“Is it only in Warima where ‘An elderly person can see farther than what a child sees standing”?
Bongolistically yours,
*Mallam O.*
The sun hung low over our rice farm in Warima, about an hour’s walk from the village. It cast an orange and golden glow across the sky. It was so beautiful that I was expecting a rainbow!
Daddy and I had climbed up the platform he had made, like an observatory for the farm. It had a roof covered with palm fronds. Its weathered sticks creaked beneath us as Daddy and I sat, watching the vast expanse of yellowish green paddies stretching out like a living quilt. A gentle breeze rustled the stalks, making them greet one another. I always like to see him wearing his straw hat, which he tilted today against the fading light.
I was lost in the view when a memory appeared in my mind; something my teacher had said in class at Church of God Primary School in Warima:
*“An elderly person can see farther than what a child sees standing.”*
The words had lingered, like a riddle I couldn’t quite solve. I turned to Daddy and asked,
*“Daddy, what does it mean when they say an old person can see farther than a child, even when the child is standing?”*
He chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to rise from deep in his chest, and set his hat on the platform beside him.
*“That’s a good one, daddy,”* he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. When we were together, you wouldn’t know who you were referring to if you only said ‘daddy’. He was named after his dad and he named me after himself.
*“But words like that aren’t just about what your eyes can see. Let’s find out what they really mean. Come, stand up here by my side, daddy.”*
I scrambled to my feet, brushing bits of straw from my trousers, and stood tall next to him as he remained seated on the platform.
*“Now,”* he said, *“look out there and tell me what you see.”*
My gaze swept across the farm. The rice paddies shimmered under the sunset, and in the distance, a line of palm trees stood like sentinels against the horizon.
*“I see the last tall palm tree,”* I said proudly, pointing to the farthest one, its fronds catching the golden light. *“The really tall one, way out there beyond the farm.”*
Daddy nodded, a small smile playing on his lips.
*“Good eyes,”* he said. *“That’s a fine tree. Now, let me tell you what I see whilst I’m sitting here.”*
He leaned forward slightly, his voice softening putting his hand on my head, as if sharing a secret.
*“I see the seasons changing over this farm. I see the years when the rains came late, and we prayed for water to keep the rice alive. I see the mornings your mum and I worked side by side, planting every stalk with our hands, laughing even when our backs ached. I see you, barely able to walk, toddling through the mud and giggling when you fell.”*
I frowned, tilting my head.
*“But, Daddy, I don’t see any of that. That’s not out there right now. I just see the farm and the palm tree.”*
He laughed again, this time softer, and he explained. His eyes were far away now, as if he were looking at something I couldn’t touch.
*“When your teacher said an elderly person sees farther, she didn’t mean one’s normal eyes. She meant an elder’s heart and thoughts.”*
I blinked, still puzzled.
*“Just not in the way you’re looking. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you carry the past with you. Every year, every harvest, every joy, and every struggle, they all stack up, like layers of soil in this farm. When I look out there, I don’t just see the palm tree. I see the story of this land, the people who’ve worked it, the hopes we’ve planted in it. That’s what it means to see farther. It’s not about how tall you stand, daddy, it’s about how much you’ve lived and learnt.”*
I chewed on that, staring out at the paddies. The last palm tree was still there, sharp against the sky, but now I tried to imagine what Daddy saw: the years, the struggles, the laughter. It was like trying to see a dream someone else was having. ‘Will I see like that one day?’ I asked myself.
Daddy reached over and ruffled my hair.
*“You will, little one. Every day you live, you’re adding to what you can see. One day, you’ll stand on a platform like this, and you’ll see this farm, but you’ll also see us. You will see you and me, sitting here, talking about old sayings. And you’ll smile, because you’ll know what they mean.”*
The sun dipped lower, and the farm seemed to glow, as if it held all those stories Daddy talked about. I leaned against his shoulder, trying to see it all through his eyes. I wasn’t sure I could yet, but for the first time, I wanted to try.
—
Oh what another rainy Saturday in Freetown! May God continue to bless you.
Mallam O.
