Author • Bianca Ihua
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As I sat on the bench close to my sister, I
could hear Ngozi scream. Her voice almost pierced the sky. My mother was also
crying with her. It was as if she was the one who was being cut and not her innocent
three-month-old baby. Nneka, too, was scared. She clung to me tight while I
covered her ears with both hands. I didn't mind my ears getting bled from the
woes of that day; I guess my sister needed hers more than I did.
Throughout that day, my mother sat close to
the baby, crying. She was looking at our baby sister and raining all kinds of
insult on my father's extended family.
"This is our tradition, Nnenna. You
know that very well," my father said, in a way trying to pacify my mother.
"This is wickedness! No girl should go
through this! No girl!" My mother sounded defiant.
"Ogini? What about boys? Don't
they get circumcised, too?" he fired back.
That woke up Ngozi who resumed her sobbing.
My mother picked her up, placed her on her chest and began to dance to a silent
rhythm.
"Ozugo!" was what my
father said that made our baby come to a decrescendo. Maybe Ngozi understood
Igbo, or she needed to give our parents space to discuss.
"Look at our poor baby. And I begged
you, Okafor. I told you it wasn't necessary, but you allowed those wicked
people cut my baby. Our baby!" my mother teared up. She began to sob
heavily, cleaning her snot with the edge of her wrapper.
"Nnenna, why are you doing like this nau?
You, of all people, know it is what tradition demands. There was nothing I
could have done. It is what our forefathers have been doing. We can't change
it." He paused, then continued, "Our elders say that 'what the old
men can see while seating, the young ones cannot see it even if they climb a
tree.' To you, it might look like a terrible thing; but to us, it is the right
thing. The best thing we can do to help protect our girls. We don't want them
to be promiscuous. Look at Ezinne, Chidi's daughter. She is prostituting
herself upandan because she was never circumcised. Tell me, will a
circumcised girl do like that?" He expected my mother to answer, but she
hissed in disgust. My father didn't mind her, but carried on with his sermon.
"Look at Adaobi," he pointed at
me. "Isn't she a good girl? Very decent girl. Pure virgin!" he said
'girl' like 'gal' and 'virgin' like 'varjeen.' "Since she got circumcised,
she has kept herself, not allowing any man to touch her. She's saving herself
for marriage. You should be grateful that our daughter, at sixteen, is still
keeping her legs closed. So many girls, that are not even up to her age, have
already been disvarjeend! I know my daughter will make me proud,"
he said complacently, grinning from ear to ear.
Only if my father knew how Okeke, my older
cousin, always sneaked into our compound most nights to put his thing into
mine, savouring me with so much pleasure. Painful pleasure. Okeke said it would
help me to become a big girl, and that I would enjoy sex better when I got
married.
WHAT TRADITION DEMANDS
Readersketch | Ed. Kawthar A. Omisore
© Bianca Ihua. All Rights Reserved.
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