At Shamba Miti Mingi, Christine tells me about one of her special mini-experiments: her two coconut circles—coconut palm trees planted from seed in a circle with a large, 2m-deep pit in the middle filled with compost and dead matter (leaves and branches) from around the farm. Nature’s quiet alchemy at work: her first circle, planted about 2 years ago, now reaches 2.5m high. Then she points to a lone palm tree planted a few meters away—barely reaching my knees. Like the trees in a forest, that we now know enjoy each other’s “touch” and source energy from shared nutrients underground, palm trees planted in this manner thrive as a community.
Christine’s project is more than just a clever farming technique; it’s a quiet parable about life itself. Her coconut circles embody the very essence of community: interdependence, shared resources, and collective strength. Strength and resilience that come from cooperation rather than competition. It’s a subject that’s always brought to the forefront for me whenever I travel in these parts: I feel lucky enough to have seen some semblance of community in my early years, but it’s something too far-fetched now. The cities I have called home over the last couple of decades have almost convinced me that our communities are all but extinct.
Ironic, perhaps, coming from someone who cherishes solitude—yet if anything ever feels missing in my life, it’s this.
On the reading list: The Hidden Life of Trees
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