Love under the shadow of power/ Kylian Mbappé

Chapter 1: A New Beginning

I sat by the train window, watching the German countryside roll by. At eighteen, I was embarking on a journey I had dreamed of for a long time. Since my family and I fled from Mali to Germany seven years ago, I had yearned to explore the world beyond our small town of Schweningen, where we had found refuge.

My father had always been cautious, especially when it came to my safety. His fears were a constant source of frustration for me, but I understood where they came from. It wasn't just about the dangers of the world but also deeply rooted cultural beliefs about gender roles. For him, the idea of his daughter traveling alone, especially as a volunteer, was almost unthinkable.

I had spent countless hours dreaming about going places like South Korea, China, Indonesia, Kenya, and Pakistan. However, my father's fears were a persistent barrier. His objections weren't just about safety but also about his views on women's roles. He believed that volunteering and exploring the world were activities better suited for men.

My dream of volunteering in Kenya was the final straw. When I suggested working in the capital to be safer, my father was adamant. "I know these stories," he'd said, "You fall in love with a boy there and then you never come back." Despite my assurances, he remained unconvinced.

Then came the opportunity in Colmar, France. It was closer to home and seemed more manageable in his eyes. After much discussion and persuasion mainly from my mother my father reluctantly agreed. It was a small victory for me, a chance to gain experience and take a step toward to my larger goals.

As the train chugged along the tracks, I could hardly contain my excitement. The thought of spending two weeks helping a farming family in Colmar, learning about agriculture, and immersing myself in a new environment was exhilarating. It was a small step towards my ultimate dream of opening a refuge for women who have fled or have been abused by their men a place where they can find support and hope.

The train pulled into the station, and I spotted an elderly couple holding a sign that read "Welcome, Inaya." The sign was in English, a thoughtful touch. I approached them, showed them the messages we had exchanged with the family, and after a quick check, they agreed to pick me up. After a short drive through the beautiful city, we arrived at the farmhouse where I would be staying.

The room I was given was cozy and quiet, with a view of sprawling cornfields that seemed to stretch endlessly. It was a peaceful environment that I could see myself growing fond of. But amidst the tranquility, I suddenly realized I hadn't called my parents to let them know I had arrived safely.

Fumbling with my phone, I dialed my mother's number. She picked up almost immediately.

"Inaya, is that you? How are you?" Her voice was trembling.

"Hi, Mom. I'm fine, how are you?" I replied, trying to sound reassuring.

"Not well," she continued, clearly upset. "I've been worried sick about you, and you didn't even bother to call back! Your father was ready to call the police."

I sighed, feeling a pang of guilt. "Mom, I'm okay. You don't need to worry so much."

In the background, I heard my father's voice, sharp and concerned. "Are you talking to Inaya?"

"Yes," she answered.

"Let me talk to her," he insisted.

I braced myself as I heard him take the phone. "Inaya, why didn't you answer our calls? I thought something terrible had happened—that this volunteer thing was just a scam."

"Dad, please, there's no need to worry. I'm not a child anymore," I said, keeping my voice steady.

"Of course, I need to worry," he shot back. "Any father with daughters would be worried. Are you really okay? Open the camera. I want to see you."

Reluctantly, I switched to video call mode. "Yeees, I'm fineee," I said, drawing out the words to show my impatience.

He scrutinized the screen before asking, "Does this family have any sons living with them?"

"No, Dad," I said, already anticipating where this was going. "Their children have moved away to the big cities."

He grumbled, "Typical white people. Their parents raise them, and then they just leave when they're needed most. Thank goodness our African culture isn't like that."

"Right," I responded, trying to mask my frustration. "But weren't you the one planning to go back to Mali because of your second wife who's technically just a year older than me?"

"Ach! Inaya, don't say things like that on the phone!" he snapped, his voice dropping. "If your mom hears us talking about this again, she'll go crazy."

"Okay, okay," I said, eager to end the conversation. "I need to hang up now. I have to be up at 5 a.m. tomorrow."

"5 a.m.? That's awfully early," he said, surprised.

"Yeah, there's a lot to do on the farm," I explained, already feeling the weight of the coming day.

"Alright, sweetheart. Take care of yourself, and don't forget to call us every day," he reminded me.

"I will," I promised. "Say hello to everyone for me." And with that, I hung up.

I let out a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and exhaustion. 

The quiet of my new room was a comfort, and despite everything, I was eager to start my work in the morning...