The news of Yerro’s injury spread like wildfire through the village, each retelling adding its own embellishments and twists. By the time it reached Yerro’s household, it had morphed into a harrowing tale of near-death…
As dusk settled over the village of Kanjor, casting a warm golden hue across the landscape, Nata found herself amidst a sea of fluttering laundry. With each piece of fabric billowing gently in the breeze, a sense of tranquility enveloped her, offering a brief respite from the chaos of the day.
Earlier in the day, Nata had ventured to a friend’s house, drawn by the allure of the time-honored tradition of braiding each other’s hair in their traditional style. The air was thick with the rich aroma of oils, and the room echoed with the melodious symphony of laughter as they sat together, their nimble fingers weaving intricate patterns into each other’s locks.
It was Saturday, a day reserved for braiding in the village, and as the hours unfurled, more friends from the neighborhood gravitated towards the gathering at Daa Nyabou’s compound, drawn by the magnetic pull of laughter and companionship. This simple ritual transcended mere beauty practice; it was a potent symbol of friendship, cultural heritage, and shared experiences.
The jovial atmosphere of the braiding session infused Nata’s heart with a profound sense of joy. Amidst the delicate twists and turns of hair strands, she found herself momentarily liberated from the weight of her daily chores and the persistent problems that shadowed her family life.
The strained dynamic between her parents, Baba Yerro and Nenneh Borogie, cast a long shadow over Nata’s childhood, its presence a constant reminder of the underlying tension and discord that simmered beneath the surface of their household. Yet, amidst the palpable rift between her parents, Nata sought refuge in the warmth of friendship and tradition, finding solace in the bonds she shared with those around her.
The uneasy truce that existed within the household could barely mask the painful reality of her father’s favoritism towards Nenneh Dado, her mother’s co-wife. It was an open secret, whispered about in hushed tones by the villagers, a source of shame and discomfort for Nata. How was she supposed to reconcile the conflicting emotions that swirled within her—shame at her father’s blatant preference, and pain at the perceived abandonment by her own mother?
Caught in the crossfire of her parents’ strained relationship, Nata grappled with a deep sense of isolation and confusion. She longed for the unconditional love and acceptance that every child deserved, yet found herself torn between loyalty to her mother and the desire for her father’s approval.
As she traversed the intricate labyrinth of emotions threatening to engulf her, Nata clung to the one unwavering constant in her life—her profound devotion to her friends. Amidst the turmoil swirling within their household, Nata remained steadfast in the boundless love of her friends. Within the sanctity of their togetherness, she unearthed solace and rejuvenation, finding refuge in the timeless bonds of camaraderie and shared heritage.
As young women blossoming at the dawn of their youth, in a remote village where creature comforts were scarce but simple joys abundant, such moments bore particular significance, illuminating the path through life’s uncertainties. Thus, the braiding sessions were sanctuaries, offering respite from life’s complexities. In the presence of her friends, Nata discovered not only the elegance of braiding but also a solace that transcended their individual struggles.
Meticulously tending to the laundry later that day, Nata’s thoughts drifted back to the vibrant moments of connection and camaraderie she had experienced earlier. These memories brought warmth to her heart, offering a welcome reprieve from the weight of her daily responsibilities. Despite the unfinished task before her, Nata found herself unable to suppress a smile as she reminisced about the shared laughter and stories exchanged among friends.
Among them, Bouyel stood out as the undisputed jester of the group. Her humor was infectious, her wit unmatched. With a quick tongue and a mischievous glint in her eye, she effortlessly transformed even the most mundane moments into comedic spectacles, causing time to slip away unnoticed.
Yet, amidst the laughter and banter, Nata couldn’t help but notice the quiet strength emanating from Yatma. At barely 12 years old, and yet undisputedly the tallest and biggest among her mates, Yatma found herself thrust into a situation that would unsettle many. Nevertheless, she stood tall in both stature and composure, her demeanor unwavering in the face of adversity.
As Bouyel’s jests took on a sharper edge, fueled by Yatma’s impending marriage to her father’s elderly associate, Nata observed the affectionate teasing aimed at Yatma’s physical stature. Underlying these jests lay allusions to the economic complexities at play within their community.
“With a backside as ample as yours,” Bouyel quipped, her tone playful, “it’s no wonder your father’s friends are drawn to you. Just be sure not to inadvertently hasten the old man’s departure. There are too many who rely on him for their livelihoods…My own father included!”
Her words, though delivered with a smile, hinted at the intricate web of dependencies and obligations that governed life in the village. The wealth of Yatma’s suitor, measured in his vast lands and substantial cattle herds, cast a long shadow over the community. Many depended on him for their sustenance, whether through direct employment or financial arrangements.
Whispers circulated through the village, carrying tales of debts owed by Yatma’s father and obligations left unfulfilled. Speculation ran rampant, painting a picture of a family ensnared in financial turmoil and societal expectations. Among the murmurs, one unsettling rumor persisted: Yatma’s hand in marriage was seen as a form of compensation, a means to settle debts and restore honor to her family name.
The weight of these whispers hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over Yatma’s future and igniting murmurs of pity and concern among the villagers. For Yatma, it was a burden she bore silently, her outward composure betraying none of the turmoil that churned within her. Yet, beneath the facade of stoicism, the unspoken decree of unquestioned obedience to her father’s will held sway over any expression of her own desires. This unwritten law, woven into the fabric of her upbringing, rendered her voiceless in matters that shaped her destiny.
Beside her, Yatma’s mother, a figure both accepting and resigned, mirrored her silence. Though perhaps harboring her own thoughts and desires, she, too, adhered to the unyielding code of paternal authority, refraining from any gesture that might challenge it. Yatma longed for the solace of her mother’s solidarity, a flicker of rebellion or even a whispered consultation behind closed doors. Such a gesture would have humanized her existence, offering a glimmer of understanding amidst the weight of expectation. She received none.
Amidst this suffocating ambiance, Bouyel emerged as a beacon of light, her playful banter cutting through the solemnity like a ray of sunshine breaking through storm clouds. With each jest and quip, she deftly peeled away the layers of restraint that bound Yatma, coaxing forth laughter that had long been suppressed by the gravity of her circumstances.
“Do not fret over the village’s pity, my dear Yatma,” Bouyel declared with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Those sighs of sympathy are simply veiled expressions of envy! Who wouldn’t want to be whisked away by such a wealthy suitor? It’s jealousy disguised as concern, I tell you!”
Bouyel possessed a knack for shedding light on uncomfortable truths with a touch of comedic flair. Her words danced on the edge of audacity, yet always landed with a lightness that left no room for offense. Instead, they floated through the air like playful jests, inviting laughter while gently illuminating the shadows of reality.
In those fleeting moments of camaraderie and laughter, Yatma found a sanctuary from the weight of her impending marriage. Bouyel’s presence offered a reprieve from the suffocating expectations that encased her, allowing her to momentarily set aside the burdens of tradition and duty. In the company of her friends, she glimpsed a glimpse of the freedom she craved, a taste of life beyond the confines of her prescribed fate. Though brief, these moments of levity served as a reminder of her ability to overcome, even the most formidable obstacles.
Responding to the call of the muezzin for Magrib prayers, Nata hurried back home, a sense of urgency pulsating through her veins as she realized she had left her laundry hanging on the lines. In their village, this was considered an abomination, albeit a transgression many young women committed frequently due to the whims of youth. Her mother would often admonish, “Laundry should never be left hanging after sunset,” without delving into the reasons behind the prohibition.
With each stroke of her hand, Nata found solace in the rhythmic motion of unfolding and removing the laundry from the rope. The gentle rustle of fabric in the breeze was like a soothing melody, calming her frazzled nerves and grounding her in the present moment. Each piece of clothing carried with it memories of laughter and shared moments, infusing even the mundane task of folding rumpled clothes with a sense of joy and connection. And as Nata folded the laundry with care, her thoughts lingered on the complexities of life in their village, where tradition and necessity often intertwined in unexpected ways.
However, the peace was shattered by the sudden, sharp cries of her neighbors. Their voices, typically filled with mundane chatter, now carried an urgent edge that cut through the serene atmosphere like a knife.
Startled, Nata turned towards the commotion, her heart sinking as she saw the concern etched on her neighbors’ faces. They rushed towards her, their words tumbling out in a jumble of urgency and fear. They spoke of Yerro, her father, in grave danger, hanging onto life by a thread. The weight of their words hit Nata like a physical blow, causing her hands to tremble and her breath to catch in her throat.
Abandoning the laundry unfinished, Nata’s mind raced with a torrent of worries. Memories of her father, strong and vibrant, as he left at dawn flashed before her eyes, now replaced by the chilling image of him fighting for his life. The urgency of the situation drowned out all other thoughts as she struggled to comprehend the sudden turn of events.
Meanwhile, Mariame Mijaw and their other neighbors hurried to inform Nata’s mother and stepmother, who were seated outside their respective huts in the compound. The news of Yerro’s injury struck Neneh Dado and Borogie like a bolt of lightning. The air crackled with disbelief as they exchanged horrified glances, their composed demeanor shattered by the gravity of the situation.
“Is he dead?” she heard Neneh Dado ask in disbelief.
This was the day that everything changed…
To be contd.
