Villagers across Africa are now openly discussing and debating the generations-old practice of female genital mutilation, once a taboo topic. And, although still on a modest scale, they are increasingly giving up the practice.
In Némanding, a rural settlement in Senegal, near the border with Gambia, residents of 10 villages rallied late last year to tackle the issue.
Joined by local leaders, parliamentarians and United Nations officials, they shared experiences from a year-long programme in which they had learned about human rights and women’s health, especially the risks and dangers of female genital mutilation. The participants indicated that they soon planned to abandon the practice — also known as female circumcision and excision, and in recent years, as female genital cutting.
Behind the ceremony in Némanding was a Senegalese NGO called Tostan, which means “breakthrough” in Wolof. Following similar education programmes by Tostan, 708 Senegalese villages, representing 13% of the total population in Senegal that had observed the practice, have made public declarations abandoning female genital mutilation.
People are not instructed to stop the practice, says Tostan director Molly Melching, but taught about human rights and the practice’s health risks. Tostan calls this phase of the programme kobi, which, in Mandinka, means “to turn over the soil in preparation for planting”.
Usually, participants then come to the decision to abandon the practice on their own. Worldwide, an estimated two million girls are subjected to genital cutting each year despite the serious health risks. In sub-Saharan Africa, the practice is prevalent in 28 countries.
The women and girls who undergo it often experience bleeding, infection, infertility and difficulties during childbirth that contribute to maternal mortality. The practice diminishes women’s sexual pleasure and often causes pain during intercourse. It can cause psychological trauma, directly from the cutting and from seeing sisters, daughters and granddaughters undergo the same ordeal. It also symbolically reinforces women’s traditionally subordinate roles in society.
In only a few countries — Burkina Faso, the Central African Republic, Chad, Côte d’Ivoire, Djibouti, Egypt, Ghana, Guinea, Senegal, Tanzania and Togo — has the practice been banished by law.
In Nigeria it is prohibited under federal law and in Sudan only the most severe forms are banned. In Kenya a presidential declaration has denounced the practice, and in one case a Kenyan father received an injunction to not have his daughters undergo genital mutilation.
But changing the law has its limitations. Even in these countries, the practice remains widespread.
Despite the suffering in the communities where it is practised, few women speak out against female circumcision. It has been a taboo topic, either between the sexes or among women themselves. So talking about it openly is a breakthrough.
Fatoumata Siré Diakite of the Association for the Advancement and Rights of Malian Women, which works for women’s and girls’ rights, is proud of achieving dialogue on the issue.
“The fact that men are now talking about [female cutting] is a success, because the issue is related to women’s sexuality, and it is not easy for men to talk about it in our country. To have a village chief sitting and talking about [female circumcision] with women in the same room is a big change,” she says.
Men also appreciate the knowledge that comes with open discussion. Melching recalls a man in the education programme whose daughter had died earlier, supposedly from tetanus. After learning how germs are transmitted, he realised his daughter had died from the female circumcision operation.
He returned to his community and told others to stop the practice, citing the example of his daughter’s death.
In Burkina Faso, the need to share feelings about a taboo topic has led the national committee against excision to create an excision hotline. It receives about 30 calls a month.
Changing an age-old tradition that is embedded in culture is difficult. “Female genital mutilation is so ingrained in the way of life, it is like eating rice; it has always been there,” says Agnes McAnthony, the coordinator of a female circumcision eradication campaign in Kenya that brings together 67 organisations.
“Therefore it is so hard to end,” she says. “If you eat rice all your life and I come and tell you there is something wrong with your rice, will you stop?”
Many women see no contradiction in abandoning female circumcision while still honouring tradition and culture. “There is no culture and no tradition which is not changing,” says Malian activist Diakite.
“Tradition is not an end in itself,” says Melching of Tostan. “Traditions are to help people to be closer together in harmony and peace. Tradition that harms and kills and that does not promote women’s and girls’ health does not achieve the goal of harmony, peace and well-being for all members of our community.”
In the communities where female genital mutilation is practiced, it is commonly believed that girls who do not undergo the ritual are “impure”, with lower social status and chances of getting married. Therefore, despite the pain involved, many girls are willing to go through the operation.
McAnthony says the education programmes can empower the girls and show them that they can still be “full women”.
In Mali, says Diakite, many believe that a baby delivered by an uncut woman will die. “We tell them that in Timbuktu, in Morocco, in France, people do not practice female genital mutilation, but are still delivering babies. People then say that they practice [female circumcision] in order to be good Muslims. We tell them that in Mecca [where Muslims go for the holy pilgrimage of the haj], women do not undergo [female circumcision].”
Although female circumcision is not mentioned in the Qur’an, some groups promote the practice as part of Islamic tradition. While lobbying for legislation to outlaw it in Mali, Diakite received death threats. Partly because of the pressure of such groups, the law ultimately did not pass.
“The Islamic groups that oppose the elimination of female genital mutilation are still active,” says Diakite, “but they are getting weak because there are imams who say that the Qur’an does not say that a woman has to be cut.”
In their work, activists choose their language carefully. Some women’s organisations have argued that
the term “female genital mutilation” is demeaning because it implies parents are “mutilators”. The word “cutting” is more neutral, they say.
But some maintain that a negative connotation is useful in order to deliver a message that the practice is harmful. The term “female circumcision”, according to some experts, implies a misleading analogy with male circumcision, thereby obscuring the seriousness of its risks to women. Official UN documents use female genital mutilation, the earlier term, while some UN agencies, such as the UN Population Fund, tend to use both.
According to Melching, Tostan also avoids using terms like “fight” or “war” when describing its campaign. “As soon as you say the words,” she says, “there is resistance, defensiveness and anger.”
Organisations across the continent have found enlisting the support of opinion leaders to be instrumental. In Burkina Faso, the Minister of Social Action, Mariam Lamizana, has publicly supported ending female genital mutilation. Lamizana is also the president of Women’s Voice, an association opposed to violence against women.
In Senegal, Tostan’s campaign was supported by Imam Demba Diawara, who toured Bambara villages near Joal to convince the people to end the practice, emphasising that abandonment would not risk the prestige of their daughters. During the ceremony in Némanding, Senegalese parliamentarians committed themselves to helping improve women’s health.
There are numerous strategies to eliminate female genital mutilation. In Kenya organisers promote an alternative rite of passage, in which girls aged 12 to 13 years go through the same ceremony, but without the cutting. In Mali efforts involve lobbying, educating the women practitioners and giving them alternative skills to earn a living. Information is also spread through local radio to reduce the public demand for excision.
“Legislation is important,” says Maria Gabriela de Vitta, Unicef adviser on harmful traditional practices. “But the community has to want it. To have a different rite of passage is a good strategy, and so are the literacy programmes for women. But the most important thing is participation.”
This article first appeared in the United Nation’s Africa Recovery magazine