The Sweet _Pot

The purple sweet potato never had the chance to become a hearty meal. After sitting on the dining room table for so long, it decided to fulfil another purpose. It sprouted.

Within weeks, long, healthy roots were reaching north, south, east, and west! I was amazed and excited to see its rapid growth. It felt magical - thriving with no water, no soil, no human intervention.

The small strip of earth outside my bedroom window had been meant for flowers, according to my landlord, but I had something else in mind. After a quick Google search, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I planted that single sweet potato and its slips (the shoots that had sprouted) to see what would happen. so, the very next day, I carefully placed the shrivelled bulb into the soil and to my delight, it grew like wildfire!

Its green leaves seemed happy, and so was I. The broad smile that would light up my face whenever I checked on it was proof of the joyful pleasure that one humble sweet potato brought me. (I know nature and Her wonders does that to me!) Before long, the vines had spread far beyond the little plot of earth, spilling across the paved compound. Visitors would stop and marvel at what they saw. I watered that patch with pride. Eventually, I began thinking about who I could share the slips with. Not only did I share them, but I also gave my time and energy to help re-plant them into their new homes.

At the time, I was volunteering once a week at a botanical garden in Kerr Serign. Despite their requests for me to come more often, my one day a week was precious. I brought with me a large bag filled with eight - to ten inch lengths of slips I had cut. Even preparing them for sharing filled me with joy. The head gardener was impressed, and so the good news spread further afield. Together, we had already prepared the earth, so that day we merrily placed them into position, watered well, leaving them to settle into their new location.

Unfortunately, other commitments meant I couldn’t continue volunteering, but I was glad to have contributed. I have a habit of passing through people and places, leaving behind the energy of my time, skills, and knowledge. In each place, I share my enthusiasm.

On another bright and beautiful day, I visited the home of a young woman I had met during a day trip to a village to support a local school. On the way back to the city, we had struck up a conversation. She wanted to start her natural hair journey and had complimented my locks, so I offered to twist or cornrow her hair to begin the process. When the day came, we talked and laughed together while I worked on her hair. I mentored her through some of her challenges and even offered to support her mother by planting out some of my sweet potato slips in their compound.

Their soil was tough to work with, but with her father, younger brother, and I working side by side, we prepared the bed and planted the slips. I even lent her 1000D with the promise that she would pay it back. She never did, and she never returned. I never got to see the results of our hard work. It was a shame, but still, the act of giving felt worth while.

Another batch of those beautiful slips made their way all the way to Sanyang. This time, I shared them with a Black British woman who had become a property agent in The Gambia. We had met while she was helping me look for a place to live - an ordeal that was anything but smooth. When she invited me to her moving-in party, I went along with a friend. Knowing she had space to grow them, I brought the young plants as a gift. She even offered me a piece of her land to cultivate other crops. That day, I prepared the ground by myself, soaking up the goodness in the process as always. When harvest time came, I never saw her again, and I never shared in the fruits of what I planted.

Even though I did not get to taste the harvest from any of these plantings, I know I spread my love, care, and attention around The Gambia. And that, to me, is just as valuable. One unexpected surprise from that day, however, was the kitten I brought home. The woman’s three cats had given birth around the same time, and I couldn’t leave without adopting one of those cute tiny babies. The one I chose, she was white, black, brown, and tan, so small she fit in the palm of my hand. my friend decided to give her the name Lucky and it fit.

Two years later, I found myself preparing to leave The Gambia and faced a dilemma: what to do with Lucky. She had developed some mischievous habits; nibbling holes in my clothes, bringing home presents of dead birds and leaving them on the doorstep. I felt guilty asking someone to take that on. Then, as if by fate, my schoolteacher friend came to help me pack. Upon meeting Lucky, he immediately got drawn into her sphere and offered to take her in. I almost cried with relief. It felt like a full-circle moment.

I had met Mr Dee, while volunteering at Sanyang Basic School, where I had offered to help revive their neglected school garden. I worked there for four months, designing a new layout, providing seeds, and sharing ideas. When I returned after the rainy season, I was amazed at how beautiful and thriving the garden was. Dee had kept it going.

Today, Lucky lives happily in Gunjur, the town next to Sanyang, in Dee’s care. I still receive updates and pictures of her now and then and it warms my heart to know she is loved.

This entire chain of events - all the gardens, all the giving, all the connections - began with a single, forgotten rotten sweet potato.

Life has a way of circling back. What we give to the world has a way of finding its way home to us.