'Never Ask Me About My Family' is the story of a mother and daughter trying to find stability amidst the maelstrom of their times.
The story begins in the 1970s in post-colonial West Africa. Salimatou, a poverty-stricken woman, lives in social milieux dominated by traditional attitudes and values. Against a background of escalating familial conflict, hardship and despair, she embarks on an affair with Sekouba, a young and handsome government official. It is an affair that finally forces her to take control of her life. Pitting her wits against relatives and Sekouba's powerful family, who ostracise her, condemn her liberal ways, Salimatou's strong instinct for survival leads her to become, in turn, the lover of a wealthy man, and then a successful business woman.
In a struggle to make sense of her existence - Aida, the illegitimate child of Salimatou and Sekouba - creates a separate universe with her spirit companions. But when reality comes knocking, her childhood fantasies start to give way. Her relations with her now money-driven mother, polygamous father and numerous relatives leave her emotionally famished. Aida longs to escape and discover a new way of life. The chance comes when, finally risen to power and influence, Salimatou announces her intention to send her to London. Her sojourn there will lift the veil of ignorance from Aida's mind and, in time, challenge her view of the world.
As with Salimatou, Aida must eventually find the strenghts and maturity that will enable her to overcome the troubles that threaten to engulf her. She will be faced with similar problems to those that earlier beset her mother.But life still has much in store for Aida, and when tragedy strikes, she knows that as a survivor, she must be the one to decide her own destiny.
Never Ask Me About My Family is Fatoumata Koulibaly's first novel. She was born in the Republic of Guinea and grew up in the Ivory Coast. She graduated in 2003 after achieving a BA(Hons) Business Studies degree. Returning to Guinea for a short time, Fatoumata realised that a change of career was in order. She went on to join a Beauty Therapy and Holistic Massage course. Eventually, she hopes to set up a Youth Program in Guinea. She also began writing.
Fatoumata currently lives in London with her daughter, Kadiatou.
I was born in Menguetah, a few yards away from the gates of the jailhouse and some sixteen years after the ruler of the time delivered his speech of independence. A speech meant to free the people of Mourabori from the foreign oppressor although it has since become a butt joke in many parts, particularly in the oppressor’s quarter.
Menguetah is situated on the highest point of the Gerni River and was at the time a bustling little town, which still bears His Excellency’s mark today. During this period efforts were made to turn the place into a strategic city. There was a conference centre, an oversized villa to entertain guests and an airstrip built to accommodate Concorde. As for me, I have no memory of the place.
My mother, Salimatou told me it was on a hot afternoon and that she heavily pregnant was on her way to the jailhouse to bring my father his daily meal. As she neared the gates, she went into labour. After three painful hours, I came into the living world a lifeless bundle of flesh. Only to recover with loud cries, alerting the entire neighbourhood. Women came running from every corner and covered Salimatou with their pagnes, our traditional wrapper, protecting this sacred act from the unwanted stares of men and children.
‘Eh Allah! What is our world coming to that a woman should give birth on a dusty road?’ Someone exclaimed.
Soon, there was a little crowd around, drawn by this more than unusual sights.
‘Where have you come from? Where is your family?’ someone asked Salimatou.
She pointed towards the jailhouse and explained that she was taking her husband meal when her waters broke. They helped her back on her feet and placed me in her arms. Afterwards, the little crowd followed her to the jailhouse where the guards, in a sudden surge of generosity let my father Sekouba out of the gates and he welcomed me, still warm and wet from Salimatou womb into his robust arms. On this occasion, there was no naming ceremony, no relatives, nor any eating, singing or dancing. Just my mother and father looking down at me, in his cell, where the guards had locked them both up for privacy. Still, I received a name, Aida.
‘Ma yé, ma sogué, is what you are to me little one.’ Sekouba said “my water, my sunshine.”
The water that quenched his thirst and sustained him throughout the six months ordeal of being locked up, for at times the meals carefully prepared by Salimatou never reached his cell. And sunshine, the exposure to which he was allowed a mere ten minutes a day and which he craved just as badly as his freedom.
Sekouba was accused of treason and jailed without trial. Treason was anything and everything that displeased the ruling family and those closely associated with them, and Sekouba forgot to turn his tongue inside his month a thousand times before he spoke. The intrigues of the time made thousands and thousands of heads roll and each disappearance from the surface of earth, took bit by bit the esteem that was still held for the liberator. Yet, fate accorded Sekouba a rare break and he was released ten weeks after I was born. The man, who showed him up as a traitor, his former boss, disappeared somewhere and no one ever heard of him again. On his day back to work, Sekouba was given a pat on his back to clear any resentment he might have held, but also as a warning. No man was safe, no man was free, and my father m