Category: Blog

January 14, 2016 – Today, the World Health Organization (WHO), declared the end of the most recent outbreak of Ebola virus disease in Liberia and says all known chains of transmission have been stopped in West Africa.

It’s a day to celebrate, yet the consequences of this outbreak – the worst the world has ever known, are devastating: over 11,000 deaths out of 28,000 infections in Liberia, Sierra Leone and Guinea, the three worst affected countries, and economies and lives shattered.

Liberia was first declared free of Ebola transmission in May 2015, but the virus was re-introduced twice since then, with the latest flare-up in November. The last confirmed patient in Liberia has tested negative for the disease following two consecutive 21 day incubation cycles of the disease.

“More flare-ups are expected and that strong surveillance and response systems will be critical in the months to come,” WHO said in a statement.

For us at AWDF who have been deeply involved with assisting women’s groups from the start of the epidemic, the welfare of women must continue to be a priority for local, government and regional leaders. The critical support which will be needed to get families back on their feet, children in school and health systems running, must not be denied.

“We need support for the women affected by Ebola and those involved in the fight,” says Djakagbe Kaba, who heads the Association Guineenne pour L’Allegement des Charges (AGACFEM), an AWDF grantee which was instrumental in coordinating Ebola prevention and education efforts in Kissidougou, one of the worst affected areas.

“After Ebola I hope we can help women resume their work in soap-making and agricultural production. Though the epidemic has passed, we must still be observant and remind people to always wash their hands. Preventive measures must continue,” Kaba said.

All our efforts will be needed in the months to come to ensure that the necessary prevention, surveillance and response capacity across all three countries are put in place and that more women are ready to shoulder responsibility in these efforts. Please make a donation now.

By Aisha Ali

(A Tribute to Abused Women)

 

Sunshine, Sunshine, Shining Through

Lighting up, the sky so blue

Sunshine, Sunshine, is it true

The tears you cry are red in hue?

Smiling, Smiling, a cheery face

Shining through from a secret place

Hidden from view, beneath the surface

A twisted, painful ugly furnace

Crying, Crying, silent tears

The soundless scream that no one hears

Broken, Tattered, a heart that fears,

Shadows jeering, mocking her cries

Mirror, Mirror, reflect the truth

From within our souls’ depth

Let us see the rot and filth

And break this destructive myth

 

 

Aisha is a writer and currently employed as a copywriter in Advertising. She is also enrolled at the University of Nairobi studying for a degree in Journalism and Media Studies. She has a strong interest in using social media as a platform to highlight, talk about and champion women’s rights issues. She believes that it’s a space for women who would otherwise be silenced, to voice their issues and build communities with each other. She uses twitter extensively, under the handle, @bintiM, to spark conversations on various issues facing Kenyan women. Aisha was a participant in AWDF’s 2015 Writing for Social Change Workshop in Kampala, Uganda.

Beneath Her Veil

Beneath her veil lay eyes filled with fear

Of man and his ways, of evil bred within good

Of what lay ahead of her, what fate had dealt her

A world that turned against her, blamed her, maimed her

Condemned to a death so bloody, an end so violent

A memory tainted by unjustified justifications

Innocent? Guilty? A victim of societal condemnation

Actions based on so-called religious obligation

Her body, tears, blood, their means to purification

To their honour, a restoration

Of her being, a termination, elimination

Perhaps she was born into the wrong nation

 

Beneath her veil lay eyes filled with questions

They leave their homes, closing their doors to their own sins

Their robes kissing the earth, their voices rising in mock anger

Stony looks matching the hearts in their chests, the rocks in their hands

Personifications of the ironies of this world

Dishonourable soldiers of God’s army, fighting for honour

Casting stones with hands tainted by their own misdeeds

Egos inflated with the thoughts of doing right by God’s law

Judges of the ‘adulteress’, defenders of their own adultery

Drowning out the voice of reason, her pleas, her desperate calls for mercy

Chanting loudly from the holy books, words they refuse to honour

Teachings they refuse to follow, commandments they refuse to submit to

Picking what favours them and discarding all else that follows

She questions the sincerity of man in his quest to please our Lord.

 

Beneath her veil lay eyes filled with indifference

To everything happening around her, deep within her being

Her effort to numb out the pain as the first rock strikes

Thrown from hands that had once held her close and professed love

From fingers that had interlaced with hers on those moon-lit nights

Stones cast by her friends, neighbours, her family

Blind to the innocence in her eyes, the purity in her heart

An outcast within her caste, disowned by her own

Her ‘partner’ set free, supposedly innocent of the act

Defying all logic… takes two to commit yet one was enough to submit

To the will of man, the unjust cause of the Homo sapiens

 

Beneath her veil lay eyes filled with pity

‘Forgive them Father, for they know not what they are doing’

Stoning down an innocent soul, ending a life they did not create

With every drop of her blood, their shouts of victory grew louder

All compassion lost, all empathy thrown away

Sucking out her life, reaffirming their holiness

Fighting and winning a battle that belonged to God

Ignorant of the facts, the sad reality of their existence

That with every rock cast, every jab felt and every breath lost

An immaculate being was abused, the earth defiled.

 

Beneath her veil lay eyes absent a soul

She slumped, her body a mass of bruises and scars

She met her death standing, buried to her waist

Her last breath in the whites she had put on herself

Whites of her baptism and wedding turned to a bloodied shroud

No ritual bath, no prayer, not a chance to be mourned

Cheated of her life, denied a chance at justice, a sacrifice

For men who sought reassurance in the sins of others

Yet their honor shall never be worth a drop of her innocent blood

And their sins shall forever remain theirs to bear.

 

By Jama Jack

November 2013

Feature image: FreeImages.com/Janet Burgess

 

Jama Jack is University Communications Officer at the University of The Gambia. She has written articles for Lend a Hand Society’s magazines: Extinguish It and Rhythm of The Young, the Daily Observer Newspaper in The Gambia as well as Balafong Magazine. She runs a personal blog, Linguere, which she uses to raise awareness on and promote the various causes she supports, especially issues relating to women and girls. Jama, who was also a participant in AWDF’s 2015 Writing for Social Change Workshop, sees literature as a powerful and tool to transform our society.

 

The Intrigue

By Hilda Twongyeirwe

This is a true story of Yemo (Not true name due to sensitivity of details in the story from Ethiopia) from Ethiopia. It was first published by FEMRITE – Uganda Women Writers Association in Beyond the Dance in 2010 and republished by Un-cut Voices Press, Germany, in Taboo in 2015.

“Most husbands sodomise their circumcised wives because the wives cannot handle the normal sexual intercourse. That has become the norm for most of the circumcised women. But no one can talk about it. Each wife is silent. Silent so as not to shame her husband, silent so as not to shame her society, silent so as not to shame herself. It is heart-breaking. Every married woman knows that bedroom matters are very personal and very private. As I talk to you now, I feel as if I am making a confession in front of a Catholic priest. I feel as if I am undressing right in front of you. But it is ok. I want to tell you my story.”

I encourage Yemo to speak. I tell her that together we have to break the silence. I tell her that it is not right that social norms continue to silence women in matters that affect them so seriously.

“I agree with you,” she responds. “But these are things I have never talked about to anyone before, not even my fellow circumcised women. We are all silent. When I tried to talk to my mother, she just told me to be patient; she did not give me her ear. I had hoped that maybe she would share with me her own experiences. But she did not. She did not treat it as a matter of any importance. ‘Just be patient’ she said to me and changed the subject. She sounded as if we were not supposed to talk about it. I pressed on but she just did not talk.

“After that attempt, I decided I would live with it silently and that is what I have done for the ten years of my marriage. Silence. I have kept quiet and pretended that all is well. Tell me, what else can I do?”

I do not respond to Yemo because I am not sure what else she should have done. It is difficult to respond to issues about which one does not have first-hand experience. Sometimes we hurt people when we tell them what they know better. So I keep quiet and just listen.

Yemo and I are seated in her hotel room in Cape Town where we both meet on different missions. She is here on a social scientist’s trip and I am on a publisher’s trip. Her friend from Ethiopia, whom I had met before, had introduced Yemo to me and as we chatted I told Yemo of a project we were doing, to record voices of women on female genital mutilation. ‘I could add my voice,’ she had said matter-of-factly. ‘Sure,’ I had responded but I was not sure because the project was almost coming to the end. Indeed, Yemo’s story was full-term and needed to be born.

“I have three young sisters. I am the first born in our family. Fortunately they are all not circumcised. As I looked at them growing up, I was very inquisitive, especially when we would be in the bathroom or in our bedroom dressing up. That is when I realised that they were not like me. Sometimes my mother would ask me to help her bathe them and I would jump at the opportunity to discover them in order to discover myself. But when I discovered what I discovered, I fell silent. I did not ask anyone to explain, much as I felt a strong urge to ask. Later I started hearing about circumcision and I got to know that I was circumcised. Slowly I started becoming a very withdrawn child.

“My early childhood was not exciting at all. As we were growing up, there was a very distinct difference between my sisters and me. While I was very reserved, they were very free-spirited. As a result, my mother started mentioning my circumcision as if to confirm what I already knew. She would shout at my sisters and insult them that they were stubborn and not well behaved because they had not been circumcised. On the other hand, she always commended me for my calm behaviour.

“According to my mother, and maybe according to custom, I was sensible, and well behaved because I was circumcised. Of course she is right because for the bigger part, my lack of spirit, my silence, was a result of my recognition that I was different, the recognition that something was wrong with my womanhood. I don’t hate my mother and I know that I am my mother’s favourite daughter but I feel sad that she looked on as a knife changed my life. I fail to understand how a mother gives birth to a normal child and then offers the child to be disabled. To tell you the truth, I have a great sadness that sits deep in my heart. I have an anger that makes me calmer than my sisters. An anger that makes me resigned. An anger at what took away what I should have been.”

I tell Yemo that she should not be resigned. That life is about fighting to the end. I want to get up and hug her and reassure her but I feel the wall that she has built around herself and I respect the distance between us. I instead hold my hands tightly to support my drooping chin as I listen to her small but strong voice. The red-wine-coloured blouse that she wears hugs her waist tightly, exposing her fine figure. She is a very beautiful woman.

“What reason do I have not to be resigned?”

Yemo almost raises her voice. She stands up, walks to the electric kettle and fixes me a cup of Five Rose’s tea. She also serves me tasty biscuits from a little tin sitting on her table.

“I have every reason to be resigned. I will tell you that since I got married ten years ago, I have never enjoyed sex. To-date, I still bleed every time my husband and I meet. No matter how many times we have done it, no matter what we do, it never ceases to hurt. Tell me the truth my sister, what brings a husband and wife together? You and I know that all other reasons that we always give are an apology for the real reason. So, tell me, why shouldn’t I be resigned?

“I was circumcised when I was six months old. And my mother tells me that I was a baby of slight build.

“My great-grandfather was a medicine man. He was very influential and was believed to be very knowledgeable about almost every cultural and medicinal issue. That is what I was told about him. Thank God that I never met him in my adult life because by the time I grew up, he was long dead.

“I was his first great-granddaughter that came among several great grandsons. When I came, the family celebrated my arrival. My great-grandfather was especially happy. As a special child, therefore, I had to get special and preferential treatment. I was the lucky child and so I had to be circumcised by the renowned, knowledgeable medicine man. I was cut by my great-grandfather.

“What I have always asked myself is how he found and cut the little parts. I look at my little daughter today and the parts are too small and slippery. How that man gripped and cut me at six months of age is not comprehensible.

“My only joy comes from the fact that FGM is now a crime in Ethiopia. But of course it still goes on behind curtains. The target is small girls and babies, who, they know, will not talk or report. But at least criminalising it makes it easier for those who are fighting it. But there is need to sensitise women so that they can fight for their daughters without waiting for things to go wrong like it was for my mother and I.

“After my great-grandfather cut me, he went back to his home. He was from my mother’s lineage. My father, I understand, was not aware of my circumcision. My mother had hoped that she would nurse me quietly and I would get healed without involving my father. Unfortunately for me and my mother, my wound festered. My mother gave me antibiotics and the great medicine man also sent the best of his collection but the infection dug deeper and wider. My mother has told me several times how she almost lost me to the infection; a tiny baby with massive, massive wounds. How, during countless moments, she sat and held me in her hands and cried over my tiny and formless body. How she saw me slip through her fingers and regretted the act of circumcision. What am I supposed to do? Sympathise with her?

“After several weeks of trauma, she took me to hospital where we spent several more weeks. The most incredible thing is that my mother’s relatives said that I got the infection because I was visited by an evil spirit. The baby was blamed. They said that I had a bad omen that attracted the evil spirit. It was disgusting as I listened to my mother explaining to me about the evil spirit. She too believed it. She still believes it. As if my pain was not enough, my father also denied me. He said that I was not his daughter since my mother and her people were doing whatever they wanted without his involvement. My mother suffered so much with me. When I finally recovered, she swore that if she got more daughters, she would never have any of them circumcised. Interestingly, my father has never accepted me to-date. ‘You were the sacrificial lamb,’ my mother always tells me.

“When I got married at the age of 21, I did not have the slightest idea of what lay on my bridal bed. I had kept myself pure and had never had any sexual intercourse. When my boyfriend proposed to me, I was very excited and I wanted to be his wife because I liked him a lot and we had been friends for some time. Shortly after that, he proposed that we inform our parents and seek their blessings so that they could help us to organise our wedding. We, especially him, did not want to have sexual intercourse before we were officially wedded, officially husband and wife. And so by the time we were wedded, we wanted each other so much. I had looked forward to our wedding night. I had waited for him just as he had waited for me.

“It was funny when on our wedding night, we remembered that we were not supposed to share a bed. So we slept in different rooms. Our religion prohibits sex after wedding for at least seventy-two hours! That was too long but we waited patiently. After the seventy-two hours, although I don’t remember whether we quite spent all the seventy-two hours, we sought each other. I had not at all thought that it was going to be tough, but as we locked and rocked round and round without success, I sensed danger. It was as if the task was to pull down the moon with our bare hands. By morning I was tired, he was tired and we had not reached anywhere. Our hearts were sore, our eyes were sore, our bodies were sore. We were consumed by a fire of desire and pain. The second night came and went just like the first one.

“In the middle of the third night, I offered to divorce and free the man I loved most. But you see, my wedding was very dramatic, which did not offer me many options. When my husband and I agreed to get married, none of our relatives supported us. They thought we were too young for marriage. He was 21 years old and I was just going to make 21. But we felt ready. He was already out of school and working and I was about to complete university. I was in my final year. We were in love and we knew that we wanted to be husband and wife. When our parents refused, we did not argue with them. We had already made up our minds. His parents did not want to see me near their son and my parents did not want him anywhere near their daughter.

“After one year, my boyfriend and I went ahead and secretly organised our wedding. We went to a monastery several kilometres away from home and we stayed with monks for two days praying and getting to know each other more. We also used that time to organise with a church near the monastery, to conduct our wedding. On the third day, we went with our rings and we were wedded. We stayed at the monastery still, in two different rooms, to fulfil the seventy-two-hour ritual. When it was all over, we proceeded to his home where my real womanhood journey was yet to start.

“The major reason I offered to divorce him was not because we had failed to consummate our marriage but because he insulted me. As he hit against the rock in the middle of the third night, he looked at me with daggers in his eyes and he told me that I was a virgin not because I was a good girl but because other men had failed to penetrate me just like he had failed. He was so angry for failing to consummate our marriage. I was so angry with pain of his continuous rubbing and pressing, trying to force entry.

“I was so angry that after many years of purity on my part, the reward from my dear husband was to taunt me. That is when I offered to divorce. I got up, picked a jacket, stepped into my shoes and staggered out of his house into the darkness outside. It was not easy leaving my marriage behind but the physical pain I was suffering propelled me out of the house. See, this is how I walked home!”

Yemo gets up and walks the way she did the night her husband mocked her. She walks with bent knees and one leg cast here and another leg cast there. I stare at her, my chin cupped in my left palm. I literally feel her pain spread through my own body.

“I was in a sorry state, walking like a duck, careful not to open myself wide and cause further damage and careful not to rub against myself and cause more pain. One part of me told me to slump back on the bed and stay, but the other part was determined to leave him. Fortunately our homes are less than one kilometre apart.

“When I got home, my mother was not amused to see me – for two reasons. One, I had eloped against her wishes and so I had no right to leave the marriage I had gone into with eyes wide open. Two, she thought that I had started my marriage with a fighting spirit. She suspected that I was leaving because maybe I had discovered another girl in my husband’s life. But that was very unfair. I really needed someone to talk to and finding my mother at home had been such a relief because I knew that as a woman she would understand. You can imagine the disappointment when she bashed me instead!

“My mother did not even notice that I could hardly walk. But perhaps I shouldn’t blame her because even I, in the hurry to leave, I did not notice that I had put on a different type of shoe on each foot. One was brown and flat while the other was black and low-heeled. I noticed this later as I sat down to talk to my mother. But still I would have cared less even if I had noticed before. All I wanted was to get away from my husband’s house.

“As I talked to my mother, I was shocked by her response. ‘You are not the first woman to be circumcised,’ she said to me. ‘Maybe you are a chincha,’ she taunted further.”

The word ‘chincha’ sounds terrible on Yemo’s tongue. It is said with anger and hatred and that forces me to ask her to explain to me what it means.

“In my language, a chincha refers to a woman who is naturally frigid and runs away from men. Chinchas normally never get married because they cannot bear the touch of men. But how could my mother call me a chincha when she was fully aware of the role of the knife?”

As Yemo explained, I felt a surge of anger at the women who do not protect women. I remembered a workshop I attended in 2003 that was held by Akina Mama Wa Africa, where one woman activist, Bisi Adeleye, stated that we all need to feel the pain of other women in order to do something about their situations. My anger spreads from mothers who take their daughters for circumcision, to woman circumcisers and to the mothers-in-law, who taunt their daughters-in-law and force them into circumcision as if to avenge their own circumcision.

“When she called me chincha, the tears I had held all along the way as I came home tumbled out of my eyes. When my mother saw the pain she had inflicted on my feelings she started counselling me. She told me that I should be patient and that with time it would be okay. I did not tell my mother that it was not me but my husband that required being patient. I was determined not to go back because I did not see how anything was going to be okay.

“The following day, I was in bed when my sister came to call me and said that I had a visitor. I told her to tell whoever it was to come inside the house. When she insisted that the person was in a hurry and could not come in, I guessed it was my husband. You see, in our customs, a husband is not supposed to enter his in-laws’ house during such a time. I did not feel ready to see him and so I refused to come out. He was determined to see me and so he stayed at the gate and sent for me many more times, each time begging for my understanding. In the end, I went and met him.

“When we talked, he apologised for his insults and said that he had said what he had said out of frustration. He begged and promised that he would be very patient with me and that together we would agree on what to do. He told me that if I agreed to go back, everything would be on my terms. I did not believe him but you will be surprised because I agreed to go back. I felt sympathetic and, also, I decided I would give it one more try. But I knew what awaited me. Whatever plan we would hatch, whatever strategy, we would have to be husband and wife.

“One day after his visit, I went back to his home. You see, being with my mother at home did not make things any easier for me. When I got there, I found my husband drinking arkie. There was a lot of it in our room. Arkie is a local brew in Ethiopia. I think his friends brought it to him to console him after I had left. From the look of things, my husband had been drinking heavily perhaps since I left.

“When I got back, he offered me arkie too. I received it and gulped it down as if I did not taste its bitterness. He was a little surprised when I asked for more. I drank more and more and he too drank with me. When I got drunk, I allowed him to touch me. He too was drunk. The more we got drunk, the more we loosened up and eventually I became too drunk to stop him. But when he tore into me, I felt my whole being ripping open! Unfortunately I was too drunk to struggle and he was drunk enough not to care about my screams that tore into the night silence. I am sure that his mother and his other family members heard me scream but they did not come to my rescue.

“He raped me and I bled profusely and I think I must have passed out for hours.”

As Yemo describes the rape, my body recoils as if I am the one being raped. My teeth grit and I curse under my tongue. God forbid.

“For over ten days, I could not give in to his sexual advances again. I was even too careful not to drink any more arkie. When I agreed to drink it the first time I was doing it for courage to be a wife to my husband. But now I had to be fully conscious. My husband begged and pleaded but I could not agree, he even told me that if I did not give in soon enough, I would close again and be even tighter. I cared, yes, but on the other hand, I did not care.

“Later, his pleas melted me and I gave in again. I had hoped that there would be less pain but that was just wishful thinking because it was still very painful. With time, it became a different pain. It shifted from the pain of tearing flesh to the pain of forcing entry into a very narrow opening, the pain of heavy pressure. To-date, it still hurts. To-date, I still literally fight with my husband before I give in to his sexual demands. I understand that there are some women who ask their husbands for sex but that is unheard-of in my life. On many occasions I cause differences so that my husband and I are not on speaking terms. When we are in such a situation, he stays away from me and that is my joy. However, he later discovered my trick and so now he refuses to stay away.

“These days I use a special Vaseline to soften me up. But every time we do it, there will always be blood, with or without Vaseline with or without force. But God has his own miracles. In all this mess, two children still found their way into us. In both cases, I delivered normally. I have no idea what happened after that because when I healed, I went back to my size, the size of fights over my marital obligations. I had somehow hoped that normal delivery would do something for me. But I guess it is also about feelings. The knife takes all the feelings away.

“After my second child, I was fed up with the marriage institution and I wanted out. I was sure that I wanted a divorce this time.”

“But you are not a divorcee, or are you?” I ask Yemo, looking at the fancy wedding band round her finger.

“No, I am not divorced, my sister. You see, my husband and I love each other very much. It is so difficult for me to have sex with him but I still love him. It’s a dilemma the two of us were thrown into by the circumcision ritual that turned me into rock. When I told him of my intentions to divorce, he begged and pleaded and I ended up staying again. And I have decided to stay. But I will tell you the truth, my sister, I cry during every single sexual encounter with my husband. But of course it is only the four walls of our bedroom that know what goes on in there. Outside, we are a very happily married couple, handsome husband, cheerful wife and two gorgeous children. But every single day I ask God why he does not perform a miracle to return my senses to me and take away the rock that I am. But I know it will never happen. But God can do it, can’t he?”

Yemo looks at me expectantly. I have read in the Bible that Jesus performed miracles but I do not tell her that. I feel her dilemma in the contradictions of her statements. Her confusion cuts deep in my psyche. I feel the mesh of intrigue get tighter round her neck. I want to tell Yemo that something can be done but I am not sure what can be done. Instead, we stretch our arms and embrace. I feel part of her and part of her dilemma. And yes, something has to be done. A lot must be done.

Read the original interview published on the Canadian Museum for Human Rights blog

Kidist Belete is the founder of Developing Families Together (DFT), an Ethiopian grassroots organization that works in women’s empowerment, orphan protection, HIV & AIDS prevention and care, and community development . She has contributed a lot to empowering women economically and socially in Ethiopia and is dedicated to working to improve the lives of women and children in underprivileged communities. DFT is a grantee partner of the African Women’s Development Fund.

Kidist will be participating in The Stephen Lewis Foundation’s Ask Her Talks.

What can be done to turn the tide against HIV/AIDS? HIV is the world’s leading infectious killer; it is estimated by UNAIDS that in sub-Saharan Africa alone, some 24.7 million people were living with HIV in 2013. This disease not only affects the health of individuals – it damages families and communities, preventing social development and economic growth. HIV/AIDS threatens people’s most basic human rights.

If we are to understand how to combat this global epidemic, we need the knowledge of those who are on the frontlines in this crisis. This is why the Museum features an exhibit about the Canadian and African Grandmothers who are working to combat this disease. It is also why the Stephen Lewis Foundation has organized the Ask Her Talks. The talks are a unique opportunity to hear a group of African women experts speak about their work combatting HIV/AIDS. I recently had the chance to ask Kidist Belete about HIV/AIDS, human rights and why we need to listen to the voices of African women who are on the ground fighting this disease.

Tell us a little bit about yourself and why you are speaking in the Ask Her Talks?

My name is Kidist Belete. I live in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. About 12 years ago, I worked as a gender officer in an organization that coordinates the charitable and development-related work of the Orthodox Church of Ethiopia. It was there I developed increasing sensitivity to the distinctive nature of the adversities faced by women in the poorest and most marginalized social settings. That is the sensitivity that I took with me into the fight against HIV/AIDS. I came into that fight when the social dislocations caused by HIV/AIDS began to appear in my neighborhood. I was, in a way, drafted by the community into the fight. I have not left the battlefield since.

I am speaking at this forum because my experience and the experience of my small organization puts a face on the fight against HIV/AIDS. I believe the real-life experiences that I talk about give a human touch to our collective efforts against this monster of a problem. I think that human touch sends a message that can’t be conveyed in conventional ways such as proposals, reports, and statistical compilations of progress.

What makes the Ask Her Talks different from other talks focused on AIDS?

The difference is that it brings to the forefront women who are leading the fight against the pandemic. These can be women who are themselves HIV positive or who had to take responsibility for those who have been orphaned by HIV/AIDS. They can be women, like myself, who are working as founders and directors of grassroots organizations that mobilize and deploy resources that are needed for the fight. It can also be women who speak out on behalf of those who have been hit hard by HIV/AIDS but do not attract sufficient attention. These women also all live and work at the crucial juncture where HIV/AIDs and gender-based inequalities come together. We are not only women, but we also work with women. For these reasons I think our perspectives differ from others such as health or public policy professionals who predominate in other talks focused on HIV/AIDS.

What makes AIDS in Africa a human rights issue?

It is quintessentially a human rights issue due to the extensive morbidity and mortality that it causes. HIV/AIDS deprives people of their right to a healthy life and decimates their ability to provide resources that sustain life such as food, water and proper shelter. Health, food, water and shelter are basic human rights.

It is also a human rights issue because HIV/AIDS destroys families, leaves children and the elderly without caregivers, and unravels communities and social networks that sustain normal life in Africa. I believe the right to live as part of a social collectivity to which one belongs and contributes is a human right.

What can people do if they want to help with this important issue?

I think people can help by directly supporting those of us in the frontlines or by mobilizing support for us. They can do this individually or in groups, either directly by identifying which point of intervention accords with their sensibilities and the nature of the support that they can afford to give or, even better, by contributing to the resource pool of organizations such as the Stephen Lewis Foundation that have been in the fight against HIV/AIDS through some of the most innovative, carefully selected and well-informed avenues of intervention.

It is important to look beyond HIV/AIDS as a public health emergency, which it was a few years ago (and continues to be in many places even today). It is important also to remember that HIV/AIDS was and is a socioeconomic disaster of the highest magnitude. It has left children without parents and the elderly without any means of sustenance. We must keep in mind that we still have to protect vulnerable groups against infection and fight stigma attached to the infection. We must remember the fight is not over yet.

The Ask Her Talks take place in several cities, including Winnipeg on Wednesday, November 25, 2015 and Toronto on Tuesday December 1, 2015. More information is available at www.askhertalks.com.

 

Walls (published on Brittle Paper in 2014)

By Jen Thorpe

 

It was

The force of the wall

That propelled her face forward

And back into the foot

That kicked it.

 

The kicker danced

The dance of a victorious soldier.

For he was a warrior in a long standing campaign

Of dominance

And hate.

 

Behind the wall,

And hidden from view,

A young girl played on her swing set

Took selfies with her Ipad

Unaware of the violence beyond.

 

Her mother

Was not abused

Just disabused of the notion

That one day she would come home

To find dinner on the table.

 

Along the street

A more hopeful woman walked

Witnessed the scene

And called the police

To restore order.

 

The police arrived

With lights unflashing

This was not a crisis

This was the order

In the Mother City

 

Note from the author: I wrote this piece in response to witnessing intimate partner violence in the road outside of my house. It was interesting to me that because both the perpetrator and the victim were homeless and drunk at the time of the incident, the police disregarded protocol. They tried to get them to both sit in the same vehicle and didn’t want to assist her with opening a case because ‘she’d just go back to him’. I realised that those victims of domestic violence who are already marginalised by social class and economic conditions are further marginalised by the state in their response to these crimes. I think it reflects a more general disbelief in women who report violence against them by their intimate partners, and that this is something we need to dispel. It also reflects on the ability of so many people to be completely blind to the conditions of others, because they are safely behind their own walls.

By Fatou Wurie

Read the original piece on Huffington Post here

THE BACKGROUND YOU ARE MOST AWARE OF – 11 YEARS OF WAR IN SIERRA LEONE:
Birth. I choose to not tell my protected friends that I was born in a small house in a small village nestled in the small corners of Africa. I cannot tell them that we did not have running water, or that my grandfather died in a small colorless room–he was a man who came from a life of rags to one of riches and back to rags. Privacy is important to my family. We do not talk about fragmented family members who still reside in a time where proliferated guns, machetes and knives were central to a landscape they know as home. We are private. My friends, they cannot understand that the black child without arms in media mediated images is a by-product of a war that demanded other black children become killers. War, it conjures images of men with weapons, of death, of blood, of the decapitation of family structures. It conjures the infinite nature of the human spirit.

I see black corpses, Bosnian corpses, Jewish corpses, Palestinian corpses, Syrian Corpses, corpses from the DRC–corpses that have lived in the small house I was born. I smell tears; they are the only signifiers and tellers of endured pain, of survival. When I hear phrases like the private life of war a sad smile forces my lips into movement. War is never private; it may be pocketed and isolated but collectively we all mourn and grieve. Private is an illusion maintained by the powerful. Fools, we even tell those who return from battle that they must uphold the fabric of illusion. That their grief can only spill within, and if they cry, we will collect their tears and hide them.

Hide

Hide

Hide hidden, even if our visibly invisible limbs are reminders that we were once at war. The little colorless house I was born in is a battlefield on its own. It has birthed, screamed and lost. It has endured rape, trauma, laughter, community, strength, and mental breakdowns. It has housed dreams and bears witness to the deaths of the owners of those dreams. There is no negotiating war. It is alive in the body; it seeps into our collective consciousness even when we try to forget.

THE SILENT WAR YOU ARE NOT HEARING ENOUGH ABOUT:

We are shouting between silences, covering what continues to spill through muffled cries, here is the present reality – much too many women and young girls are been raped in Sierra Leone. Too often, too fast, too much. Action only comes from momentary outrage, too often too fast too much. In the last 2 months alone based on social media news buzz with images that serve as evidence, over 10 young girls nation-wide have been raped, maimed and some left dead.

Three years ago on an ‘End Fistual Campaign’ I traveled to the Southern Province of Sierra Leone and met an 11 year old girl who suffered from Fistula. She was quiet, almost peaceful as she stood erect looking afar. Her eyes were vacant. She had been raped since age 9, which is how she came to suffer from Fistula.

Photography Credit: Fatou Wurie | 11 year old who suffered from traumatic fistula due to rape since age 9

Hannah Bockarie at 19 years of age was found sprawled, half naked on Freetown’s popular beach, Lumley. Raped, beaten and dead. Her death sparked outrage among many Sierra Leoneans, the indignation of her rape and death, a sharp reminder that far too many young girls and women experience sexual violence every day in our small nation. Often their stories go unnoticed. Hannah’s death forced us to remember the brutality at which women’s bodies were being attacked without impunity. Yet, a good number of people also believed that Hannah deserved what happened to her because she was a commercial sex worker, citing that “they were not Hannah” in opposition to the rally cry for her death, ” we are all Hannah!” which aimed to reinforce that Rape is not about sex, it is about Power.

Photography Credit: Tolu J. Bade/UNICEF Sierra Leone | Hanna Bockarie, rape victim’s funeral where she was found dead

There is a war launched on the bodies of Sierra Leonean women.

World, know this today.

The stories about the decapitation of women’s bodies are spilling, war is never private.

Fatou Wurie is a health communications and policy advocacy activist, writer and photographer. Her work has been featured on the Huffington Post, Okay Africa, Amnesty International Blog and the Standard Times- a leading local newspaper discussing women’s health, maternal and newborn health, sexuality and politics. Her passion lies in curating spaces and places through community designed projects, technology, and advocacy policy to drive improved social services for marginalized communities – especially women. She is the founder of The Survivor Dream Project – a community led project that creates sustainable change in the lives of vulnerable populations across Sierra Leone. Fatou participated in AWDF’s 2015 African Women Writers Workshop. You can follow her writing at her blog.

By Jama Jack

25th November 2015

Today marks the beginning of another 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence, an annual commemoration that runs from November 25th to December 10th each year.

In The Gambia, this year’s commemorations dawned with great news through an Executive pronouncement, Monday evening, banning the practice of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) in the country, with immediate effect. The news, broken by the Minister of Information and Communication Infrastructure, Sheriff Bojang, on his Facebook page received a generally positive reaction, especially for organisations, activists and advocates that have dedicated their time, resources and lives to the cause of ending the practice over the past three decades.

However, there are also comments on caution and expressions of opposition to the decision; a reaction that is not surprising, given the context and the long traditional history of the practice of FGM in The Gambia. There are ongoing discussions looking at the way forward for the campaign and efforts to end FGM in The Gambia.

Does the Executive pronouncement bring an end to the work of the different organisations, activists and advocates? Is there a need to celebrate this development? Can victory be declared now, and attention shifted to other issues affecting women and girls in The Gambia?

The responses to these questions may vary from one individual or organisation to another, perhaps based on the level of understanding and involvement in the activism and advocacy to end the practice. There may be differences in opinion, but a growing sentiment in the activist circles is the need to translate the pronouncement into specific legislation and consequent enforcement, for greater impact.

Over the past three decades, organisations like GAMCOTRAP have led the advocacy for a law banning the practice of FGM, but efforts were met with negative results. The latest was the rejection of the proposed anti-FGM bill by the National Assembly, pushing back hopes to see legislation passed against FGM in The Gambia. From this context, this pronouncement is one to celebrate, as it displays a political will to ensure the practice ends in The Gambia, possibly leading to action from parliamentarians in line with the various international legal instruments protecting the rights of women and girls. Due process needs to be followed, and the different stakeholders should strike now and push for legislation following this pronouncement. The ground has been set and there have been expressions of support from several National Assembly Members, as captured in this vox pop on the Daily Observer Newspaper.

There has also been a very commendable turn in the media in the past year, with an increase in coverage on FGM, especially in the newspapers. These range from reports on events to opinion pieces examining FGM from different perspectives including health, culture, religion and human rights. The importance of the media in shaping perspectives and public opinion is common knowledge, and their role in the campaign to end FGM is crucial.

Over the past decades, perhaps due to the consideration of FGM as sensitive and taboo, little media attention has been given to the issue, especially on sensitisation regarding the negative effects of the practice on women and girls. Following the pronouncement, the Daily Observer’s issue of Wednesday, 25th November 2015 hosts a front-page feature, a Page 3 coverage, an editorial and a full spread vox-pop. Anyone who has followed media coverage of FGM knows this is a huge turn, even if desired at an earlier time. Other publications have featured stories on the issue and this has contributed to a heightened awareness on FGM, even if met with surprising reactions to the statistics on prevalence in The Gambia.

Increasing awareness of the public on the dangers of FGM and its effects on girls and women is the sure way to changing attitudes and influencing an abandonment of the practice. FGM is a deeply-rooted culture and its practice has prevailed with a justification along cultural, traditional and religious lines. As with many other cultural and traditional practices, there needs to be a shift in perception of the practice, for abandonment to become a true reality.

The pronouncement on the ban is a great first step, but it is only the beginning of the end for this campaign. Activists and advocates still have the very important responsibility of raising awareness on the realities of FGM, backed by evidence and data from the different perspectives. The most effective means of finally eliminating the practice will come from an understanding of its consequences and the voluntary decision of people in communities to protect girls and women from harm. Enforced legislation will be a guideline, but care must be given to the possible deviations from the law, as is seen with other issues that are considered illegal.

Using the law as a deterrent might lead to a new phenomenon of practicing undercover, to avoid the penalties associated with these violations. This can have serious implications, with a continuing risk of complications for the girls, as well as problems in collating accurate data to track progress made in the years following the ban. Where the practice is not done undercover, there is the risk of girls being transported to countries where there will be no legal implications for the practice. This is a current phenomenon in countries like Senegal, where the practice of FGM is against the law. The subject of vacation cutting has also emerged, where girls are generally brought to African countries from America and Europe for cutting, to avoid facing the law in these countries.

These are a few challenges that could arise with the provision of a specific legislation on FGM, and therefore highlights the need for continued work from all fronts to ensure a more holistic solution in line with ending FGM in a generation. There is need for more intensive work to make sure the gains made over the past decades are not erased and community outreach is still at the heart of most efforts to eliminate the practice of FGM. Communication strategies should be reviewed to project positive messages, taking into consideration new developments, avoiding intimidation and promoting dialogue in communities, for more impact. This will definitely yield long-term results, while drawing attention to the human rights and protection perspective for all girls currently at risk.

It is evident there is still a lot of work to do, and a lot more ground to cover. However, there is enough reason to celebrate this new change as it has clearly contributed to a huge shift in opinion from various duty bearers that had, hitherto, taken the backseat. It is a huge step for all involved in the campaign to end FGM, and should be a guide to creating new strategies and actions that will lead to legislation as well as effective outreach and sensitisation, especially targeting practising communities.

This is a positive start to the 16 days campaign in The Gambia and I extend congratulatory wishes to everyone who has been involved, at whatever level, in the campaign to end the practice of FGM in The Gambia.

The executive pronouncement banning the practice of FGM in The Gambia is the beginning of an end, and the next steps taken will determine how much success will be registered. The true winners will be the women and girls of The Gambia, especially those at risk of FGM.

 

Jama Jack is University Communications Officer at the University of The Gambia. She has written articles for Lend a Hand Society’s magazines: Extinguish It and Rhythm of The Young, the Daily Observer Newspaper in The Gambia as well as Balafong Magazine. She runs a personal blog, Linguere, which she uses to raise awareness on and promote the various causes she supports, especially issues relating to women and girls. Jama, who was also a participant in AWDF’s 2015 Writing for Social Change Workshop, sees literature as a powerful and tool to transform our society.

 

 

The United Nations defines violence against women as “Any act of gender-based violence that results in, or is likely to result in, physical, sexual or mental harm or suffering to women, including threats of such acts, coercion or arbitrary deprivation of liberty, whether occurring in public or in private life.”

“Hannah was raped. It does not end there. Hannah was disembodied; skull fractured, glue found in her eyes, broken bones in multiple areas of her body, her spinal cord – shattered. When Hannah was found, only a pink brassiere covered the top part of her body. Her legs were sprawled apart, the only cover came from the beach’s sand and seaweed. Hanna was raped and her murder, an inhumane act of violence.” – Fatou Wurie – CEO Conceptor, Innovator of The Survivor Dream Project, Sierra Leone

Fatou’s chilling account of a brutally murdered teenager found on a beach in the Sierra Leone capital this August was particularly disturbing because it appeared to highlight an alarming rise in the number of unsolved assaults on women and young girls in the west African nation. The incident led to a massive street protest by activists and civil society groups calling on the government to take a stand and to halt the violence.

“Hannah’s death reminds us all that women’s bodies in Sierra Leone are under heavy siege. That Sierra Leone’s highly patriarchal society still subjugates with structural discrimination in practice, custom, and law, with a plethora of women still facing suppression in education, employment and politics. Sexual violence has always been rampant in Sierra Leone – the rhetoric that Ebola has induced a spike in sexual violence undermines the reality that little has been done to improve social and economic options for women.” – Fatou Wurie

In Ghana, women make up just over half of the population, yet they still play a subservient role to men despite the constitution guaranteeing equal roles. According to the Gender Studies and Human Rights Documentation Centre, under our customary systems women are expected to give precedence to men in all things creating a position where Ghanaian women are equated to children…this has meant that many women have accepted the situation which allows men to “punish” them for their alleged disobedience.

Daily reports of murder, abduction and rape or defilement of women and minors, a member of Parliament’s remarks about punishing adulterous women and two high-profile alleged rape cases involving media celebrities, are a painful reminder of the distance we still have to cover in order to push against the denigration of women, persistent disregard for women’s sexual and personal rights and the prejudices and injustices suffered by women corageous enough to charge men with rape.

Last December Daboya Mankarigu Nelson Abudu Baani, a member of parliament in northern Ghana spoke against a new intestate succession bill saying that it could cause “customary anarchy” and recommended that women who cheat on their spouses be stoned or hanged. The bill was aimed at giving more rights to women with regards to the property of their deceased husbands.

His remarks were condemned by women’s rights activists and members of the public who called for his resignation but he refused to do so, clinging to his seat until he lost a re-election bid this past weekend.

Nineteen year old Ewuraffe Orleans Thompson accused Ghanaian television celebrity Kwesi Kyei Darkwa of raping her in a hotel bathroom in March, but withdrew her case against him a few weeks later, citing pressure from the media frenzy the story generated.

A few weeks later, a radio presenter’s report of her abduction and gang rape, while pictures of her nude body allegedly taken during the rape were circulated widely on the internet, caused a similar furor. The abduction story was condemned by the government and caused public outcry, but a police investigation into the case of Miss Ada, a popular host of YFM radio station in the western, ran into problems when she was unable to provide evidence for her abduction.

What all three incidents had in common were the profusion of hateful, sexist and misogynistic reactions they generated among the Ghanaian public.

Elsewhere on the continent, comments by Grace Mugabe, wife of Zimbabwean leader Robert Mugabe last week, sparked off a twitter stream of protest.

“If you walk around wearing mini skirts displaying your thighs and inviting men to drool over you, then you want to complain when you have been raped? It’s unfortunate because it will be your fault,’ Grace Mugabe said during a political rally this month.

As we join in the UN’s 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence Campaign this year, we invite you to tell your stories, highlight atrocities in your countries and tweet your comments, opinions and thoughts to our website, facebook page or twitter feed @awdf01 using the hashtags: #orangetheworld #16days

Sincerely,

Amba Mpoke-Bigg AWDF, Communications and Fundraising Specialist

Key Dates during the 16 days campaign:

• November 25: The International Day For the Elimination of Violence Against Women
• December 1: World AIDS Day
• December 3: International Day for Persons with Disabilities
• December 10: International Human Rights Day

Every year AWDF supports women’s groups over the continent to highlight the 16 Days campaign with a small grant. This ensures that we are are constantly keeping the fire burning and fulfilling one of our main missions of advocacy and the promotion of women’s rights.

AWDF will also support initiatives by women’s groups to address the stigma and discrimination against women living with HIV-AIDS. This year we are proud to support 40 organizations in their campaigns to mark 16 Days and World AIDS Day

 

Read the original piece posted on AWID here

Marching in Solidarity: Marcha Das Mulheres Negras

Musings on Solidarity

By Amina Doherty

November 16th, 2015

As an activist I often think about what it means to ‘be in solidarity with’ and what it means to use my body, heart, and voice to amplify the stories and struggles of my brothers and sisters whom society has for various reasons “deliberately silenced” or “preferably unheard.”

As a Black, African, Woman, and Feminist – ‘solidarity’ has meant different things to me in different moments. It has meant using my voice in different ways to speak out against injustice and oppression, expressing my unwavering support to other feminist sisters, and being willing to do the real work of showing up, being present, and being able to navigate the very real complexities of the diverse social movements that I am part of. Solidarity, as I understand it, is more than just a passive concept that people refer to when for whatever reason they want to say they support you, rather, it is a verb, and it is something that as feminists we must actively ‘do.’ It involves the deep and intentional practice of listening to each other and hearing what it is that each of us needs and wants, as much as it is about mutual trust and respect. Solidarity is about building strong relationships that hold every one of us accountable, and forces us to unpack the privilege that we hold, and simultaneously to embrace the beauty that exists in our diversities and multiple ways of being in the world.

Marching in Solidarity

In this present moment, as I prepare to journey to Brazil with a group of Black sisters with roots, families, and homes in Jamaica, Zimbabwe, Nigeria, Haiti, Kenya, South Africa and the US, to be on the streets as part of the historic March of Black women against racism and violence (March das Mulheres Negras), I have many things on my mind including thinking about my understanding of solidarity – and ultimately what it is that connects us in our struggles, in our organising, and in our collective (Our)stories.

As I plan to be part of this historic moment, I think about what it is that we (as a group) hope to ‘do’, and how we intend to ‘be’ together in solidarity with our sisters and Black family in Brasilia. Together, and with support from the Association for Women’s Rights in Development (AWID), we join this march against racism and violence, in order to share our voices, the similarities of our stories and struggles, and the immense love that we have for each other as global Black family.

In a preparatory conversation among the group traveling to Brazil, one of the sisters noted that for her, one of the ways of offering solidarity is to be more deliberate in the kind connections and understanding being built.

She said “for me, really making time to truly listen and understand how Black women in Brazil are organising around racialised violence and police brutality is hugely important.”

In our discussions, our group agreed that part of the work we must do while together in Brazil must centre around making global/local connections and thinking creatively about how we can visibilise and amplify the stories and struggles of our sisters in Brazil in all of the spaces we engage in and in our own communities.

One of the sisters that is part of the group traveling to Brazil – Thenjiwe McHarris once wrote:

“For me, there is nothing that gets built unless people learn to love each other. That takes time but, we need to love and appreciate one another. There is only so much we can accomplish with our generation but we need to figure out what to leave for the next generation and help them reach a better position than what we walked into. On the one hand we must establish an understanding of our shared struggles but also have the kind of bond that is necessary to fight together because all our people deserve to live.”

It is in these words, these discussions, and in these moments, that I gain energy and insight and prepare to be with and among, and to be present with my sisters in Brazil as we March in Solidarity.

---

About the Marcha Das Mulheres Negras

On November 18th 2015, thousands of Black women from all states and regions of Brazil (and globally!) are expected to descend on the capital of Brasilia.The Marcha das Mulheres Negras, will bring together thousands of Black women to march for rights, justice, freedom and democracy. The March, which represents the culmination of years of mobilizing, and collective organising is an initiative of various organizations, and groups that are part of Black Women’s Movements and the Black Movement in Brazil. The March has received support from a diverse range of Black intellectuals, artists, and activists from across Brazil, Latin America, the United States, and Africa.

The March of Black Women is particularly meaningful given that it takes place during the UN International Decade of African Descent 2015-2024, and the month of Black Consciousness in Brazil.

Connecting the Local to the Global

Recognizing the incredible privilege that we as a group have to be able to be part of this historic event, and in our efforts to amplify this experience we call on all of you – who are not able to be physically present with us at the March in Brazil, to share with us your words, art, videos, photos, and poetry in support for all of the Black women that will march on the streets of Brasilia next week.

Here are some of the ways you can join us…

1. Make a hand written sign stating, “YOUR NAME/ORGANIZATION supports the Marcha Das Mulheres Negras”
2. Hold the sign while recording a short video (30 sec – 3 min), stating your name/organization, where you are from and why you support the Marcha Das Mulheres Negras.
   *If possible, please state why the struggle in Brazil matters to you and your local struggles. The goal is to emphasize that our collective struggle as Black people is global.
3. Post the video to your organization’s Facebook page and/or your individual Facebook Page and tag the #MarchaDasMulheresNegras and put a twibbon on your Facebook or Twitter Profile.
4. Participate in the November 18th live tweet-a-thon. Tweet your video with the hashtags #MarchaDasMulheresNegras #BlackFeminisms #AfriFem
5. Spread the word! Tell people about the March, invite people to join this solidarity effort, visit AWID website to read solidarity messages from global women’s rights organisations.

Find more information about this event via the Facebook page and on Twitter (@marcha_negras) and Instagram (@marchanegras2015).