It was my dad who made the decision.
When my mother objected,
He threatened to get one of his doctor friends to do it behind her back.
I found that out,
Ten years after they took away a part of my body.
The ancient rural house always filled me with fear.
The fear doesn’t just stem from the tales that we weaved around it,
but also from the terrifying scene that I once witnessed in the courtyard of that house.
This scene has been imprinted in my mind for many years, and I haven't been able to shake it off till now.
The doctor arrived,
And I was scared.
I kept begging mama to not let them do it to me.
I had some idea of what was going to happen from friends and relatives.
But unfortunately,
my grandmother’s influence was stronger than my pleas.
Gender violence; physical violence; FGM
It started when I was in elementary school.
When I was in fourth grade,
One of our neighbours took me to the doctor.
I was very scared.
At first they couldn’t find anesthesia,
They kept searching until they did.
Thank God for that.
They performed the procedure.
I lost a lot of blood.
The doctor was concerned.
But things turned out okay, thank God.
After that, I felt embarrassed when baba even looked at me.
It made me feel naked.
I don’t remember my circumcision clearly.
Ever since it happened,
I’ve been avoiding thinking about anything related to my body.
I always feel like there’s something missing.
That I’m not really a girl.
My family’s strange beliefs are the reason for this.
That is why I hate my body,
Every inch of it.
We went with them,
And I don’t remember anything about that day,
Except for the doctor yelling at me.
She told me to take off my pants,
But I refused.
They gave me anesthesia,
And cut off a part of me.
I regained consciousness when I had become a “woman.”
Everything changed after that day.
Gender violence; sexual violence; physical violence; FGM; sex
I was 12 when I travelled with my family at the end of term to Upper Egypt.
That’s where the story began.
One day, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach,
I felt nauseous for three days straight.
That’s when my aunt, who was a 65 year old uneducated woman, decided,
“Our girl is getting older… the midwife must visit.”
For the longest time, perhaps until after highschool, I thought all girls were like me.
Then I found out that not all of them were like me.
I didn’t understand what it meant. What’s the difference?
I would always avoid thinking about the incident.
Until a black cloud formed in my mind, engulfing the memory of this incident.