Seeds and Memories of Africa

Amidst sudden showers, shadows of storm clouds, a tornado watch and patches of brilliant sunshine, Mother and I planted half of the garden this afternoon. Actually, I mostly planted- dropping tiny seeds into our black farm soil -and Mother did the hard work of turning the soil where high grass (Mom likes to call it "elephant grass") had taken over our little rectangle of cultivation. Every year about this time, I have to marvel at how the tiniest seeds, with simply some dirt, water and sun, can become deliciously fresh plump vegetables.

As I maneuvered soil, seeds and rocks, I was reminded of my day of planting on a sloping bean field with my Tanzanian family last year. The dirt was similarly rich and black, the hillside loose with soil and soft on my bear feet. (I soon realized a good reason to wear shoes was to avoid the hostile "siafu" or biting ants hiding in the dirt.) Alongside my homestay mother and sisters, we planted beans tossed from the pockets of our skirts, moving up the hill. My movements of dropping, pressing the bean and covering it with dirt where clumsy compared to the deft sowing of my homestay family. However, they allowed the contribution of my slow, careful planting, if only for a while before the "mzungu" (white girl) had to rest and I was given a mandatory work break. After a half days work we ate some sweet, small bananas for lunch from trees at the base of the hill. We washed out feet in the river and I was able to start a watercolor sitting on the steep bean hill in the glaring sun, with my Tanzanian sister looking on.

I remember the satisfaction of working in dirt and sun and the joy of helping in daily work. I remember noticing how unhurried and enjoyable the day's labor had seemed. My Tanzanian sisters had wandered in the field, alternately playing and planting with their mother. Our father had picked bananas and sat enjoying them with us in the field. Life seemed to flow as easy and lazily as the stream that trickled in the valley of two hillsides.

Perhaps this summer I am recapturing the pace of African life. And perhaps this memory could lead me back to the slower lingering, savoring lifestyle I learned in my months in Tanzania. May I learn how to live in the present- in dirt and sun and seeds and the miracle of growing things.