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Monday, February 17, 2025
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Echoes of Fulladu 2: Reality costs a lot

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As Yerro stood there, his breath ragged and his heart heavy with the weight of his actions, he couldn’t escape the deep, gnawing sense of regret that had consumed him. The stark reality of what he had just done to his daughter — Nata, the girl who had been nothing but obedient, loving, and hardworking — was unbearable. He had poured gasoline on a fire he couldn’t control, and now, there were two casualties in the family. Two lives shattered by his uncontrolled rage. The agony of it all left him rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to undo what had already been done. His mind was a whirlwind of shame, regret, and guilt.

Yerro’s tears flowed freely, his body shaking as the truth of his actions finally set in. He had failed as a father, as a man. In his desperate need to assert control over his home, he had broken something far more precious than he could have ever realised — his bond with his daughter, the family he had worked so hard to build. The weight of it was suffocating.

His granduncle, still holding Nata gently in his arms, looked at Yerro with a mixture of disappointment and sorrow. Yerro didn’t need to hear the words — the weight of the older man’s gaze was enough. It was silent condemnation. His granduncle didn’t need to say a word. Yerro could feel the crushing disappointment that radiated from him. He had crossed a line, a line that could never be undone. The damage was done, and there was no reversing it now.

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Yerro stood in that space, immobilised by the gravity of what had just transpired. His mind reeled from the truth. The love he had once thought he shared with his daughter had been tainted by his rage. The image of Nata lying broken on the ground would stay with him for the rest of his days, haunting him in his moments of reflection. The girl he had raised, the one he had loved, had been hurt by his own hand. How could he ever make that right?

Nata, still unmoving on the bed, felt trapped in quicksand. The more she struggled to raise her head and reach out to her family, to reassure them that she was going to be okay, the more stuck she became. Every movement felt like an immense effort. Her body was battered, every inch of her aching from the brutal beating she had suffered. The physical pain was immense, but the emotional weight was even heavier.

Yet, in that tangled mess of heartbreak, love, and uncertainty, Nata could feel the faintest glimmer of recuperation. Her mother, Borogie, had not left her side, praying over her, crying in anguish, desperately trying to comfort her daughter. As time passed, Nata could hear her mother’s voice, a soft murmur filled with love and pain. Her siblings, Matou, Khadja Bobo, and little Buba, sat quietly at the foot of the bed, their faces wet with tears. They tried to remain strong, but their emotions were overwhelming.

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It had been two agonising hours since Nata had fallen still, her body unresponsive to the calls and prayers of those around her. The hours had dragged on, with the family surrounding her, unsure of how to reach her. Even Mbentoung Mballow, struck by remorse from her own actions and the realisation of the extent to which the situation had escalated, stood by quietly, watching the young woman who had done everything to make her new life comfortable since her arrival from Fulladu. Mbentoung had witnessed the chaos, and now, with the truth emerging, she found herself caught between her loyalty to her friend, Nenneh Dado, and the stark reality of what had happened.

The truth finally began to surface. Nata had not struck her stepmother, Nenneh Dado. Mbentoung made sure to say that out loud, so that everyone in the room could hear. She made it clear that Nata had done nothing to deserve the punishment she had received. She had not been the one to shove Nenneh Dado. That responsibility lay elsewhere. It was an important moment for everyone in the room, a moment that allowed the truth to cut through the confusion and clarify the events that had unfolded.

Meanwhile, Nenneh Dado, swollen-faced and still bitter from the previous day’s beatings, lay next door in her room, her humiliation palpable. The anger she had once felt now gave way to a deep sense of embarrassment as she realised the extent of her own actions. Yerro, after learning the truth, had turned on her, his anger now directed at her for her role in the situation. And there was an added layer of discomfort: Nenneh Dado had once counted Mbentoung as a friend, but now, in the wake of the truth, that friendship had faltered. Mbentoung had left her alone after learning the extent of her manipulations, and now Nenneh Dado was isolated, left to stew in her own guilt.

Nata, still lying motionless, could hear the sounds of her family around her. Her mother’s cries were unbearable. The pain in her mother’s voice broke her heart, but Nata couldn’t find the strength to respond. All she wanted was to make things better, to reassure her mother that everything would be okay. But the words wouldn’t come. Her body refused to cooperate, her mind too muddled to form the thoughts she desperately wanted to express.

And then, from the quiet despair of the room, Matou’s voice broke through, soft but full of love and hope. She had been sitting by Nata’s side after returning from school, tears quietly rolling down her face as she waited for her sister to return to them. Matou spoke gently, addressing her elder sister in a tone that was both familiar and comforting.

“Jaja,” she began, referring to Nata by the affectionate name they had shared growing up. “Would it be that you wake up so we can walk to the garden with Nenneh, our beloved mother, and see the birds when they chirp together in unison? And feel the breeze in the morning and evenings… Would we run a race, and I will beat you at it, for I am the faster runner between the two of us…”

“No, Matou,” Nata replied, her voice soft and weak but unmistakable. “I run faster than you.”

The room fell silent. Everyone stopped, their breath catching in their throats. No one had expected to hear Nata’s voice. After so many agonising hours of her lying still, unresponsive, the sound of her voice was like a miracle — a sign that she was returning to them, that she was still alive, still there.

Borogie, who had been kneeling beside the bed, praying with her eyes closed, shot up in astonishment. She looked at her daughter with disbelief, her heart leaping in her chest. “What did you just say, Nata, my beautiful little girl? The princess of my heart, the hardworking, most kind, most gentle girl…” Borogie’s voice cracked with emotion as she looked down at her daughter. “If working for your mother is the gate to heaven, you will fly through heaven, my dearest. Your mother and the entire family have praised you. You are blessed.”

Nata smiled faintly, her body shifting slightly as she began to rise, a slow but determined movement. It was as if the words from Matou had given her the strength to pull herself from the depths of her unconsciousness. “Thank you, Nenneh,” Nata whispered, a smile playing on her lips. “I am well alive and have no thoughts of going to heaven right now. I am too young for that.” Everyone in the room laughed with relief.

With a final burst of strength, Nata pushed herself up into a sitting position. Borogie immediately enfolded her in her arms, holding her close, the warmth of her embrace offering comfort and reassurance. Nata’s siblings, Khadja Bobo and Buba, surrounded her, offering their support and their love.

Hearing the laughter from the compound where he sat the entire time, Yerro rushed into the room. His eyes were wide with emotion, a mixture of relief and regret. He had seen his daughter come back from the brink, and for the first time in hours, he felt as though he could breathe again. He approached Nata slowly, his arms outstretched. “My daughter… I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Nata, though exhausted and still sore from the pain, looked at her father with a softness in her eyes. She knew the weight of his guilt, the burden he carried. “I forgive you, Papa,” she whispered. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

As Yerro wrapped his arms around her, the family gathered together, each of them finding their own way to show love and support for Nata. They had been through so much together — confusion, pain, regret — and yet, in this moment, there was healing. Nata, who had been broken not just physically but emotionally, had found the strength to rise again. And in that strength, there was hope for the family, hope that, despite the scars of the past, they could rebuild and find peace once more.

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