Mediación socio – constructivista

In this chapter I present the stories of five circumcised women living in the cities of Ouagadougou and Bobo-Dioulasso. Two of them have had reconstructive surgery and two others are awaiting the operation upon the completion of the Raëlian hospital in Bobo-Dioulasso. The five narratives are drawn from my conversations with the women based on questions contained in the semi-structured interview schedules I used during fieldwork (see Appendix IV A and B). These questions focused on the women’s direct experiences with female circumcision and reconstructive surgery. I have taken their answers, translated them from French into English and used them to construct these stories.

I have strived to keep the narratives as close as possible to their original form. However, I have removed details which would compromise the anonymity of the research

participants. In some places, I have reorganised sections of speech to ensure coherence and deleted hesitation markers, filler words and repetitions (except where these

repetitions are markers of emphasis). Where I judge them significant, I have included brief notations of actions to indicate the demeanour of the speaker.31

I have chosen this format to address the challenge of talking about women who have undergone procedures which they refer to as ‘female genital mutilation’ or

‘circumcision’ and ‘restoration’. My aim is to present this material in such a way that these women are able to tell their stories the way they know them and want them to be understood. In including details of the contexts in which these procedures happened, I hope to focus attention on these women not as disembodied statistics but as whole human beings, whose lives consist of different facets – physical, social, psychological,

31

In quoting my research participants in this and the subsequent chapters, I have used the following styles and punctuation marks as follows: italics = emphasis; three suspension points = the speaker trailed off and then started speaking again; three suspension points in square brackets = I have omitted a section of speech; words in square brackets = I have added a word or phrase to ensure coherence; words in braces = a notation of the speaker’s demeanour or action.

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spiritual, economic – and not just as sexual or reproductive entities solely defined by what has happened to parts of their bodies. As Simpson (2011: 377, 383-384) rightly points out, bodies come with persons attached just as persons come with bodies attached. Although the focus of this chapter limits the extent to which I can dwell on these other aspects of the research participants’ lives, I have tried to offer a glimpse, albeit a narrow one, into their implication in these women’s experience of female circumcision and their choice and/or ability to have reconstructive surgery.

* * * Leila Abdi, 60s, Ouagadougou

I first contacted Leila Abdi in December 2012 (the month prior to leaving New Zealand for Burkina Faso) and she indicated that she would be willing to talk to me. I stayed in touch with her and once I got to Burkina Faso and obtained my research permit, I was able to set up an interview with her. Her collaboration and assistance endured

throughout the fieldwork period.

Leila was a plump and elegantly dressed Muslim woman who was business-like but friendly in her manner. She appeared extremely knowledgeable on local and global discussions on female circumcision and reconstructive surgery probably because she had previously worked as a senior government official implementing programmes against female circumcision. At the time of our interview she was still actively involved in similar activities at national and international levels.

For this interview, I went to Leila’s house which was located in an affluent part of Ouagadougou. She received me well, and I saw that she had been working on a laptop computer in the carpeted veranda of her very big house in a walled-off and gated compound. That cool and sheltered space provided a welcome respite from the rest of noisy and dusty Ouagadougou on that hot Thursday morning. There was a young boy, perhaps two years old, asleep beside Leila. There were also sights and sounds of activity around us as people moved in and out of the house, occasionally calling out to each other. Leila spoke animatedly and assertively as she told me her story.

* * *

My name is Madame Leila Abdi. I’m the president of a non-governmental organisation involved in the promotion and protection of women’s rights. We have integrated in

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that vast domain the issue of violence against women under which we focus on female genital mutilation. I became involved in this struggle through my personal experience. I was circumcised at the age of seven. There were three of us: my elder sister who was perhaps 12 or 15 years old and a cousin of mine who was the same age as me.

It happened very early in the morning, at around 3am. My elder sister [was

circumcised] first and when she was leaving she called me and told me that it was very painful. I tried to run away [but] arrangements had been made because our mothers had imagined that we might flee. We lived above… it wasn’t a storey house but it was one of those houses built during the colonial era. The foundations were very high so there were a lot of stairs to climb. They had brought two young men to sleep at the foot of the stairs to catch us if we tried to escape.

It was very painful [but] it was forbidden to cry. Crying meant that you were not brave and that you were going to dishonour your family, so we had to internalise all the pain. So when I went I didn’t cry but I talked a lot, and for a while people laughed at me. Keita is my maiden name, so I was telling those women who were holding me down, I said, “I’ll not cry, I’m a Keita. Am I not a Keita?” and they answered, “Yes, you’re a Keita!” {laughs}. I said that so as not to cry.

But when I asked my mother, “Why was this done to us?” she wasn’t able to give me an explanation because she didn’t have one. She told me, “That’s how it is. It’s the tradition, we must respect it. We were also cut, so that’s just how it is. We must perpetuate this tradition.” I thought, “How can a tradition have no explanation?” And when I asked my father, it was the same thing. I said, “But why hurt someone?” [My cousin] had even had problems because our circumciser couldn’t see very well. So I thought, “Why expose the lives of children to such risk?” I was appalled by my parents’ silence, by the lack of explanation from my mother regarding that act. So during my adolescence I tried to educate my mother so she doesn’t do it to my younger sisters. But as you know, in Africa women don’t have a voice, let alone little girls.

It hurt me a lot. It’s a painful operation. I said, “But how can there be no response in relation to such a painful operation which can create problems for people, where someone can even die?” At the time I was aware of the dangers because I…when you’re a baby and you get circumcised you feel pain but you don’t remember. With me, I remember my operation up to now as though it was yesterday. That’s why I’m

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telling it to you in such clear detail. Because it remained in ... I was traumatised. I was very scared and whenever I see a needle, a blade, I start to shake. I had psychological consequences which were not detected. I wasn’t able to see a psychologist. Had I been able to see a psychologist {laughs} perhaps I’d have been able to control the effects of that pain.

So it’s because of that. It was through my personal experience that I became involved in the fight [against female genital mutilation]. It was not easy, eh. [But] I had to have the courage to oppose my parents, to stand up to them.

When I had my first daughter I was a student. My parents offered… it was in 1973 and I was in France. When I came on holiday with my daughter my parents told me, “If you leave for school again with your daughter it will be complicated. You should leave your child here. That way you’ll study well.” I thought about what had…they didn’t have any ulterior motives. It was a service they were offering, she was their granddaughter.

So I asked my father to organise a family meeting, because I wanted to talk to them. He called all the people who were concerned. I thanked them and then went straight to my objective. I said that I’d leave my child behind, but that if someone ever has her circumcised… all the people who will be involved in the operation, the ones who will go to fetch [the circumciser], even the one who will allow it to happen in his house, that I’ll have them all dealt with. I even pronounced a curse! I said, “May the child die immediately in the course of the operation.” I said that to frighten them. My father said, “But is that why you brought us together, to tell us such things?” He said if I wanted, my child could stay with her clitoris, that it didn’t bother him. That’s how my daughter stayed.

Unfortunately, some of her cousins, the daughters of my elder sisters, got circumcised. They used to make fun of my daughter when she was little. She was about six years old so the others would make fun of her because she was in an environment where girls her age were circumcised. One day she told me, “Mum, I also want to be circumcised like the others.” I told her, “No, one day you'll thank me when you’re older, that your mother saved your life.” And when she had her first baby at Yalgado Hospital, the midwives, the whole team which was there…when the other women who had been circumcised were suffering and screaming, with her, the child came out just

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like that, like a fish in water, and people applauded. It was a moment of great pride for me.

* * *

Amina, 41, Ouagadougou

I had read about Amina and her experience with reconstructive surgery prior to leaving for fieldwork but had been unable to obtain her contact details.32 Once I got to

Ouagadougou, I telephoned Samira (whose story I tell below) who was in Bobo- Dioulasso to organise our meeting later the following month. After that discussion, Samira sent me the contact details of three women living in Ouagadougou – among them Amina and Antoinette (see next account) – and implied that they too might be willing to talk to me. When I called Amina to ask whether I could go see her, she was noncommittal. I feared that she was weary of talking to strangers about her private life. However, she called me a few days later and asked me to go to her house during an upcoming public holiday.33

Amina was a tall, sturdy woman who appeared to be pregnant. She wore a black weave on her head and maroon polish on her nails. She was affable, thoughtful and soft- spoken. During the interview, she spoke clearly, confidently and with great candour. Although she had done a number of interviews with national and regional media, she did not seem to present a rehearsed story or to have got tired of explaining herself, and I felt humbled when she expressed gratitude at having a place in my thesis to share her story. What struck me most about Amina (and, to some extent, Antoinette) was her solicitous nature and generosity of spirit, and the patience and openness with which she shared her thoughts and the details of her life in the firm belief that these would benefit

32

To maintain Amina’s anonymity, I do not reveal the particular sources in which I read this information.

33

She later explained that she rarely had free time as she had a full time job and was regularly involved in AVFE activities.

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other women in similar circumstances. That first impression of her continued to be manifest in our subsequent dealings.34

The material below was collected on a hot Friday morning during an interview conducted at Amina’s residence which also served as the Raëlian centre in

Ouagadougou. We sat in a spacious living room with a TV set one side and a number of seats on the other three sides. On one of the walls there was a big cloth painting of a picture of a man who I later learnt was the Prophet Raël. There was also a symbol – the insignia of the Raëlian Movement – above the dining table on the wall adjacent to the main door (see Figure 4.1). From where I was seated, I could see a curtain concealing a corridor which led to other rooms in the house.

The homestead was a hive of activity as a number of young men and women did chores and talked to each other outside the house. From time to time someone would come into the house to pick up something and then leave. At one point a man came into the living room from one of the rooms behind the curtain. Amina introduced him to me as her partner and invited him to sit with us but he declined.35 Although the setting was not entirely conducive for our interview (given the sustained noise and lack of privacy), it gave me a glimpse into what seemed to be a warm, communal existence.

34

It is worth mentioning, however, that in a subsequent social call with Antoinette, Amina told me that while Raëlians generally ignore negative things which are said about them, they sometimes sue people if they “go too far”. I did not know whether to take that as an indirect warning about the way I presented them in my thesis.

35

After my interview with Antoinette, I briefly spoke with Amina’s partner about his work as a university lecturer in Bobo-Dioulasso and his professional trips to Kenya. He then asked his brother to take me back to my residence on his motorcycle after

promising to grant me an interview once I was in Bobo-Dioulasso. Given my precipitated departure from the second city, that interview did not take place.

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Figure 4.1 The insignia of the Raëlian Movement on the wall

* * *

I don’t know [much about my circumcision] because I was a baby when it happened. Even so, I later saw what happened with my sisters when I was older. I believe I was 10 years old when I saw it. I must have undergone the same thing. Because I came from an Islamic family, it happened on the seventh day. On the seventh day they shave your head and baptise you. At the same time they circumcise you. That’s what

happened with my younger sisters. That’s what I saw and so I suppose that it’s what happened with me.

It happened in Bobo-Dioulasso. I was born in Bobo and grew up there. I’m Bobo. It’s true that it was done routinely; when I was young it was considered normal. In any case I didn’t have any information [about why it was done] because I was a baby when it was done. I didn’t feel it. It was afterwards when I saw it that I couldn’t stand it. I don’t remember the point at which I knew… well, being with others, girlfriends who were not circumcised, that’s when I realised that there was something missing in me. In school we became aware, they told us that circumcision is not good. We became aware of that while mixing with others. You become aware that there’s something missing in you, so you begin to question yourself. I asked my mother but she didn’t

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know either. She was born and found [circumcision happening] and I didn’t blame her for it because she was just following what society said.

It’s true that when they do sensitisation campaigns, if you’ve been circumcised when you see the consequences you feel somewhat diminished. With me it was during meetings among women [when] I was perhaps 22, 23 years old that I watched a film on the harm caused by circumcision. The CNLPE [staff] have a video which they use to sensitise people. It was that video…when I watched it, there’s a scene in it where they are circumcising a child which really affected me and disgusted me. I felt it in my flesh because it was a baby. It’s as they say, psychologically you remain somewhat affected.

Afterwards there were other occasions among women where we were shown the sexual organs of a woman who has not undergone that. I looked at that and said, “There’s something which is not alright with me. But what is missing in me?” So I started to enquire and then I said to myself, “There’s something precious which was cut from me and I’d like to find it again.” I didn’t have any information. It was these enquiries that led me to get interested in sensitisation campaigns against circumcision, starting with my family and then my relatives. If there’s a chance at a professional level, I also talk about it. I wasn’t a complete woman but that didn’t prevent me, it didn’t block me. But I still felt that there was something, a part of myself, which had been removed and which I wanted to recover. That was it until I got information about restoration.

I felt [the impact] physically when I had sex. I don’t know what the first sexual experience is like for women who have not been circumcised, but for me I couldn’t do