In 2021, we organized a beautiful event for Mother’s Day. It was vibrant, colorful, joyful, and deeply cultural.
The event, called “The Lebou Experience,” was an homage to my mother — Dr. Mame Mbayame Dione, a nutritionist, former representative at the National Assembly, and a proud daughter of the Lebou people of Dakar.
We held a regatta (boat race), accompanied by a ndawrabiine (traditional Lebou dance and chants), all interwoven with a fashion show. On that day, we unveiled a collection inspired by Dakar — her birthplace — as well as an Eid collection named Mbayame, with each outfit carrying the name of one of her beloved friends or family members.
At that time, my mother had been diagnosed with her second breast cancer and was preparing for her first mastectomy. I wanted to show her my love and appreciation. Looking back, I now realize I expressed it in the wrong way. She smiled and was clearly happy, but the event reflected more of me — and far less of her.
My mother was a shy, modest, gentle, and pious woman. She never listened to music, always dressed simply, and disliked the spotlight. By the end of 2021, she was diagnosed with a third cancer — uterine cancer.
She’s been hospitalized from December 2021. She traveled to Turkey in january. Her medical procedures had gone well, and she was expected to return home on Saturday. But on Tuesday, she fell into a coma. On Thursday night, she returned to her Lord.
She passed away in March 2022, while I was six months pregnant.
It was a shock.
Grief is long. It fades but never truly ends. Yet we learn to cope. My way of coping was to keep her memory alive — but this time, in a way that resembled her. Something useful, wrapped in love and compassion, and shared in the presence of those she cherished.
Together with my beloved sister-in-law Aminata, a design-thinking expert, we co-designed an event where the vision was so pure that the execution could only be beautiful. It was held on a peaceful October afternoon, in a garden by the sea.
We opened with Quran recitation. My grandmother spoke, as did some of my mother’s dearest friends. I read a poem I had written for her, before unveiling a collection in her favorite color: green — the color of Jannah, and thus, the name of the collection.
We also launched a campaign against breast and uterine cancer, broadcast at the event, and closed with an auction to raise funds for the Senegalese League Against Cancer (LISCA), where my mother had been so active.
We raised more than €20,000 for LISCA. That night, I went home, holding my four-month-old baby close, my heart filled with both lightness and gratitude. I carried with me a newfound truth: my life’s purpose had changed.
What I want now is simple yet profound: to live a life like hers — a useful life, a life that pleases my Lord, and one worthy of remembrance.
So' Fatoo
