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LOST COURSE (PART ONE)
PART ONE
Long lost is my heart and the feelings that I crave for. For I have no heart whatsoever to share pains with any creature. I remembered those times when I walked whole. With my being been attracted to nothing. I craved for the rain and with my small eyes I watched the watchful heavens to bless our lands with the tears of the creator. And like my frail little heart, my wishes came through. The creator would show his love for me by pouring his tears like a vapour down on us. With my body whole and entire, I would hurriedly run under the rain and dance blissfully without reserve. Then my dance would attract my kind, those other girls who knew nothing about the pains of life. We would sing all the joyous songs taught to us by our mothers and make merry beneath the tears of love formed by the creator himself. Those days were the best days of my life because it can't be traded for anything less.
Then came another season. A time when the rains ceased to fall and the dryness of the land had hit so hard on my people. We were told to do the turu dance. A dance that was reserved for every woman in my tribe. One that would be danced once in a lifetime. Mama had told me some days ago that I would be dancing the turu dance to complete my womanhood. A dance that was a showcasing of our culture. A dance that displayed our nakedness before the watchful women. Of course, I wasn't shy to dance before other women. Not because I had no shame, but because it was performed by other girls of the same grade with me. After the dancing spree which was second to none, we lined up with the signal of Amina. I was the third in the line according to our age difference. Rukayat who was the first entered the enthroned shrine of virginal purity, according to how it was called. The cries that came out of that place was irreplaceable, for I felt the pangs from her voice sweeping through the whole environs. Then I shrugged in fear and wished for the time to pass. When it was my turn I saw the women, with palm fronds on their lips and their heads all shaved. The oldest woman from my clan, one who appraise the young maidens who danced the wasan kwaikwayo dance was the sole leader of the women who performed such an horrific task. I was bonded like a piece of meat ready to be sold in the market of pains. Before I could blink my eyes, the hard needle had sunk into my flesh. I watched in pains the needle travel the left and right side of my vulva and left a little opening for my pleasure. The pains was second to none and I wished I wasn't born to such a tribe. After the performed rite, my hair was all shaved and I was bathed in the hot water which mixed with my blood. My body, just like my blood was congiled at that instance. My soul separated from my body that instance and my heart melted away.
I could still recall what happened afterwards. The women sang my praises and extolled my womanly strength. In disgust I looked at them and disdainfully narrated my plight to the creator. That's if he even existed, because at that moment, I lost my sense of religion. After the last of us has passed through the same process. We were gathered and were told that the practice was to be taught to our children unborn. That our sanity depended on the rites of them sewing our vulva and with that, we would remain virgins till we got to our husbands home. A practice that won't bring disgrace to the family name and the clan as a whole. The whole thing they said sank meaning of hatred and bajillion pains to my being as I hated myself for been a female. After the lecture which seemed to be endless and tiresome, the women sang the chants and extolled us to make good use of the opportunity which wasn't given to other clan. They made it look like they did us good but deep down within my being, I detested nature and life in general.
I recalled my timid teenage years. Those years where I knew nothing more than the pains life caused me. Everyone would enjoy the feelings of womanhood but to me, it was not a thing to reckon with. I had just finished dancing the wasan kwaikwayo and was receiving appraisal from the other maidens for dancing with all my being especially my waist which was the center of attraction to everyone. Not long afterwards was a sharp pain in my stomach which threw me to the ground. A pain that was hell itself as if the Iraq and Iran war had begun anew. I struggled for life because I was closer to death and the more I screamed, the more I felt people distanced themselves from me. No one could hear me screaming because I had hurriedly left the scene inorder not to get appraisal from the busy crowd who stared at me lustfully during the dance. I wanted the other girls to receive praises too because the dance was performed by us all. It was on my way home that the pains taunted me and I wished I had stayed back. I wept for what looked like centuries and every second was pains renewed. Then I heard two women talking from a distance, I had to scream the more with the last strength embedded in me. The two women ran towards me and carried my almost lifeless being to a corner. My waist was sagging because it was like a heavy rod had been placed on it. It was when the women carried me up that they noticed that I was soaked in the pool of my own blood. The blood which I was struggling to preserve from wasting after that useless process of infibulation. It was at that moment that one of the women told me that I just had my menstruation and would continue to see more of it for a long time in my life. How I hated the sight of blood, now I would continue to see blood for heaven knows when. At that moment, I detested my being for choosing to be a woman in my mother's womb. I also saw women generally as unclean and unworthy because of their connection with blood. No wonder Allah was so partial in granting the wishes of men over women, His hatred could be clearly seen by me now. Even the holy book of the christians recorded that he purnished man that he will till the soil while the woman will suffer the pangs of child birth. Such an unjust law inflicted on women out of the hatred he had for us. I cursed myself there and then for acclaiming him at the mosque with my whole being saying "Allah Akbar". His hatred for women was also seen in the men in my clan who wouldn't allow women to perform certain rites in the community. Even in the mosque, women would stay away from the men with a demarcation as if they were not worthy to worship Allah most holy. I hated myself over again for been a woman, such a choice that I never chosed for myself.
© Callisto
#womanspride #virginity #africanwomen
#thejoysofalady #womanhood #africawoman
Long lost is my heart and the feelings that I crave for. For I have no heart whatsoever to share pains with any creature. I remembered those times when I walked whole. With my being been attracted to nothing. I craved for the rain and with my small eyes I watched the watchful heavens to bless our lands with the tears of the creator. And like my frail little heart, my wishes came through. The creator would show his love for me by pouring his tears like a vapour down on us. With my body whole and entire, I would hurriedly run under the rain and dance blissfully without reserve. Then my dance would attract my kind, those other girls who knew nothing about the pains of life. We would sing all the joyous songs taught to us by our mothers and make merry beneath the tears of love formed by the creator himself. Those days were the best days of my life because it can't be traded for anything less.
Then came another season. A time when the rains ceased to fall and the dryness of the land had hit so hard on my people. We were told to do the turu dance. A dance that was reserved for every woman in my tribe. One that would be danced once in a lifetime. Mama had told me some days ago that I would be dancing the turu dance to complete my womanhood. A dance that was a showcasing of our culture. A dance that displayed our nakedness before the watchful women. Of course, I wasn't shy to dance before other women. Not because I had no shame, but because it was performed by other girls of the same grade with me. After the dancing spree which was second to none, we lined up with the signal of Amina. I was the third in the line according to our age difference. Rukayat who was the first entered the enthroned shrine of virginal purity, according to how it was called. The cries that came out of that place was irreplaceable, for I felt the pangs from her voice sweeping through the whole environs. Then I shrugged in fear and wished for the time to pass. When it was my turn I saw the women, with palm fronds on their lips and their heads all shaved. The oldest woman from my clan, one who appraise the young maidens who danced the wasan kwaikwayo dance was the sole leader of the women who performed such an horrific task. I was bonded like a piece of meat ready to be sold in the market of pains. Before I could blink my eyes, the hard needle had sunk into my flesh. I watched in pains the needle travel the left and right side of my vulva and left a little opening for my pleasure. The pains was second to none and I wished I wasn't born to such a tribe. After the performed rite, my hair was all shaved and I was bathed in the hot water which mixed with my blood. My body, just like my blood was congiled at that instance. My soul separated from my body that instance and my heart melted away.
I could still recall what happened afterwards. The women sang my praises and extolled my womanly strength. In disgust I looked at them and disdainfully narrated my plight to the creator. That's if he even existed, because at that moment, I lost my sense of religion. After the last of us has passed through the same process. We were gathered and were told that the practice was to be taught to our children unborn. That our sanity depended on the rites of them sewing our vulva and with that, we would remain virgins till we got to our husbands home. A practice that won't bring disgrace to the family name and the clan as a whole. The whole thing they said sank meaning of hatred and bajillion pains to my being as I hated myself for been a female. After the lecture which seemed to be endless and tiresome, the women sang the chants and extolled us to make good use of the opportunity which wasn't given to other clan. They made it look like they did us good but deep down within my being, I detested nature and life in general.
I recalled my timid teenage years. Those years where I knew nothing more than the pains life caused me. Everyone would enjoy the feelings of womanhood but to me, it was not a thing to reckon with. I had just finished dancing the wasan kwaikwayo and was receiving appraisal from the other maidens for dancing with all my being especially my waist which was the center of attraction to everyone. Not long afterwards was a sharp pain in my stomach which threw me to the ground. A pain that was hell itself as if the Iraq and Iran war had begun anew. I struggled for life because I was closer to death and the more I screamed, the more I felt people distanced themselves from me. No one could hear me screaming because I had hurriedly left the scene inorder not to get appraisal from the busy crowd who stared at me lustfully during the dance. I wanted the other girls to receive praises too because the dance was performed by us all. It was on my way home that the pains taunted me and I wished I had stayed back. I wept for what looked like centuries and every second was pains renewed. Then I heard two women talking from a distance, I had to scream the more with the last strength embedded in me. The two women ran towards me and carried my almost lifeless being to a corner. My waist was sagging because it was like a heavy rod had been placed on it. It was when the women carried me up that they noticed that I was soaked in the pool of my own blood. The blood which I was struggling to preserve from wasting after that useless process of infibulation. It was at that moment that one of the women told me that I just had my menstruation and would continue to see more of it for a long time in my life. How I hated the sight of blood, now I would continue to see blood for heaven knows when. At that moment, I detested my being for choosing to be a woman in my mother's womb. I also saw women generally as unclean and unworthy because of their connection with blood. No wonder Allah was so partial in granting the wishes of men over women, His hatred could be clearly seen by me now. Even the holy book of the christians recorded that he purnished man that he will till the soil while the woman will suffer the pangs of child birth. Such an unjust law inflicted on women out of the hatred he had for us. I cursed myself there and then for acclaiming him at the mosque with my whole being saying "Allah Akbar". His hatred for women was also seen in the men in my clan who wouldn't allow women to perform certain rites in the community. Even in the mosque, women would stay away from the men with a demarcation as if they were not worthy to worship Allah most holy. I hated myself over again for been a woman, such a choice that I never chosed for myself.
© Callisto
#womanspride #virginity #africanwomen
#thejoysofalady #womanhood #africawoman
