My Grandmother’s Garden… Where Healing Once Grew

Herbal medicine is not merely an ancient practice but a complete healing system, intricately woven with cultural traditions, spiritual significance, and a profound understanding of the natural world. This complex method predates modern medicine, with its laboratories and clinical approaches.

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Herbal medicine is not an ancient pharmacopoeia waiting to be decoded. It is a complete healing system, deeply intertwined with cultural practices, spiritual meaning and an intimate understanding of the natural world.

Sacred plants and their healing properties were passed down through generations, not solely from books, but through meticulous observation and practical experience. This involved watching plants closely, understanding their growth cycles, their responses to environmental factors, and mastering precise harvesting and preparation techniques. It demanded patience, discipline, and a deep respect for nature.

The author recalls her grandmother, who understood this language of plants. She would rise at dawn for slow walks in her garden, collecting potent herbs like Ewe Abamoda, known for healing kidney stones and normalizing blood sugar. She spoke to the plants, thanking them before harvesting, and gathered them carefully, taking only what was needed.

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She spoke to plants as though they were living companions and thanked them before cutting their stems.

Her grandmother also gathered other medicinal plants like guava leaves, pawpaw leaves, the dried jericho plant, and corn silk. She mixed these with the precision of a pharmacist, filling the house with the scent of boiling herbs used for various ailments, from malaria and diabetes to asthma and coughs. She possessed specific knowledge about which roots should not touch metal, which leaves lost potency after noon, and which remedies required fresh preparation.

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I watched my grandmother mix plants, bark, roots and seeds with the precision of a pharmacist.

Neighbors often turned to her grandmother in emergencies when modern medicine fell short. The author remembers a woman whose son was having an epileptic seizure; her grandmother administered a spoonful from a dark bottle and applied a pungent substance to his chest, continuing to speak to the child.

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To her, nothing in nature was wasted. Everything had purpose. Everything played a role in restoring the body to balance.