Shadows of the Past: Breaking Free from FGM

On a quiet morning, weighed down by an inexplicable tension, twelve-year-old Hayat faced an experience that would change her life forever. It was 2006, and she sat quietly, wide-eyed and unsettled, watching her surroundings without understanding what was coming. When her eyes fell on the medical instruments — the scissors and razors — her young heart started to tremble. Overwhelmed by fear, she quickly spiraled into panic as the nurse and her assistant forcefully restrained her, exposing the lower part of her body. Moments later, she heard one of them tell her parents, “Yes, she is fully ready [has reached puberty].”

The instrument used to perform female genital mutilation (FGM) on Hayat and her sister was a razor blade.

As the nurse proceeded to prepare the space, Hayat suddenly became aware that she was about to undergo something entirely unfamiliar. In that moment, fear ceased to be a mere shadow within her heart; it had transformed into fully realized terror. Hayat stated that the female genital mutilation was performed on her, her younger sister, and their neighbor as well.  She added, “I was blindfolded, my hands were bound behind my back, and my legs were spread apart to mark the clitoris, without any form of anesthesia.”

She continued, “After a few minutes, I felt a sharp pain. I screamed at the top of my lungs, but no one came to help. I tried to struggle and free myself, yet a firm grip held my legs tightly in place.”

She went on to say, “FGM is among the harshest and dehumanizing acts that mutilate the female genitalia, and it is completely unsafe. They used the same instrument on all three of us.”

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Her parents, coming from a conservative rural background, believed that FGM was a necessary and effective way for every girl to ensure her virtue upon reaching puberty; in their view, it was a “duty” to preserve premarital virginity with no alternatives. It was the mother herself—despite hiding her tears in a separate room during the procedure—who took the initiative to bring the nurse, convinced that she was protecting her daughter from a greater harm, the so-called “sexual promiscuity.”

For years, Hayat believed her experience was normal, thinking every girl went through the same ritual. But over time, she started to realize that something was seriously wrong inside her. Her body did not respond to any desire or intimacy. After marriage, the problem became painfully clear: she felt no arousal or sexual desire, describing herself as emotionally and physically numb. This initially caused conflicts with her husband, and she felt forced to fake responsiveness, hiding her inability to respond in an effort to avoid arguments and to keep him satisfied.

During the early nights of her marriage, she often cried silently, her hands trembling, her body stiff and recoiling from any touch… twenty nights of terror, twenty nights of fleeing from herself. Yet the truth could not stay hidden inside her for long; she eventually confided in her husband about what had happened during her childhood, revealing that she had been circumcised. Shocked but compassionate, he chose not to turn away. Instead, he stood by her side. He sought, experimented, and came up with alternative ways to connect with her, gradually improving their intimacy, even though the scar remained deeply carved within her, unerasable.

Hayat never sought medical or professional help, a path rarely taken in her community, but she tried to find solutions on her own. She read extensively online, followed advice, and used what she could with her husband's help. Over time, she managed to overcome some of the physical effects, but the psychological scars remained, a constant reminder of the violence she experienced in childhood. 

The experience had been unbearably harsh: the fear she felt as a child, a mother’s hidden tears behind closed doors, and a father’s silence, viewing the act as a “necessity.” What followed were years of bodily numbness, inner turmoil, and desperate attempts to revive what had been forcibly extinguished within her. The incident was not merely a memory of a lost childhood, but a prolonged journey of suffering — a lesson etched deep into her being that female circumcision inflicts not only physical scars but also robs the soul of something irreplaceable.

Hayat also recounted that she and her younger sister successfully prevented their mother from circumcising their youngest sibling, effectively persuading her mother to abandon the plan. In doing so, they safeguarded the child’s body and protected her from the pain and harm that they themselves had endured.

Now, at thirty-one, Hayat is a mother of three. She states that she and her husband are fully aware of the negative consequences of this practice and will never consider subjecting their daughter to the same fate. With unwavering determination, they are committed to protecting her, confronting a deeply entrenched societal tradition with awareness, courage, and resolve.

Name changed for protection.