Beneath the Cocoa Trees
This painting was inspired by my deep personal affinity with cocoa. My father, along with his siblings and close friends, had leased a large hectare of land for the cultivation of cocoa and other cash crops in Ẹda, in Ekiti State, South West Nigeria. The plantation was a vital source of funding for our education.
In fact, my father’s ownership of the farm, located far from our village, gave me my first experience of travelling by lorry. I remember watching trees speeding past, a dazzling and unforgettable experience. For us children, the excitement of the journey often outweighed the purpose behind it.
During school holidays, we would travel with my father—sometimes my mother—and many members of our extended family. We would leave early in the morning, often in a lorry that had journeyed all the way from Ikarẹ, about 25 miles away. As we departed, the whole village would come out to say goodbye. Children and youths would watch us with admiration, as if we were setting off to a faraway land.
We stayed in Ẹda for about three to four weeks, working on the farm daily except Sundays, which were reserved for worship in the communal hut. In the afternoons, we children would go hunting for rats and squirrels.
The anticipation of these trips would keep us sleepless on the night before departure. We looked forward not to the farm work, but to the adventure—the chance to travel by lorry, to say goodbye to friends, and to explore the unfamiliar surroundings. But once we arrived in Ẹda, the excitement quickly gave way to hard work.
Our tasks were many. We sprayed cocoa and coffee trees with insecticides, harvested ripe cocoa pods—plucking them by hand when they were low or using long cutting tools for pods higher up—and carried the heavy pods in baskets to collection points. Others cracked open the pods to remove the raw cocoa seeds.
The long process of fermentation followed. We heaped the raw cocoa seeds and covered them with plantain leaves, securing the coverings with medium-sized stones to keep them in place against the wind. After fermentation, the seeds were dried carefully.
My father meticulously checked the quality of each batch by slicing open a few dried seeds with a sharp knife and tasting them. The dryness and flavour of the seeds determined their market value.
One small delight we found during the hard work was the liquid from the raw cocoa seeds, which contained a little alcohol and served as a refreshing drink for us children.
In fact, my father’s ownership of the farm, located far from our village, gave me my first experience of travelling by lorry. I remember watching trees speeding past, a dazzling and unforgettable experience. For us children, the excitement of the journey often outweighed the purpose behind it.
During school holidays, we would travel with my father—sometimes my mother—and many members of our extended family. We would leave early in the morning, often in a lorry that had journeyed all the way from Ikarẹ, about 25 miles away. As we departed, the whole village would come out to say goodbye. Children and youths would watch us with admiration, as if we were setting off to a faraway land.
We stayed in Ẹda for about three to four weeks, working on the farm daily except Sundays, which were reserved for worship in the communal hut. In the afternoons, we children would go hunting for rats and squirrels.
The anticipation of these trips would keep us sleepless on the night before departure. We looked forward not to the farm work, but to the adventure—the chance to travel by lorry, to say goodbye to friends, and to explore the unfamiliar surroundings. But once we arrived in Ẹda, the excitement quickly gave way to hard work.
Our tasks were many. We sprayed cocoa and coffee trees with insecticides, harvested ripe cocoa pods—plucking them by hand when they were low or using long cutting tools for pods higher up—and carried the heavy pods in baskets to collection points. Others cracked open the pods to remove the raw cocoa seeds.
The long process of fermentation followed. We heaped the raw cocoa seeds and covered them with plantain leaves, securing the coverings with medium-sized stones to keep them in place against the wind. After fermentation, the seeds were dried carefully.
My father meticulously checked the quality of each batch by slicing open a few dried seeds with a sharp knife and tasting them. The dryness and flavour of the seeds determined their market value.
One small delight we found during the hard work was the liquid from the raw cocoa seeds, which contained a little alcohol and served as a refreshing drink for us children.
Extracts from Grace and Resilience: A Personal Story of My Life’s Journey
Comments
Post a Comment