“We were betrayed.”
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When
tradition
becomes abuse
More than
130 million girls and women have undergone genital mutilation, according to the World
Health Organization (WHO), which estimates that another two million are at risk every
year. The mutilation (known as FGM) can take many forms but about 80 percent of cases
involve the removal of the clitoris and often the small lip-like structure surrounding
the vulva. The most extreme form is infibulation: the external genitalia are partially
or entirely removed and the vaginal opening is stitched closed. FGM is concentrated
in 28 African countries, although a growing number of cases are being reported among
immigrant groups in Europe, Australia, Canada and the U.S. Cases have also been reported
in the Middle East and Southeast Asia.
FGM is considered a human rights abuse by a growing international movement of NGOs
and UN agencies. These activists seek to eliminate the practice, not legitimate it
on the grounds of cultural or religious tradition. They also reject its medicalization
in which health professionals reduce the risk of infection.
The opposition is largely fuelled by African women like Mrs. Diallo, who volunteers
with the French section (GAMS) of the Inter-African Committee on Traditional Practices
Affecting the Health of Women and Children. Public awareness campaigns target communities,
families and health authorities, while efforts are underway to develop laws to ban
and sanction the practice. Some groups are also pushing for provisions to offer asylum
to those at risk of mutilation in their countries of origin.
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A
Malian woman who underwent excision at the age of 12 recalls the experience which
led her to combat this ritual practice
TThat day will remain
etched in my memory forever. At the time, in 1966, I was 12, my sister 10. Like every
summer, we were visiting our paternal grandparents in our village 15 kilometres from
Bamako in Mali. Early one morning, we went to see my aunt, my father’s sister, whom
we were always happy to visit because she spoiled us.
I didn’t suspect a thing. My aunt called me into the bathroom. Several women jumped
on me and held me down. They spread my legs open. I was screaming. I couldn’t see
the knife but felt them cutting me. I was crying as the blood flowed everywhere.
They said, “Don’t cry, it’s shameful! You’re a woman, what we’re doing to you is
nothing.” They started clapping. They dressed me in a white skirt. No bandages, just
something they had prepared with shea oil and leaves. I left. It was my little sister’s
turn. I heard her crying and begging me for help, and that hurt even more.
In
our female education,
we were told that a woman
must be strong,
tough and not too talkative.
Sex was a taboo topic.
The excision was a plot. We were betrayed. We were living in Senegal, where my father
was a civil servant. My parents were educated people, they were against excision.
But at that time, it was a widespread practice in the countryside and city. Most
little girls were excised much younger than us, and the occasion was followed by
a party. We stayed with our aunt for almost three weeks. A woman she knew helped
us because we couldn’t stand up by ourselves. It hurt so much we avoided going to
the bathroom. Our mother cried and kissed us the first time she came to see us, but
she couldn’t do anything. In Africa, the father’s family decides whether children
live or die.
Meanwhile, we were given our female education. We were told that a woman must be
strong, tough, secretive and not too talkative. Sex was a taboo topic.
Mutilation
never heals
I
was filled with hatred and rage. I had not been brought up with that mentality. But
I was resigned, despite the pain. I got married at 22. I never talked about the feeling
of being incomplete, of missing a part of my body. Women were not allowed to express
desire or pleasure. I could only talk to close friends about the fact that excision
is not a wound but a mutilation. A wound heals, but a mutilation means disfigurement.
It means removing a part that never grows back. When I had daughters of my own, I
told my husband that I did not want them to be excised. He agreed. I protected them
by not sending them to visit Africa when they were little.
It was not a sacred or religious rite, but a ritual passage. There is an expression
in Bambara that says “taking the dress,” which means becoming a real woman. Before
excision, a girl is innocent, she can walk around bare-chested or even naked. After
excision, she must keep her body covered. The person who has his or her child excised
does so because that’s the way things have been for generations. They are afraid
that evil will befall the child if they don’t. They have always heard, “when you
have a daughter, you must have her excised so that she can become a perfect woman.”
But Islam never said “excise your daughters,” even though many people think the Koran
orders them to do so. Men invented excision to control women’s sexuality. To be a
real woman, her clitoris, which is considered to represent a man’s sex, is removed.
Excised mummies dating back prior to the appearance of Islam have been found.
African women have been denouncing excision since 1924, but at that time they were
considered crazy. More recently, we have been lucky enough to have support from European
women and the media to make ourselves heard. When I came to France, I started campaigning
with several organizations, including GAMS (see box). Today, we are invited to clinics
and maternity wards to tell mothers that excision is against the law. We campaign
for prevention in schools and with social workers. We also see families individually.
Psychologically, it’s more difficult for girls born in France to undergo excision.
Those who are 18 or 20 today will have or have had problems during their first sexual
experience. The men of my generation learned to accept the unacceptable. But today’s
boys will not want girls who are undergoing excision now and will be old enough to
marry around 2020. I know a girl who had to leave her neighbourhood because people
made fun of her.
We are against excision in all its forms, even if it takes place under anesthesia
in the hospital. Our campaign isn’t just against the pain at the time of excision,
but against the mutilation of our bodies.
www.who.int/frh-whd/FGM/
www.rainbo.org |
