Bugingo Alice

When the great tree falls, do not immediately watch the branches. Watch the people who once sat beneath its shade. Some will mourn the tree. Others will measure the timber. The birds that built their nests there will suddenly find another tree. The hands that were fed by its fruit will forget who planted it. Old grudges will emerge from the forest, dressed as tradition, duty and concern. And while everyone argues over what belonged to the tree, look for the woman sitting quietly beside its roots. She remembers when it was only a seed. She watered it before it gave shade. Protected it before it bore fruit. Stood beside it through every storm. She loved it when there was absolutely nothing to inherit. Yet when the tree falls, even she may discover that those who once bowed before its branches have no difficulty stepping over its roots. That is the cruel lesson of death: Some people loved the tree. Others only loved the shade. Time eventually tells the difference.