I am the first child of my parents; I have two brothers and a sister.

My father worked
as a field engineer for Shell Petroleum and Development Company Nigeria. His job
always took him away from home for several weeks in a month. My siblings and I
spent most of our formative years with my mother because my father was always
out working at the oil field. My fathers frequent absence from home exposed me to
the gruesome violence of female genital mutilation. I was six years when female
genital mutilation was carried out on me, the incident left an indelible scar in my
body and soul.
There was a long battle between my father and my grandmother on the issue of
female genital mutilation. My father being educated refused to avail me for the dirty
practice of female genital mutilation which was widely practiced in the part of
Nigeria I come from. My grandmother was an ardent believer in traditional
practices; she approached my father severally to bring me to the countryside to
perform the necessary ritual of female genital mutilation before I turn eight years
old but my father refused to yield to her pressure.
On one occasion my father went to his field work, my grandmother lured my mother
to bring me and my siblings to the countryside to come spend some time with my
grandmother. My mother yielded to my grandmothers request; she did not have the
slightest cognition that my grandmother could mete out such violence against me
without my parents approval. I was excited as we travelled to the countryside not
knowing that it was a journey that will leave me incomplete and sad for the rest of
my life.
When we got to our country home, my grandmother served us one of our local
delicacies, we all ate and enjoyed ourselves. When it was time to sleep at night, my
grandmother asked me to come sleep in her room, since everyone knows she is
fond of me, my mother did not suspect any foul play. She told me couple of folk tale
stories before we slept that night. I slept peacefully on my grandmothers bed with
her sleeping next to me. She woke me up around 5:00am the next morning which
was not unusual because she normally wakes up early to go pick fresh vegetables.
She asked me to come with her, that she was going to teach me how to be like
grand ma. Like little kids do, we tagged along because I felt safe with my
grandmother. When we got in to the woods, I notices a strange hut made of palm
fronds. We entered the hut and immediately two women grabbed and blindfolded
me and tied me to some thick bushes.
I was dragged to a fence covered in leaves, and they took the blindfold off. I could
see the other girls bleeding and sobbing in pain. I saw an old woman holding a knife
so sharp I could see the drops of blood sliding down the edge. It was the blood of
the other girls.
I was dragged to a fence covered in leaves, and they took the blindfold off. I could
see the other girls bleeding and sobbing in pain. I saw an old woman holding a knife

so sharp I could see the drops of blood sliding down the edge. It was the blood of
the other girls.
The cutting happens very fast. What the cutter does is hold on to your clitoris to
make sure she gets that and scrapes everything else that comes along with it
In the morning, we would wake up, line up, and receive our "treatment." They took
dried leaves and placed them on the wound and that would stay on for two to three
days. Then they would rip it off and put another one on until the tissue began to
scar. Every morning a woman came in to teach us songs, and if we didn't memorize
the words, she would beat us. We were also taught, every day, that if we ever talked
about this, if we even mentioned it, they would kill us.
But when my mother learnt about the incident, she could not do much because of
the fear she had for her mother .She cried profusely that day and blamed herself for
bringing me to the countryside .
However, as soon as my father came back from his field work, it became a long
battle between him and grandmother to the extent that he almost sent my mother
parking. Blaming her that why would she take us to the Village when he was not
around.
The experience still keep ringing in my brain and up till now as the same culture is
still being practiced in my husband family and more reason why I dont take my
daughter to my husband people so that she would not go through the same
procedure and I am happy we are living in America now that is far from them.