Shadows of a Promised Marriage, the Sad Story of Mariama

My name is Mariama; Mary to those close to me. I’m the youngest of five siblings, Peul from Guinea through my father and Wolof from Senegal through my mother. I was twenty-three when my story truly began. It’s not a simple one, but I’m going to tell it anyway, and I’d love to hear your thoughts. I had just passed my architecture exams with honors. After five years of intense stress and constant pressure, I was finally a graduate. “Chouchou! It’s done; thank God, I passed!” I called Omar Diallo, my big cousin, the one I’d been promised to since childhood. “Congratulations, beauty; it was a sure thing, you’re the best!” he replied warmly. Omar wasn’t the type to force anything. From the start, he made it clear: no marriage until I finished my studies, and only if I truly wanted it, with no doubts in my heart. He was educated, open to Western culture, a chartered accountant at a major publicly listed company; his parents’ pride and joy. A marriage to him? Why not. It would be a marriage of convenience rather than a forced arrangement. Men had never really interested me; I was too focused on my studies. Apparently I have all the features of a “true Peul” (thanks, Dad; I look just like him), and heads turn, but I never cared. I watched my friends cry rivers over boys and swore I’d never go through that. With Omar, I was lucky: handsome, hardworking, kind, attentive, and family. You know how important traditions are among the Peul… Back home, announcing my degree sparked pure joy.