THE earth has a memory and it never forgets. Every seed we plant, every tree we fell, every drop of blood spilled upon the soil becomes part of its story. What we call “climate change” may well be the land’s long, trembling reply to centuries of neglect and abuse. In this second part of our reflection, we move beyond the songs and colors of harvest to confront a sobering truth: the land that once fed us with grace now groans beneath the weight of our excesses.
Before we forget the power of nature, we must remember humility. We must see again the sacredness in rivers, the wisdom in trees, and the resilience in mountains. We must teach our children not only to study nature but to revere it; to understand that protecting it is not charity, but survival. For the earth does not need our gratitude or our apologies. It needs our respect. And if we forget, it will remind us as it always has, in ways we may not be ready to face.
Today, we find ourselves relying heavily on manure, chemical fertilizers, and genetically modified (GM) feeds to keep up with the demands of a rapidly growing population. While it is understandable perhaps even necessary to explore ways of producing more food to feed the millions who depend on the land, we must tread carefully. The convenience of quick growth and higher yields should not blind us to the silent cost it exacts on our soil, our water, and ultimately, our health. The land, once rich and self-renewing, is gradually losing its natural rhythm under the weight of artificial intervention. If we are not cautious, the very solution we embrace today may become tomorrow’s poison, leaving behind a legacy of depleted soil, weakened crops, and generations battling the health implications of a chemically altered food chain.
As I once reflected in my earlier piece, “Eating from the Land We Poisoned with Our Blood,” we continue to draw sustenance from a land we have desecrated, a land burdened by human greed, bloodshed, and neglect. We eat from the same soil we have polluted with plastic, oil, and the blood of our own history. The irony of our harvest is that we celebrate abundance while standing upon wounded ground. The land that has given us many benefits such as: Environmental benefits like, oxygen production, water cycle regulation, soil formation and erosion prevention. Food and Nutrient benefits, Social and Economic benefits, Health and Well-being benefits and also the land we go back to when our mortal lives come to a close.
Considering that of all the lands in the universe, the planet earth is the only land with life. What I find most disturbing is the blood of our founding fathers spilled upon the land, a haunting reminder of our nation’s complex history, which may be perpetuating our country’s backwardness and hindering its development. My take on this therefore, is that the land is angry and fighting back. It is not good enough to call it climate change without finding ways of giving back to the land a bit of what we have taken over the centuries and keep taking. The study of ancient civilization demands from us that our interaction with the land must always be guided by a commitment to leaving it in a better state than when we found it.
Nigeria, a land of boundless potential and wealth, finds itself in the throes of disarray. The political, economic, and social state of the nation bears the hallmarks of a failing state- an unsettling reality that begs the question: how did we arrive here? The answer lies not in the abstract but in the land itself, a land defiled by generations of grievous offenses.
The roots of Nigeria’s current predicament stretch back centuries, to a time when its people made an unholy pact. Driven by the lure of economic and material gain, they betrayed their own, selling brothers and sisters into a fate that would become chattel
slavery in the New World. In the process, the land was stained with the blood of the captured, their cries of anguish echoing through time. This original sin marked the land, leaving it in a state of perpetual defilement.
Yet, this is not merely a case of the sins of the fathers being revisited upon the sons. Successive generations have continued to poison the land, compounding its offense with each passing era. The atrocities of the past are mirrored in the present: the blood spilled by bandits on the roads and by leaders in government houses alike keeps the land in a state of grievance. The exploitation of Nigeria’s abundant natural resources has enriched a few while leaving the majority in destitution. Political corruption, social inequality, and economic stagnation-these are the bitter fruits of a poisoned harvest.
And let us all stand indicted for these offenses as it is not enough to point fingers at history or our leaders. We must look inward and accept that none of our hands are without blemish. Every act of dishonesty in our daily lives and every betrayal of our communal values contributes to the cycle of pollution and decay. We are the toxin that is continually injected into the soil.
So, as we continue to eat from the land we have poisoned, we can expect no sustenance, no health, and no vitality. A society built on a foundation of betrayal and perpetuated by bloodshed is bound to remain malnourished. The time has come for introspection and atonement. Atonement begins with acknowledgment-recognizing the sins of the past and present. It requires a collective reckoning with the actions that have brought us to this point. Only by addressing the root causes of our disarray can we hope to heal the land and, in turn, ourselves. Until we accept responsibility for what we have done and are doing, we will remain trapped in this cycle of self¬destruction. The question now is: do we have the courage to face our reflection, to
make amends, and to chart a new course? Or will we continue to sow seeds of discord and despair, expecting a different harvest? The choice, as always, is ours.
At my age now in my late eighties, I find it increasingly important to ensure that the traditions and cultural practices we’ve witnessed in recent weeks and months do not fade away as mere festivities or fleeting moments of merriment. These end-of- farming-season celebrations must not be reduced to dancing, drumming, and displays of color alone; they carry within them the deep wisdom of our ancestors, a reminder of the bond between man and the soil, and the gratitude that sustains both the land and the spirit. It is this meaning the sacred connection between labor, harvest, and thanksgiving that we must strive to preserve before it slips into oblivion.
