Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

Fifteen years ago, my feet stepped on a land nourished by Baobabs and it happened that when we stepped on it again, the sound of the passing wind, was still the Baobab, the tree built upside down, was the Baobab, the calabash full of fruits, was the Baobab, the long-lived tree with multiple uses, was still the Baobab. The sigh of leaves, was the Baobab. The hallelujahs of the sun, was for the Baobab. Each time we stood, we looked. Each time we looked, we stood. When our visit came to an end, and the wind bid us gently goodbye, with loving arms, the Baobab carried us still, from this to that.