The agony of womanhood on female genital multilation.

The family of Adedeji, the Alabe of the town, “circumcision practitioner,” have lost their three daughters to the ritual, “Igekuge Obinrin ni idinkuro,” female genital mutilation. Their daughter, Kemi, which the Ifa oracle had said would be their last daughter, was ripe for circumcision. Distraught mother and father paid a visit to the gods of their family to pray for the successful circumcision of their only hope.
Kemi, a seven years old girl, was sprawled on the mat, fast asleep, when the early morning bird jerked her awake. By the time her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room, they flared open on seeing Dele, a co-worker of her father, hovering over her with a razor. Her mother confirmed her fears as she entered the room with tears in her eyes.
“Mami!” My mother, Kemi, cried out in agony as she was stripped of her clothes and dragged out of the room, onto the damp red sand of her father’s compound. Her two hands were bound together like a lamb about to be slaughtered and her legs were spread wide apart.
Helplessly, she tried to wriggle out of the binds but it was of no use. Kemi wailed loudly when the sharp rusty blade pierced deep into her womanhood, scraping a piece of her external genitalia. Uncontrollable tears streamed down her face as she was being mutilated. Kemi felt pain second to none and thought it would end when it was over. But even after Dele left, she remained overwhelmed with the unimaginable pain between her legs. And when she bent over to urinate, her cries filled the entire compound.
Abike carried the anguish filled Kemi into her room. Together, they cried at the agony of womanhood. She recollected her own story, thirty years ago, when she went through, reassuring Kemi that she would by the time she wakes tomorrow morning.
But for Kemi, the case was different. It was just like her other sisters. When her eyes slowly fluttered close, she thought it would be just like her mother had said, she would sleep off the pain and when she awoke in the morning, all would be well. If only she knew that those were the last words of her mother she would hear.
All Abike could do was mourn yet another child and once again, curse the barbaric tradition that just took her only hope.