Over the past year, the small Muslim-majority country of Gambia has been embroiled in a national debate over female genital mutilation, commonly known as FGM. The heated debate was spurred by a proposed bill to end the country’s ban on the practice, making it the first country in the world to repeal such protections.
A majority of council members voted in March to move the bill forward. The health committee then held hearings with doctors, activists and religious scholars and released a report earlier this month recommending upholding the ban adopted in 2015. A final vote is scheduled for July 24, but the bill’s fate could be decided sooner.
Activists and government officials say girls continue to be circumcised without any penalties for those who carry out the procedure, despite the growing debate over the practice across the country.
For Fatu, her fight to hold the government and her family accountable began the day last October when she learned her daughter, Nimsin, had been circumcised. Activists and government officials say Fatu’s story highlights the difficulty of achieving justice for such crimes, and how difficult it can be to end the practice, especially if a ban is overturned.
When Fatu asked what had happened to her four-year-old daughter, Nimsing replied, “She was cut with a razor blade.”
“Why?” Fatu demanded of her daughter. “Kids don’t play with razor blades… What were you doing?”
“It wasn’t me,” she recalled her daughter saying, sitting nervously on Fatu’s lap. “It was my aunt and great-aunt,” said Nimshin, who The Washington Post is using nicknames to protect her privacy. “They brought in a woman, took me into the backyard, spread my legs and cut my vagina.”
A casual remark
Fatu and her sister, Sire Saho, now 33, were never told about genital mutilation when they were growing up. But when Sire was in primary school, she learned about the potential side effects of FGM, including infection, severe pain, scarring, infertility and loss of pleasure.
Now 29 and the more rebellious of the two, Sireh began speaking out about the risks, and later the trauma, of being circumcised at age 4 after being taken into a bathroom with her mother’s permission. Fatu, who didn’t remember being circumcised as a baby, began quietly questioning the practice as a young adult.
When Fatu was pregnant with Nimsin, she had heard that FGM had contributed to the near-death of a relative during childbirth. A single mother who works as a librarian, Fatu had counseled friends about the years of suffering from the most extreme form of FGM, a procedure to completely close the vaginal opening, and she wondered whether the gap between the intimacy she saw in the film and the one she and her friends experienced was due to the mutilation.
When Nimsin was still in her hospital bed after giving birth, her then-husband’s aunts came to check on her, and one of them casually mentioned that Nimsin would probably have to have surgery one day.
Fatu remembered mustering the strength to sit up in bed to make sure her point was clear. “My child will not do that,” she said sternly. “Please don’t even think about it.”
Repulsion
The current debate over FGM in The Gambia erupted after three women were convicted of the act in August. They were the first to be prosecuted since the ban came into force and faced possible prison sentences of up to three years and/or fines of around $740.
Proponents of the ban celebrated that it seemed the law was finally going to be enforced.
A backlash followed. One of Gambia’s most prominent imams, Sheikh Abdulla Fathi, said the practice was taught by the Prophet Muhammad and fined the women. Fathi then launched a campaign to lift the ban. (Many Islamic leaders condemn the practice, and it is not widespread in many Muslim-majority countries.)
Fatou, who was travelling in neighbouring Senegal at the time, recalled being glued to the news on her phone, posting a story on WhatsApp saying she wished the women had been jailed.
What she didn’t know was that her own daughter had already been circumcised in Gambia.
Showdown
When Fatu found out what had happened to her daughter, she first called her sister. Sireh rushed home and the two called The Gambia’s helpline, Fatu said. The operator directed her to the nearest police station. Fatu was convinced her husband’s family was responsible and wanted to sue them.
The women paid for a taxi to take the police officer to her ex-husband’s house, where he questioned why the officer was there.
“You know very well why the police are here,” she recalled telling him.
She said he looked at her in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe she’d called the police over something like that, and asked, “Why are you acting like you’re not Muslim?” (He did not respond to a request for comment.)
At the police station the following day, Fatu and Sireh said they were overpowered by members of her ex-husband’s family, who yelled abuse and yelled at them, despite them having given their permission.
The expressionless police officer told them to come back another day.
An uphill battle
The sisters knew they needed help, and a mutual friend introduced them to Fatou Bardet, an internationally known Gambian anti-FGM activist.
In an interview, Baldeh said Fatou Saho’s story reflected the reality that the decision to circumcise a girl is often made by the extended family, not the parents. Baldeh said her decision to pursue criminal charges was rare.
When Balde returned to the police station with her sisters the following Monday, it became clear just how difficult the fight would be.
Baldeh said the supervisor looked at Nimshin and said he “seemed OK.” The supervisor told them he had orders not to go ahead with such cases because of the ongoing national debate, according to Baldeh and Fatou.
Eventually, a young officer named Salata Saydikan escorted the women to a hospital, where they said doctors confirmed that Nimsin had had a “Type 1” mutilation, a procedure to remove part or all of the clitoris.
Asked about the case, Saidikann said in an interview that the case file had been transferred to the capital, Banjul, about 16 miles away, but declined to answer other questions. At police headquarters in Banjul, a Post reporter contacted a spokesman who had no information about the case.
“A good woman.”
Fatou and Sire were in the audience last weekend when Baldé presented the findings of a study by her organization, Women for Liberation and Leadership, which she prepared in conjunction with a parliamentary debate on FGM. Baldé argued for the ban to be upheld and described deaths allegedly caused by the mutilation.
Fatu felt her eyes heat up and tears began to flow. “What if my child dies and I’m not here?” she later recalled thinking as new tears streamed down her face. “What would they say to me?”
For now, Fatu’s case appears to be stalled after months of cancelled court dates and police reports.
Imam Fatti, who is pushing to lift the ban, mentioned Fatou’s story in a sermon earlier this year, saying it was “shameful” for a woman to sue her husband. He compared her own story to that of a “good woman” who refused to sue her husband despite being beaten so badly that she lost four of her teeth.
Fatu has tried to brush off the pressure and ignore the scrutiny she sometimes receives, instead looking out for her daughter’s interests. She knows how much Nimsin loves her father and has heard him say he doesn’t want him to be “locked up”. But Fatu also believes her daughter deserves justice and that the law should be applied for the sake of all girls in The Gambia.
Above all, Fatu prays that Nimsin doesn’t suffer the complications that many women experience, but if they do, she said she will be there for her daughter and face them together.
Ramatulli Jawo contributed to this report.
