His son, Abu Bakar, called to his friends Ali, Salah and Osman, "Get the buckets. We'll go to the tree." 

         With great pride I said, "Yes. To my great-grandmother's gourd."

        And before the next rainy season came, the village throbbed with the beating of drums and the chants of singing voices. The people worked together, preparing their trees for the rains, just in case the pump broke again.

        I looked at Grandmother, whose smile shone brighter than the African sun, and said, "Rememeber last year? The silence and laughter as we worked alone?"

       "Yes," she said. "But that was then and this is now."

       And each day I pat the old baobab's trunk and say, "Shukran, my friend, for you give us shade in the day, shelter in the rain, and water in the dry season.

       "One day you will be my great-granddaughter's gourd."