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Blades in a Decade

Today makes it 10 years since I became an orphan. Ten years since the evil that infests my body was awoken.

My father just got home from work and had cashed out a cheque for his trip to Abuja. Since my mother died, it has just been us. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was just us. I never hated it. I never particularly loved it either, but I was comfortable. I had a father who would do anything to protect me. A father who loved and adored his daughter. That was enough.

My mother died before she could hold me in her hands. She died before she could give me a name. Doctors said she died from complications during my birth. My father named me ‘Aiyetide’, meaning ‘Life has come’, a reminder that in death my birth brought life.

The cash spilled from the envelope as I lifted his bag, and the smell of new notes hit me like a beam of light in a dark hall.

“Be careful.”

He was obviously tired but still made me yam porridge for dinner and teased me when I asked for more.

If I knew that would be our last meal together, I would have faked an illness. A stomach ache, headache, whatever and my father would have dropped it all. He was that kind of father.

Two weeks after his death, my mother’s relative whisked me to the village for what they called a traditional cleansing ceremony because I was now an orphan. It was no cleansing. It was the beginning of the end.

My attempt to escape the strong arms of the hefty men who carried me was futile. My unfiltered rage didn’t translate to enough strength. I was powerless against them. I screamed till my voice gave out. I bit them, kicked them, even called out for my father. Hoping he would hear from heaven and rain down thunder on these evil men.

When the cold edge of the blade touched my skin, I was certain I was going to die. I was sure I would be with my father soon and question why he didn’t save me. Something in me died on that table as the women held me down with their cold hands, parting my thighs. These women cut out the piece of me that made me feel alive before I even got to call it mine.

42 Responses

  6. Africans have a strong sense of community, but this story shows that it can be double-edged! This story also creates awareness about not just the physical but also the emotional disadvantages of FGM

  13. You brought every line to life. I could see it with my mind’s eyes. This could be made into a short movie even. Kudos. This was written well.

  18. Well done Ogooluwa.

    It’s very sad to know that FGM is still being practiced, despite the known fact of it’s irreversible damage to the survivor.

    Thank you for creating awareness in a creative way. #YouthEndFGM

  19. Stopping female genital mutilation is a task that must be done..you and I needs to play our part to achieve this. what an informative and educative write up!

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