A long time ago, a cheerful, ever-smiling girl was born in the village of Ihithe, Nyeri in Kenya, East Africa. Wangarĩ Maathai was her name. As she grew up, Wangarĩ loved to help her mother when going to the shamba (garden) with her brother. The potatoes, maize, and beans turned their home into evergreen scenes.
Wangarĩ loved going to the river. Its sound as it rushed between rocks made her shiver goosebumps of delight on her skin which always seemed to linger.
Wangarĩ loved going into the forest. She would play hide and seek or just rest. When in the forest with her mother, her loads of questions never seemed to bother her mother. She asked her mother about the trees, their names, and how it is that they always brought a breeze.
“Mũkũyũ the sycamore,” Her mother would say, “…is the tree of our origin, our clay from which our people never stray. Every day, our hearts exhale with its sway.”
“Mũgumo the fig,” Her mother would continue, “…is the sacred tree where our people pray. Its arms full of leaves stretch wider than my embrace. Its long roots pull us back when we lose sight of its face.”
“The Bluegum tree,” her mother would explain more, “…is eucalyptus kin whose minty smell takes away other trees in threes. Don’t let its smell fool you too. It will take and leave the soil feeling blue, weak, and parched as if nothing ever grew.”
Wangarĩ grew to know and love trees. She loved the way trees made her feel. She could name each tree with ease. She knew which one treated a sneeze, which one had a cure for bad knees, which ones gave a home to all the bees, and the ones that made a dessert out of seas.
Wangarĩ’s love for trees became the door to a world she would seize. Every day became a chance to show how much she cared, and every park became a space she had to protect and not be scared.
Wangarĩ’s love for trees became a lifelong dream. Her dream was that one day, a billion trees would catch the sun’s beam. Today, her dream blows the breeze on our skin as we run through Karura forest. It is the soft green carpet our toes curl to in Uhuru Park. Her dream wakes every time we let a young seed spark.
Read – The Tale of the Young Caterpillar – A Children’s Story by Owuor Hellen, Kenya
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