The Wisdom of Ayah: What An Indigenous Symbol About Ferns Teaches Us About Resilience

The Akan people of Ghana have a powerful adinkra (symbols that represent concepts, proverbs, and aphorisms) called Ayah—the fern. Simple in its design, this centuries-old emblem carries profound wisdom that feels startlingly relevant to our turbulent times.

The Symbol of Endurance

Ayah represents defiance, endurance, and resourcefulness. The fern, from which it takes its form, grows in some of the harshest conditions imaginable—rocky crevices, deep forest floors with minimal light, areas where other plants struggle to take root. Yet it not only survives but thrives, unfurling its delicate fronds with quiet determination.

The Akan people recognized something essential in this humble plant: the ability to persist when persistence seems impossible.

Why We Need Fern Energy Now

Look around at the world today. Climate anxiety, political polarization, genocides, war, economic uncertainty, social upheaval—the challenges we face can feel overwhelming. We're bombarded with news cycles that amplify our worst fears, social media that fragments our attention, and a pace of change that leaves us perpetually disoriented.

In such conditions, many of us feel we need to be strong like oak trees—massive, immovable, dominant. But perhaps what we actually need is to be more like ferns.

Lessons from the Fern for Resilience

Adaptability over rigidity. Ferns don't fight their environment; they adapt to it. They bend without breaking, finding ways to flourish in whatever space they occupy. In our current world, the ability to pivot, to adjust our strategies and expectations, is more valuable than stubborn adherence to how things "should" be.

Thriving in the margins. Ferns don't need perfect conditions—in fact, they often grow best in the overlooked spaces, the shaded areas, the rocky ground others avoid. When the world feels hostile or unwelcoming, we can remember that growth isn't dependent on ideal circumstances. Sometimes our greatest strength emerges precisely because we've learned to make do with less.

Quiet persistence. There's nothing flashy about a fern. It doesn't bloom with showy flowers or grow to towering heights. It simply continues, day after day, doing what it does. In an age of performative activism and attention-seeking, there's radical power in quiet, consistent action—in showing up, doing the work, and enduring.

Resourcefulness. Ferns are masters of efficiency, extracting moisture from air, drawing nutrients from minimal soil, making the most of whatever light filters down to them. When resources feel scarce—whether time, energy, money, or hope—we can channel this fern wisdom: work with what you have, waste nothing, find creative solutions.

Ancient resilience. Ferns are among the oldest plants on Earth, having survived multiple mass extinctions over 360 million years. They've outlasted dinosaurs, ice ages, and countless other species. This evolutionary endurance reminds us that survival isn't about being the strongest or fastest—it's about being adaptable enough to weather whatever comes.

A close-up view of a fern frond coiled in a spiral, preparing to unfurl amidst a backdrop of blurred green foliage.

Embodying Ayah

To live like the fern in these challenging times means:

• Letting go of the need for perfect conditions before we act

• Finding strength in flexibility rather than rigidity

• Nurturing our ability to persist even when progress feels invisible

• Seeking out our own "rocky crevices"—the niches where we can contribute meaningfully

• Remembering that endurance is its own form of resistance

  
  

The world may feel inhospitable right now. The ground beneath us may seem rocky and unstable. The light may be dim. But the fern doesn't wait for better conditions. It unfurls anyway.