In 2023, we were preparing some land for sesame cultivation. As the agronomist managing the farm, I had already mapped out the areas where we needed to do logging.
Before the operation started, I gave my saw operators one instruction: “Leave any lone tree standing in the field.” There is a local belief where I come from that some very old trees are habitats for forest spirits. According to the belief, cutting such trees down could bring problems to the farm and affect your harvest.
Now, as an agronomist who was born and raised in the village, I have always tried to find a balance between science and indigenous knowledge. I don’t blindly accept everything. But I also don’t dismiss the wisdom of people who have lived on the land for generations.
There was one particular section of this farm that had caught my attention. From my assessment, there was relatively high phosphorus availability in that area. That made the section particularly interesting to me.
And guess what? That was exactly where this massive Iroko tree was standing. The tree was extremely old. It had holes all over it, and it looked like it had been standing there for generations. Anyway, work continued.
At some point, I needed fuel, so I called the office to arrange for fuel support. While waiting, I was resting under a cashew tree when suddenly…
I stopped hearing the sound of the chainsaw. I walked over to check what was happening. My operators told me: “Oga, the saw don stop working.”
I asked them where. They pointed at the Iroko tree. Apparently, the chainsaw stopped working when they got to that particular tree.
I collected the chainsaw and took it all the way to Idah to my trusted chainsaw mechanic, Ejike. I told him what happened.
He checked the machine and said: “Esude, nothing dey do am.” Then he started the chainsaw.
Vrrrrrrr!
The machine came alive. I was shocked. I immediately called my operators. “Try am again.” They started it. It was working perfectly. I said, “Haba!”
But it was already getting late, so I told everyone, “Tomorrow na.” The next day, I took the operators back to the farm.
We got to that section. They tried the chainsaw. Bros no gree start. Ghenghen!
At this point, I didn’t know whether to laugh, investigate further, or simply go home. I moved to one corner and called my mother.
“Mama, see o… This particular section I told you about, our saw just dey spoil whenever we get there.” She asked me a few questions.
Then she simply said something that has stayed with me till today: “Use your head. Some moves are not worth it. Leave that place immediately.” And that was how we abandoned that section.
No argument. No proving a point. We left the Iroko standing. Now, did the tree really have anything to do with the chainsaw?
I honestly don’t know. Maybe there was something about the wood that affected the machine. Maybe the chainsaw had a mechanical issue that happened to occur there. Maybe it was simply coincidence.
Science may eventually explain it. But farming has taught me something beyond science: Not everything you don’t understand must be challenged.
Sometimes, wisdom is knowing when to push forward…
and when to leave something alone.
That section of the farm remained untouched.
And that old Iroko tree?
It is still standing.
Because sometimes, the smartest farmer is not the one who knows everything.
It is the one who knows when he doesn’t know enough.
Umaru Ezekiel Esude
