To most people, I am an upcoming designer and a makeup artist, but behind all the glamour I have a past that I battled with for a while. Today, I want to share my harrowing journey with you—a journey that began when I was just 12 years old.
Trigger Warning: This story contains depictions of graphic violence. Reader discretion is advised.
I was born and raised in the peaceful town of Timau, near Nanyuki, Kenya. Growing up, my parents had separated, and I lived with my father. Due to the nature of his work, he was hardly ever home, leaving me under the care of my four uncles. What my father didn’t know is that I was constantly sexually harassed by them for as long as I could remember. One fateful night, as darkness enveloped our home, I overheard their hushed conversation about the differences between uncircumcised and circumcised girls. They boldly claimed that uncircumcised girls brought about more satisfaction. They assumed I was asleep, but I followed every word with trepidation. The details of that conversation etched themselves into my memory, robbing me of sleep and filling me with a deep sense of unease. Fear gripped me as I realized that I lived under the same roof as these men.
A month passed, and I found myself playing with some children who casually mentioned their upcoming circumcision. At that moment, an idea took hold of me—a desperate attempt to protect myself. I told myself “Let me get circumcised because if they know I’ve undergone the cut they won’t be interested in me”. I believed it would shield me from their advances.
When my father returned home, I mustered the courage to express my desire to be circumcised. Naturally, he was vehemently against it, but my determination prevailed. I insisted that I wanted to become a woman, a guise to conceal the truth of what was happening behind his back. I pleaded with him, urging him to allow me to undergo the cut, despite his hesitations.
Driven by desperation, I took matters into my own hands. Knowing where my father stored his cash, I took a portion of it and purchased a razor. I rushed to the house of the woman who would perform the excision, taking myself there without hesitation. As we were a group of girls, we were hidden away in a room, as the area we lived in was predominantly occupied by Bantus and not the Borana’s.
In truth, I had no idea what I was signing up for, but I was resolute. I even volunteered to be the first one. The women who would perform the cut saw my courage and chose not to forcefully restrain me. As the blade made contact with my delicate skin, searing pain shot through my body, and instinctively, I fought back. My resistance only resulted in excessive bleeding as the blade cut deeper than intended. Overwhelmed by the loss of blood, I lost consciousness.
When I finally regained awareness, I found my father by my side, tears streaming down his face. The women who had performed the excision were frustrated, as taking me to a hospital would have risked criminal proceedings against them. Instead, they cared for me, using mud mixed with herbs to aid in the healing process. Even as I slowly recovered, my father and I never spoke of what had transpired.
For a while, I remained weak and vulnerable. Amongst the girls who had undergone the cut alongside me, I was the last to heal. I was subjected to drinking fresh goat blood for two weeks, despite the nausea it induced. It was during this time that the full horror of what I had endured hit me with brutal force. And it was all because of those four men.
In my situation, I underwent the cut to protect myself, not at the hands of my parents, but due to the actions of those who preyed upon me. I had nearly lost my life in the process. As I entered high school and learned more about the long-lasting effects of female genital mutilation, my fear for the woman I would become in the future intensified.
It was only recently that I attended the mother-daughter forum for the first time. Initially, I vowed to keep my story hidden, buried in the depths of my pain. However, the interactions I had with fellow survivors changed something within me. In that safe and understanding space, I felt a sense of liberation and belonging. I realized the importance of spreading awareness to mothers, urging them not to subject their daughters to this cruel practice. Without the mother-daughter forum, I would never have found the courage to confront my past and share my story. Through this platform, I have found solace and made peace with my own experiences. I have vowed to fight against female genital mutilation, determined that no one should endure what I went through.
The Girl Generation programme places a strong focus on the emotional well-being of survivors. This commitment is exemplified through the Women Rising Initiative, a grantee partner based in Isiolo County. Within this initiative, survivors and activists have found a safe haven where they receive crucial psychological support while also having the opportunity to showcase their remarkable talents. The Girl Generation’s dedication to holistic support is a beacon of hope for survivors on their journey to healing and empowerment.
