As the sun embarked on its gradual descent beyond the horizon in the expansive landscape of the Fulladu region, a symphony of sounds emanated from the heart of the village of Kanjor, which lay along the riverbanks. Though it appeared to be an ordinary dusk, each twilight in Fulladu bore its distinctive enchantment. However, on this particular day, a looming shadow of unforeseen tragedy cast its pall over the Mballo family.
Just before the news of Yerro’s injury spread like wildfire through the village, the air was thick with the heady scent of wildflowers and the earthy aroma of the river. Villagers wrapped up their day’s work and gathered around their humble abodes. Children, their laughter echoing through the narrow pathways, chased each other in a game of tag, their bare feet kicking up dust as they ran.
When the shadows began to lengthen and the first stars timidly peeked through the darkening sky, the cacophony of insect life began to crescendo. Crickets, hidden among the tall grasses and swaying reeds, started their rhythmic chirping, a chorus that seemed to echo through the very soul of the land.
Nearby, the ancient baobab trees stood sentinel, their gnarled branches reaching towards the heavens like fingers entwined in prayer. Under their sprawling canopy, families were beginning to gather around, lighting fires, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on weathered faces.
Amidst the buzz of activity, there was a serene sense of tranquility that settled over Fulladu at dusk. Borogie, amidst her silent worries, heard Nata over at the clotheslines, removing garments at a time she knew was not ideal. Countless times, Borogie had reminded her eldest child of the importance of completing chores before dusk. In the beliefs of their village, dusk was a sacred time, when the spirits of ancestors were said to roam the earth, and humans were urged to settle down and seek rest. Borogie almost scolded her daughter for her oversight, but with her mind preoccupied with worries far weightier than misplaced laundry, she held her tongue.
Following the unsettling news of Yerro’s accident, Borogie found herself thrust into the daunting task of maintaining her composure. Despite her outward stoicism, her heart trembled with fear for Yerro’s well-being. Each breath felt labored as she fought to suppress the tumult of emotions threatening to overwhelm her, her hands betraying the telltale tremors of anxiety that coursed through her veins.
Meanwhile, Nenneh Dado, her co-wife, had entered Yerro’s room, intent on gathering essential items for him. Word had spread that he was en route to Kanjor in a boat with his friends, and it was deemed necessary to ensure he had the comforts he needed, wherever his journey might lead him. The two co-wives had speculated he would spend the night at the home of the great herbalist on the edge of the village. With his renowned healing abilities, if anyone could aid Yerro, it would be the herbalist.
As it was Nenneh Dado’s turn to share Yerro’s hut, Borogie allowed her to attend to the necessary preparations while she remained seated on the goatskin mat spread just by the gate of her own hut with her three other children, consumed by deep worry. Her thoughts were a tumultuous sea of uncertainty, each wave crashing against the shores of her mind, leaving behind fragments of fear and hope.
Despite the complexities of their relationship, Yerro was a good father to her children—a steadfast provider and protector of his family. They never spent a day without three square meals, and their huts provided a shelter that was sturdy and comforting. Though their bond had weathered its share of storms, Borogie could not deny the significance of his presence in their lives. The thought of his absence, of the void it would leave behind, weighed heavily on her heart, a silent acknowledgment of the intricate web of emotions that bound them together.
As she grappled with the uncertainty of the situation, Borogie drew strength from the memories of happier times, from the moments of laughter and joy they had shared when they were younger and life had not yet stripped them of their innocence. Though their journey had been marked by challenges and hardships, especially after he weded Nenneh Dado, she clung to the belief that their love would endure, that they would emerge from this trial stronger and more united than ever before.
As the matriarch of the household, Borogie understood the importance of steadying herself for the sake of her children, who were both frightened and saddened by their father’s sudden calamity. So despite the turmoil swirling within her, she summoned her inner resolve and focused on tending to the needs of her younger children. With a gentle touch and soothing words, Borogie sought to ease her children’s fears and provide them with the comfort they desperately sought.
However, her efforts to maintain her composure were further complicated by the early stages of her fifth pregnancy, which brought with it the unwelcome companion of morning sickness. Unfooled by the name, Borogie’s experience with morning sickness extended far beyond the confines of the morning. Hers was a whole-day ordeal, where everything tasted and smelled repulsive, leading to constant nausea and a discernible lack of appetite.
Despite the waves of discomfort threatening to overwhelm her, Borogie refused to let her own struggles overshadow her children’s concerns. She pushed through the queasiness and exhaustion, pouring all her energy into providing comfort and reassurance to her beloved children. In her unwavering dedication to their well-being, she found a sense of purpose and resilience that carried her through even the darkest of times.
“Is he going to die?” Matou, the precocious five-year-old, voiced the question that hung heavy in the air, her small voice carrying the weight of uncertainty.
“What is die?” Khadja, her innocent eyes wide with curiosity, sought understanding at barely three years of age, her gaze fixed on her older sister with a mixture of wonder and apprehension.
“It is to just disappear and not be around anymore. Just like Grandma did. You see, Grandma is no longer here with us. She just left and we will never see her again,” Matou whispered, her words laden with a solemnity beyond her tender years.
Khadja Bobo’s eyes welled with tears at the thought of losing her father, her tiny heart grappling with the concept of absence and loss.
With a gentle yet firm tone, Borogie intervened, determined to shield her children from the harsh realities of mortality.
“Don’t say such things,” Borogie scolded her little ones, her voice tinged with maternal concern as she reached out to wipe away Khadja Bobo’s tears. “Children must not speak of death in this house. It’s a heavy burden for young hearts to carry.”
“But we can say things like lost or disappear, can’t we?” Matou persisted, her inquisitive nature undeterred as she sought to navigate the delicate balance between curiosity and sensitivity.
“Hush,” Borogie motioned for her to be quiet, her hand gently urging silence as she gathered her children close to her, their warmth and innocence offering a brief respite from the turmoil outside their home. Matou, ever persistent, always had something to say, her curious mind ceaselessly exploring the boundaries of understanding, even in the face of uncertainty and fear.
As Borogie sat on with her children, enveloping them in her protective embrace, she closed her eyes, picturing the fading rays of the setting sun. Every movement she made was deliberate, driven by her determination to shield her little ones from the weight of their father’s plight. Caught in a whirlwind of emotions, she grappled with the fear of Yerro’s uncertain future and the hopeful anticipation of a new life entering the world.
The chaotic scene of concerned neighbors gathering to inquire about Yerro’s accident only deepened the melancholic atmosphere that hung over the house. Borogie, amidst the flurry of activity, made a conscious effort to maintain her composure, her unwavering focus solely on ensuring the well-being of her children. With each glance at their innocent faces, she was reminded of the delicate tightrope they all walked between hope and despair.
Meanwhile, Nata returned to her mother’s hut with a bundle of clothes, her steps faltering slightly amidst the crowd of worried onlookers. Fear and uncertainty clouded her expression, yet fueled by determination, she pressed on. Entering the hut, she was enveloped in the warmth of familial love, finding solace in the silent understanding that they would overcome toegther as a family. Together, they would face the storm ahead, drawing strength from their unbreakable bond and unwavering resilience.
As night descended upon Kanjor, shrouding the village in darkness, the fate of the Mballo family hung in the balance. Yet, amidst the uncertainty, there remained a glimmer of hope—a beacon guiding them through the darkness towards a future filled with love, resilience, and the promise of a new dawn.
In the quiet moments between caring for her family, Borogie offered silent prayers, her faith a flickering beacon of hope amidst the uncertainty. As the night wore on, the compound continued to buzz with activity as neighbors and family members continued to gather to offer their support.
With the last rays of sunlight fading into darkness, the night came alive with a symphony of sights and sounds. Fireflies danced in the air, while the distant call of nocturnal birds added to the enchantment of the evening. In Fulladu, even the most ordinary dusk was woven with threads of magic and wonder.
And so, as the sun disappeared below the horizon, Yerro’s fate hung in the balance, his loved ones clinging to hope and praying for a miracle.
To be contd.
