With Rohey Samba
Borogie was a child prodigy, not in the conventional sense of excelling at music or academics, but in her extraordinary ability to navigate life’s complexities with a wisdom far beyond her years. Her sharp intuition and emotional intelligence were not gifts of privilege, but the hard-earned fruits of necessity. Her mother’s long illness had thrust her into an adult world while she was still a child, opening her eyes to life’s harsher truths earlier than most.
Without the protective shield of a strong maternal figure, Borogie had faced society’s subtle cruelties head-on. She remembered the sideways glances cast her way, the thinly veiled contempt of those who pitied her but didn’t respect her, and the condescending kindness that was more of a reminder of her family’s struggles than an act of genuine care. Though she lacked the words to explain it as a child, she had felt the sting of diminished significance—her mother’s frailty seemingly rendering her and her siblings less visible in the eyes of the community.
Borogie had learned, early and painfully, to console herself in moments of isolation. She became her own emotional anchor, drawing strength from within when no one else would offer it. This resilience, though born of hardship, became her defining trait. Yet, even in those years of solitude, there had been glimmers of kindness in her life.
Her stepmother, Dabel, had shown her an unexpected softness. Borogie often wondered whether Dabel’s kindness stemmed from pity for her ailing mother or a fear of her father’s authority. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. Regardless of the reason, Dabel’s presence offered Borogie a rare reprieve—a small, tender mercy that provided a sense of acceptance.
It wasn’t the unconditional love of a birth mother, but it was enough. Enough to teach her that not all care was pure, yet even the most conditional forms of kindness could sustain her. Borogie cherished these moments, not because they filled her life with joy, but because they reminded her that survival often lay in the ability to find warmth in the coldest places.
But Borogie was nothing if not a quick learner. Like a chameleon, she adapted, carefully studying people’s behaviors, learning to navigate their moods and personalities. She developed an uncanny ability to endear herself even to the most difficult of individuals, striking a delicate balance between self-sufficiency and approachability. She understood the value of being helpful but knew not to overstep, of showing dignity without seeming distant, and of tolerating even the cruelest or most ambiguous characters without losing her own humanity.
Her kindness and maturity attracted women who sought to mother her. These surrogate mothers saw in her a dream child—polite, hardworking, and uncomplaining. Many days in Kanjor, when she was still unwed, these women would bring her vegetables from their gardens or fresh milk to help support her siblings. In return, Borogie would wash their clothes when she had spare time, babysit their children while they went to the market, and offer assistance however she could. It was a quiet exchange of care and necessity, one that carried her through some of the hardest years of her life…
When Borogie arrived in The Gambia, she immediately recognized the need to establish herself within the community. A woman without allies, she knew, was a woman left vulnerable. And so, she set her sights on Maa Sireng Bojang, the wife of the Alkali of Jeshwang, as her adopted “mother.” A few days after settling in, Borogie, accompanied by her uncle-in-law, paid a formal visit to the Alkali’s family. She greeted them with humility, her soft voice steady as she presented Maa Sireng with kola nuts—a traditional gesture of respect and allegiance. Maa Sireng, a kind yet shrewd woman, was delighted. From that moment on, Borogie had a maternal figure she could look up to once more.
Following Borogie’s heartfelt request for a modest plot of land to farm, Yerro, determined to fulfill her wish, sought out his uncle Ousman Bah that same evening before he left for his nightly security duties. The elder sat by the dim glow of the compound’s central fire, its flickering light casting long shadows on the walls. Yerro, weary from a long day toiling in the fields, lowered himself onto the woven mat opposite his uncle. The night enveloped them in a cocoon of stillness, broken only by the rhythmic hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.
“Uncle,” Yerro began, his tone earnest, “Borogie has a dream. She wants to cultivate land, to grow food not just for our family but to contribute to the community. She believes it’s the only way we can secure a stable future.”
Ousman, a lean man with a sharp mind despite his modest means, rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he listened. “Yerro,” he said, his voice measured, “I’ve seen that woman work. She has the spirit of a farmer, a heart that will not rest until it has provided. I will speak to the Alkali myself. Perhaps he will grant her a small plot near his wives’ garden.”
Just then, Ousman’s nephew, Ansumana Jamanka, strolled into the compound. A tall man with an easy smile, Ansumana was known for his humor and his knack for smoothing over conflicts. Ousman gestured for him to join them.
“Ansumana,” Ousman said warmly, “you’ve arrived at the right time. We need your support.”
Ansumana raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s the matter, Uncle?”
Ousman chuckled. “It’s your cousin’s wife. She wants to cultivate land. We plan to visit the Alkali to request a plot on her behalf.”
Ansumana leaned back, clearly amused. “Which of my cousin’s wives? He has two, doesn’t he?”
“The first wife,” Ousman replied, his tone teasing. “The lady of the house. Borogie.”
Ansumana grinned. “Ah, Borogie. If she’s asked, she must mean it. That one doesn’t waste words.”
Yerro, quiet until now, finally spoke, his voice firm but tinged with emotion. “It’s not just for her, Ansumana. She wants a life she can trust, one where the children will never know hunger. She’s seen enough of that already.”
Ansumana’s playful demeanor softened, and he nodded. “I’ll come with you. The Alkali respects strength and sincerity, and Borogie has both.”
Ousman patted Yerro’s shoulder reassuringly. “Leave it to us. The land will come, Yerro. Your wife has a fire in her, and the community will benefit from it.”
Yerro exhaled deeply, relief and pride intertwining in his heart. For all her trials, Borogie had never stopped pushing forward, and he knew she never would.
The next afternoon, Ousman and Ansumana made their way to the Alkali’s compound under the golden light of the sun, which filtered through the tall baobabs and swayed gently on the dusty paths. The compound bustled with activity—children darted around chasing chickens, while women gathered under a large mango tree, chatting as they pounded millet. The scent of fresh earth mingled with the sweetness of ripening mangoes, creating a distinctly homely air.
The Alkali, a dignified man with a commanding presence and a reputation for fairness, sat under the shade of his thatched veranda. He welcomed the men warmly, offering stools and a calabash of cool water as they settled into a conversation. His eyes, keen and observant, shifted between Ousman and Ansumana as Ousman began to speak.
“She is a new face here, Alkali,” Ousman said, his voice steady with purpose. “But in her short time, she has shown herself to be one of us. Borogie is hardworking, humble, and determined. She seeks a small plot of land to grow food for her children. It’s not much, but it could mean the world to her and her family.”
The Alkali leaned back, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he considered the words. His eyes wandered over the garden where his wife’s plots of rice and cassava grew in neat rows. He had heard whispers of Borogie’s arrival, tales of her resilience and industrious nature spreading quietly among the women.
“I’ve heard of Borogie,” he said finally, nodding slowly. “Her reputation precedes her—a woman of character and strength. We cannot give land freely, but sincerity must be recognized.” He paused, tapping his knee thoughtfully before gesturing toward the unused corner near his wife’s garden. “There is a small plot there, untouched for seasons. It’s poor soil, but with hard work, it can be made fruitful. I see no harm in lending it to her. Let her prove her worth.”
Ousman’s chest swelled with pride and gratitude as he stood to bow in respect. “Alkali, you have shown wisdom and compassion. She will honor this opportunity, I assure you.”
When Ousman and Ansumana returned to Yerro’s compound later that day, their faces were alight with satisfaction. As the evening breeze cooled the air, the family gathered near the fire to hear the news. Ousman relayed the Alkali’s decision, his voice tinged with pride and excitement.
“Borogie,” he said, turning to her with a smile that softened the lines of his weathered face, “the Alkali has granted you the land. It’s beside his wife’s garden, and you can start as soon as you’re ready. This is your chance to build something for your children.”
Borogie’s hands flew to her chest, and her eyes filled with tears of gratitude. She pressed her palms together in respect and looked toward Ousman. “Thank you, Uncle. I don’t have the words to express what this means. I promise to honor this land and give back to our people in every way I can.”
Yerro placed a firm, reassuring hand on her shoulder, his voice low but steady. “You’ve always had a way, Borogie. I never doubted you. This land will flourish under your care.”
To be contd.
