Almond Fruits—A Repository For Memories

Text and Photos by Ifenaike Michael Ayomipo

At Obafemi Awolowo University, there's a path that leads to a particular place called Moremi Hall; that path is ornamented with almond trees and their tart, delicious fruits.

Apart from its pleasant and unique taste, the almond fruit stands out as the only fruit that’s referred to simply as “fruit” by the majority in Nigeria. People were unable to obtain the true name of the fruit, therefore they settled for the moniker "fruit." The name is an attempt to avoid being wrong since it is, undeniably, a fruit.

It’s hard to find a Lagos State Government-owned secondary school without an almond tree. This is because Lagos State Government strongly upholds the significance of forestation. In a broadcast published by electronic news outlet Today, the Lagos State government said it would plant orchards in 20 secondary schools. In a bid to fulfil its forestation schemes in secondary schools, varieties of trees like mango, guava and other trees that don’t produce fruits are planted. 

Almond trees almost always find their way into the schools’ surroundings for purposes like beautification, creation of outdoor learning space, improvement of air quality, provision of shade and others—not consumption. This is because the students are exposed to injuries if they serve such benefits. For instance, a student may be exposed to fracture as they try to climb the trees, so there are rules regarding that and punishment for any student who violates them. 

Since my mother never allowed me to roam freely in our residential area, I only had the opportunity to consume the fruit from a tree, whenever I snuck out of our apartment. The fruit isn’t available for sale because almond trees were planted in almost every community.  

Enrolling in a government-owned secondary school made me think I could consume as much almond fruit as I wanted, since we had more than four of trees planted in my school. However, I noticed students stayed away from trees. The reason became crystal clear when the school management organized an orientation program where the newly admitted students were warned to stay away from the trees.

Climbing the tree to handpick the fruit would be unfavorable, as the ripe fruits are tiny and turn obscure to the climber. The ideal way is to stand on the ground and aim at the fruits with a long stick or stones.

A week later, I found a way to enjoy the delicious fruit. Most of us had to trek some distance home. On my first trek home, I discovered there are more almond trees planted along the way. I saw my cohort stop by these trees to pluck fruit and create recreational centers out of their environs. The following week, I joined my peers, and I soon became a habitual visitor. 

The almond tree is a deciduous tree, growing with an average height of 20 feet, and with a trunk of up to a foot. Climbing the tree to handpick the fruit would be unfavorable, as the ripe fruits are tiny and turn obscure to the climber. The ideal way is to stand on the ground and aim at the fruits with a long stick or stones.

We never got tired of relishing its tart taste; we would always come back for more. It had a way of quenching our hunger while we conversed. Every spot that'd an almond tree was one of our mediums of socialization as some of us formed our friendship structures from these environs. 

From there, I learned how to speak Pidgin English so well. I can't forget an Igbo classmate of mine who began to speak the Yoruba language somewhat fluently as he interacted with other Yoruba boys and girls who were also frequent visitors. 

Because of the ample almond trees on our way home, we plucked as many fruits as we could and even plucked for our siblings. It was customary for me to put a polythene bag inside my school bag before I leave home for school, so I could bring home the fruits for my siblings. 

The fragrance is so overwhelming that it always announced itself whenever I got home; my siblings would run up to me, so they could whet their tongue with its tart taste. Most times, my mother left home before the arrival of my younger siblings, and the fruit would be the only thing my siblings had for lunch. I liked to see them sharing it as a symbolic representation of love, since it somewhat looks like a heart. The hustle to eat more almond fruits than any other person was a form of closeness between us siblings. The scramble to munch more, its scattered hard shells on the carpeted floor and my persistent act of bringing home the fruits were all physical forms of our familial love. 

The almond fruit is versatile: When the hull is completely eaten, one is left with a hard shell that shelters a nut. My siblings and I would gather the shells, then break them delicately with a hammer so the nuts inside them would not be squashed. Every now and then, we’d find a fruit with two nuts inside. We would gather the nuts and use them alongside soaked garri.

There are almond trees along the trek home from school; sometimes, students stop by these trees to pluck fruit and create recreational centers out of their environs.

The doings of time have happened to my colleagues and me. Some had fallen out of touch. Some have formed families already, while some of us are still finding greener pastures on the bosoms of education. 

I am a grown individual now. And every time I walk past an almond tree, I see some of my sweetest childhood days being played on its body. Presently, I am a student at Obafemi Awolowo University, one of Nigeria’s top-notch universities. There's a path that leads to a particular place called Moremi Hall; that path is ornamented with almond trees. I go there every night to meditate, so I could see my childhood come before me again, and my friends are beginning to ask me why I am obsessed with this place. Eating almond fruit at least twice a month makes me feel young again.