‘Beyond Her Scream’ is the story of a mother-daughter relationship strained by the effects of FGM. It is set against a background of cross-cultural differences and contrasting worldviews. It contains some graphic descriptions which may not be suitable for younger readers.
The sound of her scream stung my mind like a cat-o’ nine tails. Agony. I’d subjected her to such agony. No-one should ever have to endure that, let alone one’s own daughter. It had seemed like the right thing to do, the best thing to enable her to win a good husband for herself as the best men would only want one who was ‘clean’ in this way. Now, such logic seems hateful to me. Why? Because I have seen the effect that the cutting has had on her and feel like Dhegdheer (1), all bound up in cruelty and predatory instincts.
What to do?
Asli came to me while I was sewing in my room and stood to one side waiting while the machine whirred over the gown I was mending. “What do you want?” I asked, the impatience slipping out. I could smell the sourness of her breath as she spoke up.
“Would you mind babysitting for me tomorrow night, Mama? I really want to go to the student’s ball. It’s the last chance I have to hang out with my student friends before graduation.”
I pursed my lips, letting her know of my disapproval. Even without saying a word I was able to maul at the scars in her heart. I didn’t consciously want to keep hurting her, but her desire to win my approval confronted an obstinate streak in me. “Do you really want to go and spend time with all those kaffirs, drinking themselves stupid and throwing themselves at each other?”...
The sound of her scream stung my mind like a cat-o’ nine tails. Agony. I’d subjected her to such agony. No-one should ever have to endure that, let alone one’s own daughter. It had seemed like the right thing to do, the best thing to enable her to win a good husband for herself as the best men would only want one who was ‘clean’ in this way. Now, such logic seems hateful to me. Why? Because I have seen the effect that the cutting has had on her and feel like Dhegdheer (1), all bound up in cruelty and predatory instincts.
What to do?
Asli came to me while I was sewing in my room and stood to one side waiting while the machine whirred over the gown I was mending. “What do you want?” I asked, the impatience slipping out. I could smell the sourness of her breath as she spoke up.
“Would you mind babysitting for me tomorrow night, Mama? I really want to go to the student’s ball. It’s the last chance I have to hang out with my student friends before graduation.”
I pursed my lips, letting her know of my disapproval. Even without saying a word I was able to maul at the scars in her heart. I didn’t consciously want to keep hurting her, but her desire to win my approval confronted an obstinate streak in me. “Do you really want to go and spend time with all those kaffirs, drinking themselves stupid and throwing themselves at each other?”...