I remember when I confessed to a friend that I was a virgin to pleasure. I narrated to him how I would go through sex intercourses without feeling a thing. He then asked me if I was circumcised. I paused for a few minutes trying to understand what he meant. I did have my heart circumcised a couple times by men but they didn’t decide my fate like traditional elders.
He was referring to the horrible practice done to little girls called Female Genital Mutilation. I never heard of FGM and I am thankful for my ignorance, because it prevented me from being angry for a longer time. The thought of having someone that I didn’t grant permission touch my private parts makes me vomit. Actually, the so called ‘consent’ was granted by the ones who vowed to protect them - their parents. Is it inappropriate to say that their parents raped them?
There are a lot of things that I wish I didn’t feel such as my annoyance and anger towards such practises. But a ‘climax’ is something that I deserve! I wish those girls knew the feeling of having a super power and that when Sailor Moon is transforming into a super woman body, while dancing, is the exact fictional representation of having an orgasm. And it is dishearten to know that there are girls that will never experience such.
Knowing that girls won’t reach a ‘happy ending’ because of broken elders who hide in tradition to save their rooted problems, kills me. Thus, they claim that they are making sure they are not moved by the sexual urge that drives them to start dating early and ending up pregnant. That’s absurd! Being immune to pleasure doesn’t prevent pregnancy. Inducing a coma to a girl’s private parts won’t stop us from desiring men, especially when our parents failed us. Hence, being deprived of the feeling will make them desperately wait for the prince charming that is going to wake up our ‘sleeping’ beautiful genitalia.
Writing gave me the skills to embrace personification and empathy. I visualise their pain…how it physically hurts and how it will continue to emotionally damage them. I imagine that the procedure that was supposed to make them stop feeling was the thing they felt the most. I imagine their cold hands twisting the girl’s ‘nether regions’ like they were fixing a car engine, and it eventually stopped responding.
Do they know what is happening? Do their parents tell them “Today I am going to rip your soul in pieces.”? Those pertinent questions encouraged me start having conversations about it. I have invited men to be part of the dialogue and motivated them to be front runners on this matter of cultural ignorance.
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