Nata sat quietly in the family compound of her friend Nyima Sidibeh. The small courtyard was filled with the sounds of children playing, the low murmur of life passing by, and the occasional clink of cooking pots as food was prepared for the simple wedding celebration on the other side of the street. Her home. It was not a grand affair — theirs wasn’t a wealthy family, and the means to host a lavish celebration were not available. Still, the energy in the air was undeniable. The neighborhood had gathered, and the women worked together to prepare what they could, offering the best they had.
Nata, still processing the whirlwind of events that had led to this moment, sat on the ground with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her mind drifted, caught between the excitement and dread of what was happening to her. Her mother, Borogie, had gone ahead to see what was happening at the house. For now, Nata was left to sit in her friend’s home, unsure of what her future held. The whole situation seemed so far away from the little girl who once played carefree with Nyima, running around the compound without a care in the world.
She glanced over at Nyima, who seemed to be doing just fine, her expression calm and composed. Nyima was about a year older than Nata, but she had always been more self-assured, more confident in the world around her. Nata envied her quiet confidence, and ability to exist in a world where young girls were expected to be seen but never heard.
As Nata sat there, lost in her thoughts, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental was being taken from her. She had been raised with the idea that she was to be strong, care for others, and always put others before herself. But now, she was being thrust into a life she didn’t fully understand, one that felt foreign and strange. She had barely begun to understand what it meant to be a woman, and now she was expected to step into a role she didn’t know how to perform.
When Borogie returned, her face was heavy with a mix of emotion. Nata stood as her mother approached, her heart heavy with a sense of finality. Borogie’s eyes met hers, filled with both sadness and pride.
“Are you ready, my daughter?” Borogie asked softly, her voice trembling.
Nata didn’t answer immediately. She didn’t know how to answer. Was she ready? Ready for what? She barely understood what marriage meant. But it was happening. It was all happening too fast.
Borogie took her hand gently and led her to the house. It was time. The men had arrived earlier to officially ask for Nata’s hand in marriage, and the rituals had began. She would no longer be her mother’s helper, her closest companion. She would soon belong to another man, Bukari Jallow, a man she had only met a handful of times and who she hardly knew.
At the house, the scene was simple but filled with meaning. The neighbours, close family members, and a few elders gathered to witness the formalisation of the union. The food was simple, prepared by the women of the neighbourhood. There was no extravagance — only simple rice, vegetables, a few chunks of meat and stews that had been cooked with love and care. But despite the modesty of the event, there was a sense of weight in the air, a heaviness that Nata couldn’t quite place.
The wedding ceremony itself was short, ceremonial rather than celebratory. It was a series of well-practiced motions, a collection of prayers and advice passed down from one generation to the next. Nata was ushered into a room where she changed into her wedding clothes — a fine but simple traditional dyed outfit brought by Bukari’s family. Her hair was braided traditional style into five straight cornrows with cowrie shells attached, an outward symbol of her transition from girl to wife. As dusk began to fall, the sounds of women from the garden — Borogie’s colleagues — could be heard outside, dancing and singing as part of the festivities. They pounded bowls and clapped gourds, making rhythmic music that echoed through the yard. But for Nata, the celebration felt distant, as though it was happening to someone else.
Soon, she was called by Maa Sireng Bojang and her mother-in-law, Kebba Ceesay’s mother, to receive her ritual bath — the one every young bride was given before the wedding. Nata had heard about this bath, how it was meant to cleanse and purify the bride before she entered her new life. The water, warmed by Neneh Dado, would be poured over her as part of a long-established tradition.
The older women guided Nata into a small corner of the house where the water was ready. Maa Sireng’s mother-in-law, with her high-pitched voice that always made Nata and her sister Matou giggle, took her hand and led her to the small stool for the bath.
The warm water poured over her, and Nata, still feeling the weight of what was happening, allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment. The sensation of the warm water against her skin was soothing, but her mind was elsewhere, distant. She wanted to ask questions, to voice her concerns, but the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t know what to ask. What was marriage? What did it truly mean to be a wife?
Her thoughts wandered to the conversations she had overheard, the advice given by the older women, the warnings about the challenges of marriage. “Be obedient,” they had said. “Respect your husband. Make sure you are always in his good graces. Your role is to serve him, to care for him.” She had heard this all her life, but now, as she sat there, her skin wet from the bath, it seemed like empty words. How could she respect a man she didn’t fully know? How could she serve someone who had been chosen for her without her knowledge?
As the ritual bath continued, Maa Sireng and her mother-in-law spoke quietly among themselves, exchanging pleasantries as they went through the motions. Nata couldn’t fully understand what they were saying — most of it was in a language she was still learning, and she was too distracted by her own thoughts to focus. But she could hear the familiar tone of their voices, the same voices she had heard all her life, the voices of women who had long accepted their fate, just as she was being asked to accept hers.
After the bath, Nata was given a thick, locally woven wrapper to wear around her waist, along with a simple white cotton top. She felt exposed, vulnerable in her new clothes. It was all so strange. She had never felt so small, so insignificant, yet here she was, expected to enter a new life that was being forced upon her.
She was led to the sitting room where her grand-uncle, Ousman Bah, awaited her, with her father, Yerro, some relatives and other elderly men she did not recognise. The room was quiet, the air thick with expectation. Ousman, a figure of authority in the family, stood at the centre. The women who had been dancing outside had now gathered in the room, their faces bright with joy, though their smiles felt hollow to Nata. They spoke in soft tones, offering prayers and advice.
“You are a woman now,” Ousman said, his voice carrying a weight that made Nata’s heart sink. “You are about to enter the next chapter of your life. And remember, your husband is your gateway to heaven. You must respect and obey him at all costs.”
Nata’s eyes glazed over as the words washed over her. It all sounded so foreign, so distant. Her mind couldn’t process the weight of the words. She was too tired, too overwhelmed to truly understand what was happening.
Her mother, Borogie, stood by her side, her eyes filled with a sadness Nata couldn’t quite place. She had always been her mother’s rock, her support system. But now, as she stood at her side, she felt like a stranger. Borogie’s eyes met hers, and for a brief moment, Nata saw the same fear she had felt earlier reflected in her mother’s face.
When the ceremony was over, Nata was led out of the house and toward her new home. As she walked, the weight of her new life pressed down on her, but she couldn’t find the words to express her feelings. She was too young to understand the complexities of marriage, too naive to see the full picture. But as she entered her new home, the heavy silence that hung in the air made her realise that the life she had known was gone. There would be no turning back now. The path ahead was set, and she could only walk it with her head held low, unsure of what awaited her.
To be continued.
