“Do you know your new husband?” I ask. She shakes her head, explaining her father set up the arrangement. “Have you ever been to Kevoye (her soon to be new home, a village 30 km away)?” Again she shakes her head, wiping her wet cheeks.
“There is a school near Kevoye,” I say optimistically. “You can still go to school. You are very smart.” Her shoulders tremble with sobbing. Without looking up, she simply shakes her head again. After slipping her some money and whispering hollow words of encouragement I return home, angry.
The following weekend I attended another wedding in a neighboring road town. The day of the wedding, I timidly entered the female quarters. In the two previous weddings I’d attended, this room served as a shrine to lost opportunity – the place to mourn the loss of your childhood, your dreams, and your freedom. This time, I was pleasantly surprised to find the bride in a white puffy sequined complet, surrounded by women fussing over her makeup. Friends inscribed the initials of the bride and groom in glitter on her bags and cooed over her gown. She greeted the crowd with a smile. This, then, was a love match. When I asked the groom how long they’d known each other, he responded he needed pen and paper to calculate the sum.
The third wedding was a mix of tears and laughter. The bride, although only 17 years old, had been dating her future husband and would continue living in our village after marrying. I asked her if she was scared for the wedding night. She giggled nervously, then became serious. Young teen mothers of the village jumped in. “It is very painful,” they whispered. Apparently, genital cutting is still an active practice in my village. The girls told me that the “ceremony,” your introduction into womanhood, occurs when you are 14 or 15 years old.
“They cut you where the baby comes. Then sew you up. Very painful,” they stated knowingly in hushed tones. Although genital cutting practices are shifting from full labial severing without anesthesia to a more symbolic, superficial cut, this traditional practice is highly clandestine and difficult to comprehend as an outsider. Controlling a woman’s sexuality, concerns with modesty and purity, and a sense of obligation drives this controversial topic.
Would you rather have access to education, freedom of choice in marriage, or career opportunities? I wouldn’t be able to choose just one. Instead, I’d choose female empowerment as a whole: bridging the gap between gender disparities, redefining gender roles, and adjusting traditional norms. I can live without running water, electricity and cell phone reception, but I could never live without my freedom.
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