By Fr. Melanio Viuya Jr., cicm

Mango Trees Galore

I was sitting near the tam-tam, suspended for years in front of the parish priest’s office which leads to the stairs going to the refectory. I was enjoying the marvel of nature by looking at the fragile mango trees planted by the missionaries of the parish of Yakamba. A few weeks ago, these trees aligned near the road, seemed to show some signs of death because of the most unbearable heat of the equatorial sun. Yet, now their branches have become so heavy with fruits that they seem to kneel in order to beseech people to start picking some. Since no one listen to their supplication they break their branches to the joy of the children who frequent our yard. However, the birds of the sky don’t let themselves be pushed around. They have already claimed their humble share.

Other Fruit

At the back of the house, near the kitchen, at the vegetable garden and along the track which leads to it, there are different sorts of fruit trees: oranges, avocado, safou, cherry, mango, banana. It’s the same thing that at the sister’s place, our neighbors. They have mango trees laden with fruits.

Caught in the Act

Yesterday, they told me a story about these trees. During the night when normally everyone is asleep (almost) the mangoes fall to the ground one after the other, sometimes two by two. The sound of which becomes like music wit ha fine rhythm that induces more sleep on those who are already asleep, including the vigilant security guards. The sisters who rise earlier than the guards have surprised some young girls from the school dormitory who were in their yard with pails brimful of mangoes on their heads. Seeing the sisters on their way to the chapel, they got afraid and without delay threw the pails on the ground and run away. Small as may be the crime, the sisters were not all that happy to see their mangoes leaving their yard without their knowing it. The only word which escaped from their mouth was: “Why don’t you plant fruit trees in your own yards so that you could also have mangoes?” The young girls escaped from the compound in silence.

On one occasion I had had the misfortune to hear a response to a similar question. I forbade a young boy from casting stones and sticks at the mangoes because it was dangerous for the roof of the house. He got angry and throwing the stones and the sticks on the ground he asked me: “Did you plant these trees yourself? Well, consume them all!” Then he went off chanting the same question. This conversation took place four years ago, when I’d just arrived in Yakamba. Smiling, I started to beat leisurely the tam-tam which is a witness to the different event taking place in the parish. The Christians beat the tam-tam when a new missionary arrives at the parish or when a missionary of the parish arrives from his vacation. Yet this time this tam-tam prefers to keep quit. But why?

Comes the Rain

All of a student I heard a far-off yet increasing and approaching noise. It was that powerful wind which almost always brings with it the rain. The latter is equally powerful because it can provoke the unexpected miscarriage of mango fruits when it rains too little or too much. The arrival of the wind and of the rain was not delayed. Hardly had I risen up to see from which direction it was coming but it was whipping the mango trees as well as the coconut trees. Together, they chased away the white herons, migrated from afar, who were enjoying the ripe mangoes ready for the harvest. The tiny weaver birds were also disturbed by this unwelcome rain.

Wind fall

Then more than fifteen young boys and girls came running like chickens freed from captivity outdoing one another to catch the morning worms. The children arrived without delay braving the rain and wind and the risk of being hit by the falling branches and mango fruits. All of a sudden, some were stretching their hands as if to tell their companions: This is my territory, all mangoes that fall with this area are mine!” while the others raised their eyes full of hope that any moment from now some fruits would fall. Each time a mango fell, two or three children would dive in to pick it up.

Free for all

The children enjoy rolling on the ground. What a scene! They rise up full of mud and cowdung – soft and sticky because of the rain. They look one another in order to discover who got the best fruit. Then the scrapping begins. One has to fight in order to win the prize. One has to take the risks in order to get the other’s mango fruit. These children know very well what their ancestor say: He who loves to eat chicken meat must learn to love also the chicken’s dirt. Some of the other children prefer to stand beside me, protected from the rain, afraid that their one and only set of clothes already tattered, would get wet. They are there hoping that their brothers and sisters well give them a mango or two.