I had asked mum about a certain tree whose details I could only
vaguely recall and that way I succeeded in provoking a story time moment. She
stopped what she was doing so that she could seize a rare opportunity to pass
down a tale. I composed myself and got ready to listen.
“Unlike other trees that drop their seeds near themselves,
when the pods of this one dry up, it bursts and disperses the contents far and wide. It’s a phenomenon
that was used to describe women by virtue of their leaving their parental homes to go and
get married elsewhere. Women were said to be like the seeds of Mbono that fly away, far away to go and conceive
elsewhere, away from home.”
So, the tree is called Mbono.
“Those seeds are also cosmetic. In a tradition that is now no
more, rococo women who spotted dreadlocks would use the oil made from the seeds
to curl their hair.”
Ancient times were also vibrant in their own way. In those
days, there was no Revlon, but there
were Mbono seeds.
“your great grandmother used to like it so much…” she went
on.
............................................................................................................ to be continued
