Onyinye Ubah

The sprouting of seeds and crops on my grandmother’s farm had awakened the harvest season. The hedges curved in an ascending view facing the sky are lined up in an orderly manner on her farm. An aerial view of her big farm from the balcony of our duplex makes it seem like greenery with leaves looking like a canopy umbrella. The beautiful aerial view takes you on a journey to your ancestral root. On her farm are a plethora of hired laborers, men and women whose faces are covered with beads of sweats as they ransack the earth in the process of finding buried seeds pregnant with multiple crops. Baskets made of raffia are scattered on her farmland where harvested crops are kept. The joy that tags along the many hours of their hard work is unquantifiable. This undeniable joy sometimes takes the shape of a throaty laughter amongst the laborers. Sometimes, it takes a posture of native songs celebrating their industry which also retains a raw smell of undiluted culture. Sometimes, they hum in a choreography and some other time, they work in silence heaved with noise of rustling and metallic clangs.

Funnily, this doesn’t apply to only my grandmother’s farm. It spreads across other farms in my village. As the window of the harvest season is open, there is a reemphasis on the age long principle of sowing and reaping. The anticipation of every farmer soars during this season. The crowfeet at the edges of their eyes etch deeply as they smile broadly to the beat of the loud drum of satisfaction and reward of labor. The day long stance on the farm as they bury their hands and tools into the ground to uproot crops is never considered tedious by them. The joy of the harvest alone overshadows the slightest strain of stress.

In the evening as they leave for their homes after a long day of reaping the fruit of their labor, the content of the baskets that leaves their farmland summarizes their effort. The raffia of some baskets could be seen struggling with the harvested crops who would be threatening for freedom as it struggles with an overflowing abundance. Some other baskets are in the conflicting borderline of half empty and occasionally, others are seen almost empty. The path to the farmland drop fat with lessons of hard work and industry of human race as well as the insurmountable principle of benefit and compensation.

As the window of the harvest season draws closer, some seeds of crops are stored in anticipation for the next planting season. Farmers strategize on methodologies to apply for a more bountiful harvest. Nevertheless, the aerial view of the farm from my grandmother’s balcony remains priceless.

Photo Credit:Global Air Media

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