Waris conquers her Demons: The Last Part of the Story
Catch the Seventh Part of the story here
At dinner the next night I laughed and told him that someday I was going to have his baby. For the first time in my life I wanted a man.
Soon we realized we were in love and wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. My crazy prediction came true with the birth of our son on June 13, 1997; He was beautiful, with silky black hair and long feet and fingers.
I named him Aleeke. With his tiny mouth, chubby cheeks and halo of curls, he looks like a little black cupid.
From the day he was born, my life changed. The happiness I get from him is everything to me now. Life – the gift of life – is what matters, and that's what giving birth to my son made me remember.
After going through the cycle of womanhood that began prematurely with my circumcision at age five and came full circle with my baby's birth when I was about 30, I had even more respect for my own mother. I understood what incredible strength the women in Somalia possess.
Thoughts that Stood Out
I thought of the girl back in the bush, walking miles to water her goats while she's in such pain from her period that she can barely stand. Of the woman nine months pregnant hunting for food in the desert to feed her starving children. Of the wife who will be sewn back up with a needle and thread as soon as she gives birth so her vagina will remain tight for her husband. And of the new wife who's still sewn up tight, and it's time for her first baby to be born. What happens when she goes out into the desert alone, as my mother did?
As I grew older and more educated, I learned that because of a cruel ritual, many of the women on the continent of Africa live their lives in pain.
Somebody must speak out for the little girl with no voice.
And since I began as a nomad like so many of them, I felt it was my destiny to help them.
Some time back, Laura Ziv, a writer for the fashion magazine Marie Claire, made an appointment to interview me. When we met, I liked her right away.
I said, “I don't know what kind of story you wanted from me, but all of that fashion model stuff's been done a million times. If you promise to publish it, I'll give you a real story.”
She said, “Oh? Well, I'll do my best,” and switched on her tape recorder I began telling her the story of my circumcision when I was a child. Halfway through the interview, she started crying and turned off the tape.
“I mean, it's horrible, it's disgusting. I never dreamed such things still happen today.”
“That's the point,” I said. “People in the West don't know.”
The day after the interview, I felt stunned and embarrassed. Everybody would know my most personal secret. My closest friends didn't know what had happened to me as a little girl, and now I was telling millions of strangers.
But after much thought, I realized I needed to talk about my circumcision; First of all, it bothers me deeply. Besides the health problems that I still struggle with, I will never know the pleasures of sex. I feel incomplete, crippled, and knowing that there's nothing I can do to change that is the most hopeless feeling of all.
The second reason was my hope of making people aware that this practice still occurs today. I've got to speak not only for me but also for the millions of girls living with it and those dying from it.
When the interview came out, the response was dramatic. The magazine was swamped with letters. I began giving more interviews and speaking at schools, community organizations and anywhere I could to publicize the issue.
In 1997 the United Nations Population Fund invited me to join its fight to stop female circumcision, or female genital mutilation (FGM), as it is more aptly called today. The World Health Organization has compiled some truly terrifying statistics that put the extent of the problem in perspective.
After I saw those numbers, it became clear that this wasn't just my problem. FGM is practiced predominantly in Africa – in 28 countries. Now cases have been reported among girls and women in the United States and Europe, where there are large numbers of African immigrants. This practice has been performed on as many as 130 million girls and women worldwide. At least two million girls are at risk each year of being the next victims – that’s 6000 a day.
The operations are usually performed in primitive circumstances by village women using knives, scissors, even sharp stones. They use no anesthetic. The process ranges in severity.
The most minimal damage is cutting away the hood of the clitoris. At the other end of the spectrum is infibulation, which is performed on 80 percent of the women in Somalia, and which prohibits the girl from enjoying sex for the rest of her life.
When I imagine more little girls going through what I went through, it breaks my heart and makes me angry.
With great pride, I accepted the U.N. Population Fund's offer to become a special ambassador and to join its fight. I will return to Africa to tell my story and speak out against this crime.
Friends have expressed concern that a fanatic will try to kill me, since many fundamentalists consider FGM a holy practice demanded by the Koran. However, this is not the case; neither the Koran nor the Bible makes any mention of female genital mutilation.
I just pray that one day no woman will have to experience this pain and that it becomes a thing of the past. That's what I'm working toward.
From the moment God saved me from a lion, I felt he had a plan for me, some reason to keep me alive. My faith tells me God has work for me to do and this is my mission.
I'm sure my work will be dangerous. I admit to being scared. But I might as well take a chance. It’s what I’ve done all my life.
…….o……o……o…..o……o……0……o…….o……o….o…..
It takes courage to stand up against this dastardly act of humiliation; It takes courage to educate our societies about the ravaging effects Female Genital Mutilation has on our daughters, sisters, wives and mothers. Someone has to do something about this whole thing. That someone is you and me.
Ritch invites you to be a contributor in his other blog: In Ritch’s World
At dinner the next night I laughed and told him that someday I was going to have his baby. For the first time in my life I wanted a man.
Soon we realized we were in love and wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. My crazy prediction came true with the birth of our son on June 13, 1997; He was beautiful, with silky black hair and long feet and fingers.
I named him Aleeke. With his tiny mouth, chubby cheeks and halo of curls, he looks like a little black cupid.
From the day he was born, my life changed. The happiness I get from him is everything to me now. Life – the gift of life – is what matters, and that's what giving birth to my son made me remember.
After going through the cycle of womanhood that began prematurely with my circumcision at age five and came full circle with my baby's birth when I was about 30, I had even more respect for my own mother. I understood what incredible strength the women in Somalia possess.
Thoughts that Stood Out
I thought of the girl back in the bush, walking miles to water her goats while she's in such pain from her period that she can barely stand. Of the woman nine months pregnant hunting for food in the desert to feed her starving children. Of the wife who will be sewn back up with a needle and thread as soon as she gives birth so her vagina will remain tight for her husband. And of the new wife who's still sewn up tight, and it's time for her first baby to be born. What happens when she goes out into the desert alone, as my mother did?
As I grew older and more educated, I learned that because of a cruel ritual, many of the women on the continent of Africa live their lives in pain.
Somebody must speak out for the little girl with no voice.
And since I began as a nomad like so many of them, I felt it was my destiny to help them.
Some time back, Laura Ziv, a writer for the fashion magazine Marie Claire, made an appointment to interview me. When we met, I liked her right away.
I said, “I don't know what kind of story you wanted from me, but all of that fashion model stuff's been done a million times. If you promise to publish it, I'll give you a real story.”
She said, “Oh? Well, I'll do my best,” and switched on her tape recorder I began telling her the story of my circumcision when I was a child. Halfway through the interview, she started crying and turned off the tape.
“I mean, it's horrible, it's disgusting. I never dreamed such things still happen today.”
“That's the point,” I said. “People in the West don't know.”
The day after the interview, I felt stunned and embarrassed. Everybody would know my most personal secret. My closest friends didn't know what had happened to me as a little girl, and now I was telling millions of strangers.
But after much thought, I realized I needed to talk about my circumcision; First of all, it bothers me deeply. Besides the health problems that I still struggle with, I will never know the pleasures of sex. I feel incomplete, crippled, and knowing that there's nothing I can do to change that is the most hopeless feeling of all.
The second reason was my hope of making people aware that this practice still occurs today. I've got to speak not only for me but also for the millions of girls living with it and those dying from it.
When the interview came out, the response was dramatic. The magazine was swamped with letters. I began giving more interviews and speaking at schools, community organizations and anywhere I could to publicize the issue.
In 1997 the United Nations Population Fund invited me to join its fight to stop female circumcision, or female genital mutilation (FGM), as it is more aptly called today. The World Health Organization has compiled some truly terrifying statistics that put the extent of the problem in perspective.
After I saw those numbers, it became clear that this wasn't just my problem. FGM is practiced predominantly in Africa – in 28 countries. Now cases have been reported among girls and women in the United States and Europe, where there are large numbers of African immigrants. This practice has been performed on as many as 130 million girls and women worldwide. At least two million girls are at risk each year of being the next victims – that’s 6000 a day.
The operations are usually performed in primitive circumstances by village women using knives, scissors, even sharp stones. They use no anesthetic. The process ranges in severity.
The most minimal damage is cutting away the hood of the clitoris. At the other end of the spectrum is infibulation, which is performed on 80 percent of the women in Somalia, and which prohibits the girl from enjoying sex for the rest of her life.
When I imagine more little girls going through what I went through, it breaks my heart and makes me angry.
With great pride, I accepted the U.N. Population Fund's offer to become a special ambassador and to join its fight. I will return to Africa to tell my story and speak out against this crime.
Friends have expressed concern that a fanatic will try to kill me, since many fundamentalists consider FGM a holy practice demanded by the Koran. However, this is not the case; neither the Koran nor the Bible makes any mention of female genital mutilation.
I just pray that one day no woman will have to experience this pain and that it becomes a thing of the past. That's what I'm working toward.
From the moment God saved me from a lion, I felt he had a plan for me, some reason to keep me alive. My faith tells me God has work for me to do and this is my mission.
I'm sure my work will be dangerous. I admit to being scared. But I might as well take a chance. It’s what I’ve done all my life.
…….o……o……o…..o……o……0……o…….o……o….o…..
It takes courage to stand up against this dastardly act of humiliation; It takes courage to educate our societies about the ravaging effects Female Genital Mutilation has on our daughters, sisters, wives and mothers. Someone has to do something about this whole thing. That someone is you and me.
Ritch invites you to be a contributor in his other blog: In Ritch’s World
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