Abundance

Inner cities are often hard places. The concrete of high rise buildings and the tar of well- worn roads are matched only in their starkness by the steely resolve of more modern day structures. There is precious little greenery apart from the resilient weeds which grow through the cracks of the time trodden sidewalks, or the odd defiant tree which has survived road expansions, accidents, arson, firewood gatherers and the shot hole borer beetle.

Hard places have hard people. The homeless find homes under bridges, criminals conspire in corners, drug addicts dwell in their dens, and not even the taxis stop for too long. Even if there was something to look at, if you stop here, you may take in more than the scenery. You may invite trouble, and it is best to keep moving with intent.

It is no place for naturalists, and certainly no place for farmers.

And yet, just off Bertrams road in Johannesburg there is a farm. A farm in an inner city in Africa.

Ma’ Refiloe is the curator of this land and she walks the soft soils of its earth. She refers to all the plants as her babies, and because her babies are always growing, she never stops working. She will sleep when she dies she tells me, and there is no resting in the day with her feet up, and certainly no December leave. Besides, her diverse ‘offspring’ keep her young, and because, as she chuckles, food is medicine, she has never consulted a doctor in over sixteen years of tilling her fields.

Ma’ is not young. I have learned through some embarrassing incidents not to ask a woman’s age, but I assume this because she has seven children of her own. Five daughters, all of whom have a university degree, and two sons, the youngest of which has just completed his final year of schooling. She beams a radiant smile at this realization, and it is clear that no school fees were ever at risk in favour of an orthodontist’s steep bill. The health of her teeth are unquestioned though as she plucks a fresh carrot from the soil, slaps it against her shoe to remove some of the sediment, and bites with a crunchy delight into the freshness of her produce. Though not young, she is sprightly, and she has more difficulty navigating the surety of a staircase at a recent lunch we shared, than she does prancing across the uneven beds of her vegetables. She moves differently when she is on her farm, with a lightness and grace which only comes when one is in their element.

This is her life, and all are welcome.

Young boys come to help her, and in doing so she keeps their stomachs full and the streets a little emptier. Shoppers come to shop. Students arrive to learn about agriculture, old people potter around for a little more purpose, and we, well we come to learn about leadership.

Lots has been written about the analogy of Leaders as gardeners. Tending the soils, creating the right environment for growth, inviting diversity, weeding out the problem children, being patient, working within one’s circle of influence and adapting to extraneous factors. Gardeners seem to align the head, the heart and the hands to produce beauty and to help all seedlings realize their full potential. Ma’ does this all, and the result is there to see, but there is one thing Ma’ Refiloe exhibits as much as anyone I know.

Abundance.

I leave with a cardboard box full of goodness. Bunches of bright orange carrots, armfuls of spinach snapped off the stems in such a way as to hear the health and pockets of perfect potatoes. Crammed into the cardboard are clutches of cucumber and Kale, umpteen onions, a packet of peaches and a delicious bottle of herbal and chili relish from ‘Fifi’s Vegetable Farmacy’.

It is not all I depart with.

I leave knowing that many people will eat today from the fruit of one woman’s labour. Young minds are expanding as they learn about organic growth, and I feel a little safer in the soils of the inner city. I learn that Ma’s motto for this place is ‘From soil to pot’, and I wonder how I might move from soul to potential without any harmful chemicals along the way. Perhaps I could grow and enjoy my relationships in the same way as this phenomenal farmer tends to her ‘babies’ if I too exhibited abundance?

As the origin of the word abundance suggests, I left with a feeling of plenty and of fullness, and maybe the difference between a full glass and one which overflows abundantly lies in giving just a little bit more.

A full heart is a good thing to have. A heart which overflows is a good thing for others to enjoy.

Ma Refiloe has a heart which overflows. I am just one of the many others who have benefitted from the soulful spillage.

Steve Hall