The undeniable prominence of climate change in contemporary discourse is recognised globally, with advocates, critics, sceptics and even the indifferent acknowledging its significance.
Across policy debates, development agendas and scientific research, climate change remains a central theme.
Amid these conversations, trees emerge not only as crucial ecological actors but also as elements intertwined with human existence, culture, and identity.
Yet, while science extensively documents their role in mitigating climate change, supporting biodiversity, and sustaining ecosystems, the socio-cultural and historical dimensions of trees often receive limited attention.
This article contends that exploring these dimensions could mobilise greater public appreciation and conservation efforts.
My reflections draw on a personal experience that illustrates the profound social and symbolic roles trees can play.
Encounter under the Dawadawa tree
In February 2025, after struggling with writer’s block while preparing an academic article, I sought respite at a botanical garden within a public university in Accra, Ghana.
This garden, renowned for its biodiversity and serenity, has long served as my retreat for reflection and prayer whenever intellectual fatigue sets in.
On this day, the mango and Dawadawa trees were in season, drawing birds and monkeys into a lively ecosystem amidst the urban sprawl. Bird watching here is thrilling, and the tranquillity makes it one of the most peaceful places in Accra.
As I wandered through the garden, I noticed a male security guard and a female cleaner conversing under a Dawadawa tree.
Hoping to gather some fruits—a nostalgic reminder of my boarding school days at Bishop Herman College, Kpandu—I approached them.
After sharing some of the fruits I had earlier collected, I searched for a stick to dislodge more from the tree.
What began as a simple act of foraging soon unfolded into a reflection on the social value of trees.
Social grids and power dynamics
To fully appreciate the encounter, it is necessary to understand the socioeconomic differences among the three of us; in other words, how our intersectional identities shaped our positionalities in this context.
As a start, there were several trenchant markers of (social) differences between the three of us in a space (university campus) where the site of this interaction (in and of itself) had certain norms that accentuated power asymmetries between us.
In Ghana, social spaces such as university campuses often highlight power asymmetries based on education, occupation, gender, class, etc.
I am a researcher with a PhD, have a working space, a fairly new car, and a relatively strong social capital, which places me in a relatively privileged position within the university community.
The male security guard, though pursuing tertiary education, is minimally paid, married, his office is under a tree, and he is the main provider for his extended family.
He rides an old motorcycle—a subtle but visible marker of socio-economic status – relative to me.
The female cleaner is poorly paid, has no office, is illiterate, a single mother, a grandmother, and a petty trader.
These axes of difference (gender, class, educational status, financial standing and various positions we occupy) largely define and shape interactions in ways that often limit social mingling across such divides.
Yet, under the Dawadawa tree, some commonalities emerged.
We all spoke English and Ewe, shared rural childhood experiences, and understood cultural references embedded in proverbs, gestures and humour.
These shared elements enabled us to momentarily transcend entrenched social boundaries or our grids of differences.
Knowledge, memory, and gendered socialisation
Harvesting Dawadawa is not a mere act of picking fruits; it requires knowledge—identifying ripe pods, choosing the right stick, calculating angles, persevering —all skills honed through rural upbringing.
Urban dwellers, unfamiliar with such practices, often lack this experiential wisdom. For those of us with rural backgrounds, the process evokes memories of childhood adventures, communal foraging, and playful rivalries.
As we attempted to dislodge the Dawadawa fruits, the security guard’s persistent efforts hinted—perhaps unconsciously—at asserting masculinity in the presence of the woman.
Whether or not my interpretation was accurate, his determination contrasted with my focus on simply securing the fruits efficiently.
The cleaner then surprised me by remarking that, in her youth, she would have climbed the tree herself.
The tree was very tall.
This challenged the gendered socialisation of my childhood, where tree climbing was largely considered a male activity.
Her comments disrupted assumptions about women’s physicality, courage and roles in rural life, offering a counter-narrative to dominant gender norms.
I was excited.
Trees as social and cultural connectors
Our conversation soon expanded beyond fruit gathering to childhood memories, gender roles, village life, our shared knowledge of flora and fauna, etc.
For over an hour, laughter and storytelling dissolved, albeit temporarily, the rigid hierarchies that structured our daily lives on campus.
The Dawadawa tree, in this context, became more than a source of shade or food.
It was a silent witness to our shared humanity, a living archive of rural childhoods, and a stage for cross-generational, cross-class, and cross-gender interactions.
This encounter revealed how trees can foster social connections that transcend entrenched inequalities.
In urban spaces where people often inhabit parallel yet disconnected lives, trees can create opportunities for spontaneous conversations and communal experiences.
Symbolism, memory, environmental ethics
Reflecting on this transforming experience after I had left them, I realised that trees carry symbolic weight extending beyond ecology.
They anchor personal and collective memories—of childhood games, courtships, village meetings, communal rituals and so on.
These memories often cut across class and cultural divides, offering common ground in fragmented societies.
Without the Dawadawa tree, and in this instance, we may not have known our shared childhood background and many other common interests, considering these grids of differences which are reproduced, maintained and reinforced by campus life/culture.
Urban life increasingly alienates people from such interactions. Urbanisation, deforestation and changing childhood experiences mean fewer young people climb trees, harvest wild fruits, or gather under canopies for storytelling.
Nonetheless, even symbolic engagements—like tree-planting clubs or community dialogues beneath trees—could rekindle appreciation for their cultural and social roles while promoting environmental stewardship.
Rethinking conservation: Beyond science and policy
Scientific and policy discourses rightly emphasise trees’ ecological services: carbon sequestration, biodiversity support, soil conservation, and microclimatic regulation.
However, my encounter under the Dawadawa tree suggests that conservation efforts could gain broader public resonance if they also foreground the cultural, emotional, and social meanings attached to trees.
For example, tree-planting initiatives in schools or urban neighbourhoods could integrate storytelling sessions where elders share memories of village life, folklore, or rituals associated with specific trees.
Such activities would not only green urban spaces but also root environmental ethics in lived experiences and cultural heritage.
Moreover, recognising trees as social connectors invites interdisciplinary collaborations among environmental scientists, anthropologists, educators and artists.
Together, they could document and revitalise the cultural ecologies surrounding trees—songs, proverbs, festivals, and oral histories—thereby enriching both conservation and cultural preservation.
Conclusion: Trees as bridges in a divided world
The Dawadawa tree encounter revealed that trees possess multifaceted significance: ecological, social, cultural and symbolic.
They can momentarily recalibrate power dynamics, evoke shared memories, challenge gender norms, and nurture communal bonds.
As climate change, urbanisation, and deforestation threaten both ecosystems and social fabrics, reimagining trees as cultural and social assets—rather than merely ecological resources—offers a more holistic basis for conservation.
Ultimately, preserving trees safeguards not only biodiversity and climate stability but also the shared humanity, memories, and connections that flourish beneath their branches.
The writer is a criminologist, and holds a PhD from the University of Cambridge.
