I am the youngest of four girls. Out of all of us, I am the only one who has gone through female genital mutilation. I don’t know why. I don’t even remember when they did it. As I grew up, I slowly started realising that something was very odd about me.
Even after finding out, I refused to let it restrict my life, especially my love life. I gave myself to the chance to love. I am 24, and I have been in two relationships, and they all left because, in their words, “I can’t marry someone like me.”
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“What is someone like me?” I asked. He really couldn’t answer that question without stammering.
My other ex-boyfriend, while breaking up with me, even said, “It is better to marry a woman who is not a virgin than to marry a woman like me.”
All in all, I should be angry and vexed at them, but what gives me the right to do so? In a way, they are right. I don’t enjoy the act of sex at all. Even a log of wood is better than me. My mates are out there exploring their fantasies and having good sex, and I can’t even boast of just one good one. Some are married, already with a kid, and again, here I am.
I’m not in any relationship, and I don’t know how my life will be. As I am able to enjoy sex, what am I even doing in this world? Maybe I am part of the troop of people who are meant to be born and suffer. If that is my cross, I may have no other choice than to carry it well.
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But even as I carry it all, I am sure I have at least the permission to complain about it, about why my parents shouldn’t have put me through this inhumane act. What worries me more is their inability to give me a tangible reason for putting me through this. Maybe they are hiding something from me.
—Peace
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