My grandpa was the kind of man who knew a lot about herbs, what they looked like, where to find them, and, most importantly, how to use them to cure sicknesses. People from far and near knew him for that. It wasn’t just a talent; it became his livelihood. He prescribed herbal mixtures and gave leaves to those who were sick, and in return, they paid him whatever they could. That income was what kept our household running.
What amazed me most was how reliable he was. There were barely any cases where someone came to my grandpa with an illness, took the herbs he recommended, and didn’t return later to testify to their healing. It became so normal. His confidence in the plants and in his knowledge was something people trusted. It made them believe in the system he represented: a traditional, nature-based approach to medicine that was passed down through generations.
One day, I asked him how he came to know all these herbs and which leaf worked for what ailment. He smiled gently and said, “My father- your great-grandfather taught me. He walked me through the forests, showed me the plants, explained their uses, and made me repeat everything until I could find them easy to spot.”
Then he looked at me and added, “I can teach you too, if you're interested.”
That moment stuck with me. It wasn’t just about leaves or medicine, it was about legacy, about trust, about a system built on generations of care, learning, and lived experience. My grandpa wasn’t just giving out herbs; he was preserving a system that worked, and one that people believed in.
He was that good with leaves. And people had that much confidence in the system he carried in his hands.
