My fifth experience at the Sahiyo Bohra Activists Retreat in June 2022 was, once again, eye opening, supportive, and so much fun; in particular, because I met a whole new set of North American Bohras I didn’t know before, as well as a couple of Bohras from Europe!
This year, all participants (except for the planning committee) were first time attendees. It reminded me of my first time participating at the Activists Retreat, and how I felt such a part of the community during, and after.
Community can mean so many things to so many different people. When we talk about the Bohra community, many feel remote from it. They may not agree with all the edicts that are sent down from Central Dawat, or they’re not fully paid up, card-carrying members of a jamaat. This is a shame, because there are so many different people who identify as Bohra or who have a connection to the Bohra community; in fact, I heard a number of attendees speak of “not being part of the Bohra community.” Thankfully this event brings these people together; here we all were at a Bohra Activists Retreat!
Community is what we make of it and the anti-FGM/C Bohra Activists Retreat is, to me, an incredibly warm, supportive and fascinating community that I hope to be part of for a very long time.
I so appreciate the support I get from the Retreat each year. It reminds me that we are not alone and that many people care about the work we activists do.
Shatize is a senior working towards her BA at Columbia University in New York. She is majoring in Human Rights with a specialisation in women’s studies and looking forward to attending NYU for law school to specialise in international law with the hopes of one day working for The United Nations Entity for Gender Equality and the Empowerment of Women. Shatize is very passionate about creating a safe space for women and young girls to be able to thrive in what is labelled a man’s world. She has been an advocate fighting for the elimination of female genital cutting (FGC) as it violates the human rights of women. As a mother to a young daughter, she is teaching her to always stand up for what is right no matter the obstacles that await. Shatize is looking forward to working for Sahiyo and educating those unfamiliar with the harm FGC causes millions of women and young girls daily. She strongly believes that we can put a stop to FGC and empower those who have been affected by it.
What was your experience of learning about female genital cutting (FGC) for the first time?
The first time I learned about female genital cutting (FGC), I was around 10 or 11 years old at a church retreat. There, I made a new friend from Africa who had just come to the United States; she was my age. I asked why she was here in the U.S. without her mom, and she began to explain that her family had sent her away so she didn't end up like her older sister, who had died from being forced to undergo FGC. When I later asked my mom what FGC was, she told me it was a bad thing bad men do to girls and women. I looked it up for myself and was shocked to learn that a human would do such a thing to another human. From that day, I vowed a life of service to women and girls around the world.
When and how did you first get involved with Sahiyo?
I am currently studying Human Rights at Columbia University with a concentration in Women's Studies. I began looking for an internship that focused on protecting women, and that is how I came across Sahiyo; I quickly knew this was the place for me. The work Sahiyo is doing to protect women and girls from FGC is what I have dedicated my life to, and I want to protectas many women and girls from this human rights violation.
What does your work with Sahiyo involve?
As a development intern, I, along with the other amazing interns, help draft grant proposals and conduct research on funding for the many different outreach programs Sahiyo has to support survivors of FGC.
How has your involvement with Sahiyo impacted your life?
My involvement with Sahiyo has reassured me that working towards the protection of women's and girls' human rights is my purpose in life. I have a daughter, and I want her to grow up in a world that values her, not a world where she is considered less than because of her anatomy.
What words of wisdom would you like to share with others who may be interested in supporting Sahiyo and the movement against FGC?
Sahiyo is giving a voice to the voiceless while bringing awareness to the harms being committed against women and girls. Supporting Sahiyo will allow a survivor to get help, tell their story, and help stop the practice of FGC. Human Rights are universal, and everyone has the right to protection; Sahiyo is creating a safe space for those who otherwise do not have it.
Sahiyo hosted the webinar Understanding Social Norms to End Female Genital Cutting on July 1st. The event was moderated by Sahiyo co-founder, and winner of the Chameli Devi Jain Award Aarefa Johari, and attended by distinguished guest speakers Molly Melching and Maryan Abdikadir. Maryan is a survivor and activist of female genital mutilation/cutting (FGM/C), who contributed to the Prohibition of FGM Bill in Kenya. She also participated in our 2022 Spring Voices to End FGM/C workshop. Molly Melching is the founder and creative director of Tostan, an NGO whose mission is to empower African communities by fostering and promoting community engagement in literacy, health, and human rights projects.
Social norms are a growing set of unwritten rules and standards, which are passed on generationally in communities and cultures. These norms are often indisputably followed by society, as they are viewed as “the right thing to do'' or dismissed with the notion of “this is how it is and should be.” FGC, although prohibited in many countries, continues to be practiced as a social norm wherein young girls, women, and those assigned female at birth (AFABs) are raised with the expectation that they must undergo the practice without having the autonomy to choose for themselves. Molly beautifully presented the three main factors to consider when classifying an action as a social norm: a reciprocal expectation within a reference group, which refers to the community of people the norms affect; positive and negative sanctions if the norm is followed versus not followed; and finally, value attached to the practice.
The webinar began with Maryan’s moving and powerful Voices to End FGM/C video The Verbal Cut. Maryan shared her story of learning and unpacking FGC as a social norm and described learning that FGC has no basis in Islam and is not followed by all Muslim women. Amongst many other myths, she was told that if she does not undergo the procedure, her prayers will not be accepted in her faith. When she understood that FGC is not beneficial to women, and that these false beliefs were passed on to keep the practice in place, she decided against it for her daughter. Her daughter was shamed, ridiculed, and questioned for not undergoing FGC. Maryan’s video highlighted that even if some women decide to not follow the practice, this decision can still hurt them, which aligns with the norm that women’s value in practicing communities is determined by whether she is cut or not.
FGC continues in so many communities due to the social norms that perpetuate it. As an outsider that does not belong to the community, Molly explained how informing people about the consequences of FGC in a non-judgemental, respectful manner can be very effective in facilitating conversations about abandoning the practice as a community. As part of Tostan’s human rights program, FGC survivors who have abandoned the practice approach leaders of practicing communities and facilitate conversation about the harmful health impacts of FGC. Following weeks to months of deliberation through community engagement, the community makes a final declaration.
A considerate and respectful approach when talking about FGC may sound like using preferred terminology, such as “cutting’’ instead of “mutilation’’. Using vocabulary with harmful implications can be discouraging as words like “mutilation” can imply an intent to harm. However, Maryan, who belongs to the Somali community, prefers to use the term mutilation as she believes this term describes her experience with the practice. As outsiders, it is important to be aware of preferred terms when referring to FGC in order to accommodate and respect community and survivor experiences. As part of Molly’s activism, she continues to demystify myths associated with FGC, and terms considered taboo in order to facilitate effective conversations.
Some countries, like the US, have named FGC as a punishable offense and a violation of the law, while some countries are yet to acknowledge FGC as punishable. Maryan and Molly agreed that the law helps as a fallback option, but also believe that it is barely a solution. However, Molly maintained that the law is often mentioned in conversation by survivors who abandoned the practice. This is helpful, as it provides a strong argument for both why the practice needs to be abandoned, and why there is a reason for laws against FGC. While it helps back up FGC as a harmful practice, education and community engagement are some of the most important approaches to ending FGC and dismantling it as a social norm.
This webinar helped me understand how social norms can range from the simplest of societal expectations to life threatening consequences. Unwritten rules are ingrained so rigidly in society that it is difficult to notice them around us. This especially came to mind when Maryan mentioned she would have never thought to question FGC without finding out that her friend did not undergo the practice. It opened my eyes to silent norms present in communities around the world, which have the power to continue cycles of oppression in race and gender as we see today. It is important for us as a society to question harmful social norms and how we can shift them in a manner that uplifts voices around us to eventually break these cycles.
Years ago, I learned of Malay classical and modern manuscripts on sex and erotic imageries by Malay women writers at a talk. Most were written under pseudonyms or not given credit if not a man. But a Malay women writer, Khatijah Terung, struck me with her bold, vulnerable, and erotic writing. Social control made it difficult and unsafe for the works of writers of marginalized genders such as women and trans people to make it into pop culture and be celebrated. So, you can imagine my excitement to finally see some of the documentation unearthed!
But the bigger question was: what was left out or hidden, and why? Missing the point, a young Malay man in the audience stood up and demanded that we highlight works of literature that were indah — meaning poetic and beautiful. The panelists rushed to the writer’s defense and advised him to respect her creative process and that she was merely doing her job as a writer who recorded events of her time.
It’s so important and powerful to own your narratives because only you can give them accurate representation. So, when the opportunity came, I had to say yes to joining the Voices workshop and recording my story! I wanted to learn how my story had evolved as my understanding of my survivorship crystallizes over time.
But I’ll be honest. I could never get used to hearing my spoken voice tell a story this intimate and vulnerable. The digital storytelling process had me confront parts of myself I hadn’t confronted before. Writing under a pseudonym, for instance, shielded me from baring myself entirely to the world. I threaded one needle at a time. Riffing off from memory during the sharing circle helped me find a new angle to my story. It made me realize that I took for granted my privilege to have recurring conversations with my mother about my sunat (“circumcision” in Malay).
I asked her about my childhood photos, and she reminded me of my love for baju kurung (a two-set traditional Malay attire). I even went to the clinic where my sunat may have taken place. I remember that rainy day, ominous and uncomfortable. I took pictures of the surroundings for my illustrator. Across the road, I let myself grieve.
Putting this together, I can’t begin to tell you the whirlwind of emotions I felt. I dug through the emotional graveyard that is my photo gallery for old stills and clips of water lily pads I took at the golden hour, as well as childhood albums my mother had saved from my bad teenage decisions, when I scanned old photos for Facebook and discarded the physical evidence for good. And there it was, the yellow baju kurung that I loved. I had worn it to my grandmother’s wake and funeral when I was two. Along with clips of pouring water over Corelle dinnerware, I weaved elements of my Malay culture and upbringing into the video I created to tell my story.
To accompany the audio clips of Malay dramas, I found Lagu Nuri Terbang Malam (“Song of the Bird that Flies at Night”) by Qasim (1903) on a free music archive site. In the song, a man begs for his lover to stay. When asked, my baby boomer mother assumed I had referred to a duet, Suka Sama Suka by Rafeah Buang and Omar Suwita (1967), opening up another conversation on its possible adaptations. Interesting to see the evolution of how people express their anxieties to their counterparts. It seemed to me the song could parallel the state of anxiety that my story revolves around.
If you’re wondering, the Malay drama in question was the first season of Jeritan Sepi, a Singaporean Malay TV drama from the early 2000s that my mom and I would sit in front of our boxy TV set for. Watching her, I could tell she felt somewhat seen. Through the drama, she let me in on how poorer Malay women and girls experience a different kind of misogyny that our middle-class counterparts don’t, and how they grapple with the concept and realities of dignity. Slowly, I began to understand the anxiety of having many eyes on you as a racial and religious minority from a lower income bracket, and how society judges you by how you raise your Malay Muslim daughters.
Briefly mentioned in the story, I contended with my gender and sexuality. A social norm has molded us to reject lived experiences beyond the gender binary. Because I have a vulva, I’m expected to grow up and live to be a cisgender woman. And because I’m expected to grow up to be a woman, I’m also to protect my dignity from becoming a “loose woman” so that I could marry a straight Muslim man. Another social norm that has molded us to reject queerness and the knowledge that sexuality is a spectrum.
But most of all, because we aren’t rich, our dignity is all we have.
These social norms have validated sunat as one of the strategies to secure dignity in a world that shifts the goalpost. Growing up, these social norms impacted my self-esteem and made me feel that there was something inherently wrong with me. I don’t check these boxes. These standards of dignity don’t feel dignifying. What could dignity look like then?
I went through the workshop thinking it was a story describing what had happened to me. It’s only dawning on me that it was a shared project with my mother (that she has no clue of). I understand the anxieties she had with raising me. In a way, this is my love letter to my mother.
I hope that my story will leave a positive lasting impact and reach Muslim parents and survivors. To parents, I hope we’ll choose our children over harmful social norms because I want to see a future where queer, trans, and nonbinary children grow up with high self-esteem and know that someone is on their side. And if they are survivors, their parents will support them and give them space to grieve and heal.
If you’re thinking of sharing your story, don’t worry about feeling it’s not the right or perfect story to tell. You have a creative process, and someone in the future will thank you for your courage to record an event of your time.
Afiqa (she/they) is a nonbinary survivor of Female Genital Cutting (FGC) from the Malay Muslim community in Singapore. They volunteer with End FGC Singapore, a campaign that aims to empower Muslim communities in Singapore to end FGC. Through community re-education and community-based support for survivors and parents, Afiqa believes we will end FGC within our generation and heal from the collective trauma. Pandemic hobbies they picked up include growing their plant collection and being bad at gouache painting (but still having fun with it).
I wanted to be a part of this year's Voices to End FGM/C digital storytelling workshop so I could talk more about my experiences navigating being a non-binary survivor of FGM/C. Unfortunately, a lot of statistics and narratives surrounding FGM/C only focus on cisgender women. In order for me to access resources for FGM/C survivors, I felt pressured to identify as a cis-woman and nothing more. When I found a service that provided counseling for survivors, I saw that it was available only to women and girls. When asked for my pronouns, I removed “they” and stuck with “she.”
I can’t say therapy didn’t help me because of this. I learned about PTSD. I learned my triggers. I learned that my fear of betraying my family stems from the fear that is a result of FGM/C. I was given two shiny stones, one pink and one iridescent blue that I still keep in my wallet in case I experience panic attacks. I learned that I fail no one when I am myself. But because I came into counseling identifying as a woman, my therapist tells me that regardless of my sexuality and how I perceive sex, I’m still a woman.
On most websites and articles, FGM/C refers to the vagina as “girl’s genitals.” From language to resources, all aspects of FGM/C, the before, during, and after, assume an FGM/C survivor (often a child) has and always will be a cis-woman. They also constantly associate FGM/C with just womanhood. I’ve seen my friends call me non-binary, but then call me a girl when talking about FGM/C. I can’t fully blame them. When I talk about my trauma, I still slip up and call myself a woman. As I continued to talk about my experiences as an organizer and a writer, I was constantly referred to as a woman. This also led me to a realization that non-cis-women survivors may not have been accounted for within FGM/C statistics; or we have been, but were misgendered in that process.
When talking about FGM/C, we need to understand that not all survivors are cis-women. We cannot uphold the idea that FGM/C is rooted in cis-womanhood, which forces survivors to conform to those expectations. Through this workshop, I wanted to raise awareness on how a large percentage of FGM/C survivors, specifically trans men and non-binary people, are left out of their own healing because we only associate FGM/C with womanhood.
Dena Igusti is a queer non binary Indonesian Muslim poet, playwright, filmmaker, producer, and FGC survivor & activist born and raised in Queens, New York. They are the author of CUT WOMAN (Game Over Books, 2020) and I NEED THIS TO NOT SWALLOW ME ALIVE (Gingerbug Press, 2021). They are the founder of Dearest Mearest.
Their work has been featured in BOAAT Press, Peregrine Journal, and several other publications. Their work has been produced and performed at The Brooklyn Museum, The Apollo Theater, the 2018 Teen Vogue Summit, Players Theatre (SHARUM, 2019), Prelude Festival (Cut Woman, 2020), Center At West Park (CON DOUGH, 2021), The Tank (First Sight 2021 at LimeFest), and several other venues internationally. They are a Culture Push Associated Artist. They are currently a 2021 Playwright-in-Residence for Rogue Theater Festival.
They are a 2022 Sundress Arts Resident, 2022 Best of the Net Nominee, 2021 Baldwin For The Arts Resident, 2021 Hook Arts Media Digital Connections Fellow, 2021 City Artist Corps, 2021 Stories Award Finalist, 2021 LMCC Governor’s Island Resident, 2021 Broadway For Racial Justice Inaugural Casting Directive Fellow, 2020 Seventh Wave Editorial Resident, 2020 Ars Nova Emerging Leaders Fellow, 2020 Spotify Sound Up cohort member, 2019 Player’s Theatre Resident Playwright, and 2018 NYC Youth Poet Laureate Ambassador. They are a Converse All Stars Artist and UN #TOGETHERBAND Global Ambassador.
Attending this workshop to share my story is now perhaps an opening to a bigger vision of what I call: Magic of Intimacy.
I had viewed over a dozen Voices to End FGM/C stories and attended Sahiyo’s webinars over the last couple of years. As much as I wanted to contribute and help in a significant way, there was something holding me back (including writing this blog). This holding back is what I believe to be a fear of being judged with my shadows of shame, coming across as accusatory, anxiety of re-trauma, and being triggered by old voices in my head saying ‘you have gotten over it, it’s been such a long time, why self-inflict pain by cutting into scars and exposing nerves that seemingly don’t cause a problem!’
FGM/C, like many unfortunate events in our lives, is not a singular hook to hang our troubles; but perhaps it does need attention to heal multi-layered physical and psychological fall out that results in a trauma most often left unattended or undiagnosed.
Owning our story, honouring our bodies by acknowledging our emotions (alive or trapped in it), is the first Intimacy - “ Into me I see.”
Thereafter, a choice to be intimate with others requires courage, especially when it may cause ripples to rock the boat.
Even though we came together on an online platform, the support offered by the Sahiyo and StoryCenter team allowed me to embrace my vulnerability and potential.
It provided me with a felt sense of belonging that we were in this together!
I learnt that being a part of a group in which we felt safe, to be engaged in a well designed process that encouraged us to share our ideas, to co-create, and at the end, to produce an audiovisual representation of our story is such a privilege.
I hope these videos and blogs allow others to self reflect, inspire them to speak their truth, and show them that each of our voices matters; each unique expression holds a different lens and angle, like holding a rays of light, and we together can obliterate the darkness of FGM/C.
About Ibtisam
With her desire to make life more harmoniously beautiful comes passion for understanding relationships and dreams.
Both vivacious and shy she seeks simplicity in an increasing techno world.
She loves to travel, learn about other cultures via food, stories & spending time in nature and interacting with people in person.
She has graduated from the University of Mumbai with Honours, trained with Relate in UK, to become an experienced relationship counsellor and psychosexual therapist of over 18+ years.
She continues to educate herself as a lifelong student as she co creates workshops, retreats and forums with ‘Magic of Intimacy’.
She is skilled at applying Integrative modalities she trained in to match clients needs and orientation.
I like to hear stories because they help me understand people. Sometimes, they help me understand myself. So, when I heard storytellers talk about their experience with female genital mutilaiton (FGM), I thought about my own. The Voices to End FGM/C digital Sstorytelling workshop helped me put into words a story I have been holding on to myself.
I chose to tell the story that I did in the workshop because I know that I am not the only one who is holding on to unspoken words. I hope others see themselves in my story and know that they are not alone. We have similar lived experiences.
I chose to be anonymous to tell my story because although the story involves me and others around me, I do not want the story to be used as a vehicle to judge me or show me pity. I want those hearing my story to know that the impact of female genital cutting (FGC) is lifelong. The trauma and shame follow me like a shadow.
Why did you want to attend the workshop and share your story?
I love storytelling and I come from a long line of storytellers and poets. I believe stories have a way of capturing the minds, leaving lasting impressions and/or education. Being a survivor of Female Genital Mutilation and an activist/educator, I know that storytelling is powerful in passing information on this otherwise painful ordeal. I have always wanted to tell my story so that I can tell another survivor “you are not alone,” and I hope by educating others, by extension I can help save their daughters. After watching a couple of Sahiyo stories, I knew I needed to be one of the storytellers. I am so grateful for the opportunity accorded to me.
What story did you choose to tell and create into a digital story?
I chose to tell the story of the verbal cut, which is very much part and parcel of this practice of Female Genital Mutilation. Over and above the physical pain of being cut is the name-calling, belittling, insulting and demeaning of the genitalia that a girl gets to know from an early age. The uncut genitalia is frowned upon in my community, and there are names to describe it. Untrue perceptions about the genitalia are believed and passed on to young girls. Where I come from, organs like the clitoris are said to grow long and dangle, making the owner get sexually aroused with the slightest touch of the thighs. It is also believed that the genitalia will smell and become odorous. The genitalia is not mentioned or named. Kintir, which is the clitoris in my language, is such an abhorrent thing to say out loud. They would use other ways to refer to it like, “the it,” “that thing,” “the woman's thing,” “the place for urinating,” or bahal (which literally means an organism). All these naming and shaming make girls hate their bodies. I faced it and so did so many others. I could not watch as my daughter was subjected to the same. Words are powerful and sharp just like the razor used, and thus the reason I called this story the verbal cut.
What have you learned or most enjoyed during the workshop and by meeting others who shared their stories?
I learnt so many things. One of the biggest take homes was how our stories are made up of so many different pieces, and how powerful every piece is. At first I was skeptical about telling a story in 3 minutes. I knew I had an ocean of a story, and how I could tell that in so few minutes was looking impossible. In less than 400 words, they said, making it sound unattainable. But as I listened to the facilitators and past stories, I chose what I wanted to tell and indeed, it was possible. That little piece I picked is a full story on its own.
I also learnt how to do editing and weaving a story together. I am one of the most nontech savvy people around, but I still enjoyed and learnt this skill.
Meeting other survivors and listening to their stories, I felt at ease as I told mine. I knew I was in a safe space. I could see myself in each and every story told by others, young enough to be my daughters. I saw the younger me in most of them.
I learnt that it takes courage to tell your story as a survivor and every day is different. I learnt that our bodies never forget the trauma and have a way of bringing it up every time we talk about our ordeal. And that each person’s journey is very personal. I now know that even though I am not afraid to tell my story of FGM, my body is because of how sick I became.
What kind of impact would you like your story to have?
My story will paint the hurtful words that are as lethal as the physical pain of Female Genital Mutilation. I have also told my personal struggle to save my daughter and I am hopeful that it can give courage to another mother who wants to save her own daughter. My story shows the struggles I endured and the decisions I had to make, which I also hope can inspire others to tell their story. Every story is different and unique, yet the same as the next one. Mine is similar to many, but also different and unique. I want people to appreciate the fact that it is a real struggle to save even one girl, but that saving one girl is as important as saving many. Every girl counts.
By telling my story I am adding my voice to the growing discourse on Female Genital Mutilation, a much needed venture especially here in North America. I am hopeful other survivors will be able to come up and add their voice so as to get the services they so deserve. It is through such stories that we can even inform policy.
Is there anything in your digital story that you would like to share?
My story is a reflection of my struggles. I was scared at one time that my daughter may be cut behind my back. It shows that fear is real and must never be ignored. When my mum asked me what I would do if my daughter was cut, I took it as a wake up call. I could not take that lying down. My daughter’s concerns about what was being said to her was real and I had to act on it. My story says: every concern is important, every fear is valid, and never disregard your gut feeling as concerns the safety of the next girl.
Maryan Abdikadir is a survivor and an independent activist against female genital mutilation. Maryan Is the co-author of “Delinking Female Genital Mutilation/Cutting from Islam” and the “A Religious Oriented Approach to Addressing FGM/C among the Somali Community of Wajir, Kenya”. Maryan is involved in end FGM agenda and uses her personal story to educate many. She has undertaken FGM abandonment programs (community dialogues, religious scholars engagement, research, documentation, working on policy and legal framework), and she participated in the drafting of the Prohibition of FGM Bill in Kenya. Maryan holds two Masters; one in Anthropology from Memorial University, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada and another Masters in Development Studies from the University of Nairobi, Kenya. Maryan is a Co-Chair of the board of End FGM Canada Network.
