Across the world, climate change is no longer a distant warning, it’s here. The air is hotter, the rains come late, and dry spells last longer than they should. In Nigeria, entire communities are adjusting to weather that no longer feels familiar. Farmers delay planting. Streams dry up earlier. Shade is harder to find.
Trees, which should be our strongest defense, are cut down faster than they can grow. Yet planting them remains one of the simplest and most powerful answers we have.
This is where Auwal Adamu Sulaiman comes in. Eve spoke to him and his story is not just about planting trees, it’s about patience, legacy, and peace. It’s about choosing to leave something behind for people you may never meet.
Eve: Tell us a bit you and about how this project began?
Auwal: I grew up in the heart of town, where vegetation had vanished. People cut everything down, leaving the land bare and dry. My high school, on the other hand, stood in the greenest part of the city. For 13 years, I lived between these two worlds: one desolate, one paradise.
I began to associate peace and joy with trees. At boarding school, I sometimes climbed a tree with my pillow and prayer mat, then slept there. Later, I moved to Zaria for university, and the campus felt like heaven compared to my hometown. Returning to Lafia always hurt because it looked stripped of life.
At first, I complained: “Why doesn’t the government plant trees? Why don’t people care?” One day, I asked myself, what can I do about it? Almost jokingly, I tweeted: “When I’m next in Lafia, InshaAllah, I’ll plant a couple of trees.” A stranger replied that they would join me. That moment sparked everything.
Eve: What was the very first step you took?
Auwal: When I came home, I told my dad. His first reaction was funny. He thought I wanted to spend money instead of focusing on school. I explained it wasn’t about climate change or fancy words. I simply loved trees and wanted them back in Lafia. He gave me his blessing and even funded me the first time.
I needed a safe space where seedlings could survive. A friend suggested Federal University Lafia, a school more than 10 years old yet almost treeless. I loved the idea immediately.
I wrote a letter to the Vice Chancellor, though I didn’t know anyone there. To my surprise, a week later, I received a call inviting me for a meeting.
Eve: What happened at that meeting?
Auwal: I walked into a room full of professors and doctors from the beautification committee. All I wanted was to donate seedlings. They told me I was the first person in the university’s history to offer that.
With my dad’s help, I brought seedlings from Abuja, and the university set a planting date. On the morning itself, I was still asleep when calls woke me up.
The entire university management had gathered, the Vice Chancellor was present, even news crews came. I was shocked. That event became our very first planting campaign, and that’s how everything started.
Eve: What challenges have you faced so far?
Auwal: Funding is always the biggest challenge. My dad supported me the first time but later told me I had to take responsibility. Friends, family, and well-wishers have kept us going. I don’t like asking directly for money. If people donate willingly, I appreciate it, but I’ve never liked begging for funds.
Partnerships also frustrate me. Many organizations here prefer to work alone. Even government agencies hesitate to collaborate, though cooperation would strengthen everyone’s impact.
And then there’s people’s attitude toward trees. Many think, “Why bother planting? It takes too long to grow, and I may not live to enjoy it.” But the irony is the trees they enjoy now were planted by someone else. I believe it says a lot about a person if they plant a tree they may never see mature. It means you’re thinking about society, not just yourself. That thought alone keeps me going.
Eve: How do you ensure the trees actually survive?
Auwal: Oh yeah, I almost forgot this part. Before our first planting, I researched trees that could withstand long dry spells.
Let’s be honest: even if people pledge to water seedlings, no one consistently tends to them. We had to choose resilient local species trees that could survive one rainy season and stand until the next.
That method became our rule. Wherever we plant, we first study the environment, identify the strongest local breeds, and choose those. This way, the trees have a fighting chance.
Eve: Where are you today, and what impact have you made?
Auwal: In about five years of work (four as a foundation), we’ve planted and inspired at least 20,000 trees.
At Federal University Lafia, after our first campaign, the Vice Chancellor told me they planted a whole forest of 20,000 seedlings. He said they did it because they were inspired by us. That remains one of my proudest moments.
We’ve also planted in other parts of Lafia and launched a social media campaign. People from across Nigeria planted trees and sent us their pictures. Seeing that ripple effect feels incredible.
Eve: What are your hopes for the future?
Auwal: I want to plant one million trees myself. Beyond that, I want to inspire another hundred million across Africa.
My dream is for the Plant a Tree Foundation to live up to its name reaching across Nigeria, across Africa, and maybe the world.
For me, trees are not just about climate change or global warming. Trees are peaceful. Whenever I’m around them, I feel calm and alive. I want everyone to feel that too.
Talking with Auwal showed us how one person’s love for trees can grow into a movement. His story reminds us that while governments debate and policies stall, ordinary people can make change one seedling at a time. Plant one tree. Just one. Do it for the shade you may never sit under.
Do it for the future waiting to breathe. And when you do, share your story with us because every tree planted is a story worth telling.
For partnerships and collaborations, reach out to Auwal at auwaladamu205@gmail.com
