The fattest sat on my chest as the rest parted my legs. |
As you can imagine, I had not been psychologically prepared for the cut. At 11 years, I did not know the effects of female circumcision and could not imagine that anyone was interested in mutilating or hurting me. No-one spoke about it, and, although both my grand mother, my mother and my sister all had been forced to undergo through this horrendous custom, no-one stood up for me or even tried to protect me. For whatever reason, they decided to see me suffer as much as they had, without even attempting to lift a hand to say NO. I cannot tell you, how much I would have valued someone,anyone, taking my hand and leading my little 11-year-old self away from the happenings of that day.
My own sister, who was a bit older than me, assured me all they would "nip off" was a part of my earlobe and that would be it!
My curiosity was heightened by the fuss attached to the ceremony.
People spoke about it all day, every day, and judging by the guests we received around the time, things were moving in high gear. Even distant aunts and cousins I had only heard of, but never met, showed up.
One morning the girls in my age bracket were rounded up and herded into a compound with a big hut in the middle. Women accompanying us were dancing in frenzy, encouraging and assuring us everything would be all right.
We were kids, we had absolutely NO idea of what was going to happen.
My own sister, who was a bit older than me, assured me all they would "nip off" was a part of my earlobe and that would be it!
My curiosity was heightened by the fuss attached to the ceremony.
People spoke about it all day, every day, and judging by the guests we received around the time, things were moving in high gear. Even distant aunts and cousins I had only heard of, but never met, showed up.
One morning the girls in my age bracket were rounded up and herded into a compound with a big hut in the middle. Women accompanying us were dancing in frenzy, encouraging and assuring us everything would be all right.
We were kids, we had absolutely NO idea of what was going to happen.
The place had an eerie gloom but I gritted my teeth, determined to prove to my clan that I would earn my place as I was being told that this was an act of dignity and cleansing; an inevitable step towards becoming a "proper" woman.
“Do not cry,” they warned. “All those who cause problems will not undergo the cut and shall forever remain unclean.”
Even at our tender ages, we did not want to be ostracized from our communities; to be counted among the infamous inkhutatin (uncircumcised women) who would never find a husband, shunned and treated like outcast.
All for enduring a small cut in the earlobe? It somehow sounded too easy to be true...
Those in the hut knew me well and would never hurt me, I told myself, even though inevitably my little chest heaved up and down in fear. Maybe I looked more apprehensive than the rest, because as fate would have it, I was the first one to be selected and shoved into the gloom of the hut.
No sooner had I crossed the threshold than they landed on me like hounds. In that split second, I was only able to recognize my close neighbour, who held me by the waist and hurled me to the earthen floor. One woman, the fattest, sat on my chest.
The rest of the women quickly parted my little legs.
As I was fighting to shift the weight on my chest to be able to breathe, I could feel my legs being spread further than they could possibly go and a light was lowered to illuminate the area beneath my waist. They were gazing at my nakedness.
I tried to kick out but a vice-like grip held my legs. I could feel rough hands groping my genitalia and then the most searing pain tore through my entire body as a parts of my little 11-year-old body were brutally sliced off.
“Do not cry,” they warned. “All those who cause problems will not undergo the cut and shall forever remain unclean.”
Even at our tender ages, we did not want to be ostracized from our communities; to be counted among the infamous inkhutatin (uncircumcised women) who would never find a husband, shunned and treated like outcast.
All for enduring a small cut in the earlobe? It somehow sounded too easy to be true...
Those in the hut knew me well and would never hurt me, I told myself, even though inevitably my little chest heaved up and down in fear. Maybe I looked more apprehensive than the rest, because as fate would have it, I was the first one to be selected and shoved into the gloom of the hut.
No sooner had I crossed the threshold than they landed on me like hounds. In that split second, I was only able to recognize my close neighbour, who held me by the waist and hurled me to the earthen floor. One woman, the fattest, sat on my chest.
The rest of the women quickly parted my little legs.
As I was fighting to shift the weight on my chest to be able to breathe, I could feel my legs being spread further than they could possibly go and a light was lowered to illuminate the area beneath my waist. They were gazing at my nakedness.
I tried to kick out but a vice-like grip held my legs. I could feel rough hands groping my genitalia and then the most searing pain tore through my entire body as a parts of my little 11-year-old body were brutally sliced off.
Despite the weight on my chest, I managed to gather up all the air in my lungs for an almighty scream but, just in time, a hand covered my mouth and out came only muffled groans of terror and excruciating pain.
My groin area was on fire. Blood was oozing out of me. I was barely 11 years old.
They were still holding on to me, wiping the blood when I could hear the woman holding the knife declaring that a portion had been missed and the knife was swung again...
This time, it felt as though they had cleaved me all the way to the pelvic bone. Afterwards, they released me, and like a chicken whose head had just been chopped off, I hopped around the place, blood oozing down my legs. They then held me down again, rubbed some herbs on my bleeding wounds and finally allowed me to leave.
Trying to heal, I sat on a steaming pot for almost a month and unlike my initiates,I was the last one to heal.
Needless to say, I had suffered severe physical damage, as well as mental. I have scars on my body and in my mind, which will never, ever be healed, no matter what I do, or where I go. Asleep or awake, the images; the sounds; the smells; the fear; the dirt; the pain; the suffocating pressure; the complications; the infections; the scars; the memories... They are here, very much present and part of my life, for the rest of my life.
My groin area was on fire. Blood was oozing out of me. I was barely 11 years old.
They were still holding on to me, wiping the blood when I could hear the woman holding the knife declaring that a portion had been missed and the knife was swung again...
This time, it felt as though they had cleaved me all the way to the pelvic bone. Afterwards, they released me, and like a chicken whose head had just been chopped off, I hopped around the place, blood oozing down my legs. They then held me down again, rubbed some herbs on my bleeding wounds and finally allowed me to leave.
Trying to heal, I sat on a steaming pot for almost a month and unlike my initiates,I was the last one to heal.
Needless to say, I had suffered severe physical damage, as well as mental. I have scars on my body and in my mind, which will never, ever be healed, no matter what I do, or where I go. Asleep or awake, the images; the sounds; the smells; the fear; the dirt; the pain; the suffocating pressure; the complications; the infections; the scars; the memories... They are here, very much present and part of my life, for the rest of my life.
Physically, life was never the same, as you can imagine. The task of coming to terms with a "new" body, was both painful, scary and dangerous.
Imagine having your vagina cut apart, then sewn back together, so much so, that you only have a tiny opening left, through which both urine and menstruation blood has to pass. It is near impossible, and a sadistic tradition, which men and women have initiated for their own sense of power, control and satisfaction.
Peeing was pure torture after I had been mutilated. Just a few drops would set my entire private area on fire and the pain would last for a very long time. It was far too much for a little 11-year-old girl to handle, and, I was by far not the youngest one to be selected for FGM that day, or any day for that matter.
I finally healed and placed a mirror on the ground in front of me to survey the damage. I cannot tell you how powerless I felt when I saw myself. It was truly horrific. They sliced off a part of my urethral opening in their quest to cleanse me, something which will never heal properly, and will cause me tremendous pain and worry for the rest of my life.
I suffered bad migraines due to avoiding drinking water for 13 years, before a doctor finally performed a urinary dilation procedure to allow the passage of urine.
I am now 24, worrying whether what I have left will be sufficient for a husband, things which no young woman should have to even contemplate. I don’t even know whether I am able to bare children, and, giving birth as a woman who has undergone female genital mutilation is incredible dangerous, both for the mother and the child as the scar tissue is very strong and reluctant to expand enough for the child to be born. We will have to see what the future holds, and, I truly wish that my life would have been different, that someone had stood in front of me and had protected me.
Imagine having your vagina cut apart, then sewn back together, so much so, that you only have a tiny opening left, through which both urine and menstruation blood has to pass. It is near impossible, and a sadistic tradition, which men and women have initiated for their own sense of power, control and satisfaction.
Peeing was pure torture after I had been mutilated. Just a few drops would set my entire private area on fire and the pain would last for a very long time. It was far too much for a little 11-year-old girl to handle, and, I was by far not the youngest one to be selected for FGM that day, or any day for that matter.
I finally healed and placed a mirror on the ground in front of me to survey the damage. I cannot tell you how powerless I felt when I saw myself. It was truly horrific. They sliced off a part of my urethral opening in their quest to cleanse me, something which will never heal properly, and will cause me tremendous pain and worry for the rest of my life.
I suffered bad migraines due to avoiding drinking water for 13 years, before a doctor finally performed a urinary dilation procedure to allow the passage of urine.
I am now 24, worrying whether what I have left will be sufficient for a husband, things which no young woman should have to even contemplate. I don’t even know whether I am able to bare children, and, giving birth as a woman who has undergone female genital mutilation is incredible dangerous, both for the mother and the child as the scar tissue is very strong and reluctant to expand enough for the child to be born. We will have to see what the future holds, and, I truly wish that my life would have been different, that someone had stood in front of me and had protected me.
I have vowed to dedicate my life to fighting FGM in Isiolo County in Kenya, the place where I was born.
And, although my heart is crying out for the power to stop this practice throughout the entire Africa, saving each and every little girl I possibly can, I have had to contain my emotions and simply start somewhere. With the help of friends and donors, Bishara Care Foundation has been able to raise some money to donate sanitary towels, clothing and practical things to young girls who have been exposed to FGM, and, as much as I can, I educate my fellow women and men about the terrible effects this pointless custom has on the lives of African women and girls. I would love to hear from you. Lets work together to please make this stop. |