By Naima Dido
I wish I could finally say to you the words stuck in my throat,
Behind my teeth and scattered on my tongue,
With you, I live on eggshells,
I don’t know how to tell you that I noticed that your days were filled with half-veiled insults,
I was praised serving tea the right way,
Preparing to be a wife,
Soon the ear will be pierced.
I don’t know how to find the words to tell you,
Away from you everything is new,
Painted with memories of you and beautifully tainted with old ways,
And yes, the missing parts.
And if I could,
I would say to you that the missing parts of me aren’t the only parts of my body that are hurting,
That sometimes when I sit and watch my daughter play,
And my throat starts to constrict,
While my tear ducts prepare for the warm flight of my pain,
I still remember the sound of the razor blade leaving its paper cover,
And I still feel the moment the blade cuts my flesh,
How my blood sparkled against the light as it raced between my legs,
Escaping my body,
You watched as I wept.
I wish I could say to you that I fantasize about telling you these words,
that are years overdue,
And no, I’m not okay,
I still don’t know how to find the words to tell you of my inherited sorrows,
Of the joy of my new life,
The last time we spoke,
You said I didn’t care about you,
You’re mistaken,
I do; I just don’t know how to show it.
Maybe I’m not making any sense,
The real words have morphed themselves into metaphors,
Suppressed too long,
To the root of this mess,
I want to say that I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger for you
And for me,
Now as I roam the world,
I carry with me our pain
Crafted into tools for my success,
They find a way—the thorns life may throw to the next in line,
My sweet B.
(Naima Dido participated in Sahiyo’s Voices to End FGM/C workshop. You can read her reflection piece here and watch her video below.)