Under the Tree, Under Heaven!

Dear God,

It started like any other professional day — a business meeting like any other. I was with a senior but former colleague to meet a high-end client at a networking event. There were the usual banners, cocktails, business cards exchanges, and jazz musicians fighting the Lagos humidity with saxophones and smiles.

And then — the rain came.

Not heavy. Just a shy drizzle. But enough to scatter the crowd into any visible shelter. My colleague and I shuffled quickly to a canopy propped under a generous almond tree. As we mingled with other rain-dodgers, I noticed her.

At first, I dismissed her. She looked out of place — alone with a toddler wrapped in a faded Ankara cloth. No umbrella. Just the almond tree as her covering. I thought, “Perhaps a beggar… or someone who has some loose nuts upstairs.”

Then I heard her.

“Ha! Chineke m, you sef get sense. You are too much!” she laughed, eyes lifted toward the clouds like she could see someone behind them.

She wasn’t praying. She was talking. Not with desperation, but with the kind of banter reserved for old, trusted friends. I edged closer.

“Thank you, Onye Nwem,” she said softly, tucking the child under her arm like a football. “You dey try. I no go lie. I doubted you — oh I did! You’re in heaven, you don’t know how wicked some people can be here. But see as you surprise us! See as you come show for us”

She held up a polythene bag with jollof rice and small chops. “You see am? Free food! Who dash monkey banana? But you come dash me today! As you tell me say make I come out, come here. I think say you wan use me do pin-pun. But as I come obey, food land, man wack. Baba God, I hail oh”

Then she burst into laughter, like she and God just shared an inside joke. I felt my throat tighten.

She continued, “You remember last night, abi? As those wicked mosquitoes don chop my baby finish like suya meat. Fever everywhere. I cried so tey my tears finished. You no even talk. You just dey look as my baby body dey burn dey go. I vex oh, I vex for you but how I for do, I stayed. Carry water dey press am up and down. Now, this morning, fever don go. Abi na the food wey chase am? Who knows? But I thank you. I thank you well well”

I stood, frozen.

This woman was having a full-on conversation with God in public. Not the religious “Dear Lord, the bible says” type. No! This was a table-talk, gist-full, no-holds-barred kind of discussion. Her voice, though cracked, danced with joy. Her face, though weathered, glowed with peace.

She wasn’t quoting scriptures or binding demons. She was being human. And somehow, that felt so divine.

She kissed her baby’s forehead and said, “See this one, ehen? This your daughter. You give am fever, you sef remove am. Just try dey balance the equation small small. Na small pikin wey no sabi anything! I fit bear suffer but no let this my pickin see suffer abeg. Na this girl I go take see America.”

I laughed — out loud.

She looked at me surprised that I was paying any attention to them and then she smiled like I just caught her stealing meat from the pot. No shame. Just knowing.

I winked at her and nodded.

Then she turned back up to the heavens and said, “Baba, You see? You don dey gather audience now. I hope say you go show yourself strong, as per say you no dey like disgrace. As I dey your corner so, na to dey cover me every every, abi?”

Tears filled my eyes. This is exactly what I have always advocated. What my heart has always longed for. Pure uninhibited sincerity with God. No religious jingoism.

I wanted to kneel right there, in my branded suit and professional smile, and pour out everything I’d bottled up — the stress, the fears, the imposter syndrome, the loneliness dressed in competence. But I didn’t. I simply watched the woman show me what it meant to be spiritually naked and unashamed.

She reminded me — no, she convicted me — that God is not a business appointment. Not a religious tick-box. Not a code to be cracked or a ritual to perform.

He is a conversation.

A relationship as unique as our fingerprints. One that doesn’t require accent, vocabulary, or special titles. Just truth. As the rain lightened and the event resumed, I knew I had witnessed a holy moment. Under a tree, with a mad-woman-who-wasn’t-mad, I saw what faith looked like when it wasn’t trying to perform for the crowd. It was real. Raw. Beautiful.

I went to her, dropped an envelop in her laps and walked away. As I joined my colleagues, I wondered what she would tell God when she saw what was in that envelop. And I looked up to heavens and smiled gingerly.

What if you could talk to God like that? Not as a judge with a whip or a boss waiting for your KPI sheet. But as your confidant. Your best friend. Your Daddy and Creator.

What if you dropped the spiritual grammar and just say: “Dad, I no understand. Help me abeg”?

Your relationship with God doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. It doesn’t have to sound deep or holy or polished. It just has to be real. Like laughter in the rain. Like gratitude for free jollof rice. Like that woman under the tree, teaching humans how to dance to divine sincerity.

Maybe it’s time for us to find your own tree — and start our own conversation. God is listening. Not for our perfection. Not for the scriptural quotes. Not just what the bible says, but what we say. For our words, in our voice.

So go ahead. Speak.

May our voices continue to inspire real, raw connection with divinity. Because truth be told — God no dey form, na we dey form.

This is your daughter, Lord, I am sincerely checking in.