By Dr Cherno Omar Barry
Book Title: The Oath Must Be Fulfilled as Promised
Author: Aisha Jawara
Publisher: Gambia Printing and Publishing Corporation (GPPC)
ISBN: 978-9983-960-46-4
Length: 15 chapters, 213 pages
Genre: Fiction / Mythical Allegory / Cultural Commentary
Notable Themes: Caste, Injustice, Spirituality, Identity, Serahule Society, Women’s Resilience
In a remarkable debut that blends oral tradition, mythic spirituality, and contemporary literary awareness, Aisha Jawara has presented a bold and vital novel: The Oath Must Be Fulfilled as Promised. This work is more than fiction; it is a brave reckoning with the deeply rooted caste hierarchies and inherited silences within Serahule culture. What makes it exceptional is not only its storytelling ability or mythical imagination, but also the fact that it is written by a Serahule woman — a voice seldom heard in African literature, and even less often one that dares to uncover the truths of her own community.
From the opening scenes of King Sayumba’s journey and the fateful encounter with the tormented spirit Akuala, the novel immerses us in a realm where the earthly and the spiritual converge — a world where broken oaths do not fade quietly, and ancestral sins demand reparation with blood and sorrow. Jawara’s decision to frame her novel through this lens of divine justice exemplifies African oral philosophy: that history, when left unacknowledged, repeats itself; and that spirits, when angered, will not rest.
The plot revolves around a solemn pact—a king’s promise to a slave named Dama Touray, made under duress, to grant freedom to his clan in exchange for his life to appease the spirit Akuala. However, the king changes the agreement, freeing only Dama’s son and not the entire lineage. The violation of this sacred contract forms the spiritual core of the novel, haunting the royal bloodline across generations, as symbolised by the ghostly Akuala who declares: “What was promised with blood cannot be edited with ink.”
|This long-forgotten betrayal is brought to light through the figure of Lalia, a descendant of Dama Touray. She emerges as both heroine and sacrifice — a slave girl with healing powers, quiet dignity, and an ancestral burden that predates her birth. Her journey is not only about survival but also about reclamation. Lalia’s life is shaped by the very caste system her ancestors fought to dismantle. Through her, Jawara critiques the entrenched hierarchies that continue to govern Serahule life — where dreaming is forbidden for the lower caste, and bloodlines determine one’s fate more than character or merit.
Lalia’s entanglement with Prince Allan, the heir to King Sayumba’s throne, introduces a tense and emotional dynamic that propels much of the story. Although she is destined for him by Divine will, Allan’s love is distorted by his internalised revulsion of her caste. He flits between attraction and cruelty, desire and shame. His eventual rejection of Lalia is not merely a personal betrayal, but a reenactment of the original oath-breaking — a refusal to recognise the humanity and dignity of the oppressed.
In one of the novel’s most devastating scenes, Lalia reflects:
“I do not believe in fate nor destiny, I believe only in reality, and the only truth in my reality is that the Royal Prince can never accept me as I am.”
This passage, filled with pain and resignation, demonstrates Jawara’s talent for giving her characters psychological depth. Lalia’s rejection of destiny is not defiance, but self-protection — a way to survive in a world that refuses to recognise her worth. The tragedy lies not only in her suffering but also in the reader’s awareness that she is, in fact, exactly what the gods had chosen.
Jawara’s writing is rich with symbolic motifs — the “double-edged dagger,” the enchanted earrings Lalia wears to conceal her identity, and the forest of Njeli, where truth is both buried and unearthed — all reinforce the novel’s themes of memory, transformation, and resistance. In these symbols, we find the fusion of Serahule folklore with modern feminist critique.
The novel is organised into fifteen chapters, yet its narrative unfolds in waves rather than in a straight line. Characters reappear in different roles, secrets are revealed through dreams, and time shifts to allow ancestral voices to speak. The chapters flow into each other with poetic transitions, echoing the oral storytelling tradition. It is within this structure that Jawara is most aligned with griot literature — stories not just told, but passed down like sacred relics.
Perhaps the most compelling aspect of the novel is its cultural honesty. The depiction of the caste system — a social practice rarely addressed publicly, let alone in fiction — is unwavering. Jawara does not romanticise tradition. She shows how caste operates through fear, silence, and ritual. The Queen, Taty, becomes the embodiment of this fear, orchestrating purges, spreading lies, and crushing those who challenge the order. Her cruelty is not personal but systemic — she is the very voice of power determined to preserve itself at all costs.
“She is but a child of the cursed. She will not wear the crown while I breathe.”
This single line encapsulates the heart of the caste debate: it is not merit that is rejected, but origin. And it is not ignorance that perpetuates injustice, but deliberate, institutional exclusion.
In literary terms, The Oath Must Be Fulfilled as Promised aligns with other African texts that explore the legacy of unspoken histories and societal taboos. Jawara’s work bears thematic resonance with Yvonne Vera’s Nehanda, where the spiritual and political histories of colonised Zimbabwe are interwoven through the voice of a mystic woman. Like Vera, Jawara’s prose is lyrical, layered, and haunted by silence.
Another close comparison is with Aminata Sow Fall’s The Beggars’ Strike, which, though satirical, similarly critiques systems of social exclusion in a West African setting. However, where Sow Fall employs irony, Jawara utilises tragedy — her tone is darker, closer to Mariama Bâ’s So Long a Letter, particularly in its critique of patriarchal complicity and the emotional toll of unjust systems.
Yet, Jawara’s contribution is unique. No other Gambian novel to date boldly interrogates the caste system in the way she does, especially from a Serahule woman’s perspective. This perspective is essential. As both an insider and a critic, she holds a rare position of trust, which she uses not to condemn but to awaken.
The novel’s ending — marked by the phrase “To be continued…” — leaves readers in suspense. The sequel, The Oath Fulfilled, promises a dramatic confrontation between the old order and emerging justice. We are hinted at the rise of alliances, an impending battle, and a “crazy unreturned romance.” But even if the sequel never materialises, this novel stands alone as a complete artistic and cultural record.
As we leave Lalia, haunted by memory and torn between fear and prophecy, we are reminded of the griot’s ancient duty: to speak the truth, even when it wounds. Aisha Jawara has done just that. She has opened the pages of Serahule history and woven into them a woman’s voice — lyrical, wounded, wise.
In doing so, she has created not only a novel but a landmark.
