Centuries ago in the BC God created my ancestors. I cannot recall from which of them I was named after but from the look of things they must have been beautifully created. Am only a year old, no relatives within my vicinity and the friends I have make me feel at home. For instances birds have made me their shelter as they build nests all over me but their sweet chirping entertains me every morning. Snakes too sleuth their lazy bodies on my skin where I watch in horror as they swallow what stands against them and the way they dangle from my branches makes one think it’s a swing. I have provided shade to plants, animals and even mean human beings. More so, when heavy floods come I have held tight to the soil fraternity who have provided a ground to my firmness.
However, am not happy. The rain is not watering me anymore and my roots are drying up not forgetting the slaying leaves shaped in different sizes have started falling off in brown and yellow colors. Am so thirsty that I cannot hold it anymore neither can I attract more rainfall reasons been all my neighbours have been cut off by goons who do not deserve to be called men. The scorching sun has made my skin so rough that no amount of gum ointment can smooth it. This branches you see are my fourth babies. I grow very fast if I must confess and once a while am always chopped off for firewood and to shorten my broad shoulders (if I may call them that way).
Back then it was so peaceful, so fun as everyone surrounded us, listened in to conversations I never fathomed but been able to provide fruits to all was so satisfying. Out of the blues I woke up to a sound of a saw and axe wiping off my entire friends. Within minutes their bodies were sawed through and as I swayed left and right to the pain I was next. However, I had them argue that I was not fully mature to the size that would produce enough timber. Fyuks I survived but been a lone ranger consumed my latter days.
Stretching my trunk I could see the likes of me far away and wished I could move to where they were for company but my rooted roots failed me. I have been patiently waiting for my death. The other day a bunch of children passed by and they were arguing on how to conserve the environment. They surveyed where my friends took their last breath and decided that they would plant more trees. One of them mentioned that there has been numerous campaigns to stop hungry men from finishing us and so as to combat climate change. The thought of that has made me dance whenever my buddy wind passes by.
I’ve lost many of my generations, many of my friends and I do not want to be on the waiting list. Before I rest my case, students from various institutions are always making trips to see us and they are always naming each of us. The only thing I remember is species but which one? Do not ask me. So for now just call me TREE.