The day of the surgery arrived with a sense of solemnity. Yerro was prepped and led into the operating room, the sterile environment a stark contrast to the earthy warmth of the village. Dr. Samba and his team moved with practiced efficiency, their expertise evident in every action. Yerro, though nervous, felt a deep sense of trust in the doctor’s hands.
The harsh sun had always been a part of Yerro’s life, his days spent toiling in the fields under its relentless glare. Over time, the unyielding sunlight began to take its toll on his vision, the familiar landscape of his village gradually becoming a hazy blur. His condition was merely worsened that fateful afternoon when a brick fell into his eyes while he and his peers were building a hut for Goundor’s intended bride. The accident left his eyes irritated and painful, exacerbating the formation of cataracts.
Yerro’s journey to restore his sight had been long and fraught with difficulties, extending beyond the fields and the glare of the harsh sun. Desperate for a solution to his failing vision, he had initially turned to traditional remedies, seeking the aid of two well-known herbalists in the region. These herbalists were revered in their communities, their knowledge of local plants and traditional healing practices passed down through generations.
The first herbalist, an elderly man named Juma Wandianga, was known for his vast knowledge of medicinal herbs. Yerro’s peers took him to Juma Wandianga’s modest hut after his accident with a sense of hope, believing that the traditional healer’s expertise could provide relief. Juma prepared a concoction of herbs, roots, and leaves, instructing Yerro to apply the mixture to his eyes daily. The pungent smell of the paste was strong, and the application process was uncomfortable, causing a stinging sensation in his already sensitive eyes.
For weeks, Yerro diligently followed the herbalist’s instructions, enduring the discomfort in the hope of regaining his sight. However, instead of seeing improvements, his vision continued to deteriorate. The herbal mixture did little to alleviate his condition and seemed to exacerbate the irritation in his eyes. Yerro’s frustration grew as the world around him became increasingly blurred, the familiar faces of his loved ones now indistinct shadows.
Undeterred, Yerro sought the help of a second herbalist, a woman named Binta Jobe, renowned for her healing abilities and deep understanding of traditional medicine. Binta’s approach was different; she prepared a series of eye washes using a secret blend of herbs and minerals, assuring Yerro that this method had restored sight to many before him. The eye washes were administered with great care, but they brought no relief. Instead, they left Yerro’s eyes feeling raw and more sensitive to light than ever before.
Binta also performed several rituals, invoking ancestral spirits and using chants meant to drive away the ailment. Despite the elaborate ceremonies and Yerro’s unwavering belief in the power of these traditional practices, his vision did not improve. The prolonged use of these treatments only served to delay the inevitable realization that his condition was not something that could be cured by herbal remedies or spiritual interventions.
The interventions of these two herbalists, though well-intentioned, ultimately lengthened Yerro’s recovery time. The irritation caused by the herbal concoctions and eye washes not only failed to address the cataracts but also exacerbated the inflammation in his eyes, further complicating his condition.
Yerro’s experience with the herbalists left him disheartened and skeptical, but also with a crucial understanding: there was no alternative to medical intervention for cataracts. His prolonged suffering and the worsening of his vision underscored the necessity of seeking out modern medical treatment. It was this realization that eventually led him to Dr. Samba, the skilled surgeon in The Gambia, who would perform the life-changing operations to restore his sight.
The surgery itself was a blend of precision and artistry. Dr. Samba worked meticulously, his focus unbroken as he navigated the delicate structures of Yerro’s right eye. The room was filled with a quiet intensity, the air thick with the promise of transformation. In the 1960s, cataract surgery involved the removal of the clouded lens in a procedure known as intracapsular cataract extraction (ICCE). This method required a larger incision than modern techniques and careful handling to avoid complications.
Once the cataract was removed, the operation was complete. Yerro was moved to a recovery room, his eye covered with a protective bandage. The next few hours were a blur of rest and anticipation, his mind drifting between hope and uncertainty. Neneh Dado sat by his side, her hand resting on his, her presence a constant anchor.
In those days, the postoperative care was critical. Yerro had to keep his eye shielded and still, avoiding any activity that might strain it. The bandages would remain in place for several days, typically around five to seven, during which time he would be closely monitored for signs of infection or complications. Each day, Dr. Samba would check on Yerro, ensuring that the healing process was proceeding as expected.
During this time, Yerro’s inability to perform his 5 daily prayers weighed heavily on him. He felt disconnected from his faith, the regular rhythm of his spiritual practice disrupted. He found solace in quiet moments of reflection, his thoughts often turning to his family and their future. The prayers he could not perform physically, he whispered in his heart, seeking strength and guidance.
As Yerro lay in the recovery room, he thought of his fields lying fallow under the sun. The crops he had planted with such care were now unattended, the future harvest uncertain. His wife Borogie, heavily pregnant with their fourth child, had taken on as much of his work as she could, but the burden was too great. Their three children, though still young, tried to help, but their efforts could not make up for the absence of their father’s strong hands and clear vision.
Yerro’s thoughts often drifted back to his youth, a time when his eyes were sharp and his body strong. He remembered the vibrant fields of Kanjor, the laughter of friends, and the simple joys of village life. He missed the camaraderie of working alongside his peers, the shared toil and mutual support that had always defined his community. He longed for the days when he could provide for his family without the cloud of uncertainty hanging over him.
When the day finally came to remove the bandages, Yerro’s heart raced with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. As the final layer was peeled away, light flooded his vision, more vivid and clear than he had remembered.
Tears welled in Yerro’s eyes as he looked around the room, seeing clearly for the first time in months. The faces of his loved ones, the details of the world, all came rushing back in a flood of clarity. Dr. Samba smiled, his own eyes reflecting the satisfaction of a job well done.
“Your sight will continue to improve over the coming days,” Dr. Samba said, his voice filled with gentle assurance. “You will need to return in eight weeks to operate on the other eye. Until then, take care, and may your journey forward be filled with light.”
Yerro thanked the doctor profusely, his heart overflowing with gratitude. However, Yerro would not return to the village just yet. His uncle, Ousman Bah, commonly called Boukku Saaneh in Fulladu, took him to Brikama to stay with one of their relatives, Abdoulie Mballo, who had settled there earlier. Ousman Bah’s single-bedroom apartment in Banjul could not accommodate his nephew and his wife during his healing journey.
As the weeks passed, Yerro’s vision in his first operated eye continued to improve, and he began to adapt to his temporary surroundings. He spent time with his uncles Ousman and Abdoulie, sharing stories and laughter, which helped distract him from his anxieties about the future. The bustling market of Brikama and the lively streets provided a stark contrast to the fields of Kanjor, yet they held their own kind of charm.
Finally, after eight weeks, Yerro returned to have his left eye operated on. At that time, the cataract in the left eye had reached an operable stage. The anticipation of the second surgery was both exciting and nerve-wracking, but Yerro felt reassured by the success of the first operation.
The day of the second surgery mirrored the first in many ways. Dr. Samba and his team once again performed the intricate procedure with precision and care. Yerro’s trust in the doctor had only deepened, and he felt a sense of calm as the operation proceeded.
When the procedure was complete, Yerro was moved to the recovery room, his eye once again covered with a protective bandage. The familiar blend of hope and uncertainty filled his thoughts, but this time he also carried the confidence gained from the successful first surgery. Neneh Dado was by his side, her unwavering support a source of comfort.
After a few days of close monitoring and care, the day came to remove the bandages from Yerro’s second eye. As the final layer was peeled away, the clarity and sharpness of his vision returned once more. The world appeared brighter, more vivid, and Yerro felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the second chance at life that Dr. Samba had given him.
After recuperating in the hospital, Yerro returned to Jeshwang. His uncle, Ousman Bah, had recently acquired a plot of land through the generosity of Pa Sidibeh and his wife, Nyima Jarra. For the time being, Yerro stayed in a modest room offered by Pa Sidibeh, a temporary refuge where he could continue his recovery.
As the days passed and his vision steadily improved, Yerro’s thoughts turned to the future. Once he was fully healed, he joined his uncle in molding blocks on the newly allocated land. The work was strenuous, but Yerro welcomed it with a sense of purpose. With his uncle’s guidance and the help of friends, they began to construct two bedrooms and parlors—one for himself and one for his uncle. Each block laid was a step toward a new beginning, the walls rising as a testament to their determination.
Convinced by his uncle, Yerro decided to settle in The Gambia for a while and try his luck in this new land. The decision weighed heavily on him; it meant leaving behind the familiar embrace of his village, Kanjor. However, the promise of opportunity in The Gambia, coupled with the need to provide a better life for his family, made the choice clear. Yerro believed it was the right path for them.
Once the huts were completed, Yerro felt a sense of accomplishment and hope. The modest dwellings symbolized more than just shelter; they represented a fresh start and a stable foundation for the future. With his uncle’s encouragement, Yerro penned a heartfelt letter to his father-in-law in Sareh Dembordor. In it, he described the new home he had built and expressed his desire to have his family join him in The Gambia. He urged his father-in-law to send his beloved wife, Borogie, and their children to settle with him in this new place of promise.
To be contd.
