L’excision: C’est un crime

My brother Issiaga often wears a shirt (one of ~3 that he owns) that says “ L’excision est un crime.” One day I asked him if he knew what his shirt said. He can’t read and no one had ever told him what it said, so no, he didn’t know. I told him what it said and he just kind of shrugged his shoulders and said OK.

Female excision rates in Guinea are disturbingly high, some of the highest in the world. At some point, probably due to international pressure, the government declared that it was illegal to do female excision. People continue to perform excision, but have become much more secretive about it. There has been some encouraging news that perhaps female excision to its fullest extent isn’t really being practiced, but instead they’re just ‘nicking’ the skin a bit to draw blood, as evidence of having gone through it, and practicing the other cultural traditions that go along with it (wearing a certain type of clothing, singing certain songs).

 Since being in Guinea I have not heard anyone speak about it nor have I head any reference to it. I have only ever broached the topic with two people. One was my host mother in Dubreka who said she wasn’t planning to do that to her daughters. The second is my host brother (technically cousin), Abou, at site who is my best friend/confident. Other than talking with these two people, the issue of excision has never come up, and, I was enjoying the “ignorance is bliss” way of life.

I found myself wholly unprepared for the first time since starting my service for the cultural shock I experienced tonight. My host aunt (Abou’s mom) came to our house from her village (two hours away) and brought her daughter (~8 years old) and two other girls around the same age. In itself this is not at all strange. My aunt and other villagers occasionally come to visit us and go to our market. I thought nothing of it.

Later that night Abou called me from Conakry, where he has been spending his summer vacation, to say hi. I told him that his mother and sister had come to our house. He asked if I could pass the phone to his mother so that he could say hi. When she handed the phone back to me, Abou asked me if I knew why they had come. "No," I told him. He asked if his mom had come with three young girls. “Yes,” I said. He paused and then very solemnly told me that it was to do the excision for the girls…I had absolutely nothing to say in response to that. After a few moments I asked where they would be doing it – traditional healer? Karamoko? No, he said they would be doing it chez nous. Abou, understanding the dangers and knowing my sentiments towards it, sincerely apologized and asked me to forgive them but to understand that it’s a part of their culture.

The girls in question were sitting on my front porch playing. Did they know or understand what they were about to undergo? I couldn’t look at them, or any of the girls in my family. I felt so many emotions at the same instant that I’m not sure I even know exactly which ones I felt except that I was utterly speechless and at the same time wanted to say so much - a feeling of helplessness.

I immediately called the only person I knew I could talk to about this, Fatime, a Terminale student who just got her BAC. I’ve been a mentor to her during the last year and I knew that she would be both willing to talk about such a taboo topic and understanding of my stance. I asked if I could come over to her house to talk to her about something. By this time it was dark out and so Issiaga had to accompany me to her house on the other side of town. When I arrived, her and her family were in the middle of praying on the front porch so I waited by the side of the house. After they were done Fatime introduced me to her family which I hadn’t met before and then brought two chairs out to the side of the house where we could talk in private. I explained everything that happened and before I finished the tears started to flow. I don’t know why I felt so overwhelmed, though it must have been the feelings of helplessness and anger that something so deplorable could happen at my house, and the fact that I couldn't express the way I felt.

Fatime listened carefully and shared her ideas about the cultural reasons for excision. If a girl doesn’t undergo excision, people will gossip about her and ruin her reputation, which could damage her chances of getting married and could also shame the family. Since it's an initiation, many girls actually look forward to it, and some families have celebrations to honor the girls who have recently gone through it. Fatime herself went through this initiation process, and even shared some personal details. In school, after the fact, she learned from her teachers that excision is not good.

We finished our discussion, I had let all the emotions (tears) out that I needed to. We came to the conclusion that there wasn’t anything I could do to stop the excision of these three girls, at least nothing culturally sensitive or appropriate. However, Fatime encouraged me to bring the subject up with people and even to do sensibilisations to inform people of the dangers. Fatime also helped me with some SuSu vocabulary so that I would be able to bring up the subject with my family and villagers which don’t speak French.

I just don’t know if I can look at the women in my household the same. I feel a sense of betrayal by my family, though completely unfounded since they had no idea that I would know or be affected by excision.

EPILOGUE

The day after I found about the girls coming to do the excision, I left my site to go to Conakry to attend the swearing-in of the newest education volunteers. I came back two days later, presumably after they had done the excision. The girls were wearing different clothing and had their hair wrapped up. I also heard them singing songs in the house during the evening. The girls were happy and pretty active, considering what I thought would have been a very painful experience. This, along with the fact that my family is very poor and probably can’t afford whatever tools are needed, makes me think that maybe, after all, they just went through the motions and didn’t actually do much in terms of excision. I can hope.