I dragged my feet into my office and slumped onto my squeaky chair. I had just come out of my fifth meeting for that day, and in each of those meetings, a good number of the action points had my name tied to them. This has become my new reality, and each day consisted of ticking off as many completed tasks as possible from my many lists.

I lead Communications and Engagement for a medical research institution, which is currently one of the testing centres for COVID-19 in The Gambia. This means that over the past few months, my life has been taken over by the responsibility to create, disseminate and manage information materials on the pandemic, making sure to be intentional about inclusive messaging in various languages for meaningful impact. While it has been an exciting period and I have welcomed the new challenge to further apply my skills and experiences, it is also a very difficult time for my wellbeing. My workplace provides wellbeing support, but I am still expected to deliver communications outputs within very tight deadlines, especially with the swiftly changing nature of the pandemic.

By the end of this fifth meeting, I was already spent and couldn’t wait to get home for a quick nap before reviewing and scheduling our communications for the next day. I glanced at the time on my screen and realised it was only 3pm, and I still had an hour of work before I could clock out. My phone pinged, and I saw a reminder for a daily check-in call hosted by my sister MiLEAD Fellows of the Moremi Initiative for Women’s Leadership in Africa. I decided to join the call – my first one – simply because I needed a distraction, and a check-in sounded appealing. As soon as I connected and my face appeared on the now familiar Zoom interface, my sisters screamed. I was stunned by their excitement and the love on their faces, but it was a beautiful welcome for my first call.

My heart was full, and I leaned back in my chair, knowing I had made the best decision that day by joining the call. As fate would have it, all the Fellows on the call were from my class. Some of us hadn’t seen one another since we left Accra in 2012. We spent the next hour reminiscing on our time together, as well as sharing updates on what we were involved in now. After a few minutes, one of them paused the chat to ask why I wasn’t at home, and whether I was safe. I took time to explain the role I’m playing in our national response, and why I couldn’t stay away from the office. What followed were well-meaning questions borne of concern, and lots of affirmation and encouragement for my work. These may have probably been very simple expressions for them, but they meant the world to me, especially in that moment. I felt seen and loved by my sisters, and by the time we ended the call, I knew I would be a regular.

I left the office with an extra spring to my step, rejuvenated by the unmatched power of sisterhood, even in its simplest forms. The events of the day had me thinking about my various circles of sisterhood, especially with African feminists, and how they continue to save me, even when they may not be aware of this.

When I’m not on the MiLEAD Fellows call, I’m on my WhatsApp group with Haddijatou and Ndey Ngoneh. This group has become one of my safest spaces, and I share it with these two feminist sisters that I have had the privilege to join in working, feministing, organising, starting and leading conversations, and creating paths for a new generation of feminists in The Gambia. In 2014, we launched and successfully ran #RiseWithLinguere, the first and biggest social media campaign on gender-based violence and women’s rights in The Gambia, following this up with offline activities in the two years that followed. What has followed is remarkable, and our journey together has been a great one to reflect on. Our sisterhood is one that is grounded in feminism and a great appreciation for the different skills, talents and experiences that each one of us brings to add value to our collective work.

On this group, I can lay bare my soul. We can go from having meetings about the #SaveGambianWomen initiative we’re working on, to getting drowned in the very deep and heavy conversations about the challenges we have to beat every day to succeed in our personal and professional lives. We have become sounding boards for one another and have recognised our strengths and weaknesses, and do the work to establish complementarity in our collaborations. There is no template for what a typical day on that group would look like, but what’s constant is the safety of the space that allows for honesty, vulnerability, healing, transparency, accountability, comfort, celebration and so much more. In this space, I’m rooted in the purest foundation of #AfriFem solidarity and sisterhood I have experienced yet. And that is powerful.

It is also on the many other spaces where I can commune in Gambian and African Feminist sisterhood with women from The Gambia and other places in the world. I think of my sisters who call themselves my mentees, and how we have revived our Sunday Safe Space with pressure from Elitesha, and I can’t help but be thankful. In a space where they pitch me as guide, we have been able to create a beautiful community to love, honour, support and guide one another. I learn a lot from each one of them, and our five minds and hearts remind me every Sunday, and every other day, that sisterhood will always saves me.

It is about the several other women that I hold dear to my heart for the sisterhoods they have built and continue to nurture with me: Musu, Ndey Jobe, Mayam, Sira, Suzi, Yamzy, Ruth, Oluwaseun, Haddi Jow, my Think Young Women family, the #AfriFem sisters on Twitter, and so many others who I’m blessed to call sister in many ways and forms.

In the three decades of my existence on this Earth, I have lost count of the number of times I have heard people say that ‘women are women’s worst enemies’. I have always scoffed at this idea, even long before I would grow to understand it as yet another tool of the patriarchy to alienate women and pit us against one another. I recall a young feminist who reached out as she planned to launch her initiative, and frustrated by the realisation that not all doors she knocks on would open, she expressed disappointment that it was probably true what was said about women and their relationships. I understood her frustration, but it was also important to make sure she understood the intention of that statement. I asked her to think about the times she needed help the most, and the people who came to her aid. I also asked her to think of her most joyous moments, and the people who were there to celebrate her. In that circle, we acknowledged that our sisters – biological and chosen – have been the wind beneath our sails.

Often, in our frustration and carried away by our very flawed human nature, we tend to forget the value of the relationships we have built with our sisters, and how these bonds continue to save us from ourselves. It is often simple to tag other women as enemies and haters simply because they could not show up for us. It is also easy to dismiss, deprecate and erase the work of other people simply because we don’t agree with the methods or approaches … or because we don’t like them. It is tempting to always look for the flaws in the other, even when we try to shield our own shortcomings, and then use these as the markers of their identities, personalities and journeys. We vilify and condemn ‘cliques’ when we should celebrate and promote the habit of communing and collaborating with people who share our core values, even when we disagree on specific issues. Our learned behaviour makes sure that we discard dialogue and choose subtle attacks to pass our messages, as we try to validate the narrative that women are women’s worst enemies. Even when we know this is not true.

Over and over, I have had women hold space for me, celebrate me and wrap me in love, even when they only know my social media handles. Yet, this gives me peace, as it does for so many other women around the world. It is manifested in the solidarity of the #AfriFem community on social media, especially Twitter, where I can lean on the shoulders of my sisters through the good and the bad. I am not afraid to keep using my voice because I know that when the violence that so often meets our work shows up, I can count on my sis!

For me, ‘sis’ is for the circle of sisterhoods that have saved me over and over again. It’s the hundreds of open and private messages that I receive from women all over the world, sharing love and lessons, affirmation and accountability, and creating a space where we can all revel in the knowledge and assurance of having found our ‘tribe’ – one we can rely on through the many seasons. It is the safe space with my feminist sisters who, by their words and their actions, continue to affirm that we can create, promote and sustain a feminist reality of sisterhood that can save us all.

As the months go by, with no clear end in sight for the new reality of the pandemic and its impact on our lives, I am thankful to see my feminist sisterhoods grow stronger, and grateful to be part of the spaces I find myself in. There is comfort in knowing that at 3PM every day, I can hop on a Zoom call to share and receive love and warmth. There is power in knowing that a collaborative project six years ago can form the foundation for a feminist sisterhood that serves community, nurtures bonds and values, supports healing, and paints a picture of the feminist realities we can live in and enjoy. And I am grateful for the communities I continue to build and be invited into, grounded in love, common values, respect and a collective determination for liberation.

On my longest days, I know I only need to reach out and my sisters will be there. Sometimes, I don’t even have to reach out. They feel me and come to me with simple words that mean the world: I got you, sis!

I’m grateful for my clique. This is an ode to my tribe. Thank you for saving me.