The night before our excursion, I laid out my feather-weight chambray pants and my new
off-white blouse with the a/c sleeves/eyelet for the hot weather. The next afternoon, I pulled on
the pants and tucked in the blouse ending my formerly hour-glass, though aging, figure. In the
mirror, my bod was a gigantic trunk – with no waist whatsoever, and no distinguishing feature.
Every angle looked the same: a barrel that had morphed into a total sequoia.
I was utterly speechless about my image, phoning my friend Ellen during my whine,
which included: “I’m late and can’t go out in public like this!” (I’m never completely
speechless.)
“Just yank on some black pants and a top. We’re waiting!” Ellen said. I also heard the
mumbled, “A baobab tree.”
“Whaaa?” I said.
Eventually, I looked up that tree. There are many varieties but only one shape that
resembled mine. The tree is found in Africa, Australia, and Madagascar, is quite slow-growing
and long-lived. Some photos look like mature bonsai trees. In the island country of Madagascar,
there is a baobab tree that is claimed to be one thousand years old. Several of the trunks are
gigantic, appear swollen, and resemble a barrel . . .
Did someone invent a camera a thousand years ago? Who can prove that tree’s age?
If I inhaled, I had several bulbous rolls blooming. Even standing, with my arms overhead,
my waist had definitely disappeared. The photos matched my mirror image. I had never heard of
the baobab tree before. Legend has it that “the devil plucked up the baobab, thrust its branches
into the earth, and left its roots in the air.”
My fine, fly-away hair resembled the misty greenery topping of the trees in some of those
Googled photos.
Consider another “tree” that I knew nothing about: the saguaro cactus of the Arizona
desert. It also has nocturnal flowers as fascinating as the large, white flowers of the baobab. And
both tree types are often pollinated by bats (let’s hear it for the bats!) and can store much water in
their trunks; they both are succulents in that way. The baobab’s fruit, when ripe, hangs like “dead
rats by their tails.”
Now, that’s a sight that would give anyone sore eyeballs! And here I was going to
mention, eventually, a holiday tree that gives a bejeweled glow to every face around it. But this
rat-tail sight is the opposite of any glowing vision of a holiday tree.
However, locals call the baobab tree “The Tree of Life.” They have used the fruit and
other parts for culinary and medicinal purposes. The fruit can produce a healthy soup. Whether
or not we ever taste the soup, we have to admire the ingenuity of the people harvesting the
goofy-looking fruit and making the soup.
Boosting the immune system, the fruit reduces fever and improves digestive health.
Emphasis on digestive health is a current concern of us Americans obsessed with using
probiotics . . . Whatever happened to Tums?
Would you believe that Amazon carries the organic fruit powder (gluten-free) and
“African baobab seed oil” for hair and skin? This oil is advised for use on the body, lips, and
nails. What oil isn’t?
The tree’s seeds are also for sale – if you are a patient gardener and can include the tree in
your will.
How could I not have heard of this intriguing tree? Shapeless, skinny, or bulbous, the tree
is a wonder. And my friend Ellen had heard of the tree.
I have watched with interest the documentary of a Burkina Faso hero. Where in the heck
is Burkina Faso? This country is landlocked in West Africa. The capital is Ouagadougou.
For 47 years, this man, whose name is less pronounceable than the capital, has planted
baobab trees. For several years, he has planted 400 trees each year. Children help him, as well as
adults. He began planting mango trees but learned that many people did that, so he chose to go in
a different direction. I had heard of Burkina Faso, which is, in itself, remarkable.
This man tells us in the documentary that tradition says that whoever plants a baobab tree
will die. He notes that his father never planted a baobab tree but died. What logic!
Regarding what I thought was my stunning ensemble, I returned the off-white blouse to
Old Navy. I told the clerk that the blouse was too short to tuck in properly (true!), especially with
my arms raised above my head while trying to get a flattering gander. That definitely was a
failure.
I did not get into detail about the baobab tree; the clerk was way too young to have heard
of it. For the rest of this year, I have avoided pulling on those chambray pants with the silver-
studded front pockets and string tie. Maybe I will never.
I want some of the soup
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