflect, and Grow.

Years later, Adaeze and Emeka turned the place into a small green park. They called it Nnenna’s Rest in honour of her grandmother. Travellers still stopped to eat mangoes, children still played around the roots, and the old tree still whispered in the wind.

***

One sunny afternoon, Adaeze gathered some children under the mango tree. Each child held a small seedling. She knelt beside them and said,

‘These trees are gifts. When you plant one, you give the earth a little breath.’

The children listened quietly.

‘Trees clean the air, give us shade, and bring rain,’ she continued. ‘If we plant more trees, our world becomes cooler and greener. That’s how we fight climate change and care for our home.’

The children smiled, excited. ‘We will plant them, Aunty Adaeze!’ they said.

Emeka watched from the bench, his heart full of pride. He saw the same spark in the children’s eyes that Adaeze had carried since she was ten, the same love for life, soil, and growth.

After the children had gone, a little girl lingered behind and approached Adaeze. ‘Aunty, is it true you planted this tree?’

Adaeze smiled. ‘Yes, a long time ago.’

‘I want to plant mine too,’ the girl said eagerly.

Adaeze nodded and touched her shoulder. ‘Then plant it with love. Because whatever you plant with love will always grow beautifully.’

The girl ran off, and Adaeze watched her disappear into the sunlight. She turned to Emeka and smiled. ‘Looks like our story has begun again,’ she said softly.

Emeka looked at her curiously. ‘Our story?’

‘Yes,’ she said, touching the mango tree’s trunk. ‘The story of love, of roots, of things that grow and last. It began with my grandmother and me, and now it begins again with that little girl.’

Emeka took her hand gently. ‘And it will keep growing, just like your mango tree.’

The wind rustled through the leaves, carrying their laughter into the open sky.

***

As the sun began to set, painting the sky orange and pink, Adaeze and Emeka sat quietly under the mango tree. The children had gone home, and only the soft rustling of leaves filled the air. Adaeze ran her fingers over the rough bark, thinking about all the years the tree had grown and all the people it had sheltered.

‘You know,’ she said softly, ‘I never thought this small seed would grow into something so big. It’s not just a tree. It is hope, love, and home.’

Emeka nodded. ‘It shows that even small actions, like planting a seed, can grow into something that touches many lives.’

Adaeze smiled, remembering her grandmother’s words: “You have a big dream for such a small seed.” Back then, she thought it was only about the tree. Now she knew it was about more than that. It was about helping the community, spreading love, and leaving something behind that others could care for.

Just then, the little girl from earlier came back, with a few other children. Each child carried a small bundle of seedlings.

‘Aunty Adaeze,’ she said excitedly, ‘we want to plant more trees like yours!’

Adaeze’s heart filled with joy. ‘Then let’s do it together,’ she said.

Under the evening sky, Adaeze, Emeka, and the children planted the seedlings along the edge of the park. Emeka took pictures while the children pressed the soil gently over each seed. Adaeze showed them how to water the plants and talk to them kindly, just like she had done with her mango tree long ago.

When the last seedling was planted, Adaeze stood back and looked at the small green trees. They were young now, but one day they would grow tall and strong. She felt her grandmother’s presence in the breeze and in the scent of the soil, and she smiled.

‘One day,’ Adaeze said softly to Emeka, ‘these trees will be big and strong. Maybe someone in the future will sit under them and feel the same peace I feel today.’

Emeka took her hand. ‘What you’ve done is more than planting a tree. You have started something that will last a long time.’

They watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. The mango tree, tall and proud, seemed to bend its branches like a blessing. Deep in the soil, the tiny seeds would one day grow into more trees, ready for the next generation to care for them.

Adaeze looked at Emeka and whispered, ‘Our story is not just about us. It is about everyone, the children, the villagers, and the travelers who will find shade and hope under these trees.’

Emeka smiled and held her hand. ‘Then let’s keep planting and dreaming together.’

The stars began to shine above, and the breeze moved through the leaves as if whispering promises of tomorrow. Adaeze felt happy and at peace, knowing that love and care, like the roots of her mango tree, would always grow and touch many lives.

***

A Year Later, one bright morning, Adaeze returned to Nnenna’s Rest. She walked slowly along the paths, noticing how the seedlings planted the year before had grown into strong young trees. Their green leaves shone in the sunlight, and tiny birds perched happily among the branches.

A group of children ran past her, laughing. They carried watering cans and buckets, ready to care for the trees. Adaeze watched them, her heart swelling with joy.

'Good morning, Aunty Adaeze!' the children shouted.

'Good morning, my little gardeners!' she replied, smiling.

Emeka, standing nearby with his camera, captured every moment. He had been following Adaeze’s work with the children, documenting how one small act of planting had grown into a whole community of care and love.

Adaeze knelt to water one of the young trees. She felt the soil between her fingers, soft and damp. 'This is how we grow,' she whispered to herself, 'one seed, one heart at a time.'

Later that day, a woman approached her. She was a traveller who had stopped under the mango tree years ago. 'I remember this tree,' the woman said softly, touching its trunk. 'I sat here when I was tired and hungry. Your tree gave me shade and hope. Now, I see what you have done, an entire garden of hope.'

Adaeze smiled, tears filling her eyes. 'It is not just my tree. It belongs to everyone who loves it and cares for it.'

As the sun began to set again, painting the sky with colours of orange, pink, and purple, Adaeze and Emeka sat under the old mango tree, surrounded by the new trees and the laughter of children.

'Do you remember when we first worked on this park together?' Emeka asked, squeezing her hand gently.

'Yes,' Adaeze replied. 'It all began with the seedlings we planted last year.'

'And now look at what we have,' Emeka said, glancing around the growing park. 'A whole forest of hope.'

Adaeze leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at the branches of the mango tree. She could see sunlight flickering through the leaves, and in that light, she felt her grandmother’s love surrounding her.

'Let's promise to keep planting,' she whispered.

'We will,' Emeka said softly. 'For every seed we plant, a new story begins.'

And there, under the mango tree, with the stars starting to twinkle above, Adaeze knew that her grandmother’s dream had truly come to life. Love, care, and hope were now rooted in the soil, ready to grow for generations to come.

 

Plant a seed, grow a future. Every small act counts. plant trees!

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