Humans, what have we done to God’s earth?
I live in the city.
There are always moving cars, horn blasts, and crazy people.
Ọgọ always said, “I wonder why anyone would want to stay amid such chaos.”
Now that I remember her wrinkled face, staring deeply into mine with peace and tranquility, I could feel her pulse rise and fall beneath my hands.
It was like I was there with her again, holding hands, staring into each other’s faces, and talking.
The day she was buried, Tanke cried his eyes out. It was as though she had left an indelible imprint on him.
Even when we were ready to head back to the city, Tanke unpacked his bags and silently carried them back inside the creaking house. He wouldn’t return to the city with us.
Ọgọ not only left an imprint on him; she went with his mind and gave him hers.
He walked quietly, spoke slowly to himself, and nodded in affirmation. At first, we were afraid he was going crazy. But with time, we realized that something had happened to his mind.
He fell in love with the peace and quiet of the village. The smell of dried leaves and fresh water from the streams made him glow.
The fine sand, singing birds, and playing dogs always left a nostalgic feeling in him, one he would never get over anytime soon.
Who chooses a village over a city? Well, Tanke did.
But he was the only brave one among us. He loved his roots. He never called anyone evil. He had a pure heart and an innocent look. He smiled when you abused him, and he never took things to heart.
I don’t know if it was his closeness to home that made him so natural or his fondness for family and roots.
Twenty years later, many of us in the city had lost ourselves.
The struggle to survive had ripped the good away from us. We cursed more than we blessed. We defrauded, cheated, and lied.
As the sun beat down on us, it took not just our sweat; it took our hearts as well.
So once in a while, I would go home to Tanke. I would sit with him in the shade and listen as he spoke.
His soul was untouched by the myriad debris the city offers.
His words were pure, kind, and wise.
He didn’t have the big houses and cars we had, but he was truly happy. He always looked fresh and calm. His smiles were genuine, and like early morning palm wine, they never ceased to refresh my soul.
We had what we wanted, but we lost our naturalness and simple human values—the very things Tanke drank and dined with.
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What price are you paying for the things you’re chasing?
When your smiles become a means to get something.
When your affections are no longer genuine but tools for access.
What price are we paying for the kind of life we want to live?
When “hello, dear” is no longer a term of affection but something to scrutinize and suspect.
Culture is rapidly giving us definitions and, taking along with it our souls, and we are applauding.
What have we turned into?
What have we become?
When relationships are about what is there for you, not what you can give to another.
Humans, what have we done to God’s earth?