I vividly remember the day I got cut, though it’s a memory I wish I could erase. That day, the sun was relentless, and the air was heavy with a palpable tension that hung over the community like a stormy cloud ready to burst its worries away.
I had grown up in Sankandi, surrounded by loving parents and a tight-knit community. But there was one tradition that haunted the young girls like myself: Female Genital Mutilation (FGM), a purification rite, they called it. A tradition passed down through generations, deeply ingrained in our culture despite its barbarity.
As a girl of nine, I was filled with dreams and innocence. I had heard whispers among the older women and they spoke in hushed tones about the ceremony, about the day we would be taken away and cut. It was meant to purify us, prepare us for womanhood and make us suitable for marriage, they said. But to me and all those that were to go through it that year, it was nothing but the feeling of being celebrated and unaware of the tradition that would alter the course of my life.
I am twenty-seven years old today, a mother of two and on family planning pills. During my first and second delivery, I swear I looked death in the eye. I sustain third-degree tears during both deliveries. And it takes nearly a year to heal. The pain I feel is inexplicable. Being born and raised by a mother who bore the scars of FGM herself, I had always questioned the necessity of the practice. Based on my experience and that of my mother’s, I have since my first child vowed never to subject my daughters through this practice.
I then became a recognised enemy within the community and my children have suffered a lot of discrimination and rejection for not being cut. I always make sure to stand firm for them because I have a strong reason for doing so.
In staying away from this practice, women have secretly come to me explaining their stories and the effects of this practice on them but they do not have the courage to speak out against such a deeply rooted practice. I do not blame them much. I have become just a face representing many other women in the community who are unable to speak out due to sociocultural barriers that limits them.
Since 2023, a private member bill was tabled before the National Assembly for the repeal of the anti-FGM law. I have seen on different media platforms how the anti-FGM law camp invalidates my struggles, my stories and my pain. There is nothing more painful to me than being denied of your truth. And sadly, men are the ones leading this anti-FGM law camp. A gender that barely understand anything the women go through.
To me and many other young women especially those who have gone through this practice no longer feel safe. Our dreams and efforts are all being swept away for random misogynist thoughts. We continue to be bullied both on and offline. People judging us and our families and our stories seen as fabricated.
