Gratitude for My Sprouting Yam: Lessons from the Kitchen Jungle

Moori being curious about my yam

You know, sometimes God sends us reminders not through fire from the sky or angels with scrolls, but through wait for it a yam or something else I nature, but this time it a yam.

Yes, a yam. A simple, ordinary, slightly-forgotten-in-the-kitchen yam.

Let me take you back to the beginning of this riveting tale. About a week ago, I stepped into my kitchen with noble culinary intentions. The plan? Roast some yam. Simple enough. The yam in question had been hanging out patiently, doing its thing on the kitchen counter. No fuss. No drama. Just chilling waiting for its moment to shine in the oven, perhaps to be paired with some pepper sauce and maybe even an egg or two.

But, as life would have it, I forgot. I got busy, distracted, or maybe I just blinked too long. Either way, my yam was left behind, once again blending into the domestic background, resigned to its fate.

Now, fast forward to this morning. I strolled into my kitchen, probably looking for tea or just trying to remember why I entered the room in the first place (you know how kitchens do that). Then, bam my eyes caught it.

The yam.

No longer the humble, idle root tuber of a week ago. No, no. This yam had sprouted! And I’m not talking about one shy little eye peeking out. This thing had full-on botanical ambition. It had transformed into something that looked like it was applying for admission into a botany lab. Right there in the corner of my kitchen no soil, no water, no fertilizer, no sun. Just raw, dark corner energy and the divine breath of the Sustainer of all things.

My jaw dropped.

Now, most people might scream, toss it, or mutter something about decluttering and storage. But not me. I stood there, staring at my rebellious yam sprout, and I felt this wave of awe.

I mean, how dare this yam grow? Who gave it permission? In that forgotten, dusty, dark corner, this yam decided, “You know what? I’m still going to do what I was created to do grow.”

Let’s pause right there.

This yam, without the ideal conditions no gardener, no tender-loving-care, not even a sprinkle of water still obeyed the command encoded in its very being: grow, reach, sprout.

And that’s when it hit me. How often do we, the supposedly superior beings with functioning brains, voices, prayers, and phones with wellness apps, forget to rely on our true Sustainer to grow, to heal, to rise?

How often do we panic, hustle, scramble, and stress, believing growth is solely up to us our effort, our strategy, our perfection? When really, it is He who causes even forgotten yams to stretch toward the unseen light.

In that moment, the yam became more than a tuber. It became a teacher.

So, what did I do next?

Of course, I did the only logical thing a deeply spiritual, occasionally dramatic, earth-tone-loving woman would do I decided to start sack bag yam farming.

Yes, you read that right.

If a yam can sprout in my kitchen like it owns the place, imagine what it could do with a little help. A sack. Some soil. A bit of sunlight. And maybe some motivational music playing in the background (probably some Afro-soul or Qur’anic recitation let’s keep it balanced).

I chuckled to myself as I filled that sack. “This is your time to shine, little buddy.” And with each scoop of soil, I kept thinking about how many of us are sitting in our metaphorical kitchen corners, feeling dry, feeling forgotten, wondering if anything good can still come out of us.

Spoiler alert: It can. It absolutely can.

But here's the key and my sprouty friend made this clear we must trust the Source, the Ultimate Provider, the One who feeds the birds in the sky, the ants in their tunnels, the fish in the sea, and yes, even the kitchen yams in dusty corners.

Because here’s the beautiful part: the yam didn’t do anything flashy. It didn’t apply for a grant, hire a coach, or sign up for a growth course. It simply existed in alignment with its nature. And that was enough for God to say, “Grow.”

How powerful is that?

It reminded me of a verse: “There is no creature on earth whose sustenance is not upon Allah.” (Qur’an 11:6). And that includes you. Me. And every forgotten yam with big dreams.

I am so deeply grateful for these quiet, humorous, divine nudges. For the way God teaches through simplicity. For the way He whispers through creation, saying, “I see you. I’ve got you. Keep growing.”

To the Provider, Al-Razzaq, who sustains what we forget. To the Most Compassionate, Ar-Rahman, who blesses what we neglect. To the Most Generous, Al-Karim, who gives without measure I say, thank You.

Thank You for reminding me that growth is not always loud. Sometimes, it’s a quiet stretch in the dark. A sprouting in stillness. A sign in the corner of your kitchen.

So here’s to the yams. The dusty corners. The unexpected reminders. The tender love of the Divine showing up in the most ordinary moments.

And yes, here’s to sack bag yam farming because when God gives you a sign, sometimes you just have to lean into it fully. Who knows? Maybe next week, I’ll be selling organic kitchen yams with motivational messages on the side.

In the meantime, I’ll keep watering my sack and my soul, trusting that with God, all things grow even in the dark.