By Ali Elias
In an era where health decisions are often dictated by prescriptions, price tags, and the fluctuating strength of the naira, an older, quieter system of knowledge risks fading into obscurity—one that does not shout, but suggests.
Across generations, before laboratories and clinical trials became the dominant arbiters of truth, there existed a philosophy rooted in observation. It was neither mystical nor entirely scientific in the modern sense, yet it occupied a practical middle ground: the belief that nature leaves clues about its purpose, if only we pay attention.
“Nature, most times, is suggestive to us. Have you observed that?”
For many today, the answer may be no. Urban living has dulled that instinct. The intimacy our grandparents shared with their environment—reading the seasons, understanding plants not just as food but as medicine—has been replaced by convenience and abstraction. Health is now outsourced, packaged, and often disconnected from its ecological origins.
But step back for a moment.
Look closely at the natural world, not as scenery, but as a coded system.
Consider fruits and seeds—their textures, their symmetry, their striking resemblance to parts of the human anatomy. This is not a new observation. In herbal traditions across cultures, this idea is sometimes referred to as the “doctrine of signatures”—the notion that a plant’s physical characteristics may hint at its therapeutic value.
“Just look at the pods (fruits) of this plant, Calotropis Procera (Sodom Apple) – the bunch, the shape. Even if women fail at this particular exercise, men should not. Which part of the human body do they look like?”
It is a provocative prompt, but also a functional one. The suggestion is not blind belief, but inquiry. Could resemblance serve as a mnemonic? A guide? A starting point for deeper investigation?
Modern science may approach such claims with skepticism—and rightly so. Not every visual similarity translates into medicinal efficacy. Yet, interestingly, research has occasionally validated traditional insights once dismissed as folklore. Tomatoes, for instance, with their chambered structure, have been linked to heart health due to their lycopene content. Walnuts, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the brain, are rich in omega-3 fatty acids known to support cognitive function.
Coincidence? Perhaps. But perhaps also a reminder that observation often precedes validation.
“If you can associate it, you are close to finding out how it can be helpful to the human body in boosting the body’s functionalities. Or provide remedy in disease conditions.”
This is where curiosity becomes critical. The message is not to self-medicate recklessly or abandon evidence-based medicine, but to rediscover the habit of looking—really looking—at the environment that sustains us.
Local plants, often overlooked, may carry untapped nutritional or therapeutic value. In Nigeria alone, a vast biodiversity exists, much of it under-researched and underutilized. Indigenous knowledge systems, once passed down orally, are gradually eroding, leaving behind gaps that modern systems have yet to fully fill.
“Check out other plants around you. It might just hold the answer to your health situation. A little research may just reveal its full offering.”
There is also a psychological dimension to this reconnection. Studies increasingly show that engagement with nature—whether through gardening, foraging, or even simple observation—can reduce stress, improve mental health, and foster a deeper sense of well-being. In that sense, the “healing” may not always be biochemical; sometimes it is relational.
To observe nature is to slow down. To ask questions. To reclaim a form of awareness that is both ancient and urgently relevant.
“There is voice in the shapes, colours, tastes and sounds of nature.”