an ode to the ackee tree.

a musing on the love and fear of the ackee tree.

I have been eating ackee all my life.

Some of you have never heard of it but if you have a Jamaican friend or two, I’m sure you may have encountered this egg-like — strange fruit.

It is my native land’s staple and my family’s choice of foreign living comfort food. With every bite, we have the trust of an innocent child as this potentially poisonous sustenance could have your belly rolling in agony or sudden death if not harvested or prepared in just the right way, at just the right time.

When its red fleshy outer skin breaks open and smiles to reveal a golden interior and dark pitted seed, then you know it is ready.

It cannot be forced before its time.

And any attempts to ignore this truth will leave a person in an insufferable regret.

One day I had just finished preparing a plate and paused mid-bite. For a moment, a feeling immobilized me in a complex mixture of apprehension and wonder about how the fear of this fruit was not greater than the joy of its presence in my mouth.

This is the fruit of my ancestors, ancestors. Out of the thousands of foliage in the motherland, someone amid the horror of the Atlantic slave trade felt that this likkle fruit born in West Africa needed to be with us. Its presence would be pivotal in supporting the guardians of this unique one-of-a-kind plant. The ackee tree was summoned to accompany our voyage and it saw everything, felt everything that we endured in that journey from man to slave.  I’d like to think that the ackee tree did not just sit idly by, it did what anyone would do for its guardian — whatever it could.

I imagine its own internal struggle as it hopelessly watched our suffering, shouting to the heavens,

“I am but a plant, what can I do for the ones I grow for?”

A question met with a gentle still answer from above saying,

“Don’t worry my dearest creation, I will make you strong and fruitful in this new land. Through you I will remind them of who they are and where they are from, they will have courage and joy despite their fears, and the patience to know wisdom comes to the steady and still — your guardians will know timing better than anyone. All of this because of you.”

This steadied the ackee’s worried heart and upon arrival, it was gently placed within the soil of foreign land. It grew and grew as strong as it could, so much so that it spread across the island as if it was always made to be there. Planted with new purpose, new codes of nourishment, and wisdom for the guardians whose lives were forever changed.

To think of plants as solely the passive recipients of sun, water, and care from humans and animals alike is to not know the depths of god’s love. A plant’s capacity to serve and support us goes beyond what we can see. There is no doubt that the ackee played a part in awakening the other-worldly spirited people of Jamaica who never have and never will forget who they are.

Lately, I have felt the pains of being out of sync — out of time. Every attempt to move forward has fallen swiftly and abruptly, halted by a universal “Not yet!” Like no matter what I do I feel off-beat but then I remember that even when I am off — I will always be on time. Letting the proverbial ackee smile on me, inevitability it is my birthright.

To the beloved ackee tree that taught us, protected us, healed us, and in return, we savored and honored it. This is the natural symbiotic relationship of love between plant, man, and god.