This is to express how little I know of my father – I wish to know him more. To write about him. To breathe life into his dreams and give them practical expression. I want to.

Have you imagined a situation where you can’t vividly recollect when last you spoke to your father? I really can’t recollect. I remembered seeing an average tall man – black and appearing tough. Maybe it was because it was the last time my two eyeballs would see him before answering the natural call. My mom took me to Lamin village, a 20-minute drive from Brikama to one of my uncles to stay with them for a while. Given my stubborn nature, I requested to be taken to the village from Lamin. For some reason, even at that early age, about 7 to 8 years, I dislike Lamin village. I can’t lay my heart on the reason(s). It appears to be the crowded nature of the village or the blackbirds that usually travel at the same time in the morning and evening to the market and back to the forest. The travels of these birds always keep people fascinated.

I know a little about my dad. Even as I write this. I want to know more. He was a local government civil servant – who worked almost in all the regions across the country. Hailing from Boraba, a village far in the interior part of The Gambia, fondly dubbed by Uncle Junkung Jobarteh as the ‘village of lights’, he settled in Brikama, West Coast Region. There, he, as narrated to me, tried his best to be a loving husband, father and provider for the family just like any head of the family. He has always demonstrated a unique ability in how he led his family. I still want to know more about him. I was told he loves to eat good food – he likes meat just like almost all my uncles and the Jobarteh family. Anywhere they meet – they must eat meat. Meat seems to be liked by them – maybe because we are Jalis (Griots) and Jalis do like enjoyment after singing praises for heroes, leaders and men of timber and caliber. But historically, it was narrated that Jobartehs can be traced to Tiramakang, a war general of the great King and founder of the Mali Empire, Sundiata Keita. Jobarteh’s were historically hunters and brave men and women. They are not easily shaken. They confront difficulties in life with courage and vigor.

I still want to know more about him. I want to know how he thinks, how he reasons, how he acts under pressure, how he deals with stress, and how he was able to keep the family for long without any breakaway under him. How he works as a civil servant, and how he adheres to the law, policies and all regulations that regulate him as a civil servant. I want to know how he chats with his friends, how he laughs and serves humanity. Because service to humanity is service to God. I want to learn all the best qualities he has possessed in his life. I want to know what his unfulfilled dreams were – to fulfil them. That is to take his legacy forward. To have his name mentioned in what I do daily. I want to know and remember him more. I will find out. I want his spirit to guide me. To show me the path.

So, I can’t recollect the date, but it was a beautiful sunny morning in Kiang Genieri, a village where my mother hailed from – I was woken up to receive the sad news. That, my dad has succumbed to the natural call after a short illness. I was supposed to go to school that day. I didn’t go. I did not also travel to Brikama to attend the burial. It was my elder sister who travelled with my grandmother to join the world to see off my dad. I tried not to shed tears, but I eventually did, it was tears of sadness that he was gone forever. Tears that taught me I will also answer such a call someday. Sooner or later.

I prayed for him and wished him well as he journeyed to the great beyond. He shall never return, I told myself. I need to live with it just as my siblings need to too. I was young but I remembered that morning. I shall never forget it.

So, if I know more about him, I shall write more about him. For now, emotions got over me. My fingers tremble and my eyeballs seem to be tired of holding it. I must write about him later – when I summon the courage and know more. All I wished was to have a sit down with him. I wish I had that chance. Nature decides otherwise. I would have written more about him.

I remain Kalajula – Son of the Soil. Son of Ansumana Jobarteh.

May all the departed souls, repose in perpetual peace. Amen.

Sheriffo Jobarteh