From the stands to the field, Hadja Idrissa Bah actively advocates for children’s rights and opposes violence against women and their bodies. In this interview with the activist, we learn that while younger generations in Guinea are not victims of genital mutilation like her, almost the entire female population of her country are.
Meeting with a survivor and activist “who has never been afraid of pressure”, Hadja is 24 years old and has been fighting for half of her young life. In her country, Guinea, 95% of women currently aged between 15 and 49 have undergone excision, despite it being banned by law since 2000. Hadja Idrissa Bah is one of these millions of victims.
With the NGO she founded which brings together hundreds of young Guinean girls, and the international solidarity association Equipop, of which she is a member of the Board of Directors, this communications student, also a columnist on RFI, alerts, tirelessly, of the risks faced by women victims of genital mutilation. Risks that catch up with them throughout their lives.
This former president of the Children’s Parliament of Guinea also campaigns against other gender-based violence, such as forced and early marriages, which she has several times been able to stop in time, by carrying out courageous actions on the ground and alerting the authorities.
Hadja Idrissa Bah’s testimony
Marie Claire: You were a victim of genital mutilation at 8 years old. What happened that day? What do you remember?
Hadja Idrissa Bah: It was the summer vacation at primary school. We returned home with my cousin, delighted. My mother told us we would go to our aunt the next day, a sister of my father who lived in a house in another district of Conakry. We were excited about this change of setting. We were going on vacation for the first time.
We were not given anaesthesia. His blades were also not sterilized. The fabrics used to block the bleeding were worn dirty clothing.
I remember my parents asking us to go to bed early. They had an agenda planned for us we didn’t know yet. They woke us up around five in the morning and asked us to urinate.
As soon as we came out of the bathroom, my aunt ordered us to follow her. It was still dark. Morning had not dawned. We walked for a long time – it seemed endless – to the house of a scary old lady.
In the centre of the living room, there was a wooden table. The exciser asked us to remove our loincloths, and to spread ourselves out on the table because she had to “take action”. We were not given anaesthesia. The blades were also not sterilised. She used the same instrument consecutively, for my cousin and me. The fabrics used to block the bleeding were worn dirty clothing.
They tied me up, mutilated me, I cried too. Then they told us: “From now on, you no longer look at each other, you no longer bend, you no longer touch each other.”
I refused to go first. I saw my cousin being tied up, crying in pain. Then it was my turn. I had no choice. I was 8 years old. I was locked in this house. I was frightened by what I had just seen. They tied me up, mutilated me, I cried too. Then they told us: “From now on, you no longer look at each other, you no longer bend, you no longer touch each other.”
I saw the old lady take our clitorises which she had just cut off, and place them on metal sheets, alongside others that she was drying, certainly for commercial or witchcraft purposes.
After the excision, we lived for a month with our aunt, it was the worst month of my life. It’s the “tradition”: a girl cannot return home until she is cured.
I remember my shame at not being able to wash myself because of the wound. I don’t want to think about the pain I felt the first time I went to the bathroom.
What consequences does this violence suffered at age 8 have on your current life?
Genital mutilation is a lifelong trauma. Every time I tell it, I feel like I’m reliving that scene. I feel the pain.
No matter what physical repair can be done, we can never repair a mind damaged by such trauma.
No matter what physical repair can be done, we can never repair a mind damaged by such trauma. Besides this, I am still dogged today by health complications and infections linked to the worn clothes used to cut the bleeding.
Saving girls from excision ceremonies and forced marriages
You are committed to combating violence against children and gender-based violence, which aims to control the sexual and reproductive rights of women from the age of 12. In what ways and why? How does your commitment translate into today?
Committing at 12 was fully my mission. I was the first person in my family to go to school. I had something to defend for my little sisters and the little girls in my neighbourhood.
I became president of the Children of Guinea parliament. However, the institution is under the supervision of the government. I no longer wanted to be told what to say when I knew what our realities were, so in 2016, I founded the Club of Young Girls Leaders of Guinea, of which I currently hold the position of founding president.
I mobilised hundreds of young girls, aged 11 to 24. We have faced many challenges by committing ourselves against genital mutilation, forced and early marriage, marital rape, and the difficulties of certain polygamous families.
They didn’t even know they had rights. Because we have always been taught: “When you reach puberty, you will get married.”
We rebelled in the streets and carried out numerous awareness-raising actions, during which we reassured young girls that we would be there for them if their rights were threatened. But they didn’t even know they had rights. Because we have always been taught: “When you reach puberty, you will get married.” One in two young girls in Guinea is married before reaching the age of maturity.
Some contact us so that we can save them on the day of the wedding ceremony. We alert the police. Sometimes they don’t follow us or move, even though we have the law on our side, since the Guinean Penal Code and Children’s Code prohibit marriages with people under 18 years old.
Our technique is also to alert the media, then film the scene of our intervention, and share it on social networks.
Several other times, in the villages, we put an end to group genital mutilation ceremonies of around thirty young girls, for example. In Conakry, I alarmed the police several times, but they never accompanied me.
We took all the risks, and faced all forms of pressure in the neighbourhoods, to save these victims. Several years after our actions to prevent the marriage of their child, families still threaten us.
All the girls in the club have a story: they were victims of forced marriage, early marriage, or excision. We fight with our hearts because we have experienced pain in our flesh.
What feelings are driving you today? Do you have any hope that the situation will change?
First of all, I’m angry. It’s difficult not to be understood. In Guinea, part of the public believes that excision is not a legitimate fight like rape or early marriage can be in their eyes.
They call me a feminist as if it were an insult, a traitor, a poorly educated child. They say that I am not worthy of being a Fulani.
I am also angry that we are boasting about the drop in the percentage of Guinean women aged 15 to 49 who have been victims of this genital mutilation. We went from 97% of women excised in Guinea to 95%, which is almost nothing, and we remain the second country in the world, behind Somalia, most affected by this practice.
But I also feel hope, thanks to the new generation. My parents had no choice, as the prejudices are so tenacious: an uncircumcised girl is insulted, considered “of easy virtue”, and perceived as one who dishonours her family. They were afraid of these reputations. But I would never have my child circumcised. We must protect future little girls. It is up to us to break the chain. I believe it.
Finally, I am exhausted by the online harassment I experience. I am the target of internet users who do not agree with my fight. I am accused of making money with this, of being manipulated by France.
They call me a feminist as if it were an insult, a traitor, a poorly educated child. They say that I am not worthy of being a Fulani. Shockingly, it’s a girl from this very conservative community about this practice who is standing up to abolish it. It bothers. How disturbing it is that a woman has rights over her body, knows it and controls it. So we mutilate her.
Translated and adapted by Praise Vandeh, Marie Claire Nigeria Content Writer
