THE PLACE I CALL HOME

THE PLACE I CALL HOME
• Culture
"The ideas, customs, and social behaviour of a particular people or society."
(For example, the Sebei culture. )

When I was younger, my auntie used to read her Bible all the time,
She said my body was a temple. I wonder what she meant.
Temple for whom? Myself? The Almighty? Her? Father? My community?
I wonder what she meant.
She might have also said she had my best interests at heart.
I laugh out loud at the thought, and instantly pay for it

My body is seized by violent tremors
My stomach lurches to expel the pain killers mother gave me earlier
A sheen of sweat breaks out across my forehead
My inner thighs and pelvis go numb from the pain
But that's not the worst part
The worst is part is my eyes
I'm hit with an onslaught of tears that drench my pillow, creating new patches where the old had dried up

Sobs wrack my body
Again
I cry hoping my mind goes blank
I want to forget. I hope to forget
The jeers, the cheers, the leers
I see my auntie's face, devoid of emotion
Her cold glare when I begged her to save me
She hated me, I felt it in her rough hands as they dragged me to the altar
I call it altar because it was where I was sacrificed to keep our community going
Like a lamb, I struggled to be set free, I screamed and wailed and cried until my hands and feet were bound by strong ropes.
They dug into my skin. Nobody cared
The proverbial High Priestess pried my legs apart and slit my clitoris in a split second
Neat trick by the way
A burst of blinding pain hit me and I let out a strangled sound; I felt the consciousness leave me

And as the fight left me, I watched my blood drip into the soil where I was born
Where my roots ran deep
I was the sacrifice. We were the sacrifice.
Only the high priestess was an old lady with a dirty razorblade which she used to cut all the other girls that followed after me that day

One of the girls jeered at me for being such a baby
"This is the only way you'll ever become a woman, worthy of getting married and having children. With the way you cried today, I don't think you deserve the title"
I wonder if she would say the same thing if she had come to school with me when the generous ladies offered us scholarships five years ago.
I wonder if she liked the pain.

That night, they threw a feast that went on through the night.
One of the festivities involved burning down the houses of everyone that was opposed to the practice. They specifically burnt Anita’s house to the ground.
Anita was born with a slight mental disability and has since been shunned.
She was cut and married off to a 90 year old as his fifth wife.
My community is extreme. They ‘needed to pull out the weeds'.
I had no one to run to so I cried myself to sleep.
It is my new found hobby and companion.
The feast was thrown by our local chairperson.
I wonder whether he cares for the females.

I should have remained in school when we were sent off for holidays.
I should not have ignored the suspicious glances and mumbles that followed me across the street on my first day home.
I should have ignored my auntie's pleas to visit her that day.
I should have told everyone that our culture was repugnant and girls should not be mutilated.
I should have watched my mother more closely for signs that something wasn't right anymore.

I shouldn't have to worry about my safety and the regard with which my ascertainable wishes will be treated merely because I'm a girl. A girl in a community where my interests come second to those of everyone else.
I wish it were different.
I wonder what that would feel like.

Last semester was my best done
I came top of my class
The generous ladies took us to a human rights conference
They talked of equality
Of freedom from discrimination
Of affirmative action in favour of women
Of freedom from torture and cruel, degrading treatment
Of the right to life
Of the right to culture that is not repressive
Of freedom from harmful cultural practices
The speaker referred to the CEDAW, Banjul Charter, the Constitution
But most of all the Maputol Protocol
She said it was enacted to protect the rights of African women
She said it explicitly outlawed Female Genital Mutilation
Article 5, I think
She said our FGM Act 2010 sets out punishment for offenders
I wonder how effective this law is among the Sebei.
Clearly not.

A fresh bout of heaving snaps me back to the present.
The infection won't go away that easily.
The lady's blade must have been rusty too.
I hope with all my heart that I don't have HIV/AIDS and the infection is all there is
Mother won't take me to hospital
She says strong girls live through the hardships of being female
Mother wasn't circumcised, but she has been considering it since father threatened to marry a younger, 'more suitable' girl
He has not spared me a glance since I got home. Where I come from, men do not show emotion
Especially towards their daughters. It's a sign of weakness
I can tell he is now happy because he can marry me off in exchange for a hefty sum and a great number of cows
I am not an outcast anymore.
I am now one of them because my flesh has been cut.
Last evening, I heard him negotiating a sum with our 50 year old neighbour, Fausto. My father is selling me off.
I wonder if he loves me.

I hate everyone. I hate my auntie
I hate mother
I hate father
I hate those girls
I hate my community. My home
I loathe myself above all
I feel dirty, ill, used, neglected, brutalized
I feel alone, even when my community preaches unity
I need to run away. I won't marry Fausto
I want to return to school. I want to feel safe and happy even when my body has been violated.
I don't want to be sad anymore. Or in pain. Or sick.
I wonder how possible that is.