Noma hatanga

I am Afanda. My four-year-old daughter was born when I was seventeen. I never saw her father again. Fortunately, my family did not send me away.

I should not be a burden to my poor parents for too long. My friends from the past are no longer my friends. They are all married. I understand. Men prefer to marry a woman without children.

Fortunately, I have a job in Kennoba. A maid at a rich family’s house. Sir and Madam are good to me. I have my own room with a TV, and I may eat as much as I want. On Sunday afternoons I’m free, except when there are guests, of course.

My mother takes care of my daughter. I see her once a year. And as long as her phone credit is not used up, we text each other. I earn 25,000 fedha (150 euros) a month. I save half of it. In December, when I visit my family, I get an extra month of salary, and money for the train. And for new clothes.

Everyone was very happy when I visited my family last month. My mother told me the news. Father had found a husband for me. He would be coming over that afternoon. My mother had bought me a beautiful dress.

That afternoon was not a success. My father was angry. Didn't I know what gratitude was? How could I disgrace my father? My mother took me aside, put her arm around me. She knew what I was thinking. "Noma hatanga," she said. You better go.

That evening she took me to the station. When the train slowly pulled away, I saw her on the platform. She waved. And she cried. My father doesn't want to see me anymore.

***

Rafiki works in the house across the street. He guards the gate and takes care of the garden. Sometimes we sit together in front of the house in the evening. Rafiki wants to be a driver. Earns much better, he says.

He wants to marry me. I don't know yet.

Now I can sometimes send my mother some money...

That wouldn’t be possible any longer.