Caw Omar’s departure from Jeshwang marked a pivotal moment for Yerro’s family. As he packed his belongings, preparing to return to Casamance, a heavy silence settled over the compound. Borogie stood nearby, cradling Buba in her arms, her expression a mix of gratitude and anxiety. The children, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, played quietly nearby, their usual exuberance tempered by the somber mood.
On the final evening before his departure, Caw Omar sought out Yerro for one last conversation. They sat together in the courtyard, the warm night air wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. The stars above twinkled softly, casting a gentle light over the scene.
“You have a second chance at life here, Yerro,” Caw Omar began, his voice full of conviction. He glanced around the compound, taking in the sturdy house Yerro had built with his own hands, the small garden that Borogie had started to tend, and the overall sense of stability that had begun to take root. “I am glad I brought them to you.”
Yerro nodded, his eyes misting with emotion. “Thank you, Omar. I will do my best to make sure they are happy and cared for.” His voice was thick with sincerity. The journey to this point had been long and arduous, but now, with his family finally reunited, he felt a deep sense of fulfillment.
Caw Omar looked at his brother-in-law, seeing not just the man before him, but the journey they had all undertaken together—the struggles, the fears, and now, the hope for a brighter future. “Take care of them, Yerro. They are your responsibility now. Borogie, the children… Dado. They all look to you.”
“I know,” Yerro replied, his gaze steady. “I won’t let them down. I promise you that.”
Caw Omar patted Yerro on the shoulder, a gesture that conveyed both trust and expectation. “Good. I’ll be back to check on you all, but I trust you’ll handle things well until then.”
With that, Caw Omar departed the next morning, leaving Yerro and his family to continue their journey in this new land. For the first few weeks, things seemed to go well. The family adjusted to their new environment, learning the local customs and integrating into the community. Borogie found solace in the routine of daily life, tending to the household and caring for the children. Yerro, now fully recovered from his surgery, focused on providing for his family, working hard to ensure they had everything they needed.
Neneh Dado, initially, found fulfillment in her role as a mother figure to the children. Despite her struggles with infertility, she poured her love and attention into them, finding joy in their growth and happiness. She played with them, taught them little songs and stories from her own childhood, and even helped Borogie with the household chores.
However, as time passed, tension began to brew beneath the surface. With Caw Omar no longer around to mediate and offer guidance, old insecurities began to resurface, particularly for Neneh Dado. Though she had welcomed Borogie and the children with open arms, the reality of sharing Yerro’s affection with them started to gnaw at her.
At first, the changes in Neneh Dado’s behavior were subtle—a comment here, a glance there. She would sometimes remark on how the children always sought out their mother first, or how Yerro seemed to spend more time with Borogie, discussing the day’s events. But as the weeks went by, these small signs of discontent grew into something more pronounced.
In the privacy of her room, Neneh Dado began to complain about mistreatment and disrespect. “I feel like an outsider in my own home,” she would whisper to herself, her voice tinged with bitterness. “They’re all so close, and I’m just… here. I’ve given so much, and yet, I’m always second in his eyes.”
These thoughts festered, slowly eroding the peace that had initially settled over the household. The children, sensing the growing tension, became quieter, unsure of how to navigate the increasingly strained atmosphere. Borogie, too, noticed the change in Neneh Dado but was unsure how to address it. She had always been aware of the delicate balance required in a polygamous marriage, and now, she feared that balance was tipping.
Yerro, caught between the two women he loved, found himself in a difficult position. He had always admired Neneh Dado’s strength and resilience, especially in the face of her barrenness. But he also deeply loved Borogie, the mother of his children, who had stood by him through thick and thin. The more Neneh Dado’s insecurities grew, the more Yerro felt the strain on his own heart. He was torn, unsure of how to maintain harmony within his family.
One evening, after a particularly tense day, Yerro decided to speak with Neneh Dado. He found her sitting alone in their room, staring out the window at the darkening sky.
“Daa,” he began softly, sitting down beside her. “What’s wrong? You’ve been distant lately, and I can tell something’s bothering you.”
She turned to him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Yerro, I feel like I’m losing you. You spend so much time with Borogie and the children… I feel like there’s no place for me here anymore.”
Yerro took her hand, his heart aching at the pain in her voice. “Dado, that’s not true. You are a part of this family, an important part. I love you, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me and for the children.”
“But it’s not enough, Yerro,” she whispered, pulling her hand away. “I see the way you look at her, the way you care for the children… I’m just… I’m just here. I have no children of my own, no one to carry on my name. All I have is you, and now it feels like I’m losing even that.”
Yerro felt a pang of guilt as her words hit home. He had always tried to be fair, to divide his attention and love equally between his two wives. But he could see now that Neneh Dado’s loneliness and insecurity were more profound than he had realized. “Daa, I understand how you feel, and I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel this way. But you must know that my love for you hasn’t changed. We’re in this together, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you feel that.”
Despite his reassurances, the tension in the household continued to grow. Neneh Dado’s feelings of jealousy and insecurity only deepened, and her relationship with Borogie became increasingly strained. The once warm and cooperative atmosphere between the two women began to turn cold, marked by curt exchanges and sidelong glances.
Borogie, for her part, tried to maintain peace. She encouraged the children to spend time with Neneh Dado, hoping it would help bridge the gap between them. She also made efforts to include Neneh Dado in household decisions and activities, but her gestures were often met with suspicion or outright rejection.
The children, caught in the middle, began to feel the strain of the household’s changing dynamics. They became more subdued, their once carefree laughter now a rare occurrence. Even little Buba, who was usually the center of attention, sensed the shift and became more clingy and irritable.
Yerro, witnessing the growing discord, felt helpless. He had hoped that bringing his family together in The Gambia would lead to a new beginning for them all, but instead, it seemed to be driving them apart. He spent many nights lying awake, wondering what he could do to mend the rift between his wives.
The turning point came one afternoon when Neneh Dado, in a moment of frustration, accused Borogie of deliberately undermining her in front of the children. The accusation, though baseless, cut deep, and for the first time, Borogie responded in kind, defending herself and her actions. The argument quickly escalated, with harsh words exchanged that left both women in tears.
Yerro, returning home to find the aftermath of their fight, knew that something had to change. He couldn’t allow the tension to destroy the family he had worked so hard to bring together. That evening, he called both women to the courtyard, determined to address the situation.
“We can’t go on like this,” Yerro said, his voice firm but gentle. “I know things have been difficult, and I understand that there are feelings of hurt and jealousy. But we are a family, and we need to find a way to live together in peace.”
He looked at Neneh Dado first, his expression softening. “Dado, I know how much you’ve sacrificed, and I know that this situation isn’t easy for you. But please, understand that my love for you hasn’t changed. You are an important part of this family, and I need you to believe that.”
Turning to Borogie, he continued, “Borogie, you’ve been through so much, and I’m grateful for your patience and understanding. But we can’t let these tensions tear us apart. We need to support each other, for the sake of the children and for ourselves.”
The two women, still reeling from the argument, listened in silence. The weight of Yerro’s words hung in the air, a reminder of the fragile balance that held their family together.
In the days that followed, there was a noticeable effort from both women to mend their relationship. It wasn’t easy—old wounds took time to heal—but there was a renewed sense of commitment to making their family work. Yerro, too, made a conscious effort to spend more time with Neneh Dado, reassuring her of her place in his heart and in their home.
Gradually, the atmosphere in the household began to shift once again. The laughter of the children returned, the once strained interactions between Neneh Dado and Borogie became more amicable, and Yerro found a sense of peace knowing that his family was healing.
Though the road ahead was still uncertain, the family had learned an important lesson about love, patience, and the power of forgiveness. In their small corner of Jeshwang, they found a way to move forward, together, bound by the promise of a better future.
To be contd
