Salamata Barry, Fenway High, Boston, 2019
Run Away, She’s Coming
“You will be able to see your mom today,” my aunt told me. My mom had left me in Africa to come to America for six years, so hearing this was joyful. I quickly got dressed with my favorite pink dress, and soon we were on a ride that took forever. “We’re here,” my aunt said to me quietly. I looked up and the place looked more like a cemetery than an airport, or America.
My aunt ended up pulling me out of the car because I was paralyzed in my seat. Then she rapidly walked me over to door 1448E. This number remains buried in my brain. The door opened revealing a woman dressed in an all white nursing uniform. She looked like a rat killer. The grim-faced woman let us in and told me in her thundering voice to come in with her. I knew who this was. I heard about the lady in white. Lost in thought, the nurse pulled my hand in the direction of a room. She closed the door behind us, ignoring my screaming. She was the lady who circumcised females in my village. I lay down on something that looked like a table. I removed my clothes like she ordered me to. At that moment, I felt like my life was taken away from me and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I felt powerless after she circumcised me. After what felt like an hour, my aunt came in the room and said, “The nurse told me you lost a lot of blood, and you may need to stay at the hospital to get an I.V.” As the pain increased, memories of losing some of my friends after they came to see her appeared in my head and I wished I could join them.
Six years later, I joined my mom in America. The first thing I asked her when we were alone was why she allowed people to circumcise me. She said that it’s a cultural requirement that reduces women’s sexual needs. “I did it too,” she said, trying to comfort me, which didn’t work. I started asking myself, “Do I belong in a culture where I go through so much pain just because they don’t think I will be able to stay a virgin until marriage?” And, “Why do they do this to girls at such young ages?”
This experience has shaped me into a strong, motivated woman, and I hope to make a difference so that more women in Africa don’t go through the same torture I did.
I have joined a social justice group YW Boston that allowed me to learn about how to do right against injustice in women’s lives. I plan to visit Guinea during college to try to educate parents there on why they shouldn’t circumcise their daughters. I went to interviews at a college to give more information to students studying this topic. I even started writing a book about this tragic moment to educate more people about it. I am slowly starting to find my voice. I spoke with my aunt who recently had a daughter, and I advised her not to let culture make her lose her child’s love, or even worse, her child as a whole.
I still ponder about this moment in my life, but I’m older now. I have understood why they do this to us at such young ages. It is because we don’t have the knowledge to stand up for our rights and we ask so many questions that are unanswered that we think we shouldn’t ask anymore. I cannot go back and undo this moment for myself, but I refuse to let my children live this injustice. My mission is not accomplished yet, but I won’t stop trying, because I won’t be another silent victim.
