There is an angry mob ready to lynch. They’re gathering force, leaping over barriers, ululating, and blindly bulldozing civility in their wake. The drummers, hunched over the “SOS” drum, thump out an angry condescending rhythm, rivers of sweat and recriminations running down their livid face. The steady drumming picks up pace, urging the mob to free themselves from inhibitions, to discard any rules of engagement, gradually ignites the mob in an incensed dance. The dance of hurt feelings, of good attentions, manifested in chest beating, raised fists, and swathed in the bright colors of morality, swells to a frenzy, and abruptly ends in an ecstatic, feverish, orgasmic crescendo. The mob, oiled and utterly convinced of their righteousness, is ready. Suddenly, it turns in unison, their gaze locking on two young women tending to their media business. Lurching, heaving, the mob manages to corner the two petrified young women, strips them naked of their humanity and drags them on the street for an all-night mob mania. There’s nothing like a mob action, especially when it is out to save the black woman, or more specifically in this case, her black ass.

Sorry guys, please give me a minute while I rein in my over-active imagination. Let me get a steaming mug of chamomile tea to sooth my frayed nerves before continuing this writing. What a beautiful Sunday morning it is. Yes sire. We finally have snow, finally.

Hmmm, where was I. Right, I remember now. There is a mob, ready for lynching and all because of our juicy, fat, and black as the night asses. They’re on a “Save the Clitless Clique” campaign and my endangered ass is on the line here. We’re talking about the ass population of millions of women. I should be happy right. I should be honored. I should be flattered. I should be grateful for being the victim. I should be quiet, ashamed of what has been done to me. But I am not. Instead, I am confused, bewildered.

This mob is offended on my behalf because of an article and photos on FGM published by Helsinki Sanomat, the biggest media outlet in Finland, over a week ago. The anger is not wholly targeted at the media outlet as such, but at two specific women, namely Anu Nouisianen and Meeri Koutaniemi, who both provided the narrative. The writing and the photos were, I must say, fantastic. The photos, though shocking and terrifying, appealed to my humanity. FGM is not beautiful. It is gruesome, chillingly terrifying and deadly. In the opinion section, some men were frothing at the mouth while loudly bleating about male circumcision. I beg now. Men, glance down, look at your little brother in your pants, sit back comfortably and imagine the whole tip of your penises, without anesthesia, being slowly, excruciatingly, sliced away. That is mutilation and not circumcision. You must be out of your testosterone-laden mind to even have the audacity to insist that mutilation is the same as male circumcision.

Why are some people reacting so strongly to the HS piece, you ask? Beats me too, but I’ll hazard a guess based on my observations. You see, Anu and Meeri were invited and given access to one of the remote Masai villages in Kenya, where preparations were underway for an upcoming FGM procedure. Their visit eventually culminated in the inhumane mutilation of two under-aged Masai girls. Mind you, these villages are not strange to Meeri because of her self-funded, decade-long anti-FGM work. That is a side dish and not to be mixed with the main course. Anyway, the discussions’ escalated from insidious insinuations to downright accusations of racism, colonialism, exploitation, opportunism, incompetence and arrogance etc. See any projections here? As a result, a lot of negative energy was and continues to be invested in shifting the focus from this abhorrent practice, in diluting its importance and in silencing others.

There is no doubt that some of the ethical concerns raised about the piece are valid. Yes, exploitation is wrong. Yes, racism is wrong. Yes, children have rights and their privacy should be protected. Yes, we should not make a living out of the misery of others. These are rules of engagement that should apply to ALL, regardless of the context, color and creed. But is it fair, just, and ethical to accuse Anu and Meeri of these things? Why is there a need to question their intentions and in this very disrespectful manner? Why take things so personally?

This discussion minefield is shrouded in double standards. The loaded language of politics, of disempowerment, of patronization involved here is disturbing. If we are going to bring up the issue of exploitation, of making a living out of the misery of others, how about the migrants here? How about tackling the million dollar integration business that we have going on here? How about broaching the disempowerment of the black migrant communities by the integration business people? How about questioning the over-representation of the indigenous Finns in the integration and development focused NGOs? How about their exclusive right to leadership and management positions in these initiatives? How about their over-representation in development projects? How about questioning this white privilege? We have highly qualified and competent people that could be doing these jobs. But no, we have to relegate them to their position, their dirty territory, to deal with their kind. As if that is all they are capable of! The context of exploitation and by whom, is purely subjective and steeped in self-interest.

The black woman’s body, the bodies of her children, have been divided up for exploitation. We have experts on her madness, on her anger, on her ugliness, on her religious fanaticism, her inability to care for her children. We have experts on her sexuality, experts on her lack of sexuality, experts on her hyper-sexuality, experts on her womanhood, on her femininity. She needs saving from herself, from her husband, her son. Never mind about engaging her as an equal. Hell, fuck that intersectionality shit, right? Continue to speak over her and for her in your researches, in your projects, in your documentaries and in your writings. After all, you’re the expert, right? And if she continues to insist on speaking for herself, insists on breaking out of her compartment, label her as unreasonable, as lazy, as a mindless child producing factory, and if all fails, label her as nut case and put her on your blacklist. After all, she is half a woman, right? She is not the whole woman that you are, right? Isn’t that exploitation, modern day slavery, colonialism, racism, opportunism? If that isn’t exploitation, then what is?  How about tackling that? Why the selectivity? Is it because Meeri mentioned the P and the C word? Could that be it? She has a campaign and a project in the pipeline. What? How dare she encroach on a stamped body, the black woman’s body, on a stacked territory, whether here or elsewhere? As if you have sole ownership of the black woman and her children! How about not speaking for me at all? How about that?

I, as an FGM survivor, don’t see the burning need in whipping this horse to kingdom come. It is distasteful when some people choose to be selective in their lynching. I am not the victim portrayed in these discussions nor will I ever be. I am a survivor, a fighter. Walk half a mile in my shoes, if they fit and maybe, just maybe, you might catch a glimpse of the world from my vintage point. I have survived this long and will continue to do so long after this debate is over. I dream, yearn and pray for the day when this level of organized interest, this level of passion, this level of energy and this level of commitment is dedicated to the fight against racism, is dedicated to the fight for equity, for equal representation of migrants in decision-making structures, institutions and matters that affect their well-being in Finland. How about that?

I was feeling depressed by the outcome of the political wrangling between the Somali president and his PM. I hope the new PM will be selected in a transparent manner and will be qualified to do the job. For how long must we put up with these constant changes in leadership?

To uplift my spirits, I decided to dig up my old archives and came upon this gem. This is an old classic song that was composed by Abdulkadir Hersi Yamyam (May he rest in peace). One of the things that Said Barre will be missed for was his nationalism which he strove to inculcate in the masses through songs, poetry and drama. I just adore this song and the uplifting words. How the mighty have fallen: from a proud nation to one of scattered beggars. Nevertheless, I am still optimistic and pray for a peaceful Somalia. Somalia, lifted up and held by women, will one day get back on its feet. 

I share names with equality
A mortal I do not allow
That he surpass me
And allusive words and hints
I confer not on anyone as gifts
I am Somali

Though impoverished I am
Yet my hardships I endure
And my palms I do not extend
A man with whom I am friends
With my enemy I do not rival
I am Somali

I am in a quest for peace
And from enmity I am terrified
But [from the battlefield] I flee not
And the man who brings wounds
From his hands I await not [I launch assault]
I am Somali

A man who endangers me lives not in peace
And there isn’t a man who did wait for me
Gratitude I have not yet abandoned
Nor do I support not any transgression
And a wronged man I compare not with others
I am Somali

To whom my ways do not appeal
As he wishes I do not comply with
Like some parts of the world
Coercion I do not accept
Nor do I carry any man’s shoes
I am Somali

O’ you who is wealthier than I
Your offerings for name’s sake
Know that I expect them not
Say not, too, persuade the ignorant
For I have not a conscious that sleeps
I am Somali

Neither man’s stroking of my head
Nor his lace on my legs [duplicity] do I accept
Persuasion I do not approve
As for secrets [about me] I say
A Saab [vessel] that hold no water
I am Somali

I am of a step with the wind
And on impulse I do not act
I am like fangs of poison [when provoked]
And at times, the bearer of good [when dealt with peace]
I am swathed in patience
I am Somali

A man who endangers me lives not in peace
And there isn’t a man who did wait for me
Gratitude I have not yet abandoned
Nor do I support not any transgression
And a wronged man I compare not with others
I am Somali

I am like Saan [hide] split into two
That still bears the credentials
Some men once disintegrated me
Whilst I tended to my flocks
[But] the obligation of unity I [still] carry
I am Somali

(Source: this is a classic Somali song called Somali Baan Ahay. The English translation is attributable to Shafi Said at http://shafisaid.wordpress.com/2007/11/13/i-am-somali/)