(Trigger Warning: The story here is another woman’s experience of FGC. We thank her for being brave enough to share it with us.)

By Insiya Lokhandwala

Age: 33

Country: Mumbai, India

I remember going to Pune for vacation when I was seven. Once there, my eldest masi (aunt) took me to a building where there was an old woman who asked me to lay down and open my legs. I remember being scared. Then I saw a razor in her hand and I screamed at her to let me go. My aunt and mom pinned me down on the ground and said, “It will be over in a minute”. I remember the unbearable pain and then the old woman bandaged me down there and told me that I would be OK in a day or two. On our way home my aunt bought me a balloon and ice cream. She told me not to mention what had to me to my brothers who were around my age. Honestly, I have hated balloons since then and I don’t think I can forgive what they did to me.

No religion in the world can ask mothers to put their little girls through this pain. I wonder how so many mothers can do this to their own girl children. No matter the consequences of what might happen to me for telling my story, this practice must be stopped. The practice was a way of controlling women in ancient times. I think our community has advanced enough to know what’s right and what’s wrong. Khatna is wrong. What happened to me can’t be undone, but we can stop this from happening to future girls. Let our children be children without trauma. Don’t tarnish their childhood memories by having girls undergo unforgiving situations. They say jannat lies at the foot of a mother, but if this practice continues, no child will be able to trust in this saying.

Voices against the practice of female genital cutting in the Bohra community seem to be getting louder and more numerous. The latest to speak out is an anonymous Bohra woman from the United Kingdom who was subjected to khatna as a child and remembers it as a traumatic incident. She has now launched a petition under the pseudonym “Luv Shabbir”, asking Nicky Morgan, a Member of Parliament in the UK, to do more to stop Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) in the Bohra community.

This is the third online petition started by women from within the community to demand a ban on khatna for girls. The first was by the anonymous ‘Tasleem’ in 2011; the second, ongoing petition by 17 women from ‘Speak Out on FGM’ has already gained almost 30,000 supporters. Both these petitions emerged from India, where there is no law against female genital cutting and where Bohras are the only known group following the practice.

In the United Kingdom, where several expat communities from Africa, the Middle-East and Asia follow various forms of FGC, the practice has been illegal since 1985. In recent years, the British government ahs been making concerted efforts to crack down on the practice. In this context, this latest petition by “Luv Shabbir” is indicative of two things: One, there is a growing desire among Bohra women to break the silence around khatna and speak out against it. Two, even in countries where there are laws against FGC, we have a long way to go before the practice meets its end.

To support the UK petition, sign here.

For far too long, FGC has been misunderstood and misrepresented as only an “African” problem. Indeed, we hear terrifying stories about the practice of FGC and the horrific physical and mental consequences on women and girls from those countries. Yet, there has been a huge silence on the occurrence of FGC in other parts of the globe, including Asia.

We are well aware that the practice occurs in India and amongst Diaspora Dawoodi Bohra communities around the globe. FGC is also known to occur in other asian countries such as Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Pakistan, amongst others. Just this past year, the United States conducted reported that around half a million women and girls are at risk of FGC in their country. Another 2015 report estimates that 137,000 women and girls are living with FGC in England and Wales.

Recognizing the prevalence of FGC, world leaders for the first time have prioritized the elimination of FGC under the goal of achieving gender equality as part of the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals—a 15-year plan to help guide global development and funding in the “areas of critical importance for humanity and the planet.” To guide governments’ commitment to the goals, a UN expert group has proposed global indicators to hold states accountable. Prior to the implementation of U.N. Sustainable Development Goals, only “relevant countries” were asked to track this type of data. Meaning that the occurrence of FGC was only measured in 29 countries in Africa and the Middle East where UNICEF collected data. Thus for decades millions of other women and girls suffering from this ordeal who lived in countries not viewed as a “relevant countries” were ignored. However, now, we must commend the UN for recognizing the need to collect FGC data on a global scale as this will allow the UN to identify where else on the planet women and girls are affected and to what degree. A truly great step forward to bringing about an end to this form of gender violence.

(Trigger Warning: The story below is a powerful account of one woman’s memory of FGC. We are grateful to her for sharing with us the details of her experience.)

By Saleha Paatwala

Country: Noida, India 

Age: 23

I was 7 years of age when one day my grandma took me to an unfamiliar place. I was informed that it would be a huge gathering and children like me would come as well. We came to the second floor where we were advised to sit by a woman as old as my grandma. It didn’t appear to be exceptionally happening, and out of sheer interest I asked her why we were there – to which she just grinned and said that everybody was en route. What happened next will continue to haunt me until the end of time.

After an hour, one more woman came in and asked us to follow her. It was a miserable room on the terrace, small and messy. My grandma and I sat on the little bed. The woman took out some cotton, blade and some harsh fabric and I just couldn’t comprehend what was occurring. She asked me to lie down, but I was very young and could never have imagined anything terrible could happen. I just couldn’t understand what was happening. I believed my grandma and sat down when she insisted. The other woman now began removing my underwear. This sickened the hellfire out of me. I began fighting back, at which every one of the women, including my grandma, held my hands and feet tight so that I could not move. I was yelling as loud as possible, but no one was listening. After she had successfully taken off my underwear, the second woman spread my legs, grabbed the blade and cut something between my legs. The pain was anguishing and intolerable and it gave me an injury. She then put some cotton on that part and put my clothing back on. My grandma and two other women began giggling and saying, “Mubarak ho, iska khatna ho gaya hai.” (Congratulations, she has been circumcised).

At that age, who has ever considered going through such an agony in the most intimate area that no youngster would even like anybody to see or touch? I didn’t really see the amount of blood that had gushed out because I had no courage to. Only after I reached home and went to pee, I saw the cotton and figured it out. I couldn’t urinate properly for three days as it tormented me that much.

All these years, I never had the boldness to open up and discuss this. My grandma told me that ladies get to be devout after completing khatna, and I accepted that. Then one day, we were shown a film on Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) at my college. It gave me goosebumps and took me all the way back to my childhood when I had been through this assault. In that film, my own community members were spreading awareness and battling this practice. It made me realise, unmistakably, that what happened wasn’t beneficial for me, wasn’t useful for anyone. That little film gave me so much courage that I can now share my dim story with everybody, even though it is still a taboo.

There is no religious aspect to this ritual. It is only a practice, a hazardous and destructive custom which is being perpetuated by individuals. It wasn’t just a little piece. It was a piece of me, my private area that no one has a right to touch without my consent. If Allah has sent us whole, why should we cut for the sake of god, to make a lady pious?

First Online Study on Khatna Conducted by Sahiyo

In 2015, Sahiyo embarked on a mission to better understand the extent, purpose, and impact of the practice of khatna of FGC within the Dawoodi Bohras. Acknowledging that this practice is a very personal and sensitive topic within the community, and that almost no one speaks about it, Sahiyo went about gathering data in a culturally sensitive manner, and allowed for survey respondents to answer questions about khatna anonymously.

The data was  gathered in 3-month installments. It began on July 25, 2015, and concluded on January 25, 2016. Over 400 individuals, all who have grown up in the Dawoodi Bohra community, participated in the survey. The data is now being analyzed and a final report will be shared with the public in the coming months.

The sole intention of this research was to shed light on the extent of the practice within the community, and to address the misconceptions and lack of information surrounding the continuation of this age-old practice, which is not often talked about in social circles. It was not the intention of the researchers to discredit or malign any particular community, especially the Dawoodi Bohras.

Researchers hope that by gaining this information, supportive measures based on community responses can be created to help those who may have suffered as a result of khatna/FGC.

If you would like to learn more about the study please e-mail This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..

(Trigger Warning: The story below is a powerfully, vivid account of one woman’s memory of FGC. We are grateful to her for sharing with us the details of her experience)

 By Mariya Ali

 Country: United Kingdom

 I have very few memories of my childhood, but one memory in particular stands out and haunts me to this day. Unfortunately, it’s a vivid, painful memory and fills me with anger when I recall it.

I was five years old when my mother and aunt took my cousin and I on an “excursion”. I remember sitting in a car and approaching an unfamiliar block of apartments. I was confused; I didn’t know where I was and what I was doing there. Despite my seemingly endless young imagination, I could never have anticipated what happened to me next.

I walked into a small apartment with a cramped living room at the end of a very short corridor. There was a dampness in the air and a slight smell from the poor ventilation. I approached the living room and sat on the floor. It was a warm day and I watched the net curtains of the large window slowly move with the breeze. I had been greeted by an old lady, whose face I can’t remember. I didn’t recognise her and was confused as to why I was currently in her apartment. I watched as she walked out of the room. I peered inquisitively into the kitchen and caught a glimpse of her heating a knife on the stove. I was always told to stay away from sharp knives at that age. Knives were dangerous. I could hurt myself. I remember the open flame on the stove and seeing the silver of the metal and the black handle of the knife while I watched her quickly hold it over the naked flame. She approached the living room with the knife in her hand, trying to conceal it behind her. She approached me.

My mother asked me to remove my underwear. I remember saying no; I didn’t want a strange woman to see me without my underwear on. My mother assured me it would be okay; I trusted her and did as she asked. The old lady told me that she wanted to check something in my private area and asked me to open my legs. I was so young that I wasn’t scared at that time. I was confused, but not scared. I was innocently oblivious to how invasive and inappropriate this situation was and so I obediently did as I was told.

I remember a sharp pain. An agonising pain. A pain that I can still vividly remember today. So intense that I still have a lump in my throat when I recall that moment. I instantly started sobbing, from pain, shock, confusion and fear. My next memory is that of blood. More blood than I had ever seen, suddenly gushing out from my most intimate area. I still didn’t comprehend what had just happened to me. I had believed that aunty when she had told me that she was checking something. I was young and naive enough to believe that people don’t lie and this was my first encounter when I realised that, unfortunately, the world doesn’t work like that. In so many ways I was stripped of many things on that day. My rosy outlook on life, my childhood innocence, my right to dictate what happens to my body and my faith in my mother not harming me. I continued to cry, the pain was excruciating and the sight of the blood traumatised me. I was given a sweet and comforted by my mother.  The events after that are still hazy and my next clear memory is that of being back in the car and staring through teary eyes at the apartment building disappear as we drove away.

Over the years I repressed this memory. There was no need to recall it. It was never spoken about and I still remained unaware of what transpired that day. A decade later, I was amongst some of my female friends. The topic of Female Genital Mutilation came up, or as I was to discover that day, “khatna”, a bohra ritual performed on young girls. Hearing their recollections of what had happened to them, I finally realised that this is what had happened to me that day.

I was mutilated.

Thankfully for me, I had a lucky escape. The unskilled, uneducated woman who barbarically cut me did not cause me too much physical damage. Emotionally and mentally, there are many repercussions. I have a deep phobia of blood and a simmering resentment that my mother chose for this to happen to me. Although my mother believed that she was acting in my best interest, I struggle to come to terms with the fact that I was so barbarically violated.

 It may have been just a pinch of skin, but it was a part of me, a part of my femininity and a part of my womanhood.