Three years ago today, the shadow of death cast its dark presence over our family, taking away my cherished wife and the loving mother of our two beautiful daughters.
Life has not been easy since then. Maimuna was the woman I loved deeply—humble, disciplined, shy, and easy to get along with. For almost nine years, not a single day went by when someone stood at our doorstep to inquire about the status of our relationship. Even when I was often at fault, this caring lady would not only forgive me but would also take the time to sit down and discuss our issues, ensuring that the same problems wouldn’t arise again.
She was far more than just a wife to me. Munas, as I fondly refer to her, embodied the roles of a mother figure, a wise adviser, and so much more. Though she didn’t come from my immediate family, she was cherished by my relatives more than any other woman in our compound. This admiration wasn’t merely due to my influence; it stemmed from her incredible attitude, boundless generosity, and deep love for my family and friends, among many other qualities.
Sometimes, I catch myself holding onto the hope that she might travel and eventually come back to me. Yet, when I face the painful truth of death, it becomes unmistakably apparent that my beloved is truly lost to me.
Three years ago today, as I was driving to Sukuta to pick up her medication, my phone rang at Nema Junction. Since I was behind the wheel, I handed the phone to my younger brother to answer. The moment he picked it up, I heard frantic screams and cries on the other end. Instinctively, I took the phone back, and my sister’s voice shattered my reality: “Please come back; there’s no need for you to get the medications. Maimuna has left us.” I felt a wave of disbelief wash over me as I began to tremble, tears streaming down my face. At that moment, I was speechless, struggling to comprehend what my sister had just told me.
As I returned home, I was met with a wave of emotion. People greeted me with tears in their eyes, while others held me tightly, whispering “Jawo Sabari.” I hurried to my room, desperate to confirm the dreadful news, only to discover her lifeless body. My heart shattered as I wept loudly; it was the darkest day of my life.
I was adamant that she needed to be taken to the hospital for a medical examination. It was hard for me to accept that the woman who had even asked me to go pick up her medication in Sukuta was no longer with us.
As I survey the room, my heart breaks at the sight of my daughters in tears. My youngest, only one year and seven months old, looks on in confusion, oblivious to the distress surrounding us. It’s a profoundly heartbreaking moment.
Throughout nearly nine years of our marriage, Maimuna has never raised her voice at me, even in moments when I may have wronged her. This remarkable quality has never wavered.
I vividly remember one fine day when I hurt her feelings. I can’t recall the exact details now, but I clearly saw tears streaming down her face as she sat me down on our bed to talk about the issue, as she usually does when we face minor conflicts. Suddenly, one of her close friends, Aja Fatty, knocked on the door.
She quickly wiped away her tears and burst into loud laughter, and that’s how the matter ended. Once her friend had left, I inquired about the source of her laughter. She promptly replied, “I don’t want anyone, not even my parents, to know we have problems. I believe we should handle our issues privately, within our home. Walie, this is how we’ve managed for nearly nine years.”
Munas has a unique way of addressing situations that concern her. On several occasions, she has invited people to sit down in their homes, motivated by a simple greeting that didn’t receive the warm response she expected. She would say, “I just got off work and greeted you, but your response was different from how it usually is. If I have upset you in any way, please forgive me.” Her approach reflects her genuine desire to mend relationships and promote understanding.
One year after she joined our family, our elder brother named his daughter in her honor. This decision wasn’t due to a lack of other naming options; rather, it stemmed from Maimuna’s remarkable character and her unwavering desire to bring our family closer together.
Only three days after Maimuna’s burial in my hometown of Sare Samba, I encountered her namesake along with several other children playing. Their sorrowful cries struck me deeply: “With Maimuna gone, who will buy us new clothes for Koriteh or Tobaski?” Those words shattered my composure and brought tears to my eyes. The children realized that Maimuna had always gone above and beyond to provide them with new outfits for every festive celebration.
The profound emptiness of this world may not become apparent until you have to lay a loved one to rest. Consider the heart-wrenching experience of having spent nearly every day with someone, only to face the unimaginable task of burying her.
I will always cherish the memories we created together, my dear, until the day we reunite. Your spirit will forever remain a part of me. I find comfort in believing that you are resting peacefully in Aljanatul Fridwasi. To say that I miss you feels like an understatement, as our entire family feels your absence deeply.
With love,
Your devoted husband,
Momodou Jawo
