Elyadirf1

SYNOPSIS 

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.

CLAWS OF TIME.

I pored over the narrative of imaginary volumes of farm journals and agricultural manuals that Grand-Mom had amassed in her memory over the years.

As I sought to deepen my understanding of the delicate ecosystem.

I was entrusted to care for the ingenious methods that would be a lasting way for survival.

I never help but to experiment with new techniques, always mindful of the need to balance innovation with tradition.

The traditional way is cumbersome, and the modern method is capital intensive and unapproachable.

The economy is weather beaten yet dry and never ready to condense.

And as the years passed, I watched the farm transform under my stewardship.

The yields grew more bountiful, the soil more vibrant and alive.

I took great pride in the flourishing crops, in the thriving populations of beneficial insects and birds.

This was my legacy, my contribution to the enduring legacy of the land.

But with that pride came a deep sense of responsibility. I knew that the farm was not just a source of sustenance for my family, but a vital part of the larger community.

The crops we grew fed not just us, but our neighbors, our friends, and even those in distant lands.

The soil we nurtured, the water we conserved, the habitats we protected – all of these things had a ripple effect that extended far beyond our own boundaries.

It was a weighty mantle to bear, but one that I embraced with a steadfast determination.

I knew that the land had entrusted me with its care, and I would do everything in my power to honor that trust. Each day,

I would rise before the sun, tending to the fields, monitoring the weather, and making the decisions that would ensure the long-term health and viability of the farm.

And as I worked, I would often find myself lost in thought, reflecting on the lessons of the past and the challenges of the future.

I would wonder about the generations that had come before, the stories and experiences they had woven into the fabric of this place.

And I would ponder the legacy I would leave behind, the imprint I would make on the land and the lives it sustained.

It was a humbling realization, the weight of that responsibility. But it was also a profound source of purpose and fulfillment.

To be the caretaker of this land, to be the steward of its bounty and its beauty – it was a calling that filled me with a deep sense of gratitude and reverence.

And so, day by day, season by season, I would tend to the farm, my hands calloused and weathered, my spirit connected to the rhythms of the earth.

I would watch the cycles of life unfold, the ebb and flow of the natural world, and I would find solace in the knowledge that I was a part of something greater, something that would outlast my own lifetime.

For the farm was not just a place, but a living, breathing entity – a tapestry of stories and experiences, woven together over the generations.

Claws Of Time.