Mutilation by tradition
http://theage.com.au/articles/2004/04/27/1082831549968.html?from=storyrhs
April 28, 2004
Print this article
Email to a friend
Clitoridectomy has been banned in Kenya, but the law is rarely enforced. Simalo, 15, who was circumcised, was married to an older man who raped her.
Kim Longinotto's film on clitoridectomy spares none of the grisly details, writes Stephanie Bunbury.
In the middle of Kim Longinotto's staggering documentary about female circumcision, The Day I Will Never Forget, I simply had to leave the video running, go to the kitchen and stare at the kettle for a while.
Watching a little girl held down while an old woman mutilates her with a razor is more than the human heart can bear.
Clitoridectomy has been banned in Kenya, but the law is rarely enforced. Among Kenya's Somali, 98 per cent of girls between the ages of four and 12 are cut and stitched, but the practice is also prevalent among other ethnic groups, such as the Masai.
Altogether, 132 million women throughout the world are estimated to have had their genitals mutilated. Quite a few die in the process.
Longinotto, 52, has become something of a specialist in documentaries on the women of ignored and hidden cultures: The Day I Will Never Forget came out of making a film on women in Egypt.
She has won a string of awards and deservedly so. Her work is remarkable for the immediate identification we feel with subjects who are very different from us.
The Day I Will Never Forget is deliberately different from any of the other films on this subject. There are no euphemisms or fuzzy dance sequences to make it a little more palatable, no experts or Western interpreters.
Instead, we hear women talk. Some are against clitoridectomy, while many others support it, even carry it out. All speak frankly: we hear every grisly detail. Yet, somehow, this makes everyone seem more human; these women are simply attempting to live life as they find it.
Some of the diehards may appal us with their talk of the "dirty thing hanging down", but we are never given room to feel superior.
The film's linchpin is a nurse, Fardhosa Ali Mohamed, whom Longinotto met by chance after she had begun shooting. Fardhosa has spent most of her working life trying to mitigate the terrible effects of clitoridectomy on girls having sex for the first time and women attempting to give birth through a web of scar tissue.
We see her with a young bride, Amina, trying to "re-open" her so that sex will be possible, but the girl thrashes with fear whenever she gets near her traumatised vulva. She suggests that the operation be completed under general anaesthetic, but her new husband won't allow it. He would become a laughing stock, he tells the nurse. "I'd rather do it myself."
Fardhosa, incredibly, stays calm and smiles at him. If he changes his mind, she says, the door is always open.
"I think I learned a lot from her," says Longinotto. "She is a kind of Nelson Mandela character, a very committed and angry woman, but able to be very gentle and keep her sense of humour and compromise to do the best thing possible in every situation so that she has gradually won the trust of the community."
Fardhosa organised the filmmaker's access to the circumcision we see, begging her not to intervene no matter how dreadful it was. By being there, she explained, they ensured that the cut chosen was the least extreme that would be acceptable and that an anaesthetic would be used. If they tried to stop it, the girls would certainly undergo something far worse later on.
"Emotionally, it felt like a terrible betrayal," Longinotto says. "I felt like a monster. But if I had stopped it, I would have had to take them away and they were not ready to do that. Girls who refuse to have it done are effectively deciding to be outcasts and face quite a lonely life, outside their families and outside their communities."
Sure enough, Longinotto says, when they visited the girls the next day they were already saying how glad they were that they were now, as they saw it, complete women.
Men who support circumcision say it is essential to take the vestiges of manhood out of women. And the girls had certainly been rendered more docile, more ready to conform. After so much agony, there was no fight left in them.
But some girls, incredibly, do fight back. The Day I Will Never Forget is not simply about victims; by the end, we feel less pity than astonishment. Dozens of girls have run away to the few existing shelters and, in a remarkable class action, 16 of them took their parents to court to get injunctions against them.
The individual courage this demands is brought home when Longinotto goes with a 15-year-old girl called Simalo back to her village. Simalo was circumcised then married to an older man who raped her. She ran away to a shelter and has come back to the village for the first time. Her friends embrace her, but she will not speak to her mother.
For many girls, Longinotto says, it is the sense of betrayal by the women who have loved and protected them that is most devastating. Men may expect their brides to be circumcised - their guarantee that they will be marrying a virgin - but circumcision is women's business.
Professional female circumcisers do the cutting, while mothers and aunts hold the girls down and laugh at them if they scream. Stoicism is important. They have to learn that a woman's life is full of pain.
Some, however, are jolted by that knowledge in ways their mothers could not have expected.
The Day I Will Never Forget takes its name from a poem written in English by Fouzia, aged eight. Fouzia listened to a discussion about circumcision being recorded for the film, a discussion that included her own mother.
Afterwards, she approached Longinotto and urged her to come home with them. Once there, with the camera rolling, she recited her poem. It is heartbreaking. Then, still on camera, she tells her mother she will forgive her what she has done only if she promises to spare her sister.
Longinotto says hope lies in these astonishing shows of determination. Simalo was so traumatised that, in the months she spent at a girls' school, she hardly spoke. She knew she was blighted, that she would never be a normal wife.
School, however, was her hope. In a sense, this was her real revolt against tradition. Other girls were quite blunt about it. "I don't want to have 15 children," said outspoken Gladys. "I want a bright future, not just a marriage."
How moving that was, Longinotto says. It suggests another future for everyone. "The men are right about circumcision. Once the girls start questioning this one thing, they start questioning everything."
I hate the thought of opening this one up for debate again - and I wanted to post this on an old thread, but could not find it.
Anyway, this film might be worth looking out for - as it seems it deals with the subject in a most balanced and compassionate manner.
I just wanted to share it.