The Tree’s Radical Act of Hope — An African Folktale of Stewardship
The Tree’s Radical Act of Hope
In a village where the river curved like a calabash and the hills wore morning mist like a shawl, there stood a grove of ancient trees. People found shade there, birds sang first songs there, and the soil clung to the roots as a child clings to a mother’s waist.
But seasons turned hard. Fires needed feeding. Fields needed widening. Axes began to speak in the grove. One by one, trunks fell with the sigh of old drums—until only a single tree remained, slender yet rooted deep. Her name was Mivule.
A woodcutter paused beneath her and asked, “Little one, why stand when your sisters sleep in cookfires?”
Mivule rustled gently. “Because I remember the birds’ addresses. Because I remember the rain’s footsteps. Because I remember the children’s laughter.”
That evening, the wind whispered, “All around you is silence. Will you not bend to sorrow?”
“I bend to storms,” Mivule answered, “not to despair.”
The Children’s Chant
Mivule, Mivule, keeper of rain, Teach our hearts to rise again. Root us deep and stretch us high, Green our ground and cool our sky.
An elder, leaning on his staff, listened and said, “A single drum can begin a dance. A single spark can light a homestead. A single tree can call back a forest.”
Yet some argued. “Wood is life,” a farmer muttered. “Let the last tree fall.”
“Short fire, long hunger,” the elder replied.
Rain Remembers the Road
The dry season tightened its belt. Still, Mivule’s shade was cool, her roots braided the earth, and her branches opened like a market at dawn. Then a storm gathered; rain returned like a traveler who knows the door. It tapped Mivule’s leaves and poured blessings into the ground.
Days later, seedlings woke around her. Birds ferried more seeds, dropping small green promises. The children danced and clapped:
Small today, tall tomorrow, Drink from joy, not from sorrow.
Years passed. The ring of saplings thickened. The grove found its breath again. Butterflies arrived like quiet celebrations, and the river’s curve regained its shine.
The woodcutter returned, palm on Mivule’s bark. “Forgive my haste,” he said. “You kept a promise I did not hear.”
“Promises are not loud,” Mivule replied. “They are faithful.”
Proverbs of Stewardship
- Plant for the rain you want, not the drought you fear.
- Guard one tree well and a hundred will learn courage.
- Hope is a root—feed it, and it feeds you.
Village Proverb: Where one tree stands, the rain remembers the road.
And so the grove speaks in leaf-language to anyone who will listen: A tree is a radical act of hope.
Keywords: African folktale, trees, radical hope, environmental stewardship, reforestation, spiritual ecology, conservation, nature story.
