28/04/2026
Tunde and the Plantain Field
The first c**k crow hadn't finished before Tunde was already at the edge of the family land. He was a tall, lean boy with a dark complexion that seemed to soak up the early Lagos sun. In his hands: a well-worn cutlass and a hoe passed down from his father.
Clearing the Bush
The 6ft by 4ft plot his uncle marked out was thick with stubborn weeds and wild shrubs. Tunde tied his wrapper tighter around his waist and started. Chuk. Chuk. Chuk. The cutlass bit into green stems. He worked in silence except for the sound of his blade and the distant hum of the expressway. By 9am, the ground was bare, dotted with roots he’d have to dig out next.
Making the Mounds
Plantain hates waterlogged feet, Mama always said. So Tunde drove his hoe into the reddish soil, heaping it into raised mounds about 2 feet apart. Sweat traced clean lines down his face. Between mounds, he left footpaths wide enough for his younger sister to carry water without stepping on new shoots.
Planting the Suckers
From a sack under the mango tree, he pulled plantain suckers — young shoots with sword-like leaves. Each one was a promise. He dug a hole at the center of every mound, placed a sucker in, and covered the roots with loose, dark soil. "Grow tall," he murmured, patting the earth firm. "Make us proud."
Mulch and Wait
Last came dry grass for mulch. Tunde spread it around each mound to keep the soil cool and hold water when the rains came. He stood back, hands on hips, surveying his morning's work: 15 mounds, 15 chances.
By harvest time, those suckers would be taller than him, heavy with bunches of plantain. Enough to eat, enough to sell at Mile 12 Market. Enough to buy new books for school.
Tunde picked up his tools. The sun was high now, but his heart was lighter than the morning dew. The land was ready.
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