MAMA KOKO AND THE FOREST
Long ago, in the green-veined village of Akanze, there lived an elderly woman named Mama Koko. Her back was bent like a calabash bowl left too long in the sun, but her spirit—ah!—her spirit was stronger than the iroko tree.People said Mama Koko could speak to the forest spirits. Others whispered she had lived so long because she drank moonlight. Children loved her, adults respected her, and even the stubborn goats stepped aside when she walked by with her raffia staff.But Mama Koko’s wisdom came with responsibility.
THE FOREST CRY
One Harmattan season, the great forest began to wither. Leaves curled as if afraid, birds fled, and a strange silence settled between the trees. Hunters returned empty-handed. Farmers found their yam leaves turning yellow.The village chief sent for Mama Koko.“Mama,” he said, “your forest is sick. If it dies, we die with it. Speak to your friends in the shadows. Ask what they want.”Mama Koko nodded. “The forest does not die unless humans forget their place.”That night, she tied cowrie shells around her wrists, smeared white clay across her forehead, and walked alone into the forest.
THR SPIRIT OF THE HEARTWOOD
At the heart of the woods stood a tree older than memory—Okuru, the Heartwood Spirit. Its trunk rose like a pillar carved by the gods themselves.“Mama Koko,” the tree groaned as its branches trembled, “your people have taken too much. They cut without asking. They hunt without offering thanks. The balance is broken.”Mama Koko bowed her head. “Forgive us, Heartwood. Tell me how to heal what is broken.”The spirit’s voice sank like a drumbeat into the ground.“Bring the village together. Teach them to remember.”The Night of RemembranceMama Koko returned and called everyone—children, elders, farmers, hunters—around a blazing fire.She sang the old songs, the ones that named every tree and every river spirit. She told stories of the first ancestors who walked the forest with bare feet and humble hearts. She taught the villagers how to offer gratitude before taking wood or water.Then she led them to the forest.Each villager touched the ground and whispered an apology.
In a quiet village bordered by rolling hills and a great green forest lived an old woman named Mama Koko. Everyone knew her — not because she was the oldest, or because she had the loudest laugh, but because she understood the forest better than anyone.
Her home stood at the forest’s edge, and every morning at sunrise, Mama Koko stepped outside, leaned on her walking stick carved from iroko wood, and greeted the forest:
“Good morning, old friend.”
The forest always answered her —
a whispering wind, a rustle of leaves, a bird’s single note.—
The Forest’s Warning
One day, as Mama Koko walked under the tall trees, she noticed something strange.
Fewer birds were singing.
The earth felt dry beneath her feet.
Even the river’s laughter was fading.
She followed the uneasy feeling deeper into the trees until she saw the cause:
Strangers with axes, cutting down the forest’s oldest giants.
These were trees that had shaded five generations, trees that held nests, medicine, food, and memory.
Mama Koko placed her hand on the stump of a fallen tree.
It was still warm — as if its spirit had only just left.Her voice trembled.
“My children… who will protect you now?”—
Return to the Village
That evening, Mama Koko called for a village meeting. Everyone gathered beneath the great baobab — the “Tree of the First People.”
Mama Koko raised her staff high.
> “If the forest dies, we die,” she said.
“It gives us water, food, shade, herbs, air. We are part of it. Without the forest, we are lost.”
The villagers murmured in fear.
They had always taken the forest for granted, believing it would last forever.—
Mama Koko’s Plan
She told them the strangers must be stopped — but not with anger or violence.
Instead, she explained a plan that was gentle, wise, and strong:
1. Replant what is lost.
Every tree cut must be replaced with two new ones.
2. Protect what remains.
A watch-group would guard the forest day and night.
3. Teach the children.
Knowledge must be passed on — so the forest’s future is safe.
4. Take only what you need.
The hunters would hunt less.
The gatherers would gather with care.
The healers would use herbs responsibly.The villagers agreed.
They trusted Mama Koko, whose heart beat in rhythm with the land.—
Healing the Forest
The next morning, the whole village marched into the forest.
Men dug holes for young trees.
Women carried seeds in baskets.
Children watered tiny seedlings with gourds.
Elders sang the old songs to bless the soil.
Slowly, the forest began to heal.
Birds returned.
The river grew louder and clearer.
Shade deepened, cool and comforting.Mama Koko walked among the saplings, whispering:
“Grow strong, little ones. The world needs you.”
—
Mama Koko’s Last Walk
Years passed.
Mama Koko grew older still, her steps smaller, her voice softer.One day, she asked the children to walk with her into the forest. They held her hands as she showed them the trees they had planted long ago — now tall and proud.
She handed them a small leather pouch filled with seeds.
> “These are for you,” she said.
“Plant them when your hearts tell you it is time.
The forest lives because you care.”
That night, Mama Koko lay down beneath an iroko tree — one she had planted as a child. The wind blew gently, and the leaves whispered as if welcoming her home.
By morning, she had joined the ancestors.
—
Her Legacy
The children grew up telling stories of Mama Koko.
They protected the forest with pride.
They planted trees every season.
They taught their own children what she had taught them.And so, the forest lived —
strong, green, and full of song.Whenever the wind rustled the leaves, the villagers would smile and say:
“Mama Koko is speaking.”