The honeymoon for Borogie didn’t last long. The moment her brother, Caw Omar, departed for Casamance, she knew what her father had known all along—that her life in The Gambia would be far more difficult than she had imagined. She had left her homeland with hopes of building a new life with Yerro, but the harsh reality began to set in quickly. In her heart, she had believed that her brother’s presence was the reason Yerro hadn’t summoned her to his room during her wifely turn. For three months, she convinced herself that it was only a temporary situation, a mere delay due to propriety while her brother was staying with them.
But when Caw Omar left, and still Yerro had not called for her, the truth began to settle like dust on an old chair. This wasn’t just a delay; it was deliberate. Yerro had no intention of sharing his bed with her, and the knowledge that her own husband no longer desired her hit her with the force of a blow she could never have anticipated. But that, as painful as it was, turned out to be the least of her troubles.
Back in Fulladu, Neneh Dado had been an agitator, dividing the family’s routines and deliberately pulling Yerro away. They hadn’t shared the kitchen, even then. Neneh Dado, with no children of her own, had always preferred to cook separately, to eat alone with Yerro. Borogie had enough on her plate taking care of her children, and her co-wife’s antics hadn’t been enough to cause significant friction in those early days. But now, here in The Gambia, the dynamics shifted sharply, and it felt like the ground beneath her was crumbling.
With no work to sustain them and entirely dependent on Yerro’s meager earnings, the family relied heavily on communal meals. Yerro’s clear favoritism toward Neneh Dado only made matters worse. Borogie was already facing the challenge of feeding her brood with little to spare. The prospect of separating the evening meals, as Neneh Dado now pushed for, would be disastrous. Borogie knew it in her bones. If they went this route—each cooking for themselves—her children and she would go without food for days. Neneh Dado, with her freedom and her husband’s support, would survive just fine. But Borogie? She was tethered to a harsh reality where survival became a daily struggle.
When Neneh Dado began pushing for more autonomy, saying she no longer wanted to share the meals, Borogie knew it was a move to isolate her. Yerro had always favored Neneh Dado, and now, she saw how easily the division of meals could become a division of hearts, a permanent fracture in the family. It was a power play, one that left Borogie cornered, fighting for her children’s survival.
The home, once full of promise, soon became a battleground. It wasn’t long before Neneh Dado began canvassing Yerro’s support, knowing how much influence she held over him. Yerro, who was never particularly neutral, became even more biased. Every disagreement, every small tension between the two wives, seemed to end with him taking Neneh Dado’s side. Borogie felt the isolation deeply, especially with her newborn son in her arms and the rest of her children looking to her for strength.
In those early months in Jeshwang, the tension in the home escalated. The whispers among the neighbors began, and pity for Borogie spread through the compound. She could feel their eyes on her when she went to fetch water or when she sat outside with her children. Even though she was far from home, she could feel the echoes of her past life in Fulladu, where she had faced similar struggles. But this time, there was no buffer—no family, no brother, no support to fall back on. It was just her against the relentless tide of life.
The truth was, Borogie was not new to hardship. In Fulladu, she had endured much of the same from Neneh Dado. There, it was easier to bear, though, because she had her family close, and Yerro, at least in the beginning, had shown her some affection. But here, in The Gambia, things were different. The animosity Neneh Dado felt for her now grew stronger with each passing day, and Borogie found herself at the center of the storm, with no one to shield her from the brewing tempest.
Neighbors pitied Borogie, but they did so from afar. They saw her strength and admired her perseverance, but none of them stepped in to help. It was as though they watched a play unfold, spectators to her pain. Borogie carried on, but each day felt heavier than the last. Yerro’s treatment of her had become unbearable. He no longer acknowledged her as his wife and instead treated her as an outsider in her own home.
Neneh Dado’s separation of the meals had further fractured the household. Borogie often found herself scavenging for food, trying to make something out of nothing for her children. With each passing day, the gulf between her and Yerro grew wider. He had made his choice, and that choice was Neneh Dado. Borogie, once a proud and vibrant woman, now felt like a shadow of herself, living in a home that no longer welcomed her.
The situation reached a boiling point one evening when Borogie had prepared what little she could gather for her children’s meal. The meager portion she had managed to scrape together barely filled the pot, but it was all she had. As she set the pot on the fire, hoping for a miracle, Neneh Dado appeared at the door with Yerro beside her. Their united front was a stark reminder of Borogie’s increasing isolation.
“I told you,” Neneh Dado began, her voice dripping with malice, “we don’t need to share anymore. Each for themselves.”
Borogie said nothing, her hands steadying the pot, but her heart was racing. She had heard these words before, but now, spoken in front of Yerro, they carried a different weight. She glanced at Yerro, hoping for even a hint of support, but his face was unreadable. He stood there, silent, allowing Neneh Dado to speak for both of them.
“I will cook for Yerro and myself,” Neneh Dado continued, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction, “and you can cook for your children.”
The finality of the statement hit Borogie like a hammer. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the firewood under the pot. She knew what this meant. There would be no help from Yerro, no provision, no shared responsibility. She was on her own.
The neighbors heard the altercation, of course. They always heard. But like before, they kept their distance. Borogie could feel their pity, but pity wouldn’t feed her children. It wouldn’t make Yerro change his mind or soften Neneh Dado’s heart. She was alone in this fight.
Days turned into weeks, and Borogie’s strength was tested beyond what she thought she could endure. Yerro and Neneh Dado ate well, their meals abundant and fragrant, while Borogie scraped by on what little she could find. Her children, ever resilient, never complained, but she could see the hunger in their eyes, the quiet resignation of knowing that their mother was fighting a battle she couldn’t win.
Nata, their eldest, was old enough to understand the dynamics at play. She watched his mother with quiet admiration, recognizing the sacrifices she made daily. She, too, bore the weight of the situation, helping where she could, but he was still a child, and the burden of survival lay heavily on Borogie’s shoulders.
Despite everything, Borogie refused to break. She drew strength from the memory of her mother, who had endured so much in her own life. Her mother’s resilience, her quiet strength in the face of adversity, had been passed down to Borogie, and now, it was her turn to embody that same unwavering spirit.
As the weeks dragged on, Borogie found a strange comfort in the routines she had built for herself and her children. She cooked what little she could, mended their clothes, and kept the house in order. She didn’t need Yerro, and she certainly didn’t need Neneh Dado. What she needed was survival, and that was something she had learned to master long ago.
Yet, in the quiet moments, when the children were asleep, and the house was still, Borogie allowed herself to feel the full weight of her situation. The tears would come then, silently, as she lay on her mat, staring up at the darkened ceiling. She wept for the life she had lost, for the love she had once known, and for the future that seemed so uncertain. But she also wept for her children, who deserved so much more than the hand they had been dealt.
Borogie’s journey was one of heartbreak. Each day was a test of her endurance, a measure of how much she could take before she broke. But Borogie didn’t break. Not then, and not ever. She had come from a long line of strong women, and she would not be the one to falter.
In the end, Borogie knew that her worth wasn’t measured by Yerro’s love or by Neneh Dado’s cruelty. It was measured by her strength, her ability to carry on in the face of adversity, and her unwavering commitment to her children. She had learned this from her mother, and now, she was passing it on to her children.
As the fire in the hearth dimmed, Borogie sat alone, staring into the fading embers…
To be contd.
