Iman Jamison/MiC
Bibi yangu.
My Grandmother. Her Tree. 

Bibi’s tree is yet to be a tree . . . but it is a tree to me.

A plant that is supposed to reach her God. 
A plant that we water, so it grows. 
A plant that we pray over hoping it protects her. 

Even if it never reaches even two ft tall.
It is a tree to me. 

The word plant isn’t enough.
A plant is so fragile. 
A plant is not worth the faith we have in its protection. 
A plant will whither. While a tree will thrive. 

A tree will keep growing towards her God. 
A tree will surpass the limits of the grave it's planted in. 
A tree signifies my Bibi much more than any plant could. 

My Bibi’s name was Salma. Peace.
Her name, just like her tree, means peace. Means safety. Means security. 

When I think of her tree, that is what her tree is to me. 

MiC Columnist Iman Jamison can be reached at