I was not circumcised,
But I have been living in fear of it for the past couple of years.
I’m worried that not being circumcised will pose a problem when I get married,
And that I’ll be a bad wife.
I was in the seventh grade,
When mama and baba told me:
“You’ve grown up and you need to be circumcised.”
I didn’t understand what was going to happen,
Or what exactly they were going to do.
All I understood was that if I didn’t remove that specific part,
It was going to grow to look like a male part.
I don’t have a single clear memory of my experience with FGM.
Because ever since it happened,
I’ve avoided thinking about anything related to my body.
I always feel like there’s something missing.
That I’m not a complete girl.
This all happened because of my family’s beliefs.
They’re from Gharbia.
gender violence, physical violence, fgm
I was in primary school when I was circumcised.
I already knew about it,
Because my cousins had it done to them before me.
I thought it was a good thing,
And that it would mean that I was now a woman.
I knew where they were taking me.
I knew what was going to happen.
But I didn’t know how it was going to be done.
I have been following the campaign for a while
I feel pain for all these girls.
I am not sure how my story will come across in comparison to all these painful stories.
I was lucky that the doctor refused to conduct the procedure,
And said, “there doesn't seem to be anything worth cutting”
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
I was a little older at the time.
I was in the seventh grade when mama took me to a gynecologist.
The doctor said, verbatim, “she doesn’t need to be circumcised.”
I understood what they were talking about,
What they wanted to do to me.
“The doctor said I don’t need it,” I told them.
“We know better than the doctor,” my aunt retorted
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.”