If aloneness could ever be described, it was personified in the story of Ousman Bah. Born in the vast region of Gabu—an area that encompassed what is now Casamance, Guinea-Bissau, and parts of Guinea Conakry—Ousman’s early years were spent in the embrace of nature and tradition. The land where he grew up was wild, covered in dense vegetation and tall grasses that swayed like the rhythm of life itself. As a herdsboy, he roamed this vast expanse alongside three brothers and three sisters. His family, like many others in the Firdu Fula Kundas, relied on cattle for their livelihood, their very existence tied to the rhythm of the seasons and the fortunes of their herd.
Life in pre-independence Casamance was one of simple routines, shaped by the cycles of nature. The Fula people, to which Ousman belonged, were pastoralists at heart, with deep-rooted traditions that went back centuries. Their way of life revolved around cattle—their wealth, their pride, and the lifeblood of their community. Ousman and his brothers spent their days herding cattle, guiding them to fresh grazing lands, and ensuring their safety from the dangers that lurked in the forests. When the rainy season arrived, they also helped plough the fields, sowing crops like millet and coos that would sustain the family during the long, dry months. These crops, alongside the milk, cheese, and oil from their cattle, provided sustenance, ensuring that hunger was a stranger in Ousman’s household.
However, sickness was a constant companion. Ousman’s mother was always ill, her frail form growing weaker with each passing day. Each morning, Ousman would wake up with a pit in his stomach, fearing that he might not find his mother alive when he ran from the lad’s hut to greet her. His eldest sister, Sira, took on the role of caretaker and overseer of the household, a heavy burden for someone so young. Their father, a man who had turned to drink as a way of escaping the hardships of life, was rarely around. His presence was felt only in his absence, and his eldest son seemed to be following in his footsteps, often found in a stupor like his father before him.
Amidst this backdrop of sickness, uncertainty, and familial disarray, Ousman wore his solitude as a balm. He harbored dreams that were as vast as the open plains he roamed. He often spoke to his cattle during their long, solitary walks, imagining a different life in a different place. He had a yearning to break free from the constraints of his small world, to explore the larger one that lay beyond the horizon. That yearning took root and flourished after a chance encounter in the late 1940s.
One day, as he was herding cattle near the village, a group of men dressed in immaculate, pressed clothing appeared. They were politicians, coming to talk about independence, a new idea for a new world. Ousman watched them in awe. They wore full-length garments, with shoes that gleamed under the sun. In his village, young boys went about naked until they were old enough to cover their private parts, and even then, they only wore minimal clothing. Women, too, dressed simply, covering their lower bodies but leaving their upper parts bare. To see men fully clothed, speaking with eloquence about ideas he could barely grasp-independence, freedom, and patriotism-ignited a fire in Ousman’s mind. It was as though these men were from another world, a world he longed to be part of.
The opportunity to leave his old life behind came sooner than expected, though it arrived on the heels of tragedy. A devastating disease swept through the region, decimating their cattle and leaving the family on the brink of starvation. The once bountiful life Ousman had known crumbled around him. His sisters were married off to distant men in faraway villages, scattering them like seeds in the wind. His brothers, too, left—one to Bissau and the other to Dakar—each chasing the promise of a better future. It seemed that the family, once bound together by tradition and land, was now being pulled apart by forces beyond their control.
Ousman due to his youth, stayed behind for a time, caring for his ailing mother and watching as his father, once proud and strong, became a shadow of his former self. His father sold the last of their harvest to keep the family afloat, and with part of the money, Ousman made the decision to leave. The day he boarded a vehicle bound for The Gambia, he carried little more than the worn cloth on his back and the dreams that had kept him awake for so many nights. He had chosen The Gambia because a neighbor had mentioned having relatives there, but in truth, Ousman knew little about what awaited him.
The migration from Casamance
Casamance in the early 20th century was a land of contrasts—both beautiful and perilous. The region’s dense forests, rich soils, and abundant water made it ideal for agriculture and cattle herding, but it was also a land of division and hardship. The Firdu Fula Kundas, like many ethnic groups in the area, were caught in the throes of political and social upheaval. The struggle for independence in Senegal was gaining momentum, but it brought with it uncertainty and displacement. As diseases ravaged livestock and communities were torn apart, migration became an unavoidable reality for many.
Ousman’s decision to leave for The Gambia was not unique. Many families in Casamance were splitting up during this period, forced to seek new lives in far-off lands. Some went to Guinea-Bissau, Mali, others to Guinea Conakry or even farther afield to places like Niger and Benin. The migration of herdsmen like Ousman, whose livelihood was tied to their cattle, was particularly poignant. For them, losing their cattle meant losing their identity. They were not just leaving behind land; they were leaving behind a way of life that had defined their existence for generations.
The Casamance of Ousman’s youth was a place where tradition reigned supreme. Men wore simple cloths, draped around their bodies, and women often adorned themselves with intricate beads and scarves that signified their marital status or tribal affiliation. The rhythms of daily life were dictated by the needs of the cattle and the cycles of the seasons. People woke with the sun and worked until dusk, their hands calloused from labor and their spirits hardened by the realities of life on the land.
But as independence movements began to stir, these traditions were increasingly at odds with the modernizing forces sweeping through the region. Ousman had seen glimpses of that modern world in the politicians who visited his village. He had heard talk of cities like Dakar and Banjul, places where people wore suits and shoes, where they lived in houses made of concrete instead of mud and thatch. He imagined a future where he, too, could be part of that world—where he wouldn’t have to rely on cattle or farming to survive, where he could build a different kind of life for himself.
A new life in The Gambia
When Ousman arrived in The Gambia, it was a far cry from the vast expanses of Casamance. Banjul, the capital, was bustling with activity. People from all walks of life filled the streets—traders, fishermen, dockworkers, and the occasional European colonial officer. The city was alive with the hum of commerce and the promise of opportunity, but for Ousman, it was overwhelming. He had never seen so many people in one place, nor had he ever encountered such diversity.
Life in Banjul was different from anything he had known. The people were a mix of ethnic groups—Mandinka, Wolof, Fula, and others—all living side by side in a delicate balance. The air was thick with the smells of street food and the sounds of haggling in the market. Here, Ousman was a stranger in a strange land, but he quickly learned to adapt. He found work as a laborer, doing whatever odd jobs he could find to make ends meet. The money was meager, but it was enough to send a little back to his family in Casamance.
Ousman’s brothers had settled in their respective cities, sending news back home when they could. His sisters, now married, wrote letters through the village griot, who would read them aloud to the family. Despite the distance, the family stayed connected, though the bonds that had once held them together were now stretched thin across borders and time.
The legacy of Ousman Bah
Ousman’s journey was one of resilience and reinvention. He left Casamance not only in search of a better life but in search of himself. The boy who once dreamed of wearing shoes and living in the city had grown into a man who understood the complexities of life—its hardships, its fleeting joys, and its relentless, unyielding pace.
In time, Ousman found a sense of belonging in The Gambia. He married more than once, but his early years remained childless. It wasn’t until later in life, when Yerro crossed his path, that fatherhood found him. He built a new life for himself, carrying with him the memories of the land of his birth and the lessons learned as a herdsboy in the wilds of Casamance. His story, like those of so many others who migrated during that tumultuous time, reflects the quiet strength of perseverance and the enduring power of the human spirit. It is a reminder that we are born alone, we die alone, and in our solitude, we find who we are meant to be.
To be contd.
