Kintir; That Third Leg

 There is always a trigger, something that happens, and sets the course for future events. In this particular story, it’s a simple beginning. There was a girl, and her father. He loved her and she loved and adored him.  Life was simple, filled with happiness, childhood bliss, and love. Then she grew up, and realized that things aren’t always what they seem. And that deception is an art, which the ones closest to you are the most skilled at. Which brings me to my next point of what happened one sunny day in a small town in the northeastern part of Kenya, far away from civilizations and the modern world, where false ideologies are used as reasons for violating, and butchering young women’s bodies.

It was cunning, to say the least, to look at me and tell me I was dirty, no filthy, and untouchable until I got that kintir (clitoris), that third leg, removed.

" No man will ever touch you, let alone marry you," my aunt said to me.  My 14-year-old brain knew that that was all I had to expect from life: a man to marry me. It meant validation; I would've arrived. “Trust me, she said, I know.”  Why wouldn’t I? She was my father’s sister, and she loved me, at least that’s what she told me, and before then, I didn’t have a woman to hold, love, and cherish me. She held me in her arms, and sang to me as she stroked my hair, rocking from side to side. I closed my eyes, and allowed her to hold me, and comfort me. I felt bliss. Her voice and touch was so soothing, I felt loved, and secure. Little did I know I would hate her more than I thought I was ever capable of hating anyone.

It was a sunny afternoon when she arrived. She said she was a nurse. I couldn't help but think, but I'm not sick. She told me to lie down, and spread my legs. At this point in my life, I hadn't even seen a gynecologist, and laying eagle spread in front of some strange woman, nurse or not, was very unsettling and quite awkward.  My parents, well my dad, didn't support visiting a gynecologist. He wouldn't even let me wear a bra, because it was "western".  Yes, it was quite interesting being raised in a western country by a seemingly conservative parent. I say seemingly, because before we came here, he was a wild-child himself, and didn’t slow down for anything. All of sudden, he felt compelled to be man of faith, and rule his household with an iron fist, because otherwise, he wasn’t a man at all, according to the elders.

Snip, snip, I thought I heard flesh being cut. I felt nauseous at the thought of my flesh down there tearing. I felt the pressure, and tugging, but I had no idea what was going on down there.  Later, the anesthetic would wear out, and I would feel the pain hit me a thousand folds.  I lay there in agony, tears flowing down my cheeks, and cursing my father for leaving me there, and cursing my mother for leaving me a long time ago. I felt truly alone, like an orphan.   When nature called, it was unbearable; the pain, and burning, and I kept thinking, " and what was the purpose of this? " I felt angry, cheated, and destroyed mentally and physically. I couldn't help but be so angry with my father. So, this is what he brought me down here for? To be butchered? The bastard.

But when he called, I cried to him, and said, " Please, come back, Daddy. Take me away from this place. I am in so much pain. Why did this have to happen? Nothing was wrong with me!" He was displeased with my aunt, but he didn't come back for me.  He let this indiscretion go, but no one ever asked me what I thought about what was done to me? I felt a piece of my soul was torn, and a piece of my flesh was literally cut, bled, because apparently it was dirty, and hence it made me dirty. Thus, I had to be cleansed. The fact was that there was obviously nothing wrong with me, and an immense transgression had taken place, of which I would never see retribution for, and my father dismissed it like it was nothing. I was angry. And rightfully so.

They thought they were going to preserve my virginity, my virtue, but they didn't know the rage of an angry teenager, and the workings of her mind. I lost my virginity as soon as I healed up. It hurt like hell, but fuck it, this was what they were keeping me from? Like hell, they would.

Then something strange happened. Religion cloaked in fear, crept into my young mind, and stirred something in my soul. Suddenly, I was remorseful for my actions, well, because I didn’t want to go to hell.  My aunt, and I went to the mosque for prayers together often.  On one Friday, I had another reminder of the great Wrath of the One. Every since I was a little girl, I had been told tales of terror and fright.  I remember listening to the man speak telling us about His wrath. I remember literally shaking, and wondering in my little mind, but why? Why would He want to hurt us? What have we done to deserve that? Well, as you get older, you realize human beings are capable of immensely inhumane actions, but apparently, the wrath of the One is greater than all humanity can compass. He has the ability to burn your flesh completely till the bones crumble, and then bring you back anew to repeat the process…forever. The One is so merciful, and so kind, but if you’re not on His right side, His vengeance is like no other. I listened in a daze, staring ahead, imagining this Fire, burning the flesh off my bones, and I shivered, and tears burned in my eyes. I felt sick to my stomach. I didn’t want that to happen to me…”God is Great,” the man behind the veil said, ”God is Great.” So I bowed, not knowing why I was bowing, but bowing anyways because everyone next to me was doing the same thing. I slightly looked to the left with my head on the floor, and saw a woman bowing next to me murmuring under her breath, tears flowing openly.  “Please forgive me, dear Almighty One, please forgive me for the sins I have not yet committed.” I was shocked! Why would she ask for forgiveness ahead of time? Why doesn’t she just not do anything? We sat back down, and I faced her. I looked at her puzzled; confused by her declaration. She looked back; her eyes were glazed, teary, and sorrowful. It was a painful existence to live in fear.