Tall bitterleaf plants, known as olugbu, surrounded by beautiful waterleaf plants in my garden.
Bitterleaf. Olugbu. Olubi. Onugbu. One vegetable I did not like as a child! It was not because of the taste. Once olugbu entered a hot pot of egusi soup the way my mother prepared it, I had no complaints. My problem was the rigorous and, in my childhood opinion, tormenting process of washing the leaves.
Whenever I suspected my mother planned to make olugbu soup,
I would silently hope for a sudden illness (nothing serious, of course, just
enough to excuse me from the washing duty). But those convenient illnesses never
seemed to arrive. Instead, I would be there, rubbing and squeezing the leaves
again and again, changing the water repeatedly, and wondering whether the
bitterness would ever end.
To make things worse, mother would sometimes let the harvested leaves sit in the sun for a couple of hours before we washed them. That toughened the leaves and made the washing process even longer. Her explanation? ‘Ka a tatakwani ya atata’, meaning, so that you could actually get to chew them.
At the time, I couldn't understand why anybody needed to chew their bitterleaf THAT bad! All I knew was that the leaves were now
stronger, my hands were tired, and the soup was taking too long to reach the
pot.
When I left home for my undergraduate studies, I discovered the freedom of buying already-washed olugbu from the market women. Imagine that! Somebody else had already fought the battle with the bitterness. I could go home, add the leaves to my egusi soup, and enjoy the reward without the torment. That felt like progress.
Fast-forward more than two decades, and I am now the one crossing seven seas, seven forests, and seven lands looking for olugbu in the United States. Just seeing the plants brings me so much joy. I tend them carefully, check their leaves, and look forward to harvesting them. I do not even mind washing them anymore. In fact, I sometimes let them sit for a little while before washing, just as my mother did, so that "m 'gitatakwani ya atata" meaning "So I myself can get to chew them too!" Look at life!
Perhaps growing older teaches us to recognize the love hidden inside the tasks we once resented. This plant connects me to my mother’s kitchen, the farm, the market women, and a version of myself who did not yet understand that one day I would miss the very things I was trying to escape. The leaf is still bitter, but the memory has become sweet.
The very things we once hurried away from can become the roots that call us home.
Garden & Reflections offers a glimpse into the experiences
and everyday lessons that shape me beyond the therapy room. These personal
reflections are shared thoughtfully while honoring the professional boundaries
of the counseling relationship.