Focus on FGM

Kaeja Jama lays out the tools of her trade: a razor blade, two needle-like thorns and several small pieces of cotton wool. Each item, removed from a tiny plastic bag, is carefully placed on a small wooden table. A bottle of disinfectant lies next to them. With them Kaeja, a 40-year-old mother of three, performs female genital mutilation (FGM) – an agonising and ancient custom. As she admits, cutting away a young girl’s genitals can take at least half an hour. Three other women hold down the girls – usually aged between seven and 14 - while the operation is performed. The World Health Organisation (WHO) estimates some 138 million women have undergone the operation. DEMAND FOR SKILLED CIRCUMCISERS Her dank mud hut in a Somali refugee camp in Hartishek, southeastern Ethiopia - surrounded by flies and insects - serves as the makeshift operating room. But the operations are not confined to the women in refugee camps. Many Somalis who have fled abroad to avoid the decade long war that has ravaged their country, return to the Horn of Africa – and particularly Ethiopia - for the operation. Skilled circumcisers are often sought out, charging up to US $50 for a child who has flown in from abroad. African leaders have come under pressure to outlaw the controversial practice. The European Union (EU) has threatened action such as withdrawing aid against third world countries which refuse to ban FGM. Yet only Britain, Norway and Sweden have outlawed the procedure among immigrant populations in Europe. It is also banned in the US and Canada. RAISING AWARENESS Maryan Siad has refused to allow her two young daughters to undergo the operation. Her husband, as a result, has threatened to divorce her if the girls, who are currently four and five, never marry. “Men do not want to marry girls who have not had this done,” she says. “The shame is enormous. Often a woman would have to leave her village if it was known she was open.” Maryan took her stand after years of painful reminders from the operation. She lost the use of her bladder and suffered from serious fistula problems. Midwife Maryan Yusef, who works for the British charity Save the Children, tries to convince the women in Hartishek camp to take a similar stand against the practice. “They are listening and they are aware of the dangers,” she says. The charity uses the circumcisers to help warn of the dangers. The message, in a region where literacy among women is around 20 percent, is conveyed through plays and songs. The plays attract large crowds who all claim to have stopped the practice. “Many of the circumcisers are now helping us by telling women they have stopped practising," said Maryan. "We also have women and men taking part in plays to get the message across.” Save the Children estimates that the number of operations in Hartishek camp has dropped as a direct result of its awareness-raising programme. It now plans to take its programme further afield. But preventing FGM is an uphill struggle. It is deeply ingrained in the cultures of the countries that perform it and provides a lucrative business to the circumcisers. Organisations like SCF-UK try to help the circumcisers by training them to become traditional birth attendants to ensure they do not lose their income. But some women continue to use income from the FGM to supplement their already meagre existence. As Kaeja, who performed the procedure on two of her aughters, admits: “If someone came today then yes I would do it. I need the money. I have to provide for my children. We don’t want to. We now know the dangers, but many people here are poor.”