Recently, Yaga made a post about 48 boys who were kidnapped to be forcibly circumcised in Zambia. In Burundi also circumcision is practicedespecially during the summer period which corresponds to the long holidays for the students. The little boys have to undergo this operation which certainly protects them, but which also makes them suffer. This blogger summons his memories and describes his experience to us.
After a long period of intense school work, the summer holidays have come . I am finally free as a bird and ready for new non-stop leisure activities. I wonder what I will be able to do during these two months of rest. I am sitting quietly in the barza, when a hoarse voice surprises me. It is my father who invites me to enter his car. Very strange, I say to myself. I am used to setting foot in it only on the Lord’s Day. To reassure me, he tells me that it will be a matter of a few minutes. I would have been really reassured if he did not display that famous mysterious smile that we know him for before a punishment. What stupid thing have I done again? However, I have been good during the week.
Without much delay, I obeyed and in the short time it takes to say ” Where are we going ? “we take a road that I have never seen before. I notice a strong presence of seamstresses on a long and interminable street. Arriving at the other end, my father stops and then goes to talk to one of them. A brief discussion at the end of which my father receives from his interlocutor a sort of folded fabric in exchange for a small wad of bills.
Back in the car, before I can ask him any questions, my father bursts out laughing for a moment and then, patting me on the shoulder, says in my direction: “Today you will become a man, son!”
Big arms, a needle and then black
Several kilometers and a lot of suspense later, we arrive at a very large hospital center surrounded by a forest, similar to those seen in horror movies. This is when I really start to worry. At the reception, we meet two individuals in blue coats who grab me without further ado. I don’t resist them since even Dad doesn’t seem worried. Confused, without really knowing if I should be afraid, I let myself be carried away by this pile of muscles.
We arrive in a half-lit room. In the middle, near a shiny steel table on which a lamp is pointed, stands a gloved man, in a blue coat and wearing a mask. I don’t even have time to study this new environment before someone undresses me and puts on the fabric that my father bought earlier. Imagine my surprise when I realize that it is a dress. Two seconds later, I am the victim of an unjustified tackle on the steel table, since I have not put up any resistance until then. My Olympian calm is broken when I see the masked man approaching, a needle in his hand. My heart races and I kick wildly. Too late. The others have already anticipated my reaction. They immobilize me so well that they easily inject me with a sedative that sends me waltzing into the abyss.
I wake up a few hours later, in the passenger seat of the car. A terrible pain in my private parts causes excruciating migraines. A glance down and, stunned and trembling, I see a bandage. At that moment, I think someone has cut my little man! I scream at the top of my lungs, at the risk of causing an accident. The look my father gives me has the gift of shutting me up. The rest of the journey ends in silent sobs.
The first night passes without sleep. I suffer martyrdom, especially when it comes to urinating. The days pass and I recover so well that life ends up returning to normal.
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2024-08-06 08:46:44