The sun beat down relentlessly that afternoon as Neneh Dado sat quietly in the corner of the room, her thoughts swirling. Her earlier ordeal in the forest still haunted her. The memory of the man’s cold threats, the knife pressed against her skin, and the terrifying moments she had spent fearing for her life and dignity replayed in her mind over and over. She had been rescued just in time, but the emotional toll was far greater than the physical scars. Her mind couldn’t rest, her body felt tense, and fear had taken root in her heart. The attack had not only endangered her — it had left her vulnerable, filled with a deep, gnawing anxiety that clung to her even in the daylight hours.
Nenneh could no longer walk alone, not even during the bright hours of the afternoon. The sounds of the forest, once peaceful, now echoed with a haunting unease. And it wasn’t just the memories of the near assault that kept her on edge. As her mistrust grew, so did her suspicions. The face of every man who came around now held a shadow of doubt in her eyes. Even her jovial neighbor, Bukari Jallow, who often visited their household, began to raise her suspicions. His frequent attention toward Nata, his fond gaze that lingered just a little too long, made her skin crawl.
Neneh couldn’t help but voice her concerns. She would confide in anyone who would listen, from her co-wife Borogie to Ousman Bah, Yerro’s uncle, anyone except Nata herself. “I see how Bukari looks at Nata,” she would say, her voice heavy with anxiety. “There’s something in his eyes. Something I don’t like. His affection for her… it’s not right. It’s almost as if he wants something more from her.”
Borogie, ever the calm and patient one, was more hesitant. She didn’t share Neneh’s paranoia, but she also didn’t dismiss it entirely. “Nata is still a child, Neneh,” Borogie would say softly. “She doesn’t even know what the world expects of her yet. She doesn’t know what it means to be married, to give herself away like that. But maybe you’re seeing more than what is there. Bukari is just friendly, nothing more.”
Yet, Neneh’s worry persisted. It was a fear fueled by her own insecurities, compounded by the pressure to overcome her phobia of men and what even the smallest of them could do to the dignity of a woman. Her rapist was not even that big, he was a slight man. But he had so much power over her. Men were strong and women weak, she surmised. Women needed men to protect them against their own kind. That was the only way for Neneh!
One afternoon, Neneh Dado found herself once again speaking to Ousman Bah, Yerro’s uncle, whose influence in the family was undeniable. She had been speaking with him for days, hinting at her fears, her doubts about Bukari’s intentions. But that day, in the soft, quiet shadows of the family courtyard, Ousman’s response caught her completely off guard.
“It’s time, Dado,” Ousman said quietly, his voice low with the weight of his decision. “We can’t risk Nata’s future. A marriage at her age will keep her from shame. We will arrange for her to marry Bukari. It’s a good match—he has the means, and she needs to be kept in check before she becomes a problem.”
Neneh stood frozen. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she knew that no matter how much she feared it, there was nothing she could do to change their decision. The tradition in their community was clear — young girls were married off as soon as they reached puberty, to prevent the disgrace of unwed pregnancies. And though it was a custom that often filled her with a quiet dread, Neneh knew that the decision was not hers to make. It was the way things had always been done.
And so, it was decided. Nata would marry Bukari.
The news was delivered to Borogie a few days later in a matter-of-fact way, with no room for negotiation. It was as though Neneh Dado had been waiting for the moment to strike, to force Borogie into acceptance. That afternoon, Neneh found Borogie working in her garden, the same place where she had spent countless hours cultivating the earth for her family. Neneh’s footsteps were soft but firm as she approached, and when she spoke, her voice carried an air of finality.
“Borogie,” Neneh began, her eyes searching her co-wife’s face for any sign of protest. “It’s been decided. Bukari’s family from Banjul has arrived to ask for Nata’s hand in marriage. The wedding will take place today. It’s been decided by the elders.”
Borogie’s heart sank, her chest tightening at the suddenness of the news. She looked at Nata, who stood next to her mother, wide-eyed and completely unaware of the weight of the situation. She had not expected it to happen so soon, but she knew deep down that it was inevitable. Nata was reaching womanhood, and her role as a daughter was coming to an end. The thought of her baby, her only true companion through the years, being handed away to a man she barely knew, filled Borogie with a profound sadness.
She looked at Nata, her eyes filled with love and sorrow. “Nata, my dear, are you ready for this?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. She wasn’t asking about the wedding itself, but the life ahead. The life she had no choice but to accept. Nata, whose understanding of marriage was still as innocent as a child’s, simply looked back at her mother, her brow furrowed with confusion.
“I don’t understand, Mama,” Nata said softly, her voice filled with the uncertainty of youth. “What does it mean? Why am I getting married today?”
Borogie’s heart broke at the question. She had been so focused on raising Nata to be a strong, independent woman that she had forgotten how little her daughter truly understood the world of men and marriage. And now, the time had come when Nata would be forced to navigate it — without a guide, without the freedom to make her own choice.
“It means, my child, that you will go and live with someone else,” Borogie explained, her words soft and measured. “He will be your husband. And you will be his wife.”
“But why? Why now, Mama?” Nata’s voice was full of confusion, her eyes wide with uncertainty. “I’m still so young. I don’t even know what it means to be a wife.”
Borogie held her daughter close, brushing a strand of kinky hair from her face. “I know, my dear. I know. But you must understand, this is the way things are done. The men have decided. And as hard as it is, there is no other choice.”
Borogie’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “I can’t protect you from everything, Nata. I’ve done the best I could. But now, you must go and face what’s ahead, no matter how much it hurts me.”
The reality of it all sank in for Borogie as she spoke these words, and she felt the weight of a thousand unspoken fears pressing down on her chest. She was losing her daughter. She was losing the one person who had stood by her side all these years, and she wasn’t ready for it.
When the time came for them to return home and join the festivities, Borogie’s heart twisted. She held her daughter’s hand tightly, as if she could somehow stop the inevitable by holding on. But she knew it was no use. Nata was being pulled away from her, just as the tradition of marriage had always done for daughters.
Borogie walked to the nearby house of a friend, Binta Jarra, whose daughter Nyima Sidibeh was also a close friend of Nata’s. “Please, Binta, let Nata stay with you for a little while,” Borogie asked, her voice low, barely a whisper. “Let her be with you until I come back for her.”
Binta, seeing the distress on Borogie’s face, nodded and immediately sent her daughter Nyima to fetch a wrapper and camisole for Nata to wear while she bathed. “Go on, child,” Binta said kindly to Nata, her voice gentle as she led her into the outdoor bath. “Today is your wedding day. You can’t go looking like this.”
Nata, still unsure of what was happening, hesitated but eventually agreed. She stood in the cold water, the steam rising from her body as Binta’s daughter handed her clean clothes. She felt numb, disconnected from the world as it swirled around her. Was she really about to be married? Was this really her life?
As Nata bathed, Binta’s heart ached. She had watched Nata play with her own daughter, and the girl she knew — innocent, full of life — was now being thrust into a world of responsibilities she wasn’t ready for. Binta couldn’t help but feel a stab of pity for the small, innocent girl who was about to face a lifetime of expectations, dictated by tradition and men.
When Borogie returned later that day, Nata was ready to be taken to Bukari’s house. She was quiet, too quiet for someone so young. Her gaze was lost, as if she was no longer fully present in the moment.
“You will become a woman soon, Nata,” Borogie whispered, her voice thick with sorrow. “But remember, you are still my child. Always.”
To be continued.
