A few months before Nata’s wedding, a significant event occurred in their household — Matou went to live with her sponsor’s family in Bakau as a foster child.
The day Matou left for Bakau was etched in her memory like the last page of a chapter she could not quite close. It was the kind of moment that lingered in the air, thick with sadness, yet not without hope. The dust of Jeshwang, her home for all these years, seemed to settle around her as she stepped out of the compound, a bittersweet finality to the day that had arrived without warning. She was leaving behind the familiar routine of farm life — the early mornings, the endless chores, and the weight of a future that was always uncertain. But for the first time, she was also leaving for something more, something her heart had always longed for but never dared to hope could be hers: a chance at an education, a better life.
In the months leading up to her departure, Matou had struggled with the heaviness of her responsibilities. As the second daughter in the family, the tasks of maintaining the household had fallen on her young shoulders. After Nata’s brutal beating, Matou had taken on more than ever. She woke up early to sweep the compound, fetched water from the well, and cared for the younger children, Bubel and Khadja Bobo, all before she could think about leaving for school. But no matter how much effort she put into it, she was always late — her uniform soiled, her hair messy, and her body exhausted from the never-ending cycle of work. The strain wore her down.
Matou had always been a curious, eager child, desperate to learn and explore the world beyond Jeshwang. But the constant chores and responsibilities left little room for anything else. She could feel the weight of her future slipping away with each passing day, and it broke her heart to see her mother, Borogie, working harder and harder without any sign of relief.
Borogie’s heart ached for Matou. As a mother, she wanted her daughter to have more than this life. But Borogie knew that unless Matou had the chance to escape, unless she had the space to learn and grow beyond the boundaries of their small, impoverished home, Matou’s potential would never be fully realised.
The offer from Mrs. Owens, the head teacher at Matou’s school, had come as a lifeline. Mrs. Owens had been watching Matou’s struggles for some time and had recognised the toll the chores were taking on her. She knew Matou was a bright girl, capable of much more than what Jeshwang could offer her. After consulting with her husband, Mrs. Owens made an offer to take Matou into their home in Bakau, to allow her to focus on her education without the burden of chores weighing her down.
It was an offer Borogie couldn’t refuse, even if the thought of sending her daughter away tore at her heart. She would have to trust that this was the best chance for Matou — a chance at a future that was different from the one Borogie had known.
The conversation with Ousman Bah, Borogie’s uncle-in-law, was the final push she needed. Ousman, though illiterate, understood the power of education better than anyone. He had lived through the struggles of poverty and knew that education was the key to breaking free. His words were simple, but they carried a weight that Borogie couldn’t ignore.
“Borogie,” Ousman said softly, his voice filled with understanding, “I know it’s hard, but this is for the best. Education is the key to a better life — not just for Matou, but for all of you. If she stays here, she will never have a chance. But if you let her go, if you trust in this opportunity, she will have a future. And that’s what you want for her, isn’t it?”
Borogie didn’t respond right away. The pain of letting go of her daughter was immense, but Ousman’s words resonated with her. He was right. Matou deserved a chance. She deserved to have the same opportunities that others might take for granted.
But Borogie was wise enough to know the ways of the world. She had lived long enough to understand that not everything that glistened was gold, and not all offers were as simple as they appeared. Sending Matou away, even for the chance of an education, was a decision that weighed heavily on her heart. She knew it was a step toward something better, something that might lift Matou from the cycles of poverty and hardship that had bound their family for generations. But there were risks — many of them — that Borogie could not ignore.
First, these strangers spoke a language that was completely foreign to Matou. Creole, a language that Borogie had never heard before coming to The Gambia. How would Matou adjust to such a drastic shift? She had spent her whole life speaking Fula, surrounded by people who shared her language, her customs, her way of life. And now, she was being sent into a world where words, sounds, and even expressions would be different. Could she navigate this new environment? Could she fit in?
Borogie’s mind raced with the possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last. What if Matou couldn’t learn the language? What if she felt alienated, isolated, cut off from the familiar warmth of home? And beyond that, what if these strangers — Mrs Owens and her family — were kind, but in a way that sought to change who Matou was at the core? What if, in their kindness, they tried to reshape her beliefs, her very identity?
Borogie knew that the world they lived in was one where religion and tradition were inextricable from one’s sense of self. Christianity, the religion of Mrs Owens and her family, was something that Borogie had never truly understood. It was different from their own faith, Islam, which had been the cornerstone of their family’s way of life for generations. It was something that shaped every aspect of their world — their daily routines, their holidays, their values. Could Matou, in her youthful curiosity and eagerness to please, be swayed by the new teachings she would encounter? Could the seeds of doubt be planted in her mind?
What if, Borogie thought, they converted her? What if the language barrier wasn’t the only thing that kept Matou at a distance, but a new worldview that threatened to erase the old one she had grown up with? Would Matou still pray the way Borogie had taught her? Would she still recite the Qur’an at night before bed? Would she still have the same reverence for their ancestors and the traditions that connected them to their past?
The thought of Matou losing that connection, losing touch with her roots, filled Borogie with a deep, aching fear. It wasn’t just about sending her away for school—it was about sending her into the unknown, where there were things no mother could predict or control. She had heard stories of young girls being swept up by new influences, their minds shaped by those who claimed to have all the answers. What if that happened to Matou? What if she came back to them, changed, no longer the bright-eyed, eager girl she had once been?
…
On the morning Matou left for Bakau, there was a mixture of excitement and sadness in the air. The car that would take her to her new life gleamed under the sun, a foreign sight in Jeshwang, where private vehicles were a rarity. Matou, with wide eyes and an innocent smile, was thrilled by the idea of travelling in such a vehicle. She had never ridden in a private car before, and the thought of it filled her with wonder.
“Are you sure this is for me?” Matou asked in disbelief, her eyes fixed on the shiny car that had arrived at their compound.
“Yes, Matou,” Mrs Owens replied kindly, offering a reassuring smile. “This car will take you to your new home, today. You’ll live with us in Bakau, and you’ll go to school. You’ll have the time to focus on your studies and become the woman you’re meant to be.”
Borogie stood beside them, her eyes filled with a deep sadness she couldn’t hide. Her heart was heavy with the weight of this decision, but she also knew it was the right one for Matou.
“Matou,” Borogie said, her voice trembling with emotion, “I want you to learn. I want you to make us proud. This is your chance, my daughter.”
Matou looked at her mother, her heart heavy with the same sadness, but she smiled, trying to reassure her. “I will, Mama. I’ll make you proud.”
With one last look at her family home, the place she had grown up, Matou climbed into the car. She waved goodbye to Borogie and the rest of her family, a mixture of excitement and nervousness building in her chest. As the engine roared to life, she could feel the weight of the moment settling over her.
To be continued.
