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Nata had always been observant. It wasn’t merely a habit—it was a survival skill honed over years in a fractured home. Her father, Yerro, was a man of shifting allegiances, constantly masking his true intentions with well-crafted neutrality. The balance between his wives, especially the two co-wives, was delicate, but to Nata, the tensions were painfully clear. While her younger siblings remained blissfully unaware, Nata noticed every unspoken word, every flicker of emotion.
Yerro skillfully kept the peace on the surface, but his strategy of placating both wives only deepened the rivalry beneath. He was a man who feared confrontation, particularly with Nenneh Dado, his second wife, who held a fierce grip on him. Her inability to bear children had become a tool of manipulation, as she leveraged her perceived fragility to secure preferential treatment. She drilled into his mind that, because she could not provide him with heirs, she deserved more attention—more power. This belief, instilled by Nenneh herself, allowed her to undermine Borogie, the first wife, and dominate the household.
Borogie, in contrast to her more combative co-wife, was calm and patient, preferring to avoid conflict. Yet, Nata could see her mother’s quiet resilience being tested by Nenneh’s subtle cruelties. Despite Borogie’s revered position, her vulnerability—her devotion to her children—made her an easy target for Nenneh’s relentless power plays. Every small victory for Borogie seemed to stir a storm of resentment in Nenneh, who, driven by jealousy and a desperate need for validation, sought to overshadow her.
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Nata watched her father, though not malicious, always defer to Nenneh’s demands. Yerro believed that appeasing her would prevent conflict, but his inability to challenge her manipulation gave Nenneh disproportionate control. For him, it was easier to maintain peace by letting Nenneh win the small battles, even if it meant Borogie had to bear the consequences.
But there was something deeper, more insidious unfolding. The arrival of Mbentoung Mballow, Yerro’s uncle’s wife, shifted the family dynamics in ways Nata hadn’t anticipated. Mbentoung, originally hopeful for a simpler life in The Gambia, soon realized that her new home was not the escape she imagined. She didn’t immediately confront Borogie, but Nata could feel the undercurrent of resentment building. It wasn’t long before Mbentoung aligned herself with Nenneh, united by their shared animosity toward Borogie.
Mbentoung’s jealousy was more subtle than Nenneh’s but no less potent. She envied Borogie’s self-sufficiency, her ability to manage the farm and care for her children while maintaining her dignity. Borogie’s skill at providing for her family, even when money was tight, was something Mbentoung couldn’t easily replicate.
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In her mind, Borogie’s success became a symbol of everything she lacked. She had always felt as though life was a zero-sum game—a game where one person’s gain was another’s loss. For women like her, it wasn’t just that another person’s success might inspire envy, but that it almost seemed to diminish their own potential for happiness. They could never fully embrace the beauty of their own journey because there was always a shadow of someone else’s triumph looming over them, constantly reminding them of what they still had not achieved.
This mentality, however, wasn’t just a flaw in perspective; it was a result of deeply ingrained societal pressures and expectations. There was always this unspoken belief that a woman’s value could be measured by what she had attained compared to others. Whether it was wealth, family, or success in her personal ambitions, these benchmarks were constantly shifting, leaving her always a step behind. Even when joy was within her grasp, it was fleeting, because she could never celebrate it fully without comparing it to what others had.
In this conundrum, many women fail to live until it is too late. The years pass by, filled with moments that could have been embraced, but instead were spent in comparison, doubt, and regret. The very happiness they sought was just within reach, but they kept it at arm’s length, believing that once they had everything that others seemed to possess, they could finally enjoy their lives. But this cycle of yearning—of defining happiness by someone else’s standards—often meant they never fully lived at all.
When the other woman shows signs of joy, it doesn’t inspire a shared happiness, but rather exposes a feeling of inadequacy. Instead of seeing the beauty in another’s success and recognizing it as a possibility for herself, she saw it as yet another reminder of what she was missing. In the end, no joy felt joyful enough because it was never enough to fill the emptiness created by comparison. The constant chase for validation from the outside world left no space to truly enjoy what she had, and by the time she realized that, so much of life had already slipped away, unnoticed and uncelebrated…
One evening, after a long day of work, Mbentoung confided in Nenneh, her frustration seeping into her voice. “Why should we work so hard? We’re not housemaids; we are women of status. Why should we toil away while Borogie works her farm and earns money? Why does she buy us clothes and utensils? We are not her beggars.”
Nenneh, who had always admired Borogie’s industriousness, now felt that admiration mixed with envy. “She thinks she’s better than the rest of us,” she replied bitterly. “It’s not right, and I can’t stand it.”
The two women, united in their resentment, began to scheme. Their shared hatred for Borogie formed the basis of a quiet but dangerous alliance. Nenneh, with her experience manipulating Yerro, saw in Mbentoung a like-minded woman who could help challenge Borogie’s standing in the household.
As they plotted, their jealousy deepened. They saw Borogie’s self-sufficiency as a threat, a reminder of their own inadequacies. Both of them lacked children, and both resented Borogie’s ability to nurture and care for hers. Mbentoung, who had thought life in The Gambia would be easier, was quickly disillusioned. She had assumed that being a wife meant more leisure and less labor, but the harsh realities of life in a new country left her feeling out of place. Rather than confronting her own struggles, she turned her frustration into a rivalry, teaming up with Nenneh to create an environment that would force Borogie into submission.
The conflict began with subtle barbs and sarcastic remarks, but as Borogie remained unfazed, Nenneh and Mbentoung began picking on her children. The jealousy of the women grew, manifesting in quiet sabotage of Borogie’s efforts. One day, Borogie bought loincloths for all of them. Afterward, Nenneh and Mbentoung took the cloth and used it as curtains, implying that it was only fit to hang on their “naked doors,” a calculated insult to Borogie’s hard work.
When Yerro’s uncle, Ousman Bah, praised Borogie for her ability to manage the household and grow her crops, Mbentoung felt the sting of her own inadequacies. She couldn’t understand why Ousman, who had always been respectful to her, could praise Borogie so freely. It felt like a public slight—a reminder that, in her eyes, she would always be the outsider.
One day, after finishing a meal of Borogie’s farmed rice, Mbentoung turned to Nenneh with newfound determination. “We can’t keep living like this. If Borogie’s rice and her success make her the favorite, then we will start our own garden. We will grow our own vegetables and contribute to the household. It’s time to show our men that we are just as capable as she is.”
Nenneh agreed enthusiastically. “We’ll show them that we can do more than just sit back and accept whatever scraps they give us.”
This wasn’t about mutual support—it was a competition, a desperate need to prove that they could provide for their husbands in the same way Borogie did. The garden became their battleground, and their rivalry with Borogie intensified.
As the two women worked tirelessly in their small plots, Nata observed from a distance. She noticed the way her mother had begun to withdraw. The strain was evident in Borogie’s demeanor, her once calm and patient spirit beginning to show cracks. She had always been strong, but now Nata could see the toll the constant competition had taken on her. The weight of the rivalry, the pressure placed on her by the two women had started to wear her down.
One evening, as Nata helped her mother prepare dinner, she could no longer contain her concerns. “Mama,” she asked quietly, “what happens when they don’t stop? When they keep trying to outdo you?”
Borogie paused, her hands stilling for a moment before she spoke, her voice soft but filled with the wisdom of experience. “Nata, my child,” she said, her eyes meeting Nata’s with a quiet understanding, “women like your stepmother and Mbentoung—they’re always fighting for something. They want to prove themselves, to feel important. But what they don’t understand is that the more they fight, the more they exhaust themselves. They may succeed for a time, but in the end, they only wear themselves thin, chasing after a favor they’ll never truly earn.”
Nata absorbed her mother’s words, realizing that the constant struggle for approval and validation would only breed resentment. No amount of effort would secure a position that wasn’t truly earned. That day, Nata knew for sure that Borogie’s strength wasn’t in competing for approval—it was in remaining true to herself, in understanding that the respect she earned from those who truly knew her was far more valuable than the fleeting praise of those who sought to undermine her.
In the midst of the rivalry, Nata understood a profound truth: resilience wasn’t about outdoing others, but about knowing when to step away from the toxic webs of jealousy and competition. True strength lay in love, understanding, and staying grounded in one’s values.
The rivalry in the household would continue, but Nata had learned that the best way to survive wasn’t through competition but through understanding. And in that understanding, there would be peace.
To be continued.
